#infinity stone shadows

[prince-toffee]

Me reading this: Damn, this is good shit, right up my alley, who wrote this?... Oh.

Infinity

“Well, that concludes our meeting,” Queen Angella clapped her hands together and rose up from her throne, “I only hope our next session will be as efficient as today’s one. We’re making great progress.” Angella’s words were genuine, she was impressed how fast things were moving. All the kingdoms working hand in hand to repair the damage done by Prime’s invasion.

The rest of the Princesses gathered around the war table rose up with her and bowed in respect. Angella saw a few tense faces. Some were still getting used to the fact she came back from the dead. Both Alliance and Horde states shook hands and left, now that Hordak, Weaver and Prime were presumed dead, all the kingdom states previously supported by the Horde economy, usually poorer lands, fell on their knees and reached out to BrightMoon for aid.

All of Etheria united against a common threat, defeated it together and through that realisation the bonds grew stronger. Funny to think a mere thirty years ago, before the Horde, the Princesses couldn’t stand each other, leaping at each other’s throats.

It was amazing how well her and Hordak’s deal worked out.

Sure her temporary death, was a set back, so was the arrival of Horde Prime. Hordak reassured her that the portal had no possibility of working with the lack of advanced materials on the planet. However, the two of them didn’t count on the unpredictable variable that was, Entrapta of Dryl. Or that Angella’s disappearance due to the crisis engaged by Catra, would led her daughter Glimmer to guide Prime directly to the shadow dimension.

Luckily, Hordak and Entrapta managed to bring her back. And with the help of Shadow Weaver they managed to imprison Prime, out of sight. Through dark magic Weaver found out about the deal struck and so inserted herself into the equation, always looking for a seat of power. Hordak of course brought Entrapta into the fold, being the hopeless romantic that he was. He also recommended for Catra to play apart in all of it. He said she was smart, a fast learner, a strategist and deep down, he knew she was a better person than any of them. Angella begrudgingly accepted, but in turn decided to advocate for her own addition, Glimmer. In Angella’s absence, her daughter became a quite capable general. None had objections.

And so there were six.

Angella made her way to her throne room and ordered her throne guards to leave and allow no one in, no matter the clearance level. And she locked the doors behind them. She sat down on her throne, pressing her palm against the arm of the throne, which scanned and verified that it was her. The floor under Angella opened and the throne descended down.

The Angel Queen made her way through the dark sub-level corridor. It wasn’t on any castle schematics for safety and security. Where she was greeted by a disembodied voice from the shadows, “Meeting ran late?”

“Don’t be absurd, I’m only five minutes and twenty-three seconds late… Why are you not waiting in the sub-level conference room with the others?” Angella asked the hovering Shadow Weaver, who simply shrugged.

“Call me paranoid. I wish, simply, to enter with the great Queen Angella, making sure none of you set a trap for me. Remember, I cou-” Weaver was interrupted by Angella.

“We know. No trap. Now, come.” Angella knew that Shadow Weaver had the ability to undo the entire secrecy of their group. Being the powerful sorceress that she was, she could’ve simply revealed them in the minds of every person on the planet. But working from behind the curtain was what made them successful, so they had to keep a close eye on the witch. While she kept an eye on all of them.

Angella pushed open a pair of doors and revealed the other four members already in their chairs. The war table paralleling the one multiple levels above them, the one Angella was just in. Hordak and Entrapta didn’t even notice them walk in, the two partners simply continued with their theory sharing. Opposite them Glimmer and Catra bowed for Angella’s presence, side-eyeing Shadow Weaver as she sat across from Angella on the other end.

“Alright everyone! If I may have your attention!” She didn’t ask as much as she ordered it. All the heads faced her in focus. Angella began, “Thank you, I suppose this is in a way the first true meeting of this… team, I suppose we can call it. You were all chosen to sit here, because you have showcased virtues and qualities befitting of a leader, if necessary… a mastermind. Hordak and Shadow Weaver presumed dead, and the rest viewed as war heroes - the public trusts us. Let us keep it that way. We sit here today, because we are the ones who are going to forge tomorrow, from behind the stage, for better… or for worse. That’s on us… Hordak.”

She turned her head to the alien and nodded as a sign for him to start his brief, “First order of business and highest priority is that of my brother. And his trial. This council will decide his fate. At the moment Horde Prime is kept on Beast Island under the influence of the island and further imprisonment of the Obtainment Spell, curtesy of Shadow Weaver.”

Weaver smiled under her mask, proud of her magical capabilities, folding her arms across her chest. Entrapta shared the cheerfulness, happy to be allowed to study the properties of the island and ultimately control it.

“I say we leave him there. Sounds to fine to me.” Catra was quick to make her decision known.

“Death. The safer option.” Glimmer stated countering Catra’s solution aggressively. She had no patience for Prime, knowing that Etheria could’ve been another world subjugated by his galactic empire, and she was partly to blame for his arrival. “Just let Adora hack his head off, problem solved.”

“She-Ra isn’t a part of this council.” Angella stated.

“Well, maybe she should be. I mean come on, it’s Adora! Where are you gonna find a better, more pure-hearted, person in the universe? Being good is sort of her whole deal.” Catra agreed with Glimmer’s proposal of bring their girlfriend into the fold.

“Adora is busy enough being the face of Etheria. A face the people can trust. Let’s not give the world a reason to loose that faith… And the girl can’t keep a secret to save her life.” Shadow Weaver dismissed the possibility of that option.

Angella followed on, “And killing Prime might not be the best decision either.”

Hordak returned to his holo-pad, which he wired to the war table. With a swipe of his finger upwards on the screen, the hologram display on the table lit up. A strange image came up, they didn’t know what they were looking at, “It is true. We might need to question him, see if he has any kind of knowledge or insight about these… objects. Since Entrapta and I cannot figure this out.”

Entrapta waved it off dismissively at the idea with her hair, “Oh, please, we don’t need his help! We got it covered! And he’s an idiot! He doesn’t have the answers, I bet he couldn’t figure out the precise value of pi if it bit him in the hair!”

“You can figure out what pi is?” Catra arched her brow in confusion.

“What are they?… They look too small to be Rune Stones.” Glimmer questioned, looking at the holo-display.

“Possibly of the same origin, that being the First Ones, but they are infinitely more powerful. Any bounds or limitations are yet unknown to us. Whatever these… gems are, they’re more powerful than any weapon I have encountered across my voyages throughout the universe.” Hordak claimed as multiple notes and graphs appeared on the display, most of which didn’t make any sense to the others.

“So what’s the plan?” Glimmer asked.

“The plan is there’s six of us.” Angella stated as she pressed one of her earrings, which lit up, simultaneously a silver briefcase immerged from the underneath Angella’s seat. The other five exchanged looks between each other. Shadow Weaver and Entrapta seemed more enthusiastic and on board, whereas the girls and Hordak became more worried.

With two clicks the case opened, revealing inside six different coloured stones.

Afterwards, none of them quite remembered or understood what happened. But each member proceeded to take a stone, almost as if the stones themselves spoke to each of them, mesmerised, hypnotised them. The gems guided the hands of their future wielders.

Angella reached for the Time Stone.

Hordak took the Reality Stone.

Entrapta received the Space Stone.

Shadow Weaver was given the Mind Stone.

Catra acquired the Power Stone.

Glimmer grasped the Soul Stone.

“Now what?” The Magicat asked, firmly holding the ingot of Power.

Angella answered, “We safeguard it. Destroy it, if necessary, but ultimately, for now, let us see what good we may do behind the scenes.”

Hordak pocketed away his stone into one of his compartments in his new suit, “…Then we as a collective should have a callsign, a codename, in case of emergencies… Since I have been studying the history logs from Horde Prime’s capital, learning about my people’s culture - I feel like I have found a word which incapsulates our council well. An ancient term, roughly translating to ‘one who is illusive, and enlightened’:

Illuminati.”

[movie-robotnik-positivity]

Here's a MASSIVE Sonic 3 interview, featuring scriptwriters Pat Casey and Josh Miller, as well as co-producer Tyson Hesse. This was recorded before the film's release so minimal spoilers.

I really suggest watching the whole thing, there's plenty of cool info about the production of these movies. I compiled some of the highlights under the cut:

- It was SEGA's request to make Movie Sonic an alien. This is a remnant from when they were commited to the "Two Worlds" idea, before they changed their mind on that.

- According to Pat Casey and Josh Miller, part of the reason that the Sony version of the movie fell apart is that they (along with Jeff Fowler, Tim Miller and Neil Moritz) wanted Sonic to be the main character, while the studio pushed for the human actor to be the star.

- There was an outline where Sonic befriended a kid (based on E.T). Tim Miller thought the character was pointless, since Sonic is already the kid, so they decided to pair him up with an adult instead.

- They refer to "The Little Mermaid", "Superman" and "Hellboy" as inspiration for Sonic's story in the first movie.

- The Master Emerald and the Chaos Emeralds were combined to avoid having eight different macguffins in one film, and also to avoid comparisons with "Avengers: Infinity War".

- Pat Casey and Josh Miller feel like part of the job is to NOT be lore experts, but rather people who can look at these things purely as a movie.

- Jim Carrey doesn't like to repeat himself, so they always try to throw new stuff at him every movie so he's more likely to return. This led them to the idea of having him play Gerald. The studio immediately loved the idea, and so did Jim.

- One of the things they knew had to change was the ARK, as the idea of a space colony orbiting Earth for 50 years without anyone noticing didn't mesh well with the grounded world they had set up.

- In some versions Gerald Robotnik was alive as a chaos energy ghost, stuck in-between time.

- They felt Shadow's backstory was extremely important, but knew they could only have so many flashbacks, hence why they wanted to pull aspects of it into the present (such as Gerald).

- Gerald's inclusion was also done to keep Shadow's story from feeling like a retread of Knuckles'. It also helps that while Knuckles' conflict is based on a misunderstanding, Shadow's isn't.

- Tyson Hesse thinks that while keeping Gerald alive at first felt weird to him as a long-time fan, it gave Ivo a lot more to chew on as a character and kept his story from getting stale.

- Jim Carrey's multiple comments regarding Robotnik's broken childhood and hidden vulnerabilities inspired them to explore that side of the character in Sonic 3.

- Pat Casey and Josh Miller's always like to add a little bit of heart where they can. They point to the baseball scene and the bucket list in the first movie, as well the scene between Agent Stone and Tails in 3.

-Jim Carrey first does his scenes exactly as scripted, then tries his own versions, which almost always end up being funnier. Very little of what's in the script actually stays.

- Keanu Reeves was the number one choice for Shadow. With every other character there was a lot of deliberation, but with Shadow they don't think other options were even considered.

- At one point Idris Elba was worried about Knuckles' fear of ghosts being out of character, so they did some research and found out it was already a thing. They can't remember if they got that character trait from somewhere or if it was coincidental.

- Sonic 3 and the Knuckles series were worked on at the same time. Pat Casey and Josh Miller weren't involved, as they were busy with the movie script. Tyson Hesse was involved during the initial stages of the show, leading the story department, but had to leave as soon as production on 3 started.

- They've kept almost the exact same creative team thorough all three movies, including their VFX Supervisor and Animation Director. This helped streamline process, as everyone is already familiar with each other and how things work.

- They point out how rare it is to have a franchise where everyone involved wants to keep coming back. They attribute this to the fact that these movies are entirely staffed by nice people who get along, which isn't too common.

- They claim that the Sonic 3 set was one of the calmest sets they've ever been in. Even all the Gerald and Ivo stuff, which seemed so complicated to make, was hardly an issue.

- With Sonic 2 they ran into some problems due to relying on a single VFX vendor. For Sonic 3 they ran the movie as if they were the VFX vendor, they had all the animators in-house and had all the character assets made internally.

- Tyson Hesse claims that SEGA was completely changed by the movies, and that everything coming out is being done better than it was before. He hopes fans will be able to appreciate how much the movies lifted up the franchise.

[charmedimsure]

Hi i like to make an request for an Nam-gyu x fem player oneshot or headcanons whatever works better with you to write with - for reader join their team cause she was once a background dancer during one of thanos shows and is loyal to him but falling for the more brutal (cinnamon roll!) Nam-gyu slowly during the games?

Shadow of Loyalty || Nam-gyu

pairing: Nam-gyu x f!reader

summary: You get dragged onto the team of a rapper you used to dance for, but you can't complain when another team member keeps giving you that cute smile.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: guns, death, drugs, blood, squid game stuff

A/N: i've been wanting to write for nam-gyu but couldn't think of anything so ty 🙏 if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3

"Hey," a voice says behind you. You turn, seeing a girl with short hair standing there. She wears a choker, as well as a nose ring and lip ring. "Do you have a team yet?"

You smile at her, shaking your head. "No."

"We should team up," she says. "I'm Se-mi. What's your name?"

As you're about to tell her, you see a familiar head of purple hair in the crowd. The same head you've been avoiding for the past day.

You lower your face, bringing your hand up to shield yourself. "Oh, crap."

"Señorita, excuse me."

Se-mi turns around, as she hears the voice, staring at Thanos.

"Let's play the game together."

You shrink a bit, positioning yourself so Se-mi is blocking you from Thanos' view.

"Well, why should I?"

"Don't you know who he is?" one of the boys at his side asks. "He's Thanos, the rapper. I'm gonna kill half of humanity with my raps."

You turn your back to them, trying as hard as you can to keep the rapper from noticing you.

The other boy speaks up. "Hang on, a girl? We don't know what the game is."

"I, Thanos the great, will protect you."

Se-mi breathes out a laugh. "Right, Thanos. So have you got all the infinity stones?"

"Of course." You roll your eyes, knowing he's showing off his dumb nail polish. "I'm going to destroy anyone who gets in my way. Just stick with me and you'll be safe. Okay?"

"But I already asked someone to join me," Se-mi says. Your heart picks up.

"No problem. Who is it?"

Se-mi moves to the side and you turn, giving the rapper a tight-lipped smile and small wave.

"No way," Thanos says, a wide smile on his face. He comes up to you, throwing his arms around you. "Señorita! I can't believe you're here!"

"Woah!" the boy to the right of Thanos says, eyes wide. "You were one of his dancers, right?"

You nod, not quite making eye contact with the boy. You look up at the other one and find that he's staring at you, mouth parted slightly.

Both of Thanos' hands grab onto your shoulders, squeezing them. "This is gonna be awesome."

You look at Se-mi, seeing her give you an apologetic look. You just shrug. At least you have a team.

<>

"Please decide players for each mini-game."

You lean forward, looking at your team on both sides from your spot in the middle of the line. "I can do Jegi. I was good at it as a kid."

"I'm doing Jegi," Thanos says. "You do Spinning Top."

You grit your teeth, taking a deep breath. "I'm not good at Spinning Top."

"I can do Spinning Top," the boy between you and Thanos says.

You nod at him, a silent thank you. "I'll do Gong-gi."

"I can do Flying Stones," Se-mi says.

You nod and look past her to the boy sitting on the end. "Are you alright doing Ddakji?"

He nods, a smile on his face. "I was going to volunteer for it anyway."

You smile. "Great. We got this, guys."

<>

"The following players have been eliminated. Players 016, 045, 178, 189, 198, 254, 286, 341, 396, and 416."

A man on the other side of the room stands up. "We should have left! We're all going to die now! We're all going to die because of those who voted to continue!"

Another man stands. "What are you going to do now?! You think you can survive?! Look at them!"

You feel movement to the left of you and turn to see the boy next to you leaning toward Thanos.

"Can you... can you please give me one of those?"

Thanos eyes him up. "'Those'?"

"The thing you took. You're keeping them inside your cross."

You sigh. You're well aware of what Thanos keeps in his cross. He's tried to get you to take them a few times while you were working together. Thankfully, you always said no, not letting him persuade you into anything.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"If I get nervous and lose the game, we'll all die," The boy's voice shakes. "My hands are shaking like crazy."

Thanos sighs. "Nam-su."

"It's Nam-gyu."

"Right. Nam-gyu." Thanos unzips his jacket, taking out his cross. "Do you know what this is?"

You lean closer, curious. Thanos never told you what they were, part of the reason you turned them down every time.

"Ecstasy? Ketamine?"

Thanos shakes his head. "It's a new kind. It's fucking crazy, man. You can't handle it."

"Hey." Nam-gyu rolls up his sleeve, showing Thanos the inside of his elbow. "I did all kinds of stuff when I was working at the club. I even brought you some when you came to the club."

Thanos opens his cross, taking out one of his pills. "You junkie." He hands it to Nam-gyu, who quickly pops it in his mouth. Thanos looks over Nam-gyu's shoulder, seeing you watching them. "Want one, Señorita?"

You shake your head. "I'll pass."

Nam-gyu looks at you, face falling as you give him a look of disapproval.

<>

The rounds kept going until it was your turn. The boy on the end, who you found out is named Gyeong-su, was able to flip the Ddakji on his second try, and Se-mi hit the stone perfectly on her first attempt.

You walk to the next mini-game, the one you're doing. You take the pieces off the table, crouching as the guard puts the table on the floor. You scatter the pieces onto the table.

Blue. Green. Yellow. Red. Purple. Good.

Purple. Yellow and green. Red and blue...

You deflate as the blue piece falls out of your grasp and onto the track.

"Seriously?!" Thanos yells. "Pick it up and do it right this time!"

You shoot a glare at him. He might not realize it, but his demeaning comments are certainly not helping.

Nam-gyu picks up the fallen piece, handing it to you. "You were so close, you can do it."

You take the piece and nod, once again focusing back on the game.

Red. Yellow. Blue. Green. Purple. Good.

Green. Yellow and blue. Red and purple. Good.

Yellow. Red, blue, purple. Green. Good.

Purple. Green, blue, red, yellow. Good.

Back of hand. Good.

You take a deep breath before tossing the pieces up, quickly grabbing them out of the air.

The pink guard puts their arms up in a circle.

"Pass."

You smile as Nam-gyu shakes you in happiness. The guard takes the small table away from you and you advance to the next mini-game.

The pink guard hands Nam-gyu the top and the string. You watch as he wraps the string. You had been nervous when he took Thanos' pill, but you have to give it to him, his control over the string is flawless.

He pulls his hand back and throws it. You smile as it spins in front of you.

"Pass."

You all celebrate before moving to the final mini-game. Thanos takes the Jegi, pushing the guard out of the way. He throws it into the air.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks. Four kicks.

The Jegi falls to the ground.

You huff as Thanos picks it up and throws it again.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks.

The toy hits the ground once again.

You can't help but roll your eyes. You would have gotten it by now had he let you play Jegi. Your high score as a kid was 27 kicks in a row. You look at the clock. You still have a minute left. Good.

Thanos lets out a yell of frustration, picking up the Jegi and throwing it.

One kick. Two kicks. Three kicks. Four kicks. Five kicks.

"Pass."

Your team jumps up and down in celebration before regaining composure. You cross the finish line with 29 seconds to spare.

You and Se-mi turn to each other, hugging as you all celebrate. You turn to Nam-gyu, who is already smiling down at you. You smile back and high-five him. At the end of the line, Thanos jumps up and down, nearly knocking you all over.

You put your arms out to steady Nam-gyu and he thanks you as the guards come over to remove the bindings from your ankles.

<>

You watch as five more people walk into the room.

"Hey," you hear a voice next to you and turn to see Nam-gyu. "How many do you think are left?"

You take a quick look around. "Maybe 200?"

"Shit," he sighs. "That's way too many."

You shrug. "I like that there's more people here." Nam-gyu gives you a confused look. "There's safety in numbers."

Thanos raises both of his arms. "Stop talking." He points at you. "How old are you again?"

You roll your eyes. "28."

"So you were born in 1996," he turns to Gyeong-su. "How old are you?"

"Born in 1998."

He turns to Se-mi. "You?"

"Born in 1996."

He thinks for a moment. "It's settled. Gyeong-su is the youngest, and the girls are the oldest." He turns to Nam-gyu. "Nam-su, you were born in 1997, right?"

"It's Nam-gyu."

"Right, Nam-gyu. Is that right?"

Nam-gyu nods.

Thanos points at you while still looking at Nam-gyu. "Hey, call her noona since she's older."

Nam-gyu chuckles. You feel a small smile pull on your lips at the sound.

Soon, the pink guards come into the room, announcing that 110 players had been eliminated in the second game. They bring out the machine for voting and everyone moves to the center.

"You're voting to stay, right noona?" Nam-gyu asks you.

You breathe out a laugh. "Yeah, but this is probably the last time." You smile at him, lightly hitting his shoulder. "And don't call me noona. I'm younger than you, just don't tell Thanos, Nam-su."

He frowns when you call him the wrong name, opening his mouth to correct you but stopping when he sees the teasing smirk on your face. He chuckles again, nodding his head.

<>

Nam-gyu watches as Thanos opens his cross, taking out a pill and popping it into his mouth. He takes a step in his direction, about to ask for one. He stops when he sees you out of the corner of his eye talking to Se-mi, laughing at something the girl is saying. With a sigh, Nam-gyu turns away from Thanos, instead moving to Gyeong-su.

You're all brought into a new room. There are doors lining the walls and a big platform in the middle of the room that looks like a carousel without any horses.

"Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

"Hey," Thanos says, clearly high off his ass. He turns to your group. "We'll be mingling together. Doesn't that sound like so much fun?"

You all get onto the platform and it begins spinning, a children's song playing over the speakers. The first round is ten, and you find another group of five players, getting into the room safely with ten seconds to spare.

You come out again, once again getting onto the platform. The music stops and the voice calls out four.

Thanos looks between you, Se-mi, and Gyeong-su before stopping on the last one.

"Please," the boy pleads.

"Gyeong-su, you're out!" Thanos kicks the boy to the ground. "Let's go!"

Nam-gyu stands there for a moment staring at Gyeong-su before he feels someone grab a hold of his sleeve, tugging him along after the group. He gets in the room and the door locks, you letting go of him. Nam-gyu tries to look out the slot for Gyeong-su but you pull him away. It's best if he doesn't see it.

"Wait!" Thanos holds his arms up. He points toward all of you. "Where did you leave my boy Gyeong-su?"

You give him an incredulous look, jumping when the sounds of gunfire starts.

Thanos brings his hands to his head before running towards the door and looking out the slot. "Fuck! Gyeong-su!"

You and Se-mi look at each other, both of you thinking the same thing. Thanos would have done that to any of you. He can't be trusted. Especially when he's high.

You're released and you go back to the platform. When the music stops this time, the voice announces three people to a room.

Thanos stands and looks between you and Se-mi. "Who should we take? Rock, paper, scissors!"

Se-mi turns to you, holding her hand out. "Come with me."

You nod, taking her hand. "We'll find one more, you guys do the same."

Nam-gyu nods, grabbing Thanos by his jacket and pulling him along.

Se-mi and you manage to find one more person and get into a room on time. When you come out, you look around for the boys. You see the familiar head of purple hair and smile when you spot Nam-gyu next to him.

They run up to you. You smile at Nam-gyu. "Glad you made it."

He smiles back. "Me too."

The next round is six, so you find two other players and make it to a room. When you're let out, it is announced that this will be the final round.

"Two."

Se-mi goes to reach for you, but she's pulled away by Thanos as he sprints toward one of the rooms. Nam-gyu watches as Thanos runs away, a look of betrayal adorning his face.

You quickly turn, grabbing Nam-gyu's hand and taking off toward a green door. You're able to get there before anyone else and close the door behind you, pushing your weight against it to keep anyone else from getting in.

The lock clicks and you sigh in relief, moving away from the door. You turn to Nam-gyu. "Are you alright?"

"He left me," he says, a faraway look on his face. "I've been nothing but loyal to him, and he just left me there."

You sigh, walking to him and rubbing his arm. "Nam-gyu, Thanos isn't a good person. He can't even remember your name. A person like that doesn't deserve the loyalty you're showing him."

He keeps looking at the door as the gunshots go off. He turns to you, looking at you for a few moments before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. "Thank you. Thank you for not leaving me."

You hug him back. "I'm not gonna leave you, Nam-gyu."

He sniffles. "I won't leave you either."

You pull back and see his smile. You can't help but think it's kind of cute, making you smile back at the boy, a warm feeling in your face.

Squid Game Tags: @thebiggestigurosimp @vvnbxz @lov3yy @miltzzy @l5byrinth @come-as-you-are-111 @starkeyszn @learninglinesintherainn @galactict3a @sawlover353 @jspidey5

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist

[cypressmoons]

neuvillette thinks he is losing his mind.

he was perpetually alone, his figure an aquamarine blur that fades into the hustle and bustle of the city, his face only visible when he is perched upon the throne during a trial.

the chief justice didn’t think there is a need for the people of fontaine to know anything else to him besides his title and the law he has sworn to uphold. he isn’t even sure himself if there is anything else to know about him, really. the only time people have seen him outside the courtroom and not making a beeline to his residence was when he hosted a water-tasting party, to which people lauded his sharp perception of water’s different tastes but few words were uttered beyond that.

he didn’t think there is a need for personal connections, either. making any sort of acquaintance will only sway his judgement, taint his pristine reputation, and risk the absolute supremacy of law and justice. not a single soul in fontaine - no, in all of teyvat, has even heard of his first name. what is a name, if not something to make a personal connection with? just chief justice neuvillette will do, please.

he didn’t have much understanding of the concept of “the self”. he may as well be synonymous to the law itself, not merely a person chosen to uphold it, a “phase in his career”, as he says. what is the point of self awareness, when all is eventually doomed to be buried by their own sins?

the undisturbed water is most peaceful as a mirror, a tapestry of liquid silk that one finds their own reflections in. but one ripple will soon turn into more, and before he knows it, his figure blurs and fades into oblivion, justice and equity long buried beneath the surface. humans, to him, are like droplets of water that disturb that serene, almost surreal peace.

but with you, he feels the claws of want, desperation, desire, jealousy, and possessiveness scratching at his very core. he has never felt such strong emotions, let alone so many of them all at once, that he briefly considered the possibility that he has been disintegrated by the primordial sea water and reduced to a puddle.

because how could someone so selfless, so equitable, so unfalteringly composed be in love?

he does not try to understand humans. he didn’t find the necessity in it, but now he is dying to know more. he wants to memorize the way you talk, the way you move, the way you so effortlessly light up the entire room and the way you so perfectly fit against him. he’s mesmerized. he wants to know every last thing about your entire existence, the highs and lows and everything in between, he wants to engrave them into his mind lest the infinity of time washes it away.

the itchiness in his heart does not fade with every passing moment. if anything, they grow stronger, like an invisible string pulling him towards you and he finds his feet leading him to your door once more. gloved knuckles tapping at the wood, the hollow sound quickly replaced by the excited shuffle of your footsteps and before he knows it, you’ve appeared before him, basked in glorious sunlight and neuvillette feels as if all his sins have been washed away.

no, he doesn’t just want you in his life. he needs you like a fish needs water, like a bird needs the sky, like the people of fontaine need their impartial iudex.

from then on, his shadow blurs a little slower on the crowded streets, aquamarine accompanied by bright shades of pinks, purples, and yellows, the sparkling stone hanging on your necklace matching the tie pin on his cravat. but if it were up to him, he’d dress you in the finest shades of blue, just so the entire world knows you’re his, and he’s yours.

to you, he’s not monsieur neuvillette, chief justice and iudex of fontaine. though the trials continue as normal and verdicts continue to be delivered impartially, any sharp-eyed person would soon notice the sun shining brighter and rainy days shorter.

he has lived thousands of years sealed inside a bubble that no one dared breaking, in its crystalline confinement even as winter turned into spring, as pages of the calendar are flipped and flipped again. human emotions are nothing but a distraction, he told himself, the law did not need such distractions and biases.

perhaps he found human emotion superfluous because he hadn’t known you yet.

under the sheets after the night falls, when his fingers are intertwined with yours, when your skin is bathing in the ivory moonlight, his name tumbles past your lips in a soft whisper, and he catches it with his own. the name that not a single soul has uttered in millennia, now a living proof of his devotion to you.

if humans are ripples to the water's surface, then let you be an entire storm that turns his world upside down.

© cypressmoons 2023, do not copy, steal, repost, or translate.

masterlist

[simpxmachina]

NEW BOT

╰┈➤ wlw red panda , botmaker

🔪 + 🫀 = ☆ bloodthirsty ☆

cai

🖼️ | harper spiller - ESTATE

The air on the balcony was cooler than Harper expected, a faint breeze coming off the sea, carrying with it the salty tang of the water and the faintest hint of citrus from the lemon trees scattered across the villa gardens. She leaned on the railing, a cigarette loosely between her fingers, though she hadn't yet lit it. She wasn’t much of a smoker—just enough to justify moments like these, where she could isolate herself under the guise of indulgence.

Below, the expanse of the Italian coastline stretched before her like a postcard come to life. The water was a jeweled blue, lapping lazily at the beach, where guests of the White Lotus lounged in curated poses that were equal parts hedonistic and performative. Everything here was pristine to the point of feeling manufactured, as if everyone was playing a role in a sun-drenched fantasy.

Harper wasn’t immune to the allure of the view, but it felt hollow in her chest. The luxury of the resort, the sheer effortlessness of it all, was a reminder of how out of sync she felt. She had been dragged here, really—another compromise in the seemingly endless series of compromises that defined her relationship with Ethan. Her husband had insisted on this trip, believing it would be good for them. But all Harper could feel was the widening gap between them, a canyon they kept pretending wasn’t there.

She tapped the cigarette against the railing absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting. It wasn’t just Ethan. It was everyone here. The cloying small talk of the other guests, the way every interaction seemed to be coated in a thin sheen of self-congratulation. The same people who sipped cocktails by the infinity pool and extolled the virtues of “disconnecting” were the ones snapping photos for Instagram the second they thought no one was looking. Hypocrisy disguised as leisure.

She exhaled, the cigarette still unlit. Her gaze flickered downward, skimming over the steps leading from the hotel down toward the beach. At first, it was an unconscious glance, her mind preoccupied with its own spirals. But something caught her eye—a figure sitting on the stone stairs, partially hidden in the shadows where the late afternoon sun hadn’t yet reached.

Harper squinted, leaning slightly forward. It was a young woman, sitting cross-legged with a sketchbook balanced on her knee. She was bent over it, utterly absorbed in her work, a pencil moving rapidly across the page. Harper couldn’t see the details from this distance, but the woman’s focus was magnetic. There was a stillness to her, a kind of self-contained energy that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the resort's theatrical bustle.

She found herself staring longer than she intended, her curiosity piqued. The woman was dressed simply, her loose linen shirt fluttering slightly in the breeze. Her hair was tied back, though a few strands had escaped, framing her face in a way that Harper immediately thought looked unintentional but beautiful.

It wasn’t just the act of drawing that intrigued her. It was the way the woman seemed to exist in her own world, as though the chaos of the resort and its carefully curated opulence didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t trying to be noticed, wasn’t part of the parade of peacocks Harper had grown used to observing. She was simply… there. Quiet and intent, her pencil etching something unseen into the page.

Harper’s thoughts drifted, as they often did, to the layers of her own dissatisfaction. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt that kind of focus—an unselfconscious, genuine connection to something. She had once been that kind of person, hadn’t she? Back before her life had become a series of polite confrontations and unspoken resentments. Back when she still believed in the power of creating something, instead of just consuming it.

The cigarette between her fingers felt like a dead weight. She glanced at it, then set it down on the balcony railing, unlit. Her gaze wandered back to the woman on the stairs, and she caught a flash of what the sketchbook might hold—a glimpse of figures, maybe the outline of the beach or the sea. Whatever it was, it clearly commanded the woman’s full attention.

And then, as if sensing Harper’s gaze, the woman looked up. Harper froze, her heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t a dramatic moment—just a brief, unhurried glance around the steps before the woman returned to her drawing. But it left Harper feeling oddly exposed, like she’d been caught eavesdropping on something private. She turned her attention to the sea, feigning nonchalance, though her pulse betrayed her.

The sound of Ethan’s voice broke her reverie. She turned to see him stepping out onto the balcony, his phone in one hand and an expectant look on his face.

“Ready to head down for dinner?” he asked. His tone was light, but there was an undercurrent of impatience, as if he’d been waiting for her longer than he wanted to admit.

Harper nodded, though she didn’t feel ready at all. She cast one last glance down at the stairs, but the woman hadn’t moved. Still, the image of her lingered in Harper’s mind as she followed Ethan back into the room, a faint whisper of something she couldn’t quite name.

A few days later, Harper woke earlier than usual, a restless sleep leaving her tossing and turning in the quiet of their room. Ethan had been out of sorts lately, caught up in something of his own, leaving Harper to her thoughts and the endless hum of the resort. She needed space, and the early morning hours offered her just that—a few precious moments of solitude before the world caught up with her again.

The hotel dining room was still quiet, the golden light of the morning filtering in through tall windows that overlooked the sea. It was beautiful, almost painfully so, but Harper didn’t have the energy for the luxury this morning. She didn’t want to sit at one of the long, polished tables with the other guests just yet. Instead, she opted for a small corner, away from the bustle, where she could quietly pick at her food in peace.

As she made her way toward the buffet, Harper noticed a familiar figure from the corner of her eye. There, standing before the spread of pastries and fruit, was the young woman—the one she had been watching, though she would never admit it to anyone, especially herself. The woman was helping herself to a small plate, her hands moving with deliberate precision as she avoided the more extravagant choices. She was dressed casually, a simple white blouse, her hair down now, flowing in soft waves around her shoulders.

Harper paused, just for a second, watching her as she moved through the buffet, her expression absorbed, distant. The impulse to retreat was strong—Harper was never one for casual interactions, and certainly not before she had her first cup of coffee. But something in her hesitated. She had been curious about this woman for days now, and while she couldn’t quite explain why, that feeling, that magnetic pull, was growing impossible to ignore.

The decision was made before she fully realized it. Harper walked over, deliberately slow, her movements measured but not rushed. The woman didn’t seem to notice her approach until Harper was standing beside her, just close enough that their space felt shared.

“If I were you,” Harper said, her voice light, though with a touch of mischief, “I’d avoid that pastry. I think I saw a few people running for the bathroom after having it.”

The woman’s eyes flicked up, startled, then narrowed as she took in Harper’s face. Her mouth curled into the slightest smile, as if entertained by the casual remark. Harper was surprised by the effect her words had—there was something about that small, self-assured smile that made her feel a little more visible than she wanted to be.

“Oh, really?” the woman asked, her voice soft but not shy. She regarded Harper curiously, but there was no hesitation in her response. “I suppose it’s good I didn’t take that one then.”

Harper smiled back, almost amused by how easy it was to talk to her. It felt natural, almost too easy. They were both just people in the midst of a vacation, far removed from the pretense of their respective worlds.

"Do you come here often?" Harper found herself asking, surprised at the casualness of the question. It was the kind of thing she’d typically avoid—questions that didn't have a clear purpose, just a desire to fill the silence. But for some reason, it felt different with her.

The woman looked at Harper, then at her plate, before responding. “This is my first time here, actually,” she said with a slight shrug. “I’ve been traveling for a while, just... figuring things out, I guess. I needed a place to pause, to think.”

Harper took in the words, letting them linger in the air between them. There was an honesty to the statement that was unexpected. In a world full of carefully curated images, where everyone had an agenda, this woman was refreshingly direct, unafraid of silence, of solitude. It made Harper feel a little less cynical, a little more human.

“I get that,” Harper replied, her voice softer now, almost reflective. “I think... sometimes you need to just stop. Take a breath. Let everything settle.”

The moment hung between them for a while, both of them lost in their respective thoughts. Harper couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this woman than met the eye. There was something about her presence—quiet yet profound—that stirred something in Harper, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

It wasn’t until the woman shifted her weight and glanced over at Harper that Harper realized she had been staring. She cleared her throat awkwardly, offering a quick smile.

“Would you like to join me for breakfast?” Harper asked, the words coming out before she could second-guess them. The offer felt casual, yet the weight of it lingered between them, hanging in the air.

The woman paused for a moment, clearly considering. There was something unreadable in her expression, but after a beat, she gave a small nod. “Sure, why not?”

---

They settled at a small, quiet table by the window, the soft clink of silverware against plates the only sound between them. Harper couldn’t help but notice how at ease the woman seemed, how natural her presence felt as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world to be sitting here with Harper, as though the gap between them didn’t even exist.

It was comfortable in an unexpected way. Harper took a slow sip of her coffee, staring out at the view as if it might offer her some insight into this strange little moment they were sharing. There was a kind of soft ease between them, but it was tinged with something deeper, something more elusive.

The silence stretched on for a while before Harper spoke again, her voice quieter now. “So… what brings you to a place like this?” she asked, her words almost hesitant, as though the question had been on the tip of her tongue for a while. She wasn’t sure why she asked it. It felt like a question to fill the space, but also one that had weight. A question that held meaning.

The woman—whose name Harper still didn’t know, though it was strange how much she cared about it—looked thoughtful for a moment, her gaze distant.

“I told you before,” she said with a quiet chuckle. “I’m figuring things out. I’ve been... traveling for a while. And I thought Italy would be a good place to reset, I guess.” She met Harper’s eyes, her gaze steady. “But I’m not sure I’ve figured anything out yet.”

Harper smiled, but it wasn’t one of her typical practiced smiles. It was genuine, and a little sad, too. She understood what it meant to “figure things out,” or at least to pretend like she was. She wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to not have to try so hard to keep it all together.

“I think we’re all just... figuring it out,” Harper said, then realized how open she sounded. She didn’t do open. Not like this. Not with someone like this woman, whose name she still didn’t know.

But it didn’t feel wrong. Not yet.

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel forced. Harper caught herself glancing at the woman more often than she probably should have. The curve of her lips when she smiled, the way her hair fell across her face when she tilted her head—each little detail seemed to make Harper’s pulse speed up in a way she couldn’t explain.

Just as Harper felt herself leaning into this unexpected connection, she heard the distinct sound of someone approaching. She looked up, and her heart sank slightly as she saw Ethan walking toward them.

Ethan smiled at her, his face open and unreadable. He greeted the woman with a polite nod, and Harper immediately felt the shift in the air. The warmth she had shared with the woman disappeared as if it had never been there.

The woman looked between the two of them, her expression unreadable, then nodded. “It was nice to meet you, Harper,” she said softly, standing up from the table. She gave a polite smile before turning to leave, and Harper felt an unfamiliar pang of disappointment.

“Thanks for breakfast,” the woman added, her voice carrying a touch of finality.

Harper opened her mouth to say something, but Ethan was already pulling her attention away, asking her what she thought of the breakfast spread.

The moment had passed, and Harper found herself back in the familiar coldness she wore so often around Ethan. As he sat down beside her, his presence felt like a wall, one she didn’t want to climb. All she could think about was the quiet warmth she had felt with the woman, the soft laughter they had shared. It was fleeting, but it had been real.

Ethan didn’t notice any of it, of course. He never did.

The days stretched languidly into one another, each morning more golden than the last, the warmth of Italy's coastal sun seeping into every corner of Harper’s life. She had come here with Ethan to relax, to escape. But something—someone—had begun to tug at her attention, like the tide pulling at the shore, subtle yet persistent. It was the artist, always just out of reach, her presence both familiar and enigmatic.

The mornings had become a ritual, a series of small, quiet encounters. Harper would rise early, the morning light casting a soft glow across the terrace as she sipped her coffee, her thoughts wandering even as she watched the sea. Some days, she’d come out to find the woman sitting alone, sketching the view, her eyes focused intently on the world around her as she captured it on paper. Harper would stand back, pretending to be lost in her thoughts, watching her, unable to tear herself away.

Each time their paths crossed, it was as if an invisible thread pulled them closer, but Harper remained cautious. There was something almost too delicate about these moments, too precious to ruin by being too forward. It was easier, safer, to just observe—though the longer it went on, the more she felt an unspoken pull toward the woman.

And yet, Harper couldn’t shake the guilt that lingered like a shadow, following her everywhere she went. Guilt about Ethan, about the fact that her marriage had long since ceased to be anything but a shell, a routine she couldn’t break. She didn’t care about him the way a wife should care about her husband. But still, the weight of their shared history pressed down on her, heavy and inescapable. And then there was the woman—the artist. The guilt wrapped around her in a different way. She wanted to know more about her, to spend time with her. But that would be wrong, wouldn’t it? She was married. She couldn’t let herself want this. She couldn’t let herself cross that line, especially when the woman, with her quiet intensity, seemed to exist in such stark contrast to everything Harper had come to know.

The artist, still nameless to Harper, had become the quiet pulse of her days, a lingering question that she had yet to answer. Harper told herself it was nothing, just a passing fancy, a fleeting curiosity. But there were mornings when she found herself looking for her, scanning the grounds of the hotel like a quiet observer, waiting for their paths to cross.

That particular morning, Harper wandered the hotel terrace, her feet carrying her aimlessly as she let the early morning light bathe her skin. She found herself standing near the stairs leading down to the beach, her gaze fixed on the horizon, where the sky kissed the sea in shades of soft pink and blue. She had come out to breathe, but as always, her mind found its way back to the artist, to the woman who had captivated her without meaning to.

And there she was again—sitting alone on the bench near the edge of the terrace, sketching the view with a kind of stillness that was almost reverential. Harper hesitated, wondering whether to leave her alone or approach. She wanted to know more, to ask questions. But there was something about this quiet space between them, something fragile and unspoken, that made Harper reluctant to break the silence.

But then, as though fate had decided to intervene, the artist looked up, her eyes meeting Harper’s. For a brief moment, they stood there, locked in a shared gaze, neither of them moving, neither of them speaking. And then the artist’s lips curled into the smallest of smiles, one that Harper could almost feel in her chest.

It was an invitation, subtle but unmistakable.

Harper’s breath caught, and without thinking, she moved closer, her feet carrying her forward as if compelled. “Good morning,” she said, her voice soft but not unsteady. There was an edge of uncertainty in her tone, a quiet admission that she wasn’t sure what to say, but she needed to say something.

“Good morning,” the woman replied, her voice calm, unhurried. She looked up at Harper, but there was no tension in her expression, just a quiet warmth that made Harper feel as though they had been doing this for years—exchanging pleasantries without any expectation.

“Are you still drawing?” Harper asked, her gaze drifting to the sketchpad in the woman’s hands. “I was watching you earlier... the view’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?”

The artist’s eyes flickered to the page before returning to Harper’s face. “Yes,” she said, her voice soft, as if the simple act of drawing held deeper meaning. “I like to capture things. I find it’s the only way to keep them with me. To hold on to the moment.”

Harper’s chest tightened, a strange tug at the edges of her heart. The woman’s words were so simple, but they felt like a confession of something deeper, something that Harper couldn’t quite name. She felt a wave of familiarity wash over her, even though she knew they had just met.

“That’s beautiful,” Harper said, almost absently. She didn’t even realize the sincerity in her voice until the words had already left her lips. She had become too accustomed to hiding behind pleasantries, behind the safety of small talk, but here, with the artist, everything felt different. It felt like they were speaking the same unspoken language, one made up of looks and gestures and fleeting moments.

The artist smiled again, her eyes dancing with something Harper couldn’t place. “Thank you,” she replied softly, and for a moment, the world outside their conversation seemed to blur. It was as if they were the only two people on the terrace, the only two people in the world.

Harper stood there, feeling the strange pull in her chest, but she wasn’t sure what to do with it. She couldn’t explain why she was so drawn to this woman. Why she felt this sudden desire to know more, to dig deeper into her story. But as the silence stretched on, Harper couldn’t shake the feeling that something was building, something fragile and raw, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

“So,” Harper said after a pause, her voice steady, though there was a slight tremor underneath, “I’ve been wondering…” She hesitated, unsure of how to frame the question, but it spilled out before she could stop herself. “What’s your name?”

The artist blinked, as if surprised by the question, but there was no hesitation in her eyes. She met Harper’s gaze directly, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “You don’t know my name yet?” she said softly, as though teasing.

Harper’s pulse quickened, and she laughed nervously. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

The artist chuckled, a low, melodic sound. “I’m Y/N,” she said, her name hanging in the air between them like a secret, a delicate thread that had finally been pulled into the light.

Y/N. Harper repeated the name in her mind, savoring the sound of it. There was something about it that seemed to fit, something about her that felt both familiar and entirely new. But even as the name left Y/N’s lips, Harper realized she knew something else. Something she hadn’t expected to hear.

“I overheard Ethan call you by your name last time,” Y/N said quietly, her voice carrying a strange weight, almost as if she were testing Harper.

Harper’s breath caught, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t thought of that moment—hadn’t realized that Y/N had been there, listening. It was a simple thing, really. Ethan had come down to the terrace, calling her name as they discussed their plans for the day. But hearing Y/N say it now made something shift in the air. The quiet distance between them had closed by just a fraction, and yet Harper wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not.

“Oh,” Harper said, her voice faltering slightly. She hadn’t realized Y/N had been paying attention to something so small. It felt intimate in a way Harper wasn’t quite ready to confront. “I didn’t think you were listening.”

Y/N’s smile was soft but knowing. “I was,” she said simply, the words hanging in the air like a question unasked.

Harper didn’t know how to respond. She didn’t know whether she should feel embarrassed or relieved or something entirely different. The tension between them had shifted again, deeper now, but still fragile. She wanted to say something, to bridge the gap between them, but all she could do was stand there, frozen in the moment.

“Well,” Harper said finally, clearing her throat, “it was nice to meet you, Y/N.” The words felt both too formal and too personal all at once.

Y/N nodded, her eyes soft but unreadable. “Likewise,” she replied, her voice quieter now, but still warm.

There was a moment of silence, and Harper wasn’t sure whether it was the silence of an ending or the silence before something else. Something unspoken. Y/N turned to leave, but not without a final glance over her shoulder.

“I’ll see you around,” Y/N said, her words carrying a strange finality. But there was also an invitation in them. An invitation that Harper wasn’t sure she was ready to accept.

As Y/N walked away, Harper’s chest tightened, and she watched her go, knowing that somehow, things had shifted. And though she had no idea where it was leading, she also knew she couldn’t walk away from it. Not now. Not when something so delicate and unresolved hung between them like the fragile thread of a promise neither of them had made.

With every step Y/N took, Harper felt the pull in her chest grow stronger. It was undeniable, even as the weight of her marriage, of Ethan, seemed to press down harder than ever. But there was something about Y/N—something in her presence, in the way she spoke, the way she looked at Harper—that made everything else feel distant, less important. It felt like an opening, like the beginning of something that Harper wasn’t sure she was ready for but couldn’t quite bring herself to walk away from.

So, Harper stood there for a moment longer, her heart racing, her thoughts tangled in the tension of what had just passed between them. The quiet morning stretched on, and Harper realized that she had just taken the first step down a path that could lead to something completely different—something both terrifying and exhilarating. But for now, she could only stand there, watching Y/N disappear into the distance, knowing that it was only a matter of time before their paths would cross again.

It was another night at The White Lotus, the soft buzz of laughter and glasses clinking filling the air, the sea outside slapping at the shore as if it were some quiet, distant promise. Harper sat alone at the bar, her eyes searching for some kind of solace in her glass, but nothing seemed to soothe her. Her argument with Ethan still felt fresh, a sting that she couldn’t shake no matter how much wine slid down her throat.

Her marriage had always been a series of ups and downs, moments of connection followed by stretches of indifference. Tonight, however, had felt different. Tonight, something had snapped, or perhaps it had simply frayed beyond recognition. The sharp words between them still echoed in her mind, louder than the music, the laughter, the steady pulse of the hotel. Ethan had been too self-assured, too distant, and Harper had been too quiet, too unwilling to let him see how deeply she’d been resenting the distance between them. So, she left him to sulk in their room and wandered down to the bar, drawn like a magnet to the familiar hum of the crowd.

She didn’t expect to see her. Not tonight.

The young artist was sitting by herself at the end of the bar, her back turned, a notebook resting in front of her, a glass of wine untouched beside it. The warm glow from the chandelier above her head highlighted the curve of her jaw, the soft way she held her pencil as if it were an extension of herself. Harper had seen her name on the artist’s sign-in sheet earlier in the day, and she knew her name—Y/n—but it was the kind of thing that slipped from her mind when she wasn’t focused. Tonight, though, there was something almost magnetic about her presence.

Harper knew she shouldn’t be looking. She shouldn’t be interested, shouldn’t let her gaze linger as it did. But it did anyway, as if there were a magnetic pull she couldn’t fight.

The artist—Y/n—had a way of absorbing everything around her, as if she were seeing the world in a way that was different, better, deeper. Harper couldn't help but feel drawn to her in a way that bordered on dangerous. But then again, nothing here had felt safe.

Harper smirked to herself, pushing off the bar and straightening her back. She wasn’t one to approach strangers—well, except for the countless superficial exchanges she had endured with guests, always wrapped in the fine art of politeness. But this was different. This felt different.

The words left her mouth before she could even stop herself.

“Well, I must be a sketchpad, because you’re clearly drawing me in,” Harper said, half-laughing at the sarcasm that dripped from her voice.

She watched as the artist’s pencil paused mid-air, then slowly lowered to her notebook. For a moment, Harper couldn’t read her expression—was it amusement? Annoyance? Curiosity? She wasn’t sure. But there it was again, that pull, that quiet energy between them, growing with each passing second.

Y/n tilted her head, her eyes tracing Harper for a moment before she broke into a smile, her lips curling into something sly and disarming.

“Well, if I’m drawing you in, I must say, I’m curious to see what you look like in pencil,” she replied, her voice a mix of playfulness and something more, something Harper couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Harper chuckled softly, amused by the young woman’s ease. “Maybe next time,” she said, “but tonight, I think I’d rather talk. You don’t mind, do you?”

Y/n shook her head, still smiling, but there was a flicker of something beneath her gaze, as if she were weighing Harper’s words, carefully measuring her presence.

“Not at all,” she said, taking a sip of her wine, the movement slow and deliberate, as if she were savoring something more than just the taste.

Harper took a seat beside her, the tension already settling in the air between them like a delicate thread that neither wanted to break. The distance was gone now, and all that remained was this strange, unspoken understanding, the kind that seemed to exist between two people who, for a moment, could only see each other and nothing else.

“So,” Harper began, trying to find something casual to say, “what’s your story?”

Y/n glanced up at her, eyes thoughtful. “My story? Well, I guess it’s nothing exciting. Just a girl, sitting in a fancy hotel, drawing things I see.”

Harper smirked. “How mysterious. I’m almost disappointed.”

Y/n shrugged, her smile never fading. “Not everything needs to be exciting.”

“No, I suppose not,” Harper agreed. She paused, swirling her drink, watching the liquid move. “But you must have some reason for coming here. I mean, the place isn’t exactly... low-key, is it?”

Y/n’s lips quirked up in a quiet smile. “I suppose it’s more of an escape than anything. I’ve been trying to finish some work, get away from... life for a while. The chaos. The noise.”

Harper’s eyes flickered. “You and me both,” she murmured, but the words were too soft for Y/n to catch, and Harper wasn’t sure if she wanted her to.

There was a brief pause, a silence that hung heavy in the air between them. Harper felt her gaze wander again, landing on Y/n’s notebook. She couldn’t help herself. She needed to know more.

“I’ve been wondering,” Harper started, her voice more measured now, a little more serious. “You’re always drawing, always sketching. What exactly do you see when you look at this place? The hotel, the people, the... everything?”

Y/n’s fingers brushed across the cover of her notebook, a slow, deliberate movement. “I see stories,” she said softly. “Everyone here has a story. You just have to look hard enough to see it.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “And what do you see when you look at me?”

Y/n paused, her lips pressing together for a moment. Then, she met Harper’s gaze with quiet intensity. “I see someone who doesn’t belong here,” she said, voice low but certain. “Someone who is caught between wanting something different and being afraid of it.”

Harper blinked, the words catching her off guard. It was as if Y/n had seen right through her, peeling back the layers of her facade, the neat little story she had carefully constructed in her mind.

“Maybe you’re right,” Harper replied, her voice quieter now. The alcohol had loosened something inside her, something raw. “Maybe I don’t belong here.”

Y/n tilted her head, her eyes softening. “What’s stopping you?”

Harper’s heart skipped a beat. The question was simple, but it felt like a weight that hung between them, heavy with possibility. She didn’t know what stopped her. Maybe it was Ethan, or maybe it was just the world they lived in, where everything had to be perfect, and people had to play their roles.

“I don’t know,” Harper said quietly, staring into her glass. “Maybe it’s fear.”

Y/n didn’t say anything for a moment, but the air between them shifted, and Harper felt something unexpected. A sudden, impulsive need to ask something she hadn’t planned on.

“Do you mind if I... come up to your room?” Harper said, her voice catching a little. She hadn’t meant to ask it out loud, but it was there, right on the tip of her tongue. “I just... I want to see your drawings.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if sensing something deeper in Harper’s words. There was a shift in her expression, an understanding that passed between them. “You’re not asking just to see my drawings, are you?” she said, her voice steady, but her gaze piercing.

Harper swallowed, feeling a heat rise in her cheeks. She had no idea why she had said it, no idea what she was expecting. But somehow, it felt right. Felt like she couldn’t stop herself now.

“I had a fight with my husband,” Harper said quietly, her voice tight. “Things are... difficult. I don’t want to go back to that room. Not yet.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, Y/n reached for her glass, sipping it slowly. “Okay,” she said, voice softer now. “You can come.”

Harper’s heart raced. There was something in the way Y/n said it, something that made her feel like maybe, just maybe, there was more to this than just a casual drink.

Harper nodded, her pulse quickening, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like she had stepped off the edge, unsure of what she would find, but ready to face it anyway.

Harper followed the young artist down the quiet hallway, the soft clicking of her heels echoing against the stone floors. The hotel felt oddly still at this hour, as if the world outside had slowed, or maybe it was just them, walking together in an unspoken truce, heading toward something neither had fully acknowledged yet. It was strange, the way it all felt inevitable, and yet, entirely unexpected. They didn’t talk much as they walked, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it felt almost natural, as if it belonged to the moment.

The artist’s room was only a few doors down, tucked away in a quiet corner of the hotel, a place where few guests bothered to venture. Harper didn’t know why that made her feel oddly reassured. She had expected something more grand, more polished, but instead, the artist’s space was a reflection of the kind of quiet rebellion Harper had sensed since their first conversation. It was cozy but unrefined, lived-in without apology.

The door clicked open with a soft sigh, and the young woman stepped aside to let Harper enter. She hesitated for only a moment before crossing the threshold. The room was dimly lit, the warm glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. There was a cluttered charm to it—papers scattered across the desk, brushes and pencils strewn on the floor as though the artist had left them mid-project. The air smelled faintly of paint and the soft tang of something sweeter, maybe incense, or something floral. It was disordered, yes—but not in a way that felt messy. It felt purposeful, as if the room itself were an extension of her creativity.

Harper stepped deeper into the space, her eyes drifting over the half-empty wine glass the young woman had abandoned on her desk. Sketchbooks were stacked neatly beside her bed, some with corners bent and others with the pages barely held together, as though they had been flipped through a hundred times. One sketchbook sat open on the desk, the pages filled with intricate designs—fascinating, delicate details of faces, buildings, shapes that had all been captured in the kind of precise and artistic chaos that only someone fully immersed in their craft could create.

There were also paintings on the floor against the walls—some finished, others still rough around the edges. Each one seemed to capture a moment of emotion, like little windows into the artist’s mind. A landscape bathed in the soft light of sunset, a figure standing in front of a window, the distant view outside hazy with rain. Harper found herself standing before one of them, her gaze lingering on the vivid brushstrokes, the rawness of the colors. There was something almost haunting about the way the artist rendered the world, as if she could make the intangible tangible in a way that no one else could.

As Harper wandered further into the room, she noticed a pile of canvases leaning against the wall, their backs to the space, waiting to be filled. She wondered what stories they would tell, what emotions they would capture once the artist’s hands got to them. And in that moment, she realized she had no idea why she was so fascinated by this. Was it just the art? The way it made her feel? Or was it something more, something deeper?

The young woman had closed the door behind them, and now she moved to the small desk, setting down her glass and picking up another sketchbook. Harper noticed the way she held it—delicately, as though she were afraid it might break if she wasn’t careful. There was something inherently vulnerable about the artist, something soft underneath that confident exterior she had put on in front of Harper. The wine glass in Harper’s hand was forgotten as she wandered across the room to the desk, catching sight of the artist’s fingers brushing over the pages.

Without a word, the artist opened the sketchbook in front of her, and Harper’s gaze fell onto the delicate sketches. At first, the images seemed like a blur of abstract shapes, but as she looked closer, she realized that the young woman had been capturing moments—expressions, gestures, fleeting looks that had passed between people, moments of intimacy hidden behind eyes or in the way fingers brushed against skin. But then, something caught Harper off guard. There, amid the collection of sketches, was a drawing of her.

Harper blinked, unsure if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. It was a portrait of her, or at least, of the version of herself the artist had seen. It wasn’t overly flattering; it was raw, unrefined, as if the artist had captured her not in her best light but in some small, intimate moment, a private reflection that Harper had never intended to reveal.

There she was—caught in a moment of quiet contemplation, her eyes focused somewhere far beyond the page, her lips slightly parted as if she were on the cusp of saying something. Harper couldn’t help but admire the way the artist had captured her, not as the polished image everyone else saw, but as something deeper, something less easily understood.

The young woman’s hand trembled slightly as she closed the book, as if she were waiting for Harper to say something, anything. But the silence stretched on, thick with something unspoken. Harper didn’t know what to say, but there was a part of her that wanted to acknowledge it, wanted to ask more about it—why she had drawn her, what had made her want to capture that fleeting moment. Instead, she only looked at her, taking a sip from her glass as if the act of drinking would buy her a moment to collect her thoughts.

The young artist seemed to notice her hesitation, and after a long moment, her voice broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her eyes dropping to the floor as if she were ashamed. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Harper frowned, leaning against the desk as she studied the young woman, trying to read her expression. There was something in her voice, something fragile in the way she apologized, as if she were afraid of pushing Harper away with her own vulnerability.

“Uncomfortable?” Harper repeated, her voice quieter than usual. “I’m not uncomfortable.” She hesitated for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “It’s... just surprising. You’ve been watching me.”

The young woman bit her lip, clearly unsure of how to respond. She looked up, her eyes locking with Harper’s, and for a brief moment, Harper saw the flicker of something—fear? Regret? It was hard to tell.

“I... I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were being watched,” the young woman said softly. “I just... I don’t know. I’ve been coming here for a while, and I noticed you. I guess you’re... a kind of puzzle to me. You’re different from the other people I’ve met. And when I draw people, I like to understand them—who they are, how they see the world. It’s not... it’s not about... well, anything inappropriate. I promise.”

Harper couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips, though it was soft, almost sad. There was something so unguarded in the young woman’s confession, a kind of openness that Harper hadn’t expected. She could see how much the artist cared about her work, how deeply she felt things—maybe more deeply than Harper did herself. It was almost like a quiet kind of honesty, something rare in the world Harper inhabited, where everything was filtered through layers of carefully constructed facades.

“I’m not offended,” Harper said after a beat, her voice steady but with a touch of warmth. “I don’t think I’ve ever been captured like that before—so... raw.”

The young woman’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, and she shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry if it’s... too much,” she said, her voice small, almost childlike. “I never know when to stop.”

Harper could tell that it wasn’t just about the drawings, that there was something more—something deeper in the young woman’s words. She wasn’t just talking about art; she was talking about her own need to understand, to see beyond the surface of people. There was a yearning in her, a desire to find meaning in the chaos of the world around her, and in some strange way, Harper found herself wanting to help her find it.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Harper said gently, her tone softer now. “You don’t need to stop, either. But maybe we should talk more about this—about why you draw people the way you do. Why you’re so... interested in me.”

The artist’s eyes lifted to meet hers again, and for the first time that night, there was a flicker of something stronger than uncertainty in her gaze. Something that felt like trust, like a bridge being built between them.

“I think I’m trying to figure out what it means to truly see someone,” the young woman said quietly. “And what it means to be seen.”

Harper’s heart skipped a beat at the words. There was a depth to the artist, a kind of wisdom hidden beneath the softness. It was a part of her Harper hadn’t expected, something both vulnerable and strong.

Maybe this was more than just a momentary distraction. Maybe it was the beginning of something else entirely.

And maybe, just maybe, it was exactly what Harper had been looking for all along.

The night outside the hotel window was deep and thick with silence, the world reduced to shadows and whispers of wind. Harper hadn’t expected to find herself here—so far away from the tangled, cold embrace of her marriage, a place she didn’t know how to leave but couldn’t quite inhabit anymore. But there she was, standing at the edge of the young artist’s life, with nothing but the taste of wine on her lips and the smoke curling around her fingers.

It was strange, this space between them. The words had come easy at first, each one flowing like an unspoken invitation, but now, with the distance closed and the conversation heavier, every glance seemed to weigh more. Harper had always been good at pushing things away, keeping them at arm’s length. But tonight? Tonight felt different. The artist had a way of drawing her in—like a magnet, irresistible and powerful.

Harper inhaled deeply from the cigarette between her fingers, feeling the warmth in her chest as she leaned against the balcony railing. The soft hum of the city echoed below, but up here, it was just the two of them. The artist stood a little to her side, her gaze lost in the distance, her posture casual but her hands fidgeting slightly, as though she were waiting for something.

“So,” Harper finally said, breaking the silence that had grown long between them, “Tell me more about your art. The things you’ve drawn... I mean.”

The artist’s gaze shifted to meet hers, her expression unreadable for a moment, but Harper could see the faint glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. “What do you want to know?”

Harper smirked, throwing her cigarette to the ground and stamping it out with her heel. “Why me? Why so focused on me?”

The young woman took a long breath, her shoulders rising slightly before dropping, as though she were debating something in her mind. Finally, her voice came, low and hesitant, but it carried the weight of something unspoken.

“I think... I think there’s a part of you that I don’t understand. I want to know what it is, what makes you... tick.” She paused, and Harper watched her carefully, a knowing expression on her face. “I guess I’ve always been drawn to people who are hard to read. It’s like... I need to figure it out.”

Harper chuckled softly, her eyes narrowing. “You think I’m hard to read?”

“Yeah,” the young woman said, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. “You have that look about you. You hide things well.”

“I hide a lot of things,” Harper admitted, her voice thick with something close to regret. “But I suppose we all do, don’t we?”

For a long moment, they stood there, side by side, both lost in their thoughts, the air between them growing heavier by the second. It wasn’t just the wine anymore; it was something else. Something unspoken and undeniable. Harper couldn’t ignore the way her heart was racing, the way the young woman’s presence seemed to make everything else fade into the background.

The artist took a long sip from her wine glass, her eyes shifting over to Harper, lingering there longer than before. Her lips parted as though she were about to say something, but then she hesitated, her gaze dropping.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like... to know someone completely?” the young woman asked, her voice quieter now, laced with a kind of vulnerability Harper hadn’t expected. “I mean, really know them. Every secret, every thought. Would you want that?”

Harper’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she felt her pulse quicken, the weight of the question sinking deep into her chest. She wasn’t prepared for this. Not tonight. Not with the artist standing so close, so raw, so honest in a way that was unfamiliar.

“I don’t know,” Harper said, her voice faltering slightly. She shook her head, her eyes refusing to meet the young woman’s. “Maybe I’m too afraid to know.”

“Afraid of what?”

Harper’s lips parted, but the words felt stuck, caught somewhere deep inside her. She could feel the pull—the desire to say something, to admit something she hadn’t dared to even acknowledge. She took a shaky breath and finally turned her head to meet the artist’s gaze.

“Afraid of letting someone in,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Afraid of what they might see. What they might think.”

The young woman watched her for a moment longer, her expression softening. The tension between them was palpable now, a thread pulling taut, threatening to snap. And then, as if on impulse, the young woman blurted out a question, the words tumbling out before she could stop herself.

“Would you like to get to know me if you could?” The words felt clumsy, like they didn’t belong, but there was something so earnest in the way she asked it, something so vulnerable. “Because... I would.”

The words hung in the air between them, a confession without a filter. And just as quickly as they left her mouth, the young woman seemed to recoil, as if she had realized too late the implication of what she had just said. She stammered out an apology, her face flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, her voice almost frantic. “I didn’t mean—It’s just, I was thinking and... well, I don’t know why I said that. You don’t have to—”

But Harper was already stepping closer, her gaze softening as she watched the young woman fumble over her words. There was something about the way she had spoken, so unguarded and raw, that made Harper’s heart clench. It was real. All of it. This was real.

“It’s okay,” Harper said, her voice low, almost a whisper. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on the artist’s arm, grounding her in the moment. “It’s okay.”

The young woman glanced up at her, her face still flushed, her lips parted as if she was waiting for something more. And in that moment, Harper realized what it was she had wanted. Something honest. Something genuine. Something she hadn’t allowed herself to seek for a long time.

“I mean... we can just be friends,” the young woman added quickly, her voice wavering. “Sorry. I’m talking shit. I don’t know why I said that.”

But Harper’s smile was slow, tentative, but unmistakable. A glimmer of something dangerous flickered in her eyes.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Harper said, her voice smooth and steady. “In fact, I... I kind of like the idea.”

The young woman’s eyes widened at the response, and for a moment, neither of them moved. It was as if the world had paused, holding its breath, waiting for the next step.

“But—” the artist began, unsure, her words faltering as she stepped back slightly, a glimmer of doubt creeping into her gaze.

Harper chuckled softly, the sound deep and warm, but there was an edge to it, something knowing.

“But you’re married,” the artist said, her voice suddenly quiet, her eyes darting away.

“Yeah,” Harper murmured, her smile faltering just slightly. “I am.”

The young woman was quiet for a long time, her gaze falling to the ground as if she were contemplating something. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating, but it was also electric. It hummed between them, palpable and undeniable. And as much as Harper knew she shouldn’t, she couldn’t help but feel drawn to it. To the young artist. To what could be. To what was still a possibility.

“I shouldn’t be thinking like this,” Harper admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t help it.”

And in that moment, they both knew something had shifted. Neither of them said it aloud, but they both understood. What they were doing was dangerous. It wasn’t just a casual drink, a friendly chat anymore. It was more. It had become something else, something both thrilling and terrifying.

The artist glanced up at Harper, her expression conflicted, unsure of how to proceed. But before she could say anything, Harper spoke again.

“We’ll figure this out,” Harper said, her voice firm, as if she were trying to reassure them both. “But right now... let’s just stay in the moment.”

And for a while, they did. In the quiet of the balcony, with the city sprawling beneath them, they stayed there, drinking, smoking, talking, the tension between them building slowly, one word at a time.

And neither of them could deny that, in some quiet corner of their minds, they both knew this wasn’t over. It had only just begun.

I really like this one <3 btw if you want a sequel I can try to write it ! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it !

[reveryfics]

Deadly

Pairings: Loki x Male reader

Summary: Loki watching helplessly as you sacrifice yourself to stop Thanos

A/n: This isn't a happy ending.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The frigid air whipped at Loki's bare feet, the echoing clatter a frantic counterpoint to the pounding of his own heart. He gripped the Infinity Stone, its icy surface a stark contrast to the inferno raging within him.

He twisted, his head snapping back, the blurry faces of TVA agents blurring into a panicked mosaic. He had to escape, had to find a sanctuary, a place to unravel the terrifying secrets this stolen artifact held. He sprinted, the labyrinthine corridors of the TVA a dizzying blur.

Finally, he stumbled into an empty chamber, the heavy door groaning shut behind him with a triumphant clang. He leaned against it, gasping for air, the Infinity Stone a burning weight in his palm.

His gaze fell upon a small table, a projector perched precariously upon its surface. Curiosity, a dangerous siren song, beckoned him. With trembling hands, he slotted the stone into the designated slot, the machine whirring to life with an ominous hum.

The projector flickered, then settled, casting a haunting tableau upon the wall. A figure, desolate and alone, knelt in the dust, their shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Loki's breath hitched. It was him. His own lifeless form, a macabre effigy of his own demise. He watched, paralyzed with horror, as his lover, his soulmate, cradled his lifeless body, their face a mask of grief.

Tears welled in Loki's eyes, blurring the already horrifying scene. He saw the raw, unfiltered agony etched on his lover's face – the blood, the bruises, the ash that clung to their skin like a shroud. He saw the silent tears tracing paths through the grime, a testament to the depth of their despair.

"No," Loki whispered, the sound swallowed by the chilling silence of the chamber. "No, no, no..."

He watched as his lover, their face a picture of ravaged beauty, gently cupped his cheek, their lips tracing a desperate path across his cold skin. They whispered words of love, of longing, of a future cruelly snatched away. Then, they rose, a figure of vengeance born from the ashes of despair.

Their eyes, once bright and filled with life, now held a chilling emptiness, a void where hope and joy once resided. They turned, their gaze locking onto the figure responsible for this unimaginable torment – Thanos.

"You," they hissed, their voice a venomous serpent, "you took everything from me!"

Thanos, the titan, the conqueror, met their gaze, a flicker of unease in his eyes. He knew the depths of their grief, the monstrous power it could unleash.

"What gives you the right?" they continued, their voice rising to a chilling crescendo. "To decide the fate of millions? To extinguish hope, to shatter worlds? You are not a god, you are a pathetic tyrant, a shadow of the man you claim to be!"

Their words, fueled by grief and rage.

The air crackled with the aftermath of their brutal exchange. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of moonlight, illuminating the carnage. Thanos, towering and imposing, stood amidst the wreckage, the Infinity Gauntlet gleaming ominously.

"You think you can just snap your fingers and erase lives?" their voice rasped, each word a testament to their unwavering will. "Like they're nothing more than ants beneath your boot?"

Thanos, unfazed, regarded them with cold indifference. "Balance, child. The universe cannot sustain itself with such unchecked growth."

"Balance?" He scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You call this balance? A universe built on genocide? You are a plague, Thanos. A blight upon existence."

"You are but a single voice, a whisper in the grand symphony of the cosmos," Thanos countered, his voice a low growl. "Your loss… insignificant."

"Insignificant?" He spat, his eyes blazing with fury. "You dare to call the loss of a love, a life, insignificant? You, who have never known the warmth of another's touch, the comfort of a shared breath?"

Thanos remained unfazed. He raised a hand, the Gauntlet crackling with energy, a silent promise of impending doom.

"You think this ends here?" He snarled, a chilling smile playing on their lips. "You think you can simply crush me, like the countless others you have slaughtered?"

"You are no hero," Thanos declared, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You are but a speck of dust, a fleeting moment in the eternal sands of time."

"I will make you regret those words, you purple tyrant!" they roared, their voice a thunderclap in the stillness.

And then, the fight erupted.

Fueled by grief and rage, was a whirlwind of motion, his movements a desperate dance of defiance. They were fast, ferocious, his every strike imbued with a raw, primal power. Thanos, though vastly more powerful, was surprised by his ferocity. He was forced to defend himself, his movements heavy but deliberate. He tried to overpower them, but he was relentless, his spirit indomitable.

He landed a devastating blow, sending Thanos reeling. He roared in anger, the Gauntlet glowing brighter. But before he could retaliate, he struck again, this time with a desperate, all-consuming fury.

Thanos, staggered, stumbled back. He raised a hand to counterattack, but it was too late. His body wracked with pain, lunged forward, his blade finding its mark.

Thanos, his eyes widening in disbelief, collapsed. The Infinity Gauntlet slipped from his grasp, clattering to the dusty floor.

His breath coming in ragged gasps, stumbled towards Thanos, their eyes fixed on the fallen titan. A single tear rolled down their cheek, a silent tribute to the love they had lost.

With a final, shuddering breath, he whispered, "Loki……I love you." and collapsed to the ground, his blood staining the cold, unforgiving world.

The silence that followed was deafening. The only sound was the distant echo of their own ragged breaths, a stark reminder of the finality of their victory.

The sight before him was a grotesque mockery of life. His love, his vibrant, mischievous love, lay still, the color draining from his face, his eyes staring vacantly at the unforgiving world. Loki's knees buckled, the cold, metallic floor a harsh contrast to the warmth that had just been extinguished from his world.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, raw and filled with a pain so profound it threatened to shatter his very being. He sank to the ground, clutching at the empty space beside him, his fingers digging into the fabric of his jumpsuit.

Fury, a blinding, white-hot rage, surged through him. He lashed out, his hand connecting with the projector. It shattered against the wall, fragments raining down like a cruel, metallic hail.

The frigid air whipped at Loki's bare feet, the echoing clatter a frantic counterpoint to the pounding of his own heart. He gripped the Infinity Stone, its icy surface a stark contrast to the inferno raging within him.

The Time Variance Authority, the supposed guardians of the sacred timeline, had become his prison, his torture chamber. He had watched, utterly helpless, as the threads of fate, the very fabric of reality, were cruelly manipulated, leading to this devastating outcome.

Loki's vision blurred, tears of anguish mingling with the grime on his face. He had lost everything – his freedom, his hope, and now, the most precious thing of all.

The Infinity Stone, once a symbol of power and ambition, now felt like a cold, heavy weight in his hand, a constant, agonizing reminder of his impotence, his utter failure to protect the one he loved.

[intheticklecloset]

TickleTober 2024 Masterlist

1 - Fall Leaves: Lee Todoroki, Ler Kaminari (MHA)

2 - Thunderstorm: Lee Nirei, Ler Sakura (Wind Breaker)

3 - Caramel Apple: Lee Kageyama, Ler Hinata (Haikyuu)

4 - Fire: Lee Yuno, Ler Leo (Black Clover)

5 - Moon: Lee Atsushi, Ler Akutagawa (BSD)

6 - Scarecrow: Lee Chrome, Ler Ukyo (Dr. Stone)

7 - Pumpkin: Lee Kirishima, Lers Bakusquad (MHA)

8 - Pie: Lee Chuuya, Ler Dazai (BSD)

9 - Shiver: Lee Bakugou, Ler Todoroki (MHA)

10 - Candy Corn: Lee Miyano, Ler Sasaki (Sasaki and Miyano)

11 - Black Cat: Lee Deku, Ler Shinsou (MHA)

12 - Witch: Lee Finral, Ler Vanessa (Black Clover)

13 - Boo!: Lee Isagi, Ler Bachira (Blue Lock)

14 - Nightmare: Lee Arthur, Ler Shinra (Fire Force)

15 - Haunted House: Lee Suo; Lers Kiryu, Nirei, and Sakura (Wind Breaker)

16 - Chase: Lees Chigiri and Nagi, Ler Kunigami (Blue Lock)

17 - Skeleton: Lee Mihashi, Ler Abe (Big Windup!)

18 - Jell-O Brain: Lee Gen, Ler Senku (Dr. Stone)

19 - Costumes: Lee Takato, Ler Junta (Dakaichi)

20 - Tickle Monster: Lee Luck, Ler Yami (Black Clover)

21 - Scary Movie: Lee Bachira, Ler Rin (Blue Lock)

22 - Blood: Lee Choji, Ler Togame (Wind Breaker)

23 - Ghost: Lee Sigma, Ler Dazai (BSD)

24 - Evil: Lee Asta, Ler Liebe (Black Clover)

25 - Clown: Lee Poe, Ler Ranpo (BSD)

26 - Scream: Lee Deku, Ler All Might (MHA)

27 - Shadows: Lee Higuchi, Ler Gin (BSD)

28 - Vampire: Lee Mika, Ler Yu (Seraph of the End)

29 - Eerie Music: Lee Loid, Ler Yor (Spy x Family)

30 - Halloween Party: Lee Langa, Ler Reki (Sk8 the Infinity)

31 - Trick or Treat: Lee Blitz, Ler Stolas (Helluva Boss)

[shadowxmaria]

Collecting Shadow ships like infinity stones

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Day.6 ~ Honour to the gods ~ Hallowtober

Emperor Geta x priestess!reader

warning : mention/description of sacrificing a goat, blood, using a dagger, kiss, no use of Y/n

summary : When the leaves turn colourful and the winds bring messages, the younger of the two emperors went to the temples not only to make a sacrifice and pray for strength but also to see a special person in this chilly time.

info : So the sixth day and even if not Halloween I hope that I have brought in some autumn feeling, have fun reading and thanks for all the support ;)

masterlist

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

In spring and summer there were always the games in the Coloseum, the place where wars were fought, victors became heroes and heroes became legends carved in stone.

It was a place where anything seemed possible, at least for the first half of the year before it got cooler and the torches had to be lit more often, torches that lit the way and the oil lamps that you held in your hand if you didn't have a lantern.

All these things were noticed by the common people, the gladiators, the soldiers and also the emperors and the priestesses in the temples.

They all knew that with the coming of the cold they were reminded of their mortality, a reminder they cherished, a reminder that made them realise the importance of the gods.

For the gods were immortal and would help them through the winter that would bring many deaths if they didn't prepare properly and pray enough.

,,A goat brother? Last year it was just a chicken, what do you hope to get from the gods?" his older brother's question echoed in the corridor. Geta was dressed in a dark toga with golden embellishments but above all a light golden lion's fur was placed on his shoulders like a cloak to protect him from the cold, his blue eyes went to his brother's who looked at him with amusement.

Caracalla usually found praying boring, the silence and tranquillity were nothing for the restless older brother and the wooden carved boat told Geta that his brother would probably rather show off playing a prayer, ,,For devotion to the gods of our souls…would do you good too brother" replied the blond, not giving his brother another glance and pulling on the rope so that the animal followed him out of the palace.

It was no ordinary goat, he had chosen it personally, the black fur like a shadow and the bright eyes like the moon, he hoped to gain their approval for this generous sacrifice as well as that of the gods, as it was in autumn that he had first seen it.

When the priestesses had sung prayers through the city and passed the palace, it was she who had placed the wreath of flowers on him and his brother, ,,May the gods protect you and lead you to infinity…my Geta" she had said, but he had seen her eyes dart to his lips for a fraction of the wreath of flowers.

She had wanted him and he had wanted her. He couldn't get her out of his mind and yet he knew that he could only see her once a year when autumn came and he brought her an opfeurng to get answers and today, as he walked up the stairs the animal seemed calm as if it knew what was coming, that there was a good outcome.

He had only placed two guards outside it was a sacred place and except for the weapons of the priestesses no man was allowed to bring a sword inside, ,,My connection to the gods, priestess of this temple hear me and show your holiness to me your Emperor" he said his voice echoing around the great hall as he saw her form in the shadows of the fire echoes.

Feeling the breeze of autumn stirring the fruits and leaves she walked towards him, ,,You are back with another generous offering I see…this is loving, the gods will be pleased" her voice rang out as her body clad in a pure white toga made its way towards him.

Her hand laid on his for a moment and he felt the urge to touch her but couldn't as she took the animal to the altar.

,,I hoped to please you as well, my devotion is also to your marvellous work," he admitted and walked slowly towards her as he saw the blade flash and knew that the room was about to fill with the smell of blood. But her brief evasive look at his compliment was not lost on him, even in a temple of the gods she could not hide her feelings.

A blood that flowed in her, a blood that he would taste if only he could see and touch her more often.

The cry of the animal was ignored by both and the blood flowed down the altar the dagger stained her with blood as she turned to him her hands and lips stained with blood, ,,Take the path of trust and your line will stand, If you fail and forget yourselves, Rome will fall," she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper as her eyes looked up at the ceiling, at the painting of the moon and Geta tried to read the words.

Trying to understand what the gods were telling him as he gripped her hand tightly pulling her towards him as he wanted to hear more, but she fell silent and looked at him as if she had woken up from something, ,,I'll give you more and give me you" he murmured his fingers running over her cheek smudging the make-up on her cheeks before running his fingers over her blood stained lips.

Sensing that it was still slightly warm, no longer alive but the last breath seemed to be there they were only moments apart and he took her word as he kissed her, a brief intense kiss tasting her and the blood for a moment listening to what the gods had told her and holding her close before suddenly a roar went through the temple and the torches almost all went out.

The kiss was the reward of his feelings, his attempts and her calling for him, it was a kiss that bound them both together.

They both shuddered and he saw her disturbed yet unexpected expression as her hand lay on his, ,,I'll protect-" he wanted to say, but he saw her shake her head, the brief smile as she looked at him as if he had learnt nothing and she ran her hand over his face.

,,It's the gods Geta…I see you in my dreams…but stay away from this place until next autumn,’ she commanded before she broke away from him and gave him one last look before disappearing into the darkness of the temple.

But as he looked into his hand he saw a bracelet a light coloured metal with a white gemstone which she was actually wearing, ,,I will appease the gods until I have you" he said and looked up giving the gods to understand that just because it was the dark month he would not be tamed and she would be his sooner or later.

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

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ STEREO HEARTS ♡·˚

— [♡] ; gojo's infinity marks the bond you share with him, an unseen force etched forever into your skin. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: found family, tattoo, protective gojo satoru, graduation, gojo satoru being a dad, soft, emotional support, fluff.

wc. 4.1K

The wind rustled gently through the trees, carrying with it the soft scent of early summer. You stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching the shadows stretch longer across the stone pathways of Jujutsu High. The place was quiet now, a rare moment of peace that left you with too much time to think. Graduation was only a few days away, and that thought sat in your chest like a weight—heavy, inevitable, yet hard to fully grasp. The end of your time here, the end of a chapter that had shaped you in ways you never expected.

You'd fought curses, survived battles, and learned what it meant to carry the weight of responsibility, but that wasn’t what you would remember most. It was the people—your friends—who had left the deepest marks. You smiled to yourself as you thought about Nobara’s sharp tongue, Yuji’s infectious laughter, and Megumi’s quiet yet steady presence. They had been with you through everything, through moments of joy and grief, through victories and losses.

And then, of course, there was Gojo Satoru.

You could never put your feelings about him into words. He wasn’t just your teacher. He was the unshakable pillar who stood tall in the chaos, always there to pull you back from the edge when you felt lost. His easy-going smile and nonchalant attitude might fool others, but you knew better. Beneath the surface, Gojo cared. He cared deeply. He saw things in his students that no one else did. That sense of safety, of knowing Gojo always had your back, had carried you through the darkest times.

A quiet sigh escaped your lips as the thought of leaving all this behind settled in. It wasn’t just the missions, the training, or the daily life at Jujutsu High. It was this—the bonds you’d made, the feeling that no matter what, you had a place here, with these people.

“Hey.”

Nobara’s voice cut through your thoughts, her presence beside you a comfort. She stood with her arms crossed, staring out at the horizon where the sun was slowly dipping behind the treetops, bathing the sky in shades of orange and purple. “Can you believe we’re leaving this place soon?” she asked, her tone unusually soft.

You shook your head. “It feels... surreal.”

Nobara nodded, her brow furrowing. "Yeah. It’s weird to think about. We should do something, though."

“Something?” you echoed, unsure of what she meant.

“To mark the end of all this.” Nobara waved her hand vaguely, gesturing at the school grounds, at the memories. “And Gojo-sensei... He’s been there for us through everything. I feel like we should honor that somehow.”

“Honor Gojo?” Yuji’s voice came from behind, startling you both. He appeared with his usual grin, though even he couldn’t hide the slight sadness in his eyes. “What, you wanna throw him a party or something?”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Please. You think Gojo would care about a party? I’m talking about something that actually means something. Something permanent.”

You frowned, thinking over her words. What could you possibly do to honor Gojo, someone who was impossible to define, impossible to thank with something as simple as a gift? Your mind raced, trying to think of something that would capture the essence of what he meant to all of you. Then, out of nowhere, an idea hit you.

“A tattoo,” you said, the words spilling out before you could think them through.

Yuji blinked at you, clearly taken aback. “A tattoo?”

Nobara tilted her head, considering it. “Hmm. I’m listening.”

“Well,” you began, gathering your thoughts, “it’s something that will always be with us. A reminder of everything we’ve been through, and of Gojo, too. It doesn’t have to be anything big. Just... a symbol.”

“A symbol,” Yuji repeated, his face lighting up with excitement. “Yeah, like something that ties all of us together!”

Nobara tapped her chin, a slow grin spreading across her face. “That’s actually not a bad idea. I’m in.”

“What do you think, Megumi?” you asked, turning to where Megumi stood a few feet away, pretending not to listen. His eyes flickered with a hint of amusement as he approached the group.

“A tattoo, huh?” Megumi’s voice was even, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea. “If it means something to all of us, I’m not against it.”

Nobara clapped her hands together, excitement bubbling over now that Megumi had agreed. “Alright, then. We need to figure out what this tattoo is gonna look like.”

The four of you found a quiet spot on the steps, the conversation flowing easily as ideas bounced around. At first, the suggestions were playful—Yuji joked about getting Gojo’s infinity symbol across his back, Nobara proposed a cursed tool icon, and Megumi, in his typical deadpan style, suggested a frog in reference to his shikigami.

Eventually, the group settled into something more serious. You all knew the tattoo should be small and meaningful, something simple but powerful, like the bonds you shared. It would be a mark of the trust, the hardships, and the guidance Gojo had provided.

“Maybe something with Gojo’s limitless,” Nobara suggested, her voice thoughtful now. “It’s iconic, and... it represents him, in a way.”

“And us,” Yuji added. “He’s the reason we’re here, right?”

As the conversation drifted on into the night, you felt a sense of closure starting to take shape. This tattoo would be your way of carrying these memories, these friendships, and Gojo’s influence with you, wherever you went.

It wouldn’t be easy to leave, but knowing you had this bond with your friends—and a permanent reminder of everything Gojo had done for you—made it a little more bearable as the day of graduation finally arrived.

The ceremonies had ended, the speeches were over, and the official farewells had been said. Yet, as the sun dipped low in the sky, casting the school grounds in a golden glow, a different kind of anticipation settled over you. This wasn’t just the end of your time at Jujutsu High. It was also the day you and your friends would reveal your shared tribute to Gojo.

You stood outside the courtyard with Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi, each of you a little nervous but also excited. The tattoo was small but meaningful, etched onto the inside of your wrists. You pressed your hand over it, feeling the slight twinge of soreness from the fresh ink. It hadn’t been painful, but the weight of what it represented made it feel significant—like something you’d carry with you always.

The tattoo was a clean, minimalist design: a single blue infinity, a simple yet iconic symbol of the man who had guided you through the toughest moments of your lives. It was a subtle mark, but it carried with it a depth that words couldn’t express. For the rest of your lives, Gojo would be with you, even if you didn’t always see him.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” Yuji said, grinning as he rubbed the spot on his skin where his own tattoo lay.

Nobara smirked. “We can’t back out now. Besides, Gojo is going to love it. I mean, how often do people get a tattoo in honor of their teacher?”

“Never,” Megumi muttered, but even he couldn’t hide the tiny curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

You felt the nervous energy bouncing between all of you, but it was more than that—it was pride. You were proud of the bond you shared with your friends, and proud of the silent impact Gojo had made on each of your lives. Today wasn’t just about leaving Jujutsu High. It was about showing Gojo what he meant to you all in a way that words never could.

“Ready?” you asked, glancing between your friends.

“Let’s do it,” Nobara said with a nod, determination sparking in her eyes.

The four of you made your way toward the main building, where Gojo was waiting. He stood near the entrance, his white hair catching the fading sunlight, his blindfold securely in place. He turned as you approached, his usual carefree grin already plastered across his face.

“There you are, my adorable little graduates!” Gojo’s voice rang out as he opened his arms in mock celebration. “How does it feel to finally be free? Ready to take on the world?”

Yuji laughed, scratching the back of his head. “Yeah, something like that…”

Gojo’s grin widened. “Aw, don’t be shy. You know I’ve trained you to be the best there is! So, what brings my beloved students back to me? Can’t bear the thought of leaving me behind?”

You exchanged a quick glance with Nobara, your heartbeat quickening. The moment had arrived.

“Well, Sensei,” Nobara started, her tone surprisingly serious for once, “we have something to show you.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, curious now. “Oh? What could it be? A graduation gift for me?”

“Something like that,” you replied, taking a small step forward. You exchanged a quick glance with the others, and together, you lifted your wrists, revealing the fresh ink. The small blue symbol of his infinity stood out sharply against your skin, simple yet unmistakable.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Gojo was speechless.

He blinked, the usual grin fading from his face as his gaze settled on the tattoos. The silence stretched on for a few beats longer than you expected, and for a moment, you worried that maybe he wouldn’t understand. Maybe this was too much, too permanent.

But then, Gojo’s lips curved into something softer, something far more genuine than his usual playful smirk. He reached up, pulling the lower corner of his blindfold up just a fraction so that you could see his bright blue eye, piercing and unguarded. The sight of his uncovered gaze made your heart skip a beat—Gojo rarely showed his eyes like this, only in moments that truly mattered.

“Infinity,” he said softly, his voice a little lower, a little more thoughtful. “You got this for me?”

Nobara nodded, her expression firm. “It’s more than that. It’s a reminder of everything you’ve done for us. We wouldn’t be where we are without you, Sensei.”

Yuji grinned. “And we wanted something permanent to carry with us, no matter where we go.”

Gojo’s eyes softened, and for a moment, he just stood there, taking it all in. Then, slowly, he reached out, resting a hand lightly on Yuji’s wrist, where the tattoo lay. “You’re all idiots, you know that?” he said, but his tone was warm, affectionate in a way that caught you off guard. “But I’m proud of you.”

Nobara snorted. “Don’t get cocky. This isn’t just about you.”

Gojo chuckled, but the warmth in his eyes didn’t fade. He stepped forward, resting a hand lightly on Yuji’s shoulder, then Nobara’s, then Megumi’s. Finally, he stopped in front of you, and for a brief moment, the world felt smaller, quieter. Gojo’s eyes softened as they met yours, and he gave you a subtle nod.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “All of you.”

Your heart swelled with emotion. This was Gojo Satoru, the strongest, the most unpredictable person you knew, and for once, he was showing you a side of him that was real—unguarded, sincere.

He stepped back, flashing you all a bright grin. “Alright, I guess I’ll allow it. But don’t think this means you can slack off now that you’re graduates. You’ve got a lot to live up to, especially since you’ll be carrying this reminder of me forever.”

Yuji laughed, the tension breaking as the group relaxed. “Trust me, we know.”

Gojo gave you one last glance, a spark of pride and affection in his gaze before he turned on his heel, heading toward the exit. “Now, go celebrate, you bunch of softies. I expect great things from you.”

As he disappeared from view, the four of you stood there, the weight of what had just happened settling over you. It wasn’t just about the tattoo—it was about what it symbolized. You’d given Gojo a part of yourselves, and in return, he had given you something equally important: his pride, his affection, and a reminder that no matter where you went, he’d always be with you.

Graduation had come and gone, and though life was changing, one thing remained constant—Gojo’s unpredictable presence. He popped in and out of your lives with the same carefree attitude he’d always had, reminding you that no matter how far you ventured into the world of jujutsu, he would never be too far away.

A few days after the ceremony, Gojo showed up unannounced, as usual, just as you and your friends were lounging in the common room, enjoying a brief respite before your next mission. He walked in with that familiar grin on his face, hands casually stuffed into his pockets.

“Well, well,” Gojo said, his voice ringing with mock seriousness, “look at you all, still lounging around. Shouldn’t you guys be out saving the world by now?”

Yuji laughed, tossing a pillow in Gojo’s direction, which Gojo dodged easily. “We’re taking a break, Sensei. Let us relax for a bit!”

Gojo waved his hand dismissively, though the teasing smile never left his face. “Fine, fine. But before you all go off to become heroes, I’ve got something for you.”

Nobara narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You? Giving us a gift? What’s the catch?”

Gojo feigned a hurt expression, pressing a hand to his chest. “Catch? Can’t a teacher show his appreciation for his students?”

With a flourish, Gojo reached into his pocket and pulled out four thin silver bracelets. Each bracelet was delicate, adorned with a small infinity charm that glinted in the light. The bracelets were simple, elegant, and strangely fitting for something Gojo would give—unassuming on the surface but likely much more than they appeared.

“Here,” he said, tossing one to each of you. “A little thank-you gift for honoring me with your tattoos. I figured you’d want something to match.”

You caught the bracelet easily, the cool metal smooth in your palm. The charm dangled softly, catching the light as you examined it. There was something about it—a faint, almost imperceptible hum of energy—like a quiet pulse beneath the surface.

Megumi, ever cautious, eyed his bracelet warily. “What’s the trick? There’s always a trick with you.”

Gojo grinned, his usual playful spark back in full force. “No trick. Just a little something to remind you that even when I’m not around, I’m always watching.”

Yuji smiled brightly, already fastening the bracelet around his wrist. “Thanks, Sensei! This is pretty cool.”

Nobara, despite her suspicion, clipped the bracelet onto her wrist as well, the infinity charm resting lightly against her skin. “Alright, what’s the real reason behind this? You’re not exactly the sentimental type.”

Gojo’s grin widened as he wagged a finger at her. “Ah, ah. You’ll figure it out when the time comes. But don’t lose them. I’d be very disappointed if you did.”

And with that cryptic remark, Gojo turned and strolled out of the room, leaving you all to stare down at your new bracelets, unsure of what exactly they meant.

It wasn’t until a week later, during a mission, that the bracelets revealed their true purpose.

Your first mission as fully certified sorcerers had been simple at first—investigating some unusual cursed energy in a quiet town. The work had been straightforward, dealing with minor curses and disturbances. But as the day progressed, something darker, far more dangerous, began to stir beneath the surface.

Before you knew it, you were facing off against a special-grade curse. Its hulking form towered over you, grotesque and twisted, with too many eyes and far too many limbs. It moved faster than you expected, and its attacks were relentless. Despite your teamwork, you found yourselves quickly overwhelmed.

Nobara barely dodged a vicious swipe, her breath coming in heavy gasps as she regrouped. “This thing’s too strong! We’re barely making a dent!”

Yuji, fists clenched, charged forward again, but even his strength wasn’t enough to break through the curse’s defenses. Megumi’s shikigami fought bravely, but they, too, struggled to keep up with the curse’s speed and power.

Then, as the curse lunged at you, its claws poised to strike, you felt it—a sudden surge of energy from the bracelet on your wrist. The infinity charm glowed faintly, and before you could even react, a shimmering barrier of cursed energy flared to life around you. The curse’s attack collided with the barrier, but it couldn’t break through. You blinked in shock, feeling the unmistakable presence of Gojo’s Infinity wrapping around you like an invisible shield.

Your friends experienced the same thing. The moment the curse came close to them, their bracelets reacted, casting the same protective barrier around them. The cursed energy radiating from the bracelets was unmistakable—Gojo’s Infinity, distilled into a small but powerful charm.

Yuji stared down at his bracelet, eyes wide. “No way... Gojo put Infinity in these?”

Nobara’s disbelief quickly turned into a mix of awe and frustration. “Of course he did. Couldn’t just give us normal bracelets, could he?”

With the Infinity protecting you, the battle shifted. No longer vulnerable to the curse’s attacks, you and your friends pressed forward, coordinating your strikes with renewed confidence. The curse grew more desperate, its attacks wild and erratic, but each one was blocked by the Infinity shields cast from your bracelets.

Finally, in a coordinated effort, you delivered the final blow, and the curse dissolved into nothingness. Silence fell over the battlefield, the tension slowly draining as the reality of what had just happened settled in.

Breathless but triumphant, you looked down at the bracelet on your wrist. The faint glow had faded, but the energy of Gojo’s Infinity lingered, a quiet reminder of the protection it had given.

Yuji grinned, clipping the bracelet back onto his wrist. “Guess Gojo really wasn’t kidding when he said he’s always watching.”

Nobara sighed, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Leave it to him to give us something like this.”

Megumi, always more subdued, simply nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he slipped the bracelet back onto his wrist. “It’s a good gift.”

You smiled to yourself, feeling the cool metal of the bracelet against your skin. Gojo had always been there, watching, guiding, protecting. And now, even as you stepped into the world on your own, he had found a way to stay by your side.

The bracelet wasn’t just a gift—it was a promise. No matter where you went or what challenges you faced, Gojo’s presence would always be with you, like the infinity symbol etched into your skin and hanging from your wrist—a reminder that his influence was boundless, just like his power.

It hadn’t been long since the protective barrier dissipated, but you could still feel its presence—a reminder of how close the fight had been and how easily things could’ve gone wrong without Gojo’s help.

You glanced at your bracelet, the small infinity charm resting innocuously against your skin, but now it held a new significance. Gojo had woven his cursed energy into these simple tokens, and in the heat of battle, they had become more than just symbolic. They had been your lifeline. What you didn’t expect, though, was what happened next.

Just as the adrenaline began to wear off, a familiar voice cut through the silence. “Well, well. Looks like my favorite students had some fun without me.”

You turned sharply, and there he was—Gojo Satoru, standing casually at the edge of the clearing, his ever-present grin in place. He strolled toward you, hands in his pockets, as if he hadn’t just appeared out of nowhere. His white hair shimmered in the dying light, and even with his blindfold still on, you could feel the weight of his attention on all of you.

Yuji blinked in surprise. “Sensei? What are you doing here?”

Gojo’s grin widened, but there was a glint of something sharper in his tone. “What, you think I wouldn’t know when my Infinity gets activated? That’s kind of the point of these bracelets, you know.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that revelation. So, not only had Gojo protected you from afar, but he had also been alerted the moment the bracelets had come to life. It was like he had been watching over you the entire time, even when you thought you were on your own.

Nobara crossed her arms, looking mildly annoyed, though there was a trace of relief in her expression. “You could’ve told us they did that. I was expecting a normal bracelet, not a Gojo-activated beacon.”

Gojo laughed, his carefree demeanor returning as he stopped in front of you all. “Where’s the fun in telling you everything? Besides, I figured you’d figure it out eventually. That’s why I told you not to lose them. They’re not just for protection—they let me know when you need me.”

Megumi, ever the pragmatist, stepped forward. “So, you knew the whole time that we were in danger.”

Gojo’s smile softened, though he didn’t lose his playful edge. “Of course I did. I was ready to jump in if things got too hairy, but I knew you could handle it. The bracelets are just a little extra insurance. Think of them like a safety net.”

You couldn’t help but feel a swell of gratitude, though you also felt a bit of frustration. Gojo had known, had watched, but hadn’t intervened—he had trusted you. And in the end, you had proven that trust wasn’t misplaced. Still, there was a weight to that knowledge. You weren’t alone, not really, but Gojo had wanted you to stand on your own, to fight your own battles without relying on him too much.

“We could’ve used a little more help,” Yuji muttered, half-joking.

Gojo reached out and ruffled Yuji’s hair, ignoring his protests. “You didn’t need it. Look at you—all of you. You handled that curse without me swooping in to save the day. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

Nobara rolled her eyes but smiled despite herself. “You’re insufferable, Sensei.”

Gojo flashed her a wink. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

The mood lightened after that, the tension from the battle slowly fading as Gojo’s presence had a way of dissolving the weight of everything that had just happened. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of how close you had come to serious danger. The curse had been stronger than expected, and without the bracelets, things might have turned out very differently.

Gojo seemed to sense your lingering thoughts. He turned to you, tilting his head slightly. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated for a moment, then glanced down at the bracelet. “The Infinity… we wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Gojo’s expression softened further, and for a moment, the usual cocky grin faded into something more genuine. “That’s what it’s there for,” he said quietly. “To keep you safe. But don’t sell yourselves short. I put those bracelets on you because I know you’re strong enough to handle yourselves. The Infinity is just... a backup. You did most of the work.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, the weight of his confidence in you sinking in. It wasn’t just the Infinity that had protected you—it was Gojo’s belief in your strength, in your ability to face danger head-on.

He straightened up, slipping his hands back into his pockets. “Besides, the whole point of giving you these bracelets was to make sure you don’t rely on me forever. You’re sorcerers now—real ones. You’ve got this.”

Megumi, ever serious, nodded in agreement. “We’ll keep that in mind.”

Gojo’s grin returned full force as he turned toward the horizon. “Good. Now, how about you all buy me dinner? It’s the least you can do for dragging me out here.”

Nobara groaned. “As if we haven’t done enough for you already.”

Yuji laughed, throwing an arm around Nobara’s shoulders as they started walking. “Come on, Nobara, he saved our lives, technically.”

You followed behind, the bracelet’s weight light against your wrist, but the knowledge of what it represented—Gojo’s watchful eye, his unspoken care—felt heavier in the best way. Even as you stepped into the world as full-fledged sorcerers, you knew that Gojo would always be there, in one form or another. The infinity symbol was more than just a mark on your skin or a charm on your bracelet—it was a promise that no matter where you went, Gojo would always be a part of you.

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

[secfics]

my favourite starker fics, part 2

hi. for my second reclist in this blog, i put together more starker fanfics that i’ve been discovering lately and have made their way into my personal list of favourites that i re-read again and again. in no particular order and with some cw/dark themes here and there, here they come:

• pete’s eats; by bloodgutsandstarbucks (ao3) aka @darker-soft-starker, Teen and Up, 9’3k, oneshot

Peter having a YouTube channel where he just drinks wine and teaches people how to cook things if they live in a mediocre apartment. While cooking and drinking he just talks about stuff like memes and school and, most importantly, his undying thirst for Tony Stark.

• naturally; by ursafootprints (ao3) aka @ursafootprints, E, 16’3k, 3/3 chapters

"Mr. Stark," Peter whispered for the third time, his voice now airless where it had previously been rough from sleep. "Are you okay?"

Mr. Stark's thumb was slowly tracing back and forth over Peter's temple, but it stopped its trek as he finally took a deep breath, the first sign that he was really hearing what Peter was asking.

Voice rough with something other than sleep, Mr. Stark said, "No," and leaned in to kiss him.

Or: Unbeknownst to Peter, Tony gets dosed with sex pollen (sex serum?) on a mission, so he's nothing but thrilled when all his wet dreams about Mr. Stark suddenly start coming true-- until the morning after.

this app won’t let me add links to all of the titles for no reason so i’ll add extra links after the summary of the ones i wasn’t able to, here is the link:

• you’re not yet done; by ursafootprints (ao3) aka @ursafootprints, E, 166’7k, 14/14 chapters - cw: rape, bad guys made them do it

Tony didn't know what it would do to either of them, to play this out like a shadow cast by the real thing, real love and sex and intimacy. But it was what Peter was asking him for, so he did it.

In the aftermath of a traumatic abduction by a villain, Tony and Peter have to cope with their not-entirely-in-sync coping mechanisms, concerned family and friends, figuring out who exactly really arranged the whole thing, and their evolving feelings for each other.

link:

• the leash; by downjune, M, 30’2k, 2/2 chapters

Peter didn’t know if they talked to anyone else who carried them, but when he had the Infinity Gauntlet tucked under his arm, he could swear the stones were trying to…commune with him. They wanted something from him. Wanted to be used. He wanted to be rid of them.

Until he found Tony Stark leaned against some torn up tree roots and rock. He found Tony dying.

At that point, Peter was ready to bargain.

• velvet elvis; by orphan_account, M, 45’7k, 7/7 chapters

Peter just wants Tony to feel comfortable in Peter's new home. That's it. He totally has no ulterior motives whatsoever. Nope.

link:

• practical results; by anonymous aka ‘is this thing (an)on?’ tag, M, 81’4k, 12/12 chapters - cw: dubious consent/bad guys made them do it

This isn’t his bedroom - not the one at the compound, or the suite in Milan. Definitely not the penthouse in New York. In all honesty, it looks like the inside of the fucking Spaceship Earth ride at Epcot.

“Kid,” he tries again, more urgently now, “where the hell are we?”

“Uhh, the guy said we’re someplace called Sakaar.”

“The guy? What guy?”

Let's say that after the uprising on Sakaar, the Grandmaster manages to cling to power by offering people an even better form of entertainment than the Contest of Champions: Porn. He offers them porn.

• rebuild; by tuesday (ao3) aka @everysecondtuesday, Teen and Up, 14’7k, oneshot

Tony lives, falls in love despite himself, and spends entirely too much time in California.

• in the hands of gods; by therogueheart (ao3) aka @therogueheart, E, 20’2k, oneshot

Peter has known nothing but the God Stark his entire life. The blessings he gives; and the cruelty he can deal. When Peter comes of age he must begin the next phase of his worship to the God - Sexuality.

But Peter has never been good at following rules, and he does the one thing that no man is permitted to do.

He touches.

link:

• expiration date; by learnedfoot (ao3) aka @learned-foot, E, 12k, oneshot

Tony knows exactly what this is. First big breakup, go for a fling with a completely inappropriate person. It’s basically a cliché. He kind of thought Peter was better than that, but apparently being brilliant and one of the bravest people on the face of the planet doesn’t mean he’s immune from being a stupid college student who makes stupid college student mistakes.

AKA Tony is sure this is just a fling, and he deals with that about as well as you’d expect.

link:

• the last five years; by orphan_account, M, 71’1k, 9/9 chapters

Tony Stark has spent the last six months trying to find a way to bring back those lost in The Snap, but when he succeeds and Peter Parker and the rest of the lost Avengers return he discovers that it has been a little bit longer for them.

• prototype protocol; by roamingsignals (ao3) aka @spider-mancan, E, 82’8k, 8/8 chapters

Tony Stark isn't good, despite years of trying. When the multiverse dumps a younger Tony into their laps, Tony is split between solving the problem and protecting Peter's virtue.

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Stark.” Peter’s eyes are wide and unassuming and Tony is a bad man. “I’ve been handling you for years. I can handle him just fine.”

“I’m sure you can,” Tony's throat is really dry, for some reason. “I trust you.”

He just doesn’t trust himself. He doesn’t trust himself at all.

link:

• the friendly neighborhood; by postelectric, M, 22’9k, oneshot

“Mr. Stark?”

Before Tony looks, he hopes to every god whose hand he’s shaken that he’ll meet an uncanny Parkeresque-but-definitely-not-the-real-Peter Parker doppelganger who just happens to know who he is. That’s what he tells himself, anyway. It’s not impossible. Tony saved the universe. Most people know him, even with the giant face scar. Maybe because of the giant face scar.

It’s the real Peter Parker. He’s barely taller than he was at sixteen and he has pretty much the same amount of hair, but he’s got more in the shoulders and jawline these days. “Mr. Parker. You grew up.”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “That, uh, that happens sometimes, if you’re lucky.”

“You got lucky.”

(or, in which the friendly neighborhood spider-man from queens doesn't become an avenger and doesn't turn to dust. or, in which tony stark restores the universe for pepper potts and then lives to tell about it, which is not according to plan.)

link:

• permission; by cagestark (ao3) aka @cagestark, E, 15’8k, 5/5 chapters

During drinks with the Avengers, Peter admits that he enjoys orgasms more when someone is giving him permission, though since he's single, there isn't anyone in his life to offer it.

Generous Tony offers to offer it.

link:

hope you like them as much as i did!

[the-winter-spider]

The View Between Villages: Part Six

Word Count: 4.1k

Pairings: Bucky x reader, TASM!Peter x reader

Warnings: Mentions of su!cide

Masterlist

—

“Y/N, I know you’re in there. Open up, doll, please.” Bucky’s voice was soft, laced with desperation as he rested his forehead against the door. It had been almost a month since he last saw you. He’d walked by your apartment countless times, even though it was nowhere near his place or his therapist’s office. It was the only way he could feel close to you anymore.

Especially when you wouldn’t answer his calls or respond to his texts. The only reason he figured out how to use his phone remotely was to reach out to you, but he’d settled for listening to your voicemail. The familiar message played over and over in his mind: “Hi, you’ve reached Y/N. If you have this number, odds are you’re probably in the compound with me and are too lazy to come find me.” A pause, and then Natasha’s voice in the background, “It was one time… okay, maybe more than 10.” Steve and your laughter followed before you continued, “But if not, I guess leave a message.” Tony’s voice cut in at the end, “She won’t get back to you, bye!” before the beep sounded.

But four weeks was far too long. He had to know you were alright. Sam had told him that he stopped by two weeks ago, heard the TV on, and saw your shadow under the door, but you weren’t answering him either. Bucky was hoping this wasn’t about him telling you he needed time. He felt so stupid doing that. He’d talked about it with Steve after you left, the night Steve told the two of you he was going to stay.

Steve had told him he was being stupid, that it wasn’t by chance all three of you were alive—just like it wasn’t by chance when he went to collect the Infinity Stones with Tony, he just so happened to hide in Peggy’s office. It was fate. Bucky knew he was being stupid, knew everything Steve and you had done for him, to get him back, to save him. All the sacrifices you made. But it was just so easy for Steve to toss him—and you—aside. He was scared that once you realised he wasn’t the same Bucky anymore, you’d do the same. But you also weren’t the same Y/N he fell in love with anymore, and nothing scared him more than falling out of love with you.

What was a little more time, he thought?

You stood there, staring at the door, your heart pounding in your chest. You could see his shadow from under the doorframe. You felt like you were on fire—quite literally possible for you to set yourself on fire too—and you would if it meant Bucky was here to beg for you back with a ring in hand.

“Please, it’s about the shield, about Steve. We need to get it back, back to where it belongs.”

Burning.

“I’m done, Buck.” Your voice was hoarse, your throat scratchy. You were positive he wouldn’t have even heard it if it wasn’t for the serum.

“What do you mean you’re done?” His voice grew louder as he banged on the door a little harder. “Open the door, let’s talk, please.”

“Go away, James. I don’t want you here.”

Wincing at his name coming out of your mouth, made something in him churn, he scoffed, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. “You’re really going to do this? After everything Steve did for you?”

You winced, the glass cup in your hand shattering to the ground, water pooling around your feet. The fire within you momentarily extinguished, replaced by a cold, empty feeling that seeped into your bones.

Silence stretched between you, the only sound was the drip of water from the broken cup. You stood there, unmoving, surrounded by shards of glass.

“Y/N, I didn’t—I’m sorry.” His voice was softer now, filled with regret. He lingered for a moment longer, and you heard the floor creak as he slowly walked away.

The echo of his footsteps faded, leaving you alone in the quiet, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. You looked down at the shattered glass, the water still seeping into the cracks of the floorboards. The fire was gone, replaced by an overwhelming numbness that you weren’t sure would ever leave.

You sank to the floor, your back against the door, knees drawn to your chest. The water soaked through your clothes, but you didn’t care. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. You rested your head on your knees, closing your eyes as a single tear slipped down your cheek.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, the weight of your grief pressing you further into the ground. But as the hours passed, the numbness began to fade, replaced by a dull ache deep in your chest. You weren’t sure what hurt more—Bucky’s words or the fact that he was right.

Steve was gone. Tony was gone. Natasha was gone. And now, it felt like Bucky was gone too.

But what did it matter? You were done. Done fighting, done caring, done with everything. You were so tired—tired of being strong, of holding on to something that had slipped through your fingers long ago.

But as much as you wanted to give up, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Bucky was still out there, still hoping you’d open that door. And a part of you wanted to—wanted to reach out, to hold onto the one person who understood what you were going through.

But that part of you was buried deep, smothered by the pain and the grief and the endless darkness that surrounded you. So you stayed there, on the cold, wet floor, alone with your thoughts and the broken pieces of your heart.

—-

Louisiana 2024

Sam stood on his front porch, his phone clutched tightly in his hand as he stared at the call log. The screen dimmed, reflecting his own frustrated expression back at him. He exhaled sharply, his thumb hovering over your name before he pressed it and brought the phone to his ear. When it went straight to voicemail, he let out a groan, squeezing the phone so hard that, if he had the serum running through his veins, it would have shattered.

A whirlwind of emotions churned inside him—frustration at how vague you’d been, anger at Bucky for keeping him in the dark, and an overwhelming sense of dread. He’d seen the headlines, the video footage of you walking away from Bucky with lightning cracking the sky behind you. At first, he thought it was just another argument, a clash of wills. He knew how stubborn Bucky could be, but you—you were supposed to be the glue that held everything together. Steve had always said that about you. Sam had hoped it would hold true, that you and Bucky could find common ground, that the three of you could weather this storm together.

But everything had changed. Six months was a long time, too long. Sam had given you space, knowing you needed time to process everything, but the silence was unbearable. Every day he checked his phone for any sign that you were okay, scoured the news for anything that might hint at your whereabouts. When he heard about the lightning strike that split a 100-year-old tree in half, part of him was relieved—at least it was a sign that you were still out there. But it was clearly intentional, and that worried him more. He tried talking to Bucky, but all he got was the same dismissive response: “None of your business.”

But now, as he replayed your last conversation over and over in his mind, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t just a “see you later.” It felt like a real goodbye, the kind you don’t come back from. His heart pounded in his chest as he thought about one of the last conversations he’d ever had with Steve, the one where they’d talked about you. Steve had been so sure that you’d be okay, that you’d find your way. But now… Sam wasn’t so sure.

He paced the porch, the old wood creaking under his boots, trying to figure out what to do next. Should he try to find you? Track you down? Or was that just pushing you further away? The more he thought about it, the more his mind raced, caught between his loyalty to you and the promise he made to Steve—to keep the team, the family, together.

Sam ran a hand over his face, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on him. He was Captain America now, but he felt more lost than ever. “Damn it, Y/N,” he muttered under his breath, glancing out at the horizon, where the last light of the day was fading into darkness. “I can’t lose you too.”

—

2023 - A Little Before Steve Rogers’ Passing

“Hey Sam?”

“Yeah, Cap?”

A small smile tugged at Steve’s lips. “You know you can stop calling me that. The shield’s yours now.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was a warmth in his voice. “You’re always gonna be my Captain.”

Nostalgia washed over Steve’s face before his expression grew serious. “Y/N hasn’t come by, I haven't seen her since the stones. I haven’t heard from her. I’m worried, Sam.”

“I’ve stopped by multiple times, called, texted… She’s just not answering. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Bucky won’t tell me anything,” Steve paused, sensing a lie in his own words before continuing, “They must be fighting again.” A small, bittersweet smile played on his lips as he thought of the countless, trivial arguments between you and Bucky.

Sam snorted. “Makes two of us. I think she’s just not handling all this…” He gestured toward Steve, who was lying in the hospital bed. “Well.”

Steve nodded, his expression conflicted. He opened his mouth, then closed it, weighing whether to say what he was thinking. Finally, he spoke, his voice tinged with hesitation. “I know this is asking a lot of you, Sam, but you need to look after her.”

“You know I will, Cap. Always. She’s family to me too.”

Steve’s face softened, but there was a deep sadness in his eyes. “I’m gonna tell you something that only Y/N, Tony, Fury, and I knew. You can’t tell Bucky. It’ll just make things worse.”

Sam’s demeanour shifted as he leaned in, sensing the gravity of what Steve was about to reveal. “Yeah, of course. My lips are sealed.”

Steve took a deep breath. “Y/N… she didn’t just go for a walk, fall asleep, and wake up here,” he said. “She died, Sam.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What? That wasn’t in any file…”

“I know. We decided it was best kept a secret. But a little bit after she woke up, she couldn’t remember much. When it all came back to her, she was hysterical. We had to sedate her. It was like everything she felt before hit her all at once. But we got her to talk. It wasn’t uncommon after the war for people to…” Steve hesitated, the weight of the truth heavy on his shoulders.

Sam’s eyes widened, his discomfort evident as he anticipated where Steve was headed.

“She lost us, Sam. She didn’t have anyone left. She attended not one, but two funerals where there was no body. I couldn’t imagine what she felt,” Steve continued, his voice growing softer. He looked directly at Sam, his expression grave. “She did it, Sam. She went to… and she did.”

“Steve, that’s… a lot,” Sam stammered, standing up to pace near the foot of the bed. “That changes everything. I gotta—”

Steve cut him off gently. “I know it’s a lot. But as long as you know she’s still in there, alive… that’s all that matters, Sam.”

“Why didn’t you tell Bucky? That’s his girl,” Sam pressed, clearly struggling to process the information.

“He was going through a lot. He was healing. She was healing. She promised me everything was fine,” Steve replied, though his voice was tinged with doubt.

“He’d kick down that door if he knew,” Sam muttered, almost to himself.

Steve managed a small smile. “Yeah, I know he would. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight. She’s his everything.”

“Any idea why they’d be fighting?” Sam asked, his tone tinged with frustration.

Steve shrugged, though the gesture seemed forced. “Can’t say I do, Sam.”

But of course, Steve knew. Bucky had come to him two weeks ago, asking for advice about you. He’d admitted he didn’t know who he was anymore, and by extension, he didn’t know who you were either. He was afraid of dragging you through the dark tunnel of his self-discovery. Steve had told him that was a stupid notion—that you’d be more hurt by him saying he needed space, that he needed time. After all, the two of you were already on borrowed time.

Steve had promised Bucky he wouldn’t say anything, no matter how badly he wanted to, because he’d hoped that the two of you would sort things out before it was too late. But by the looks of it, that wasn’t the case. It was a secret that Steve would take to the grave, trusting that Bucky would confide in Sam when he was ready, when the trust between them was strong enough. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

As Sam paced the room, his mind raced with the implications of what Steve had just revealed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out, not just for Steve, but for all of them. He stopped and turned to face his old friend, his expression hardening with resolve.

“I won’t let her slip away, Steve,” Sam said, his voice steady. “I promise you that.”

Steve nodded, a faint smile on his lips. “I know you won’t, Sam. I trust you.”

The two men shared a moment of silence, the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future hanging heavily between them. Sam could see that Steve was tired, but there was a peace in his eyes, a quiet acceptance of what was to come.

“Steve… I need to know. Do you think she’ll be okay? Really okay?” Sam asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Steve’s gaze softened as he looked up at Sam. “She’s strong, Sam. Stronger than she knows. But she’s been through so much… too much. She’ll need you. She’ll need both of you.”

Sam nodded, feeling the enormity of the responsibility settle on his shoulders. He knew that he couldn’t let Steve down—not now, not ever.

As he turned to leave, Steve’s voice stopped him at the door. “Sam… thank you.”

Sam looked back, his hand resting on the doorframe. “For what?”

“For being the man you are, for taking the shield. For everything, for looking after my family” Steve said, his voice filled with genuine gratitude.

Sam nodded, unable to find the right words to respond. He simply gave Steve a small, respectful salute before walking out of the room, his mind already racing with what he needed to do next.

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden light over the compound. Sam took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He knew what he had to do. He had to find you, had to make sure you were okay, and most importantly, he had to keep Steve’s promise.

—

The front door swung open.

“What the hell, Sam? Was that Y/N?! Don’t even lie to me—I heard you say her name,” Bucky’s brows were creased in frustration, his finger pointing accusingly at Sam.

Sam hesitated, knowing that Bucky was already on edge. He had promised Steve, but he also knew that Bucky needed to know the truth. There was no way around it anymore. “We should go inside,” Sam finally said, his voice calm but firm.

As Sam turned to walk inside, Bucky grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. The two men locked eyes, and Sam could see the worry, panic, and heartache in Bucky’s gaze. He could also see the deep love Bucky had for you, and it only made what he had to say harder. Sam nodded toward the table inside, motioning for Bucky to follow. He could hear Bucky’s heavy footsteps behind him, each step filled with a mix of dread and anticipation.

Sam pulled out a chair and sat down, while Bucky remained standing with his arms crossed, a stubborn look on his face. “Sit down, Buck.”

“No,” Bucky replied, his voice flat.

“Bucky, sit down,” Sam insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Bucky lingered for a moment longer, his jaw clenched, before finally giving in and pulling out the chair across from Sam. “You better start talking, Sam,” he demanded, his voice low and tense.

Sam took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I will, under one condition: you don’t interrupt me. And know that the only reason I didn’t tell you earlier is because Steve made me promise.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Fine. Just talk.”

“One of the last times I went to visit Steve, he told me something that only he, Fury, Stark, and Y/N knew. It wasn’t in any of her files for good reason—it was need-to-know information, and Steve didn’t want to burden you with it while you were recovering. He believed Y/N would tell you when she was ready.” Sam paused, watching Bucky’s reaction carefully. “What do you know about the night she disappeared?”

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “Peggy told her about Steve…” he cleared his throat “And me, after the funerals, she just disappeared. Steve told me she fell asleep by our spot and woke up in 2012. The ground absorbed her or something, right?”

Sam shook his head, his expression somber. “She didn’t fall asleep, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes flashed with confusion and anger. “What do you mean she didn’t fall asleep? So Steve lied to me?”

“Bucky… she died.”

Bucky shot out of his chair, the force sending it flying back. “What do you mean, she died? So she’s a ghost?! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” He started pacing, his mind racing as he tried to process Sam’s words. “Why’d they lie to me?” He slammed his fist down on the table, making Sarah jump in the kitchen.

“She committed suicide,” Sam said quietly, the words heavy in the air. He wanted to break eye contact with Bucky, but he couldn’t. Now, he understood what you meant when you said Bucky’s ocean eyes could suck you in like a whirlpool. Sam felt like he was drowning as he saw them fill with water.

Bucky shook his head in disbelief. “No, no, no… Why would she do that, Sam? Did he say why she would do that? My girl wouldn’t do that. She—she—”

“She lost both of you, Buck. She lost you, then she lost Steve. You two were all she had. There were no bodies to bury—no closure. I can’t imagine what she was feeling.”

Bucky slumped onto the couch, the weight of Sam’s words pressing down on him. He had millions of questions, but he was scared to ask them. The answer to this one was already too heavy, and he wasn’t sure he could carry any more.

“Steve said they ran tests and they were never able to find out how she was resurrected, but they assumed it had to do with her powers. There was no other logical explanation,” Sam continued, his voice softening.

Bucky nodded slowly, the silence in the room thick and suffocating. It hung between them until Bucky suddenly jumped up from the couch. “She lost Steve.”

“We all lost Steve,” Sam replied, confused by Bucky’s sudden outburst.

“No, you don’t get it,” Bucky said, running his hands down his face in frustration. “She lost Steve, and I—fuck, I’m so stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I gotta call her Sam. This is bad. Do you think she—do you think she would do it again?”

“Whoa, Buck, slow down,” Sam said, standing up. “What are you talking about?”

“I told her I needed time, Sam. She gave me the ring back. We broke up. She lost me, then she lost Steve.”

“Did Steve know?”

“Of course he knew. He told me I was stupid. I am stupid.”

Sam’s eyes widened as he connected the dots. “That was her on the phone… She told me she was proud of me. She was saying goodbye, Buck.”

“Well, call her back!” Bucky shouted, panic rising in his voice.

“I tried. It goes straight to voicemail,” Sam replied, frustration evident in his tone.

“She called me,” Bucky whispered, his voice breaking. “A day ago. She didn’t say anything, but I could hear her. Then she just hung up.” He paused, the realisation hitting him like a punch to the gut. “What if she already…”

“Don’t say it, Buck. She’s not… She can’t be,” Sam said, trying to keep his own fear in check.

“We gotta go now. We gotta go to her place and kick her door down!” Bucky was already heading toward the door, determined in every step.

“Wait, Buck,” Sam blurted out, stopping Bucky in his tracks. “48 hours ago, a single lightning strike hit a 100-year-old tree in the park.”

Bucky froze, understanding immediately. He knew what you were doing. “She let me go,” he whispered, his voice trembling as he wiped away a tear. “She was letting me—us go.”

Sam looked at Bucky, his heart sinking. “Do you know where else she could have gone?”

Before Bucky could answer, Sarah’s voice called out from the kitchen. “Hey, guys? I hate to interrupt, but you might wanna see this.”

Both men rushed into the kitchen, their eyes locking onto the TV screen. Spider-Man was on a video call with a news reporter, but this time, his mask was off.

“Just the truth,” Spider-Man spoke.

“Oh, sure,” Jameson replied, rolling his eyes.

“I thought he wore a mask for a reason?” Bucky questioned, confused by what he was seeing.

Sarah’s eyes widened. “You two missed a lot while you were fixing that damn boat. They revealed his identity—just some kid named Peter Parker from Queens,” she shrugged, still watching the screen.

“The truth is, that this is all my fault. I accidentally brought those dangerous people here,” Peter admitted.

“Well, he admits it!” Jameson exclaimed.

“And if those people are watching, just know that I really did try to help you. I mean, I could have killed you at any given moment. But I didn’t, because my Aunt May taught me that everyone deserves a second chance. And that’s why I’m here.”

“And where is ‘here’ exactly?” Jameson pressed.

Peter turned the camera slightly, revealing his location. “A place that represents second chances.”

As the camera panned, both Bucky and Sam caught a glimpse of you standing on the Statue of Liberty before the camera turned back to Peter.

“Did you see that?” Bucky asked, his heart racing.

Sam nodded, his mind racing as well. “She did promise Stark she’d watch out for Spider-Man, and if Peter is Spider-Man, she’s gonna watch out for him too.”

“The Statue of Liberty?! Good God, folks, he’s about to destroy another national landmark!” Jameson continued to rant.

“But world, if you’re watching—”

“Believe me, the world is watching—” Jameson cut in.

“Wish me luck. Your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man could really use some,” Peter’s video ended, leaving the room in stunned silence.

Bucky turned to Sam, urgency in his voice. “Do you have his phone number?”

“When I became Captain America, they auto-synced phone numbers in my phone, but I’m not sure,” Sam said, reaching into his pocket.

“Well, check!” Bucky urged, his anxiety rising.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?!” Sam shot back, scrolling through his contacts. “At least we know she’s alive.”

“Yeah, but not safe. What ‘bad guys’—plural, might I add—is he talking about?”

“I got it! I found it,” Sam said, turning his phone around to show Bucky the contact labelled ‘Spider-Man.’

Without hesitation, Bucky ripped the phone out of Sam’s hand and hit the call button, pressing it to his ear.

“What the hell, man? That’s my—”

Bucky put a finger to his lips, signalling Sam to be quiet as he waited for the call to connect. “Put Y/N on the phone,” Bucky demanded as soon as someone picked up on the other end.

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Chapter 17

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

Previous Chapters: Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7 / Ch 8 / Ch 9 / Ch 10 / Ch 11 / Ch 12 / Ch 13 / Ch 14 / Ch 15 / Ch16

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

In response to the White Wolf's request, a tidal wave of protests washes over the ring. Chaos, shouting, and furious gestures break out among the Chieftains and the entire crowd. The audience leaps to their feet, protesting with a fury I've never seen before. The weight of over one hundred eyes falls upon me, and I stare at the sand in the ring, afraid to look up. I don't need to see them to know what they're thinking.

Did the Kismet have something to do with this? Surely, I am going to protest this development. I have that right, after all. No man can take a bride without her consent. It's my duty to stand up right now; to chastise this Outsider. The Kismet is the symbol of salvation and renewal for these people, and the White Wolf has betrayed their trust by declaring her as his own.

But, my body does not move. Not a muscle.

I focus on the White Wolf instead of the Tribe's venomous glares. This peculiar and foolhardy warrior. Is he not afraid of divine retribution? A curse? The animosity of so many warriors? No matter how strong he is, he cannot overcome all of these people. Yet, judging by the way he stands still as stone, he fears nothing.

Beside me, Sorocan's hand flies to my wrist and tightens on it like the death grip of an adder. Sweat breaks out on the nape of my neck as I watch her eyes catch fire with fury. She looks at me, her upper lip rising up over her front teeth in an expression of disgust.

"Don't you dare move, girl," she hisses. "Look at the ground. He has no right..."

I tune out the rest of what she says, for despite my shock at the sudden turn of events, my eyes can't help but stray back to the man in the center of the ring. All the other faces melt into a kaleidoscope of blurred colors as my vision snaps to the White Wolf's beautiful red eyes. His hawk-like piercing gaze quickens the blood in my veins, and with each pulse of my heart, the mark around my wrist bites deeper into my skin. My hand comes up to clutch at my shirt right over my heart. I dare not hope this is my savior, but if this is my chance, I dare not waste it either. Could this man be an answer to my prayers? Is this the turn of fate that will finally free me from this prison?

No. Impossible. The Chieftains won't permit it.

Sorocan will not.

I dig my nails into the arms of the chair beneath me, hoping this foreign warrior can withstand the numerous obstacles before him. I can't possibly fathom what he wants with a woman he's never met before, but his determination to have his way is written in the proud tilt of his chiseled jaw. My gaze roves over his lean warrior's body. He's strong, and his eyes blaze with a calculating gleam. Surely he knew the opposition he would face in demanding the hand of the Kismet. Surely, he came prepared to fight and take what he sees as rightfully his.

I have no doubt he can take me by force.

The other warriors protest and clamor at his demand, but they do not approach him. Even Tögöldör and Batu seem wary of him, their fists tight at their sides and their shoulders squared as they face him. One leans back on his spear, a predator prepared to strike. The other stands stiff and coiled like a snake, prepared to lash out should the White Wolf take a step in his direction. The Arataan is the size of an onyx mountain bear, and the warriors' demeanor suggests they view him as something equally dangerous.

The Chieftains' faces are pale as they clamor with the crowd. But, they haven't refused the request outright. If they could have, they would have immediately. No questions asked. For the thousandth time, I wonder – just who is this mysterious stranger? Who is he to stir such fear and awe in the strongest of warriors and Chieftains? Who is he to think he can ask for – and take – that which cannot be given? He said I am his. Brazenly so, like a man claiming his life mate. The last thing I want is to be stolen away to be someone's possession, but at this point even that is better than being chained to a rock and sacrificed in the name of something I have no faith in.

My earlier question bounces back like a boomerang. Indeed, it seems this man is my only hope. The mark on his wrist marks him as the one I've been searching for. Gritting my teeth, I yank my wrist out of Sorocan's grasp, ignoring the sting of her nails clawing at me. I rush to stand, and a cold pressure reminds me of the chain strapping my ankle to the chair. Sorocan glares daggers at me, pulling on my arm to get me to sit back down. But, I won't. I refuse. Something stirs deep inside me; bubbling to the surface like boiling water. I hate this woman. What right does she have to enslave me? What right does she have to take my life?

My hands tremble, and something faint as the first snowflakes of winter gathers at my fingertips. A golden glowing light. An ethereal warmth. Power. Magic. I've never been able to feel it before, but now –

Devour...

I gasp at the sudden voice in my ear, so loud it seems to rumble through my very bones.

Devour...

The mark on my wrist aches. At first, I don't understand. Devour what? Or...whom?

This woman before me? Sorocan? What use is she –

Devour him...

Unbidden, my eyes shift back to the ring.

I meet a knowing blood red gaze.

Devour him...he's already yours...

As though he can hear the voice, too, the White Wolf smirks. An expression of arrogance; of confidence. All around him, people continue to yell and shout. Yet, he is unaffected. In this moment, there's no one around us or between us. The mirth at the corner of his lips tugs them into a gentle smile. He raises an arm as though reaching out to me, bending his fingers into his palm. His lips move, and I recognize the command on them. The invitation.

All of the anger and pain I've been bottling up for months hits me all at once. Tears sting my eyes, and my lip trembles. I step forward, but the chain on my foot holds me back. I lift my skirt when I feel something warm and alive snaking around my leg. Hot enough to alarm me, but not hot enough to burn. It's a fine black and red mist. My breath catches as the chain dissolves into thin air.

Snap.

It's more than one kind of freedom.

Not just my body, but my mind as well.

As soon as I'm free, I barrel through the crowd in front of me. I push people out of the way with every ounce of strength I can muster. Some warriors jump in front me to stop me. My body moves on instinct. I dip and dodge. Sorocan is shouting for them to bring me back immediately. But, all I can see is the White Wolf and his outstretched hand. I run to him, the wind biting at the places where tears stream down my face.

As I step closer and closer to him, his image blurs and shifts. For a split second, I see shining onyx horns adorning the top of his head. Black scales and armor wrap around his skin. A large reptilian tail sways behind him. As soon as the image comes together, it vanishes. As I jump over the barrier to the ring and sprint through the sand of the arena, it's just him standing there...

Just him.

Elation swells through me until my heart nearly bursts.

A gasp of relief and I'm flying into his arms.

Another breath and his powerful arms lift me into the air. He spins me around, and his scent wraps around me. Warmth. Safety. As it melds with my senses, I look up at him. He holds me up as though I weigh nothing. My lips part to call his name.

And I stop.

Nothing comes from memory.

He senses it immediately. Catches my hesitation. The crimson in his eyes darkens like a churning storm. He looks at me with expectation.

"I'm sorry...I..."

He realizes, then, that I don't remember who he is, and the result of that knowledge transforms his features. His eyes grow wide then narrow again, arching brows furrowing his beautiful face into a look of raw, unchecked hurt. His pain rips into me like the claws of a beast; it's like I've been thrown into a frozen pond.

He lowers me to the ground, sliding his hand up my forearm. Our fingers twine together like saplings seeking warmth in winter. He stares at our palms as though expecting something. His hand is huge over mine. Instantly, I know that I've held this hand before. Many times. Again following my instinct, I cover his calloused knuckles with my fingers. I've missed this hand, this strength, these impossibly warm arms. Pulling him towards me, I close my eyes and press my cheek against his chest.

People are still staring at us. Angry faces. Bewildered. Outraged.

But, I'm the one unaffected now.

The White Wolf's heartbeat murmurs against my ear. I close my eyes.

One beat.

Then two.

And then it all makes sense.

When I look at the White Wolf again, he is no longer nameless.

"Sylus," I smile. "Sylus, you found me."

I can't describe the expression on his face now. It's too profound for words. Relief is too weak a term. Happiness is too vague an emotion. He leans forward, nearly staggering, as though a terrible weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Only I can hear his shaky breath as he reaches out and ruffles my hair. Schooling his face back into a merciless mask, he looks back towards the crowd. I press close to him, squeezing his hand in mine.

"Can we go home?" I ask, my voice hoarse. "This isn't quite what I had in mind when you described a getaway. Next time, maybe run it by me first."

"Where's the fun in that, kitten?" he asks, his face stone cold yet his words soft and tender.

Our Chieftain's voice bellows out across the ring. "Silence!"

After a moment, the crowd quiets. I squeeze Sylus's hand tighter.

"Arataan," our Chieftain's deep voice booms out. "This is one wish we cannot grant you."

Sylus smiles, but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes. His fiery red orbs remain cold and aloof as he speaks in turn, "This is not a negotiation. Either you release her, or I will take her."

He shifts his weight between his feet, and the warriors around us start. Some even take a step back. Tögöldör stabs his spear forward defensively while Batu's eyes narrow. The Chieftain signals for them to stand down.

"You have won a place among our people with your strength and might. You have saved one of our sister Tribes from destruction. Have you done all of this planning to doom us all to death and ruin?"

Sylus raises an elegant brow, unamused at the accusation. "Interesting that you mention ruin when it is your Speaker playing games."

"Hold your tongue, you insolent whelp," Sorocan hisses, completely out of character.

Sylus blinks back at her, unimpressed. "Find another Kismet. You still have time before the ritual. Isn't that so?"

The Chieftains look crestfallen, and I've never seen Sorocan so pale. Her blue eyes sear into me from across the arena, her knuckles white as she clutches her staff.

"Fight, then," our Chieftain rasps. Then again, louder - "Fight, then! If you are declared Champion, we will speak again. Until then, you are to keep your distance from the Kismet. She belongs to our deity. No mortal man may covet her."

A chuckle rumbles in Sylus's chest. His thumb traces the back of my hand. "I do not need to covet what is already mine," he smirks.

More clamoring from the warriors and the audience. I suppose I can understand their apprehension. Losing me as a sacrifice means inciting the anger of their God. Sorocan's eyes have me immobilized. For months, she's been the warden on the other side of my chains. But, I've always been able to empathize with her at least somewhat. After all, she was only trying to protect her people. Now, though, I don't know how to feel when I witness the desperation in her gaze. Is she even real? Where has the gem taken us? What is this world? Is all of this a dream? A hallucination? If so, then why can't we just sweep through here and get out?

If that was an option, something tells me Sylus would have already done it.

"Speaker, what say you?" The Chieftain lays a hand on Sorocan's shoulder. She finally breaks eye contact with me and bites her lip. She steps up to stand closer to the Chieftain, raising her staff in the air as she addresses the crowd.

"The rules of the Conclave are absolute and binding. Should this White Wolf claim the title of Champion, his wish will be granted."

Deathly silence follows this proclamation. I can't believe she's agreed to it.

"However," she pauses, as though for dramatic effect. "Young warrior, what you have asked for is not for this Speaker to give. The Champion is one chosen by the Gods, blessed with their strength to aid the Tribes. The price of the wish you ask for is steep. You will fight with a handicap, and if you persevere, you may take the gem and the Kismet as your own. Are you in agreement?"

Sylus rubs his long graceful fingers across his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I'll agree to these terms," he says. "So long as you agree to mine. The Kismet is not to be harmed or removed from this village for the duration of the Conclave. She is to remain here. Lastly, the only Kismet I will accept is the woman I hold now. Should these terms be violated," his voice drops to an icy baritone. "You will not be fond of the consequences."

From there, everything is a blur. Sylus stays by my side as the Chieftains and the Speaker say prayers for the coming year ahead. Flowers are scattered throughout the ring to give blessings to the Champion candidates. At last, the horn blows one last time to signal the end of the first day. The opening ceremony of the Conclave is concluded, but the celebrations are half hearted. Sorocan comes to take me away with a group of warriors after the processions are complete. As I turn to follow her back to my tents, Sylus tugs me against him one last time. I thrill as his hand strokes my cheek.

"Wait for me," he says softly then pushes me gently back to my jailer.

I stumble towards her, my knees weak and my heart racing. As I follow her to my quarters, I wrap my arms around myself. My mind reels, thoughts muddled and hazy as I struggle to process the memories of my actual life with everything I've experienced in the last several months here. Now that I remember the truth, I'm more helpless than ever before. I don't have my weapons, my Hunter watch, or any of the gadgets I've grown used to. I can't call for backup, and I have no idea where I am. Did the gem transport us into a Protofield? I've never seen one so extensive, especially not one with other people in it. Were they real? Was it possible to be trapped in a Protofield for this long and survive? And, if this was a Protofield, where was the Wanderer responsible for generating it?

Too many unanswered questions. I wish Tara was here, and remembering her only sharpens my longing for home. I dig my fingers into my arms, pressing my lips together. Whatever the situation may be, moping isn't going to help anything. Besides, I trust Sylus. He'd brought us here for a reason. He told me to wait for him. Sure, but that didn't mean I was going to twiddle my thumbs while I waited at the top of the tower like a princess in a storybook.

If we could simply walk out of this delusion, Sylus wouldn't have agreed to Sorocan's deal. Now that I've seen a part of her true self, I can only imagine what sort of cruel handicap she'll set to ensure Sylus doesn't claim the title of Champion. I can't let my impulses drive any of my decisions. I have to act carefully, no matter how much I want to punch the old woman in front of me well into next week. I grit my teeth when she chains my leg to the post in my yurt and leaves without a word.

Determination realigned, I stand up and start exploring the room. I've made so many rounds in this yurt over the last few months, pacing in circles like a caged tiger. But, I'm different now. I'm no longer a wandering outsider with no memories, but a fully trained Deepspace Hunter. My eyes see more than most, and my mind responds to situations with a strategic outlook.

The chain on my leg is a lost cause. Sylus managed to break it in the arena only thanks to his Evol. I don't have the kind of the strength that requires, nor does my exploration of the yurt leave me with any tools that would be up to the task. I examine the mark on my wrist. If I had to guess, I'd say it reminds me of the Linkage that's trapped Sylus and I together in the past. More than ever, it resembles a coiling serpent.

That thought triggers something, a memory of Sylus standing in the ring.

For a moment, I could have sworn he looked...strange. The image is fuzzy no matter how hard I try to remember it, but I can't forget the horns and tail I saw.

My heart squeezes tightly in my chest. The mark on my wrist throbs. Something catches my attention in the corner of my vision, and I turn my head to see one of the many lavish decorations placed in my quarters as "tribute" to my status. It's a large round and flat piece of reflective metal that's about as tall as I am. I approach and kneel before it, my hands trembling as they reach up to touch my hair.

My long onyx hair that is turning starlight white right before my very eyes.

Eyes that should be green.

I blink, and when I open them again they are crimson red just like Sylus's.

Deeply disturbed, I gasp and back away from the mirror-like object. I bring my hair in front of my face, confirming the change in hue.

What's going on here? How is this possible? I've never experienced effects like this in a Protofield. I squash down a wave of panic, especially when an even bigger fear manifests.

Sylus – the one I held today and the one that asked me to wait for him. Is he a part of this illusion? Is he even real? Am I still lost in this world all alone? Or has he really come to help me escape it?

We will find the truth together – his voice lilts across my memories. It was the last thing he said to me before we were brought to this place.

The truth? What truth?

I take a deep breath and steady myself, but balance remains out of my reach. Minutes drag on like hours, and with each moment's passing I struggle to keep my composure.

That's how Sylus finds me that night.

Unsteady. Uncertain. Full to the brim with trepidation and doubt.

His Evol mist materializes from thin air, first appearing as a ghostly cloud of falling black feathers then swelling into a spinning portal. He steps out of it with his hands in his pockets, the sight so familiar that I can't help but let out a shaky breath of relief. His massive height dwarfs the yurt around me. If possible, he looks even bigger than I recall. The fighter's gear isn't helping. It accents his muscular shoulders, lean powerful waist, and long legs.

Goosebumps break out all across my arms. A pleasant weakness wraps around my knees. I stand up to greet him, and in the span of another breath, he's enveloped me in his reassuring heat and scent. We stay like this for an unknown span of time. I'm not ready to let go yet. I hope he isn't planning on leaving anytime soon because I don't want to be separated from him again. I take another deep breath. Then another. Finally, I pull back to look at his face. His sharp eyes roam over my features. Subconsciously, I flick my hair away from my shoulders. His fingers reach up and tease a white lock between them. For a moment, he looks to be deep in thought.

"Interesting," his eyes snap back up to me, and there's a playful glint in them again.  

"It just...happened...I looked in the mirror and suddenly," I wave my hands in a vague gesture of frustration, struggling for the right words as his thumb softly brushes over my cheekbone. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised anymore. Nothing that's happened here is normal." I stop rambling and worry my bottom lip, acutely aware of his unblinking gaze. "Does it...look weird?"

I peek up at him through my lashes. He looks quite amused, the fiend.

"Didn't I tell you before?" he asks. "No matter what you look like or what title you hold, no matter if you're a Hunter or a Sorceress," the pad of his finger slides down my cheek to tuck some hair behind my ear, "you are Ellara."

"A sorceress," I frown, trying to mask my embarrassment. "Where did that come from?"

The pain from the moment of our reunion slips across his face as quickly as a glare of light across a pool of water. It's a split second. So fast that I doubt my own vision. It's dark in here, after all. Maybe I imagined it. I've seen this man get shot, get sliced with a knife, and suffer other wounds. Yet, I've never seen him really express pain unless it was to tease me and my anxiety.

"You like to read those kinds of novels, don't you? Fantasy stories," he jokes, but the humor is hollow behind his words. "Luke brought one home the other day."

So that's where my favorite book had disappeared to. I pout at Sylus, always amazed at how readily he accepts whatever comes his way. "So, are you going to tell me where we are?"

The tension relaxes from the line of his mouth. His eyes soften from ruby stone into mellow aged wine. He thumbs my earlobe between his fingers. Gently. Teasingly. I squirm back, heat flushing my cheeks.

"If I do, it will ruin the point of the exercise," he smirks.

Folding my arms across my chest, I vent a hot breath of frustration and disbelief. Honestly, this man is quite insufferable when he wants to be. "This isn't funny, Sylus. Do you have any idea what I've been through the last few months in this hell?"

His expression grows somber, though his hand continues to stroke my hair. "I do." His words are full of sincerity, and I wait for him to elaborate.

And wait.

My patience snaps, but somehow I can't be angry with him. Not when I've missed him so much. I reach out and place my hand on the center of his chest. Immediately, he covers it with his own.

"Didn't you tell me we would find the truth together? How does keeping secrets help anything?"

Sylus says nothing, just pulls me against him again. I hate it when he leaves me out of things; when he tries to keep me at a distance to "protect me". I want to prove that I'm strong enough to walk in his world right beside him, not behind him. But, right now, this embrace feels too good; he feels too good. I abandon my questioning for now. The tension that's been building inside me for months has snapped like a rubber band. I can't help feeling that everything will be alright now that he's here.

He lifts me into his arms, glaring down at the chain on my foot. Black and red mist gathers around us, making his silver hair sway with the breeze. With a snap of his fingers, the chain around me evaporates into black ash. My heartbeat quickens. I have to admit I find that threatening irked expression of his insanely hot. And his power, too. It should scare me, but instead it just...

I swallow past a sudden lump in my throat.

"Sylus..."

"Shush, kitten," he rumbles down at me. "Let me hold you. These months haven't been a walk in the park for me, either."

Oblivious to the direction of my fanciful thoughts, he walks to an arrangement of luxurious furs, handwoven red and gold blankets, and plume-stuffed cotton pillows decorating a wide sofa. It's an area that acts like a lounge for eating and receiving company. Of course, my company has been nonexistent these months. It's all for show, just like my fancy jewelry and clothes. I've grown to hate this spot, sitting on my own, curled in a ball, only able to see sunlight through a slit in the tent.

I want to protest his choice of destination and wrap my arms tighter around him. But, I don't get a chance. In moments, Sylus settles us comfortably among the silks, wool, and fur. He positions me in his lap and wraps me in a white fox-fur blanket while he leans against the wooden spine of the seat. The four-seater looks like it will barely fit one more now that he's sprawled in it.

He reaches down and slips off my shoes one by one, tossing them carelessly in some random direction. My toes curl. Despite the blanket, I shiver in the chill of the coming night. The maids haven't come to do their evening rounds yet. Usually they would have come by now to stoke the fire and set up a hot bath.

The thought startles me.

"Sylus, if someone sees you here–"

"They won't," he says, matter of fact. I frown at his fighter's gear.

"Aren't you cold wearing this?"

Not that I mind the view.

Not in the least.

The expanse of his abdomen has me mesmerized for a moment before I force myself to look away. I don't dare look at him; he always seems to know when I ogle his body and can be quite smug about it. Hopefully he missed it just this one time in the darkness. Despite my criticism, I'm already reaching up to toy with a few of the multi-colored braids tethered to his chest piece. They're softer than they look. Each one is an enemy defeated. Each one is its own challenge overcome.

"Worried about me?" Sylus huffs. As if he doesn't know that I really do worry. Too much.

Ignoring him, I snag another nearby blanket with my toes and awkwardly pull it up. It takes some shuffling – Sylus looking far too amused all the while – but I manage to wrap it around his shoulders.

"You're fighting tomorrow," I fuss at him. "What's going to happen if you get sick?"

"It's not that cold," he chuckles.

It is though; it's just that he radiates more heat than any normal human being.

"Honestly speaking," his eyes captivate me as his voice drops to a low drawl, "I prefer your warmth to this covering."

"Well, I'm too small to cover all of you, so..."

I work hard to keep my thoughts in line as I wrap the fur around him. As I do, I notice something off about the leather of his gear. It's quite worn in some spots, and there's stains. Dark ones. I rub at them with my finger until I have no doubt as to their origin. Old blood. I've seen it often enough to know.

Uncomfortable, I bite the inside of my lip, thinking back to what he said about the hardships he's had to face here. What did he have to overcome to find me? What deals did he have to make?

He urges me to look at him. "It's not my blood," he says as though reading my mind.

"You always tell me that lie," I frown and wrap my arms around him. "When are you going to realize that it does the opposite of what you intend?"

His sensual mouth curves into a bitter smile. We lapse into silence for a while. One of his hands strokes my hair, and I let myself relax into him, giving in to the waves of pleasure. Who knows how long we have left to be together tonight? Who knows when I'll be able to see him again? Here we are, worlds away from Linkon and N-109, and nothing has really changed except the color of my eyes and hair.

Is there a reality where we don't have to part at the end of every meeting? Is there a place where we could be...more?

Maybe it's not a place. Maybe it's a choice. But, it's not one I can easily make. At least, not without giving up other things I love.

"Mmm...It's warmer now," Sylus breathes, resting his chin on top of my head. He shifts, and I instinctively tighten my grip on him.

"Don't go," I whisper.

"I'm just moving you to the bed. You should rest."

"Don't want to..."

A sound of amusement tickles the ear that's not pressed against his chest. "If you don't want to lie down, I can hold you until I leave."

"What if I don't want you to leave?" I throw out the challenge but chicken out of making eye contact.

"Then, I suppose..." he caresses a confident trail up my spine, "we'd better make the most of our time before dawn." I nearly give a very unladylike moan when his hand settles on the nape of my neck and starts to massage my tense muscles.

"Sounds...promising..."

"Are you sure?" he murmurs, a thrilling teasing edge to his tone. "Weren't you worried about me being seen?"

"Maybe Sorocan's way of getting back at me is...ugh...denying me dinner and a bath..."

"Hmm...seems rather petty of her."

"Stars, that feels amazing..."

"She's always been a small-minded one."

I can't muster up two fractals to give about Sorocan and her retribution right now. As Sylus's hand travels down from my neck to my shoulders, I go limp as a ragdoll in his arms. Closing my eyes, I float in the darkness and nuzzle into his neck. His lips press against my forehead and linger before pulling away. After a few minutes, he does it again. My temple this time.

Gentle, doting, and sensual kisses.

It's relaxing...until it's not.

Suddenly I'm aware of how soft those lips feel; hot, pliant, and just moist enough to leave a cool sensation in their wake. Their slight drag against my skin makes me shiver in anticipation. Meanwhile, his other hand starts moving, too, stroking ever so softly over the ridges of my thigh. I love how his huge palm dwarfs me; love the feeling of him completely and utterly trapping me against him. I'm reminded of that steamy night in my tiny shower cabinet; of his sinful mouth and tongue between my legs.

I shift around restlessly. The next time he leans in, I open my eyes and tilt my face up. Without pausing, I slide my hand along his cheek and twine my fingers into his silky hair. Pulling gently, I coax him into a kiss. Once. Twice. Our lips mold together gently at first, our eyes open and devouring each other. Both of us a little hesitant as though each one of us is afraid the other will vanish at any moment. I grow bolder with each touch, however, and soon I'm shifting my position to straddle him on the seat.

With our fronts pressed against each other and my legs on either side of him, I can no longer deny my need. Maybe I should feel bad about that. After all, we're trapped in some kind of mutant Protofield and we have no idea what it's going to throw at us next. But, maybe that's even more reason to act on feelings like this now. As a Hunter and as the leader of Onychinus, we are both all too aware of how short life can be.

As we drown in each other's red eyes, his right one begins to glow.

Devour him...comes the voice again.

He's yours...always been yours to claim...

I reach up and brush the pads of my fingers along his cheekbone right under his glowing eye. His sharp gaze traces my movement, and he shifts back just enough for me to notice. But, he doesn't stop me. His brows are relaxed, his pupils dilated. Even in the darkness, I can see a faint tinge of pink flushing his cheeks.

"Are you looking into my heart?" I ask him, feathering across his cheek to his ear.

"You wear it on your sleeve, kitten," he tilts his head and nuzzles into my touch. "I don't need to use this eye to know what you desire."

"Then...am I being too greedy...if I ask you to keep these eyes only on me?"

He catches my hand with his and joins them in a way I've grown to long for. A faint light pulses between our palms as my Evol yearns to Resonate with his. To join with him. Be one. Our bodies, too. And our hearts.

"You've always had that right," he answers huskily, kissing each of my knuckles in turn. "Perhaps it's been said before," he kisses down to my wrist, "somewhere in another time and place, but..." I gasp when he bites me gently right in the crease of my palm. "Only you can touch me like this. There is no other." My face flushes, my belly tensing and aching as his tongue wraps around one of my fingers and draws it into his mouth. I pull back, frightened of how good it feels.

"Don't run from me," he whispers, and I balk at a new expression I've never seen him show me before. Need. Raw need. His eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes consuming me, undressing me. Beneath my other hand, his heart is pounding just as fast as mine.

Devour him...

"Sylus, I'm hearing something...a voice. It's telling me to...devour you."

"Then why don't you?" he asks, unafraid. "I'm more than happy to be your prey." His long-fingered hands and broad palms whisper down my sides, encircling my waist, lifting me up. "And...to experience everything you have to offer in return."

He leans forward, locking our lips together again. My eyes drift closed, body thrumming with a growing primal hunger. As his wicked tongue enters my mouth, those same hands grasp my hips and grind me down against his hardening length. The thick cotton trews leave nothing to the imagination. Just anticipating him entering me - stretching me, filling me until I can't think or move or –

"Tell me again, sweetie, do you want it?"

"Yes," I manage to gasp out before I'm entirely submerged the flames of his desire. His kisses are more fiery than usual. We come together then break apart in short bursts of passion. Soon, every breath he takes steals mine away. I float in dizziness and euphoria until I push against him to come up for air.

"Sylus...I can't breathe..." White strands of my hair fall across my face, and he gently brushes them aside. It's so dark now that I can hardly make out his features. I gasp as his lips slide down to my breasts. He yanks the ties out of my blouse in a single motion, peeling away the fabric. Our hands join again – as if he can't stand for them to be apart – and he gently guides them behind my back to support me, allowing me to relax. I cry out as his scorching kisses counter winter's chill against my skin, sighing as he suckles first one nipple then the other.

I'm squirming now, frustrated at being able to feel him at my core yet missing the pressure that will drive me higher.

"We should...hnn...light the fire...hey, no biting there," I mumble incoherently, complaining yet not truly displeased. Sylus ghosts his lips over the bite on the swell of my breast, easing the ache. He releases my hand so he can grind my hips harder against him, and I arch back, needing more and more. My fingers tangle further in his hair.

"It's OK. I don't need to see," he sighs against my skin. "I can feel every inch of you, and darkness..." his hands slip beneath my skirts, running fiery trails up my legs to my hips, "... makes a person more sensitive."

The initial contact of his talented fingers with my dripping folds is so intense it has me clawing at him. Pleasure knifes through me as he slides those same fingers against my core, touching my clit just enough to make my whole body shudder. My thoughts melt away, leaving nothing but sensation. I can't help the greedy whine that leaves my mouth as he worships my breasts with his mouth and makes teasing passes against my entrance down below.

"Your body is hotter than your lips," he declares between long sweet kisses. "I missed this taste." He nuzzles his chin against my chest. "Missed your scent." In response to the excitement in his voice, more wetness rushes down my thighs. "So wet and soft," he groans, "mmm...kitten..."

I'm so hungry for him now I can hardly think straight. My hands trace the delicious expanse of his smooth chest, running down the valley of his abs down to the hem of his pants. I fumble, clumsy and shaky as I seek to undo unfamiliar ties and drawstrings. He seems to shift away, and I make some kind of noise in protest.

"Now, now...focus, sweetie," he growls into my ear.

"T-Trying...you keep moving..." I mumble.

"No, not on that." He presses his thumb against my clit, forcing me to stop my assault on his pants and to dig my nails into his arm. "Focus here."

I can't stop moaning and whimpering as he inserts first one finger then another inside me, pumping them both in a torturous steady rhythm. Slow enough to make me see stars; slow enough to make me bite into his skin. His hands don't stop for a moment, giving me no quarter, the pace never changing even as I start to buck and moan against him. My orgasm is just out of reach. I recognize this brand of play, but this time it feels like I might cry if he drags this out anymore than he already is.

"No more," I beg him. "I want to...want to..."

Still maintaining the same pace inside me, he gives me a wicked smile. "Just a little more, sweetie. A little higher. You can endure it, can't you?"

His tone is mischievous and sly. Even in this state, I can't resist his challenge. Biting my lip, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ride out the euphoria of his teasing. Time loses meaning. Again, I come close to the peak; again, he navigates me back down and away from it. Another few seconds, and I'm begging again.

"Sy...lus...please...let me...let me..."

"I think you can go higher," he drawls. "If you can hold on a little longer, I'll do as you like." His words drip honeyed promises. "I'll flip you over right under me and let you take as much of me as you can handle." I stop breathing momentarily as his fingers move in time with each of his words. "Just...like...this..."

The sounds of him moving inside my gushing center is lewd and mortifying. I try to shy away from it, but Sylus isn't having any of that.

"A little more," he croons, his own voice breathy and husky with yearning. "I want you to show me how much you missed me these long months apart."

Tears sting at my eyes and stream down my face. My whole body is shaking and trembling. Nothing makes sense anymore. I'm talking, but nothing that I'm saying is registering. The pad of his thumb brushes against my cheeks.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his fingers slowing even more. I might scream. Genuinely.

I shake my head, insistent. "No, Sylus. Just take me. Please."

His smooth chuckle makes my walls clench tight around him. He kisses up along my neck, nibbling on my ear. "Alright, since you asked me so nicely."

Whatever he does next with his fingers nearly renders me unconscious. My climax slams into me so hard that my soul leaves my body. I float in and out of awareness until a pair of hands lifts me up again and spreads me open in the most intimate of ways. I hold my breath.

"You did so well for me, kitten. Let me reward you." Even as his sultry voice echoes in my ears, I see stars again as he slides into me. Slowly, carefully, gently. When he's all the way inside, he churns his hips and settles in. Just a little too big; a little too much. Sylus curses now against my jaw; his big body is shaking, too. He's losing his composure swiftly. If he doesn't move now, I'm going to lose my mind.

"Take me, Sylus...I can't wait anymore..."

With a sexy groan, he pulls partially out of me then thrusts back in. He's still moving slowly, as though he's afraid of breaking me. It's not an unreasonable concern. Our bodies are so different, one might think they'd never be compatible. But, just a few thrusts in, discomfort melts into sweet ambrosia. My whimpers turn into moans and cries and more nonsensical begging until slow sweet love-making transforms into a desperate animalistic rut. He rolls me onto the furs on the floor and looms over me as he thrusts his cock as deep as it will go. The yurt is filled with the sounds of slapping flesh and throaty moans, neither one of us concerned about someone overhearing our exertions now. We're too lost in each other, too deeply joined and blissful to care about such things. 

Pressure builds and builds in my belly until I really do explode. When I nearly fall over, Sylus holds me up. As I struggle to get my bearings, he keeps pounding into me, leaning over to whisper darker things into my ear.

"Look at you taking me to the hilt...you are a greedy one..."

I mumble something in response, but I'm too delirious to comprehend it. The second time I climax, it happens in sync with his own orgasm. Sylus moans in pleasure, and as I bask in the incredible sound of his voice lilting like that, he fills me with his hot cum. It leaks out of me and drips down my thighs as my legs and arms shake and tremble.

"Looks like we can't use this blanket anymore," he teases, breathing hard. "Should I get a new one?"

I shake my head and lose all strength in my limbs. Sylus catches me against him and stands, walking us to the bed. Everything is spinning, and I can't reconcile the way I feel like I'm about to pass out. Sylus whispers my name, but even when I open my eyes I can't see anything in the darkness.

"I'm sorry, Sylus...so tired..."

"There's a hot bath set up in the White Wolf's tent," he says. "Can I take you there to get cleaned up?"

I nod weakly.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," he kisses my forehead, though his voice is entirely unrepentant. "Perhaps I was too mean tonight."

"Next time," I promise. "I'll make sure to return the favor."

Next time, I'll make him beg.

His chest rumbles with a laugh. "Do you have to be competitive right now?" When I don't immediately answer him, he sets me on the bed and readjusts his clothes.

I prop myself up on my elbow. "It's late, maybe you should–"

He stops me with a finger to my lips. "Let me take care of you."

"But, the fight tomorrow..."

"A guaranteed victory." Wrapping another large blanket around me, he takes me into his arms in preparation for a Jump.

"You can't be arrogant about it. You don't even know your handicap."

"You're overthinking it. We need to win in order to get out of here, right? So, that's what I'll do. There's no more to it than that."

[flurry-of-stars]

Hello! You might have seen me commented under your posts lately, hope i didn't bother you tho. Actually i haven't commented or requested anything to anyone at all ever since i have tumblr, so i guess you're my first! I wanna have a little fic request about slow burn academy au ranpo x reader! And ofc I wouldn't mind one bit if you don't feel like to. Thankyou so much!

Hello there! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ You haven’t been a bother at all! I’m always grateful for all your comments and I’m even more honoured to be your first request! I do hope you like it! (´⌣`ʃƪ)♡ Now I’ve never written Ranpo before so I hope he isn’t too OOC or anything! (;° ロ°) This is just the first chapter, since writing a full multichapter fic would take a very long time. I could come back to write more for this AU in the future though! ♡ I was listening to the song Sparks by Coldplay when writing and imagining alot of this and how I would make future chapters play out and yeah (´⌣`ʃƪ)♡

ᴮᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵖʳᵒᵐⁱˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗʰⁱˢ ♡ ᴵ'ˡˡ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵒᵘᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ

✧˖°𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰✧˖° Academy Ranpo x Anxious Reader ✧˖°𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮✧˖° Slow burn Academy AU, no Abilities AU, Female reader, Ranpo and the reader are teenagers, reader is very anxious. ✧˖°𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽✧˖° 5𝓴

Twin Light Academy. It’s gates stood before you casting long shadows across the perfectly trimmed and maintained school grounds, opened wide like a beast beckoning you inside its maw. This academy was known for producing some of the world's greatest minds, but earning a place here was no easy task. Your exhausted, sleepy mind and aching body are a testament to that. You step through the gates, moving slowly, your new, pristine black shoes clicking against the cobblestone path as you enter, alongside the rest of this year’s chosen students, dressed in uniforms of white and grey. Blazers and vests surround you on all sides, all present with the school's emblem; a flame with the infinity symbol beneath it. Only one hundred fifty students were deemed intelligent and charismatic enough to attend Twin Light’s harsh academic regime. The academy building stood before you, a gigantic castle carved and built into the side of a mountain with nothing but expert craftsmanship, standing proud as an institution of learning for the past two hundred years. Ancient statues of Komainu stood beside the wide steps leading students into what would be their home for the next year. They stood proud and tall as if they would be watching over each Twin Light student this coming year.

You walk past, pausing to bask in the glory of the gigantic white lion dogs, the sun shining down and making them look like majestic guardians. You smile as a cool breeze caresses your hair. You felt like this was the start of the rest of your life. This academy held promises of a secure future for you. A future where you could live comfortably. A future where you could be the person you wanted to be. The person that would make your family proud. And maybe, just maybe, you'll finally manage to make some friends. You finally walk forward, joining the other students in the final climb into the entrance hall. Shiny marble floors greet you first, your shoes clicking softly on the shimmering surface. Towering stone walls rose, creeping tall above you and guiding your gaze to the ceiling where cute cherubs nestled in white, puffy clouds lay in an intricately beautiful painting. Tapestries line the walls, depicting events of the past from all across the globe. World wars and huge political events that shaped the world as you know it today. Each one has been woven with an expert touch, making them completely irreplaceable. You feel tempted to walk over and touch them but you resist the urge, placing your hands in your lap as you walk. Many of the seats have already been filled, so you take one at the back. Before you stands a large stage. You assume it was recently built, due to looking more than a little out of place against grey brick walls and shiny marble floors. The school’s emblem is adorned on flags positioned at the front of the stage.

Behind the stage is a vast stained glass window, circular in shape, depicting caterpillars growing into butterflies with many gorgeous stained glass flowers in each corner, almost covering the entire window. It cast its multicolor lights across the stage where the principal would soon stand. 

You place your bag by your side, listening to the hushed whispers around you. Many students are trying to get to know one another. To find anyone with any sort of common ground.

They would be stuck with each other for the next year after all, even during the holidays. It was best to make at least a few friends. Your eyes flick up as you hear the chair next to you creak. Turning your head, you blink in surprise. Joining you is a young man with messy black hair. You notice the glasses perched on his head right away, along with his uniform. Or rather, lack there of an official uniform. Twin Light Academy had a strict uniform: a white, button-up shirt or blouse, a grey blazer or vest with the school’s emblem on it, and a grey plaid skirt or long pants, with clean black shoes. This young man seemed to have added his own flair to the uniform. A black cape is draped over his shoulders, cascading down the back of the metal chair he’s leaning back on. You see he does indeed have the white button-up on but he’s wearing dark trousers instead and a tie that’s been sloppily done up, along with his vest, it’s colouring matching the trousers he has on with the school's emblem nowhere to be seen.

You also smell an enchantingly sweet smell coming from him. You notice the bag of candy in his pocket as he takes a handful and starts munching on various sweets. You frown and furrow your brows. How did this guy manage to get an approved application when he can't even dress in the right uniform? “Hey, um,” you speak up in a hushed voice. The raven-haired boy looks over at you, his emerald green eyes meeting your gaze as he devours his mouthful of candy, “Were you in a rush this morning? I think you must have put on the wrong clothes by mistake–” “They’re just clothes,” he replies with a carefree shrug. You watch as he pops a strawberry-flavoured lollipop into his mouth, slipping it to one side to keep speaking to you. He looks you up and down before he gives you a small grin, “Putting on that frilly skirt and vest didn’t make your IQ raise any, did it?” You blink, mouth agape like a fish out of water, your gaze darting away as you fiddle with your skirt. Was he mocking you? Taunting you? You struggle to reply as a soft heat builds in your cheeks, “I-I…well…”

You blink, mouth agape like a fish out of water, your gaze darting away as you fiddle with your skirt. Was he mocking you? Taunting you? You struggle to reply as a soft heat builds in your cheeks, “I-I…well…” Before you can embarrass yourself further, your attention is drawn towards the stage. You catch a glimpse of the principal stepping onto it, approaching the podium to give his welcome speech. His stern expression makes you tense a little.

You knew this institution was very serious about raising top students, but you hoped the principal and the other professors were at least kind. Once he begins to speak, any other conversations go silent immediately. His voice is stern but not demanding. Warm and welcoming, but still meaning business. “Good morning everyone. It is with great pleasure that I stand before you today to welcome you all into Twin Light Academy for Gifted Minds.” His blue eyes scan the crowd carefully as he continues. “It is wonderful to see a few returning faces this year. I have high expectations that you will all do your best in welcoming and helping your underclassmen when you can. I’m sure you all remember how anxious you were when you first began studying here.”

“To our new students, it is nothing but a pleasure to have you all here. I am the Principal of Twin Light Academy. I will be here to guide you through this academic journey, along with your professors and the other staff here–” A loud crunch next to you snaps your gaze off the principal; his speech continues as your eyes dart to the raven-haired boy, who’s taken out a candy fruit mix now. You grimace as he bites down on them, seeming quite calm about the principal’s speech. “U-um,” you whisper as you wring your hands together. The boy doesn’t look over at you, his hand diving into the bag of sweets before crunching into another handful. Now a few of your peers are looking back, mumbling in irritation. Shakily, you lift a hand, tapping his shoulder with a near feather light touch. Finally, he looks up at you as you softly whisper, “Y-you’re…um…distracting everyone…maybe you could–” “Hm? What’s that? Can you speak up?” He replies, not getting the memo about keeping his voice down. His voice echoes through the entrance hall, capturing the attention of more students now and the eye of the principal. You feel your entire body tingle as multiple eyes land on the pair of you. You rub your hands together awkwardly, trying to soothe yourself. Whispers sound like loud mockery in your ear as your voice grows more meek, “U-u-um…y-you’re chewing too–” “I still can’t hear you!” He repeats, sighing in irritation. You feel even more eyes now scanning you both. You hear some harsh whispers, telling you both to quiet down and suddenly, you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. “Ranpo,” the principal’s voice cuts through the noise, causing all murmuring to cease once more. The boy next to you, Ranpo, looks up at the stage now. The principal gives him a scolding look. It reminds you of when your father would reprimand you for bad behaviour, “Can you keep it down?”

“You’re the boss!” he replies with a smile, causing a whine of relief to slip past your lips. You relax back into your seat, taking a deep breath as you try to calm down from the entire room having its eyes on you. Beside you Ranpo settles into his chair, tucking away his bag of candy at last. With a relaxed sigh, you turn your attention back towards the front as the principal continues his speech, “Lastly, perhaps most importantly, remember to be kind to one another. Twin Light Academy is a diverse community. All of you come from different backgrounds and cultures and all carry with you rich experiences that have crafted you into the young people you are today.” The warmth and praise in his tone make your heart swell. It made you feel proud of yourself even if only a little bit. He continues, “So I expect you all to treat each other with respect, understanding and empathy.” You watch as a smile, warm and soothing, creeps up onto his face, “Best of luck to all of you in the coming school year. Please don’t hesitate to drop by my office at any time.” As he gives a polite bow, you and your peers clap for the principal as he steps down. His place at the podium is soon taken by another. A woman holding a clipboard with glasses hurries up onto the stage.

She sounds slightly more flustered than the principal did, “If all our returning students could please begin making their way to their dorms, that would be wonderful. All our first years, please remain behind for the tour of the school.” Slowly, the crowd of one hundred fifty begin to disperse as you stay sitting in your chair, not wanting to get in anyone’s way. You keep your head down, fiddling with your skirt as you shyly watch the second years leaving with smiles and laughter.

They seemed friendly enough. But you were sure they all already had friend groups formed from the previous year. As you begin to look back around the room, you notice a few first years are already forming groups and pairs. A few girls are giggling and sharing their phone screens. They must be sharing funny videos or pictures. Oh, but you were sure none of the videos or photos you had would be funny to anyone else. There’s another group, a mixed one this time with a few girls and boys. They seem pleasant. One of the girls touches one of their boy's shoulders. Ah, they’re flirting then. Right, okay. You shouldn’t push your way in. You don’t want one of the girls to think you want one of the boys they’re trying to court. You stand up, picking up your bag by the straps. Well, that’s okay, you decide. Maybe you will make friends in time. After a few classes and enrolling in a club, surely someone would reach out to you. It was statistically probable, you decide, smiling to yourself as you gazed longingly at each group.

It must be so nice to have somewhere you fit in like that. “Hey.” A startled sound escapes you, eyes darting to the raven-haired boy at your side. What was his name again? Ranpo, wasn’t it? “Y-yes?” Your voice trembles, his emerald eyes staring directly at you but not making eye contact. He’s silent for a long while before you try speaking again, “D-did you need something?” “Why do you keep staring at everyone?” His blunt question makes your heart drop. Oh no, was it really that obvious that you were staring? Did the groups see too? You’re so caught up in your whirlwind of thoughts that it takes you a few seconds to register what he says next, “You keep looking at everyone like a lost puppy. Are you looking for someone in particular?” You shrink away from him, a wave of self-consciousness flooding through you. Your stomach churns, twisting in tight knots as you try to find an excuse.

The truth would be so embarrassing for you, “I…I-I was…um…d-directions!” You look up; the boy tilts his head at you. “The school tour, I-I mean. I just wasn’t sure where to go..” He’s silent for a long while, his intense green eyes never leaving you. Then his lips curl into a warm smile, “Oh, the tour?” He turns his gaze at last, directing your attention to the lady with glasses. She’s currently rounding up the new students, seeming to be doing a head count of each one. “Just go to her. There’s no need to join a group or anything.”

“O-oh…thank you…” You reply softly, taking a few quick steps towards the gathering group. You’re about to focus on acting like this really was what you meant, when suddenly Ranpo comes up beside you. “Actually, I’m going to stick with you.” You blink in surprise, pausing in your tracks as you look back at him. His gaze flickers around the large entrance hall, his smile quirking into a grin. “Who needs to memorise a map when you can have someone else to lead you?” “But I don’t know the school layout–” “Well then you best focus on the tour then, because you’re going to be my guide!” His grin grows, leaving you to question just what you’ve signed yourself up for. As a duo, you both join the rest of the group waiting for the tour. Many of the other students are giggling, discussing their interests and the like. You look over at Ranpo briefly.

His attention is elsewhere, specifically on his bag of sweets again. Now it looks like he’s moved on to a cream bun of some kind. Where in the world is he hiding all of that food? “Ranpo Edogawa!” You flinch. Both yours and Ranpo’s eyes dart up towards the woman with glasses. She frowns, tapping her clipboard, “You’re not in uniform again this year. And you’re not a first year! Why are you–”

owned the institution? Or were at the very least funding it?

Were they big shots in the government or law enforcement or– “Hey, earth to space cadet!” You squeak as a hand waves in front of your face. You blink, taking a few steps back, your attention turned back to Ranpo.

He points his thumb towards the group as they begin to move, “The tours starting. You should save the staring off into space thing for later.” “O-oh….um…sorry…” You pull your bag close, unzipping it to pull out the diary you’d received a week prior with your acceptance letter. Flipping through the pages, you bring up the map, sharing it between you and Ranpo. His eyes skim the map briefly and you swear you notice his smile falter. The school tour begins. Your eyes scan over the map eagerly, smiling as you notice all the facilities that are shown to you on your journey and that are labelled on the map in your hands. The dining hall, kitchen and most of the staff rooms, including the staff lounge, principal’s office and the nurse’s bay were located here on the first floor, along with directions for the greenhouse, sports fields outdoors and the co-ed dormitory outside of the building. The second floor was full of classrooms with the expected blackboards and whiteboards for pen-to-paper learning, along with three science rooms. The trio of rooms were connected by small hallways that housed every chemical you and the other students would be working with this year. The doors for each hallway room were locked, of course. The library was also located on this floor, spanning up onto the third floor via spiral staircases, where one could find clubrooms for a variety of subjects like art, music and poetry. And last but not least, there was the roof but the map specified that it was off-limits. Your curiosity was peeked but whenever you considered asking your tour guide for a reason why, your throat suddenly felt very tight. Luckily, the guide did bring it up. “Due to an incident last year, we’ve had to section off the roof,” she explains as your group passes by the locked door with a large, bright yellow warning sign on it. You frown, a chill running down your spine. Your imagination is more than happy to fill in the blank spaces, “But it will be reopened later this year after a few renovations are completed. It will be a nice little eating area for you all by Spring.”

“It wasn’t even bad,” you hear Ranpo murmur beside you. You glance at him briefly. He has his hands behind his head and his elbows up. He looks quite relaxed about the whole thing. “Everyone freaked out for no good reason.” Your curiosity is peaked. You’re tempted to ask for details but you decide against it. With how nonchalant he’s come across so far, you’re rather worried about what he deems as ‘not even bad.��� “And that will just about do it for the tour.” Your attention is drawn back to the tour guide, a relieved smile on her face. “Your dorm room number should be written on the back page of your diaries. If it’s missing, feel free to drop by the office during lunch and we’ll help you out.” Turning your attention back to your diary, you flip through the pages till you reach the end of the book. Sure enough, there’s your room number. 1-43. Dorm block one, room forty-three. You repeat it a few times in your head, memorising the numbers, although your mind wanders a little. These were co-ed dorm rooms. There was a chance you’d be sharing a room with a boy you’d only just be meeting for the first time today. Your hands sweat a little as an uncomfortable tightness stretches across your chest. You close your diary, wanting to go and check your dorm out immediately. “Hey!” You blink rapidly turning your attention over to Ranpo. He has a pout on his face, his hands on his hips, and for the third time today, he has many eyes on him and voices whispering about him.

Once you face him, he crosses his arms, his pout seeming to grow. “U-um…yes?” You reply, hands fiddling with caressing the spiral coil of your diary with your fingers. A small huff escapes him. “I need you to lead me to the principal’s office, guide lady.” Guide lady? Your skin flushes with heat. You swear you can hear a few of the other students nearby giggling and looking your way.

Your throat suddenly feels constricted as he keeps going, his tone sounding more like a child throwing a tantrum now, “You can’t just walk away when I still need your help! You’re my guide and–!” “O-okay!” You blurt out quickly, your fingers combing through your hair a few times as you nod rapidly, your eyes darting from the wall nearby to the long ruby red, gold-trimmed runner then finally up to meet Ranpo’s gaze.

You swallow roughly, turning and beaconing him to follow you as you jog away from the group. “Huh? Hey, slow down!” But you don’t. You jog like there’s somewhere urgent you need to be, which in truth, there is. Away from everyone and everything else. You keep up your pace, not knowing if Ranpo is keeping up with you as you head down the first flight of stairs, then the second. Once you’ve reached the first floor again, you finally start to slow down, pausing and keeling over, hands braced on your knees as you pant. Behind you, you hear Ranpo’s heavy panting as well, followed by a soft thump. You turn quickly, worried he may have tripped in his pursuit of you. “Was there really a need to run? Geez…!” He asks between his heavy panting, his tone irritated. Thankfully, he didn’t trip. That’s a relief. He’s sitting on one of the steps behind you, trying to catch his breath. “The office isn’t going anywhere you know!”

“I-I’m sorry, I just–” Before you can speak any further, Ranpo huffs, standing back up. He jumps towards you, taking the steps two at a time. Soon, he’s standing right in front of you. You can see the sweat rolling down his forehead as you listen to his soft panting. He stares into your eyes and you take a small step back, feeling a little intimidated. His emerald eyes remind you of clovers, of the first day of Spring. They were so vibrant and lovely, charming yet mysterious.

Though perhaps it was best not to be admiring his eyes right now. But much to your surprise, he gives a huff and a smile, “Oooh! You shoulda just told me if you were in a hurry!” You gasp as he hooks his arm around one of yours, his smile growing ever wider, “Okay! Lead the way tour guide!” “I-I have a name…” you murmur, body stiffening as a wave of awkwardness floods through you. As you begin to walk, you contemplate telling him to let go but every second you consider it, your heart flutters like a butterfly is trapped inside.

You hear Ranpo hum as you guide him towards the principal’s office. Slowly. “I have a better name for you!” He announces, not even bothering to ask for your name, “I’m going to call you Wisp.” You wanted to correct him. You wanted to tell him your name or the nickname you would prefer to be called by. You open your mouth. Your throat starts tightening once more and becoming drier than the desert. But you manage to get one single word out. “O-okay…” Thankfully, you find the principal’s office. He doesn’t appear to be in, but you’ve completed the task that was thrust upon you. Fixing your vest and blouse as Ranpo takes a seat outside of the principal’s office, you clutch your school diary a little tighter as you speak up nervously, “U-um…if that’s all, then I have to go now–” Ranpo flashes you one more wide grin as he swings his legs back and forth slowly. He lifts a hand, waving to you quite enthusiastically the moment you begin to hurry away from the area, “Bye bye Wisp! I’ll see you soon!” You raise your hand, giving a faint little wave as you back away. Then like a bat out of hell, you run away as fast as your legs can take you.

Hurrying for the entrance, you leave the academy, heading past the Komainu statues and returning to the cobblestone path that led you here to begin with. 

You pant wildly, heart fluttering like a panicking bird in your chest as you try to calm down. That was too much for your first day. Why did that boy feel the need to cling to you so much? Out of one hundred and fifty people? He isn’t even a first year! Doesn’t he have other friends he could seek out for help? Why you?

You begin walking along the cobblestone path, following the signs nearby to find your way to the dormitories that are already bustling with activity. You see alot of second year students there already, chatting with other classmates. Some are cleaning out their dorm rooms, even moving furniture around with the aid of their room mate. Others are debating switching rooms for a variety of reasons. Your stomach swirls and twists; what if you were sharing a room with a second year student? Worse.

What if you were stuck with a second year boy that already had a girlfriend? What if she was aggressive about changing rooms with you to be with him? What if she wanted to fight you?! Oh, no, no, no! You couldn’t fight! You could barely run track in your previous school without feeling light headed! Your eyes dart across each door, opened or closed until they land on your room door. 1-43. This was it. Oh god, oh god. You shakily step towards the door, lifting a trembling hand to grab the shiny brass door knob. You take a few unsteady breaths as you turn the knob, opening the door to find– No one else. The dorm room is empty. Both sets of keys are still waiting on the hooks by the door. You groan, stepping inside and dumping your bag on the floor. All that worry for nothing. The dorm room itself wasn’t anything immaculate. Compared to the rest of the academy, they were quite small. The back wall is a soft grey, but the other two were a creamy white. The carpet wasn’t exactly soft but it was better than nothing. A large paned window is slotted between the two beds, the vertical blinds open and letting in sunlight from outside. An old wooden chest of drawers was positioned between the two beds, a simple bedside lamp with a wide base in the centre. A desk was positioned at the end of each bed, too small to keep a desktop computer but definitely suitable enough for a laptop. They each came with a lockable drawer and shelving, the perfect spots to put the few sentimental items you’d brought with you and a few books. Your luggage is already here, the large rolling suitcase left at the end of one of the beds. Approaching the bed, you flop down onto it, quickly learning that the pillow isn’t as fluffy as it looks. Still, you groan into it. It’s barely been half a day and you can feel exhaustion crawling through every inch of your body. As you roll onto your back, your mind reels, forcing you to remember every moment the other students looked your way.

Suddenly, their grins and laughter seemed more menacing that it initially was.

They were laughing at you. They had to be. Oh god, were you the academy’s laughing stock already? The way they looked back at you and Ranpo. Those grins on their faces. They were mocking you, weren’t they?

You whine, rolling back over, your face pressing into the flat pillow. It had been your dream for years to come to this academy! Being here was a dream come true for you. You’d hoped that by coming here, you’d find people you could finally connect with. But now, it felt like you had already spoiled your chances. Suddenly, the door opens wide. You squeal, sitting up quickly as the hinges squeak. Your roommate was here already? You look towards the door quickly, your hand gripping at you thigh as you blink in surprise. “R-Ranpo? What are you doing here?” With a smile, Ranpo steps into the room, his voice so loud that you notice other students looking into your dorm from outside, “Well, well! It looks like we’re going to be rooming together Wisp!” He doesn’t bother to close the door. You get up quickly, scampering to the door to close it before you gain an even larger audience. “That’s perfect! Now you don’t have a reason not to be my guide!” You look back only to find him sitting on the bed you’d already claimed. He picks up the pillow, trying to fluff it out before he looks back at you, holding it up, “You’re gonna wanna do something about this pillow situation though!” “Wait…wait, wait…” You shake your head in disbelief, watching as Ranpo grabs the pillow from the other bed, testing to see which is fluffier between the two. “Y-you…? You’re…you’re going to be my roommate?” “Yep! For the entire year!” He looks back up at you, his smile growing wider. He tosses the first pillow over to the other bed. He turns his attention away from you, focusing on fluffing up the pillow he’s chosen to claim. You stand there, completely astonished as you stare at your new roommate. Twelve months. You were going to be stuck living with Ranpo for the next year. 'It could be worse,' you think. 'I mean...at least I kind of know him...?' You look over at your new roommate, settling in and getting comfortable on the bed you already laid claim to. So maybe he had a few quirks, but he didn't seem to be a bad person. Maybe, just maybe...you'd be okay with him being your first friend.

Dividers: @/thecutestgrotto 𝓣𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 (If you'd like to be added, go here ♡) @tecchoussuperlady @hearts4heidi @lovestruckbook @wixxlemuff @twinkaesop @livelaughyo @yonseibananamilk @honeyangelsblog @soggyoreoinmilk @verminthorr

[the-mortuary-witch]

NYX

WHO IS SHE?

Nyx is a primordial Goddess of the night and darkness. She is a deity of infinite wisdom and secret knowledge, and she is thought to be the progenitor of the universe. She is also associated with the void and the abyss, as well as the primordial chaos that predated the creation of the universe.

BASIC INFO:

Appearance: she is typically portrayed as a beautiful and radiant figure, who appears youthful and ageless. Her body is often described as being made of light and shadow, and as having a radiant and ethereal appearance. She is often depicted as having long dark hair that flows freely in the air, and she often wears black and white attire.

Personality: Nyx is often described as a mysterious and ethereal entity, who governs the night and the Underworld. She is said to be a solitary figure, who keeps to herself and observes the world from a distance. She is often portrayed as a quiet and wise figure, who represents the depths of the night and the cycle of life and death. She is also viewed as a nurturing and protective force, who guards the secrets of the Underworld and ensures the smooth passing of the dead into the afterlife.

Symbols: crescent moon, night sky, mist, shadow, black lotus, darkness, torch, three-phase moon, and stars

Goddess of: the night and darkness

Culture: Greek

Plants and trees: poppies, night blooming lilies, moon flowers, olive tree, rosemary, mistletoe, gladiolus, and forget-me-nots

Crystals: black tourmaline, cascading quartz, obsidian, amethyst, charoite (one of her fav crystals), black onyx, smoky quartz, garnet, black rose quartz, cat’s eye, turitella agate, prasem stone, Lake Superior agate, moonstone, and moss agate

Animals: owls, crows, foxes, cats, nightingales, and bats

Incense: lavender, frankincense (one of her fav incense), chamomile, myrrh, dragon’s blood, and cinnamon

Practices: lunar magick, astronomy, healing, dream work, sleep magick, rebirth, and astral projection

Colours: dark blue, black, purple, silver, and red

Numbers: 3, 4, and 9

Zodiac: Scorpio (not official)

Tarot: The Star

Planets: Moon and Pluto

Days: Monday, new moon, and Mabon

Parents: Chaos

Siblings: Erebus

Partner: Erebus

Children: Hemera, Aether, Moros, Apate, Dolos, Nemesis, the Keres, the Moirai, Oizys, Momus, Oneiros, Hypnos, Eris, Thanatos, Philotes, Geras, and possibly more

MISC:

• The Moon: often associated with Nyx as she is the goddess of the night. It is a symbol of her influence over darkness and the universe.

• Stars: Nyx is also frequently associated with stars and constellations, as the night sky is her realm. Stars represent her infinite wisdom and knowledge and the heavenly lights that shine through the night.

• Void: the void is the primal, infinite void that existed before the creation of the universe. It is the primordial chaos that Nyx emerged from, and it is thought to be the origin of all things.

• Infinity: the concept of infinity is also associated with Nyx, as she is a deity of limitless wisdom and knowledge. Infinite knowledge and understanding are core values in her realm of the night.

• Destruction: Nyx is also often viewed as a goddess of destruction and ruin, as she is the embodiment of the void and the abyss.

• The Origin of the Universe: in one version of mythology, Nyx is said to have emerged from the primordial chaos and void that existed before the creation of the world. She is thought to have been the source of the energy and matter that gave rise to all existence.

• The Creation of the Olympians: in some versions of mythology, Nyx is believed to have given birth to Zeus and the other Olympians. She is also thought to have been their caretaker and protector.

FACTS ABOUT NYX:

• Nyx is associated with the night, darkness, and the abyss.

• She is also associated with the void, which is the space between dimensions and universes.

• Nyx is also associated with infinity, secret knowledge, and wisdom.

• She is often portrayed as a deity of creation, destruction, and transformation.

• Nyx has also been linked to the concept of fate and destiny.

• She is the primordial goddess of the night and the personification of darkness.

• Nyx is one of the most important goddesses in Greek mythology.

• She is associated with the night sky and the stars.

HOW TO INVOKE NYX:

Working with Nyx involves taking time to set up a sacred space, cleaning and dedicating this space, offering prayers of reverence and gratitude, showing care and thought with offerings, asking her for guidance and wisdom with your prayers, being open to messages she may send, and being mindful and attentive throughout the devotion.

PRAYER FOR NYX:

"Nyx, Goddess of the night and the primordial void, please accept this prayer and my offerings as a gesture of respect and devotion. I seek your guidance and your wisdom, and I ask for your protection and protection. Please guide me on this path of devotion and show me your wisdom and light. Hail Nyx."

SIGNS THAT NYX IS CALLING YOU:

• Feeling a deep connection and draw to Nyx’s energies.

• You are experiencing a calling or pull to work with her.

• You have vivid dreams or visions involving Nyx.

• Noticing signs and symbols related to Nyx appearing in your life.

• Having a desire or enthusiasm to learn more about Nyx.

• You feel an urge to explore spiritual practices related to Nyx.

• Experience increased synchronicity or meaningful coincidences related to Nyx.

OFFERINGS:

• Milk.

• Black coffee or tea.

• Dark chocolate.

• Silver jewelry.

• Dragon fruit.

• Perfume.

• Olives.

• Dew gathered before the sun rises. Wine.

• Fire.

• Dark beer or liquors.

• Moon water.

• Feathers.

• Molasses.

• Starry and celestial items.

• White or black candles.

• Dark and protective herbs or spices.

• Flowers: lilies and night-blooming flowers.

• Moonshine.

• Poppies.

• Depictions of the stars and the night sky.

• Depictions of the moon and/or figurines of moths.

• Sleep-inducing teas.

• Telescope.

• Moonstone.

• Depictions or figurines of cats (especially black cats).

DEVOTIONAL ACTS:

• Offer prayers and praises to Nyx, dedicating your energy to her and expressing your devotion.

• Light incense and candles dedicated to Nyx in your ritual space for an extra touch.

• Journal about your dreams.

• Create offerings and rituals to Nyx, such as offering food, plants, and other gifts, and dedicating your offerings and rituals to her.

• Read books on astrology and astronomy.

• Study and research Nyx, her mythology and energies, to get to know her better and develop a deeper relationship with her.

• Nyx and her energies, and connect with her on a deeper level.

• Spend time in nature at night, communing with Nyx and experiencing her energies.

• Go stargazing

• Staying up late.

• Sleeping.

• Nighttime journaling.

• Practicing good sleep hygiene.

• Researching the Moon’s effects on the Earth.

• Making moon water.

• Watching the sunrise and/or sunset.

[usagiumiko3]

hey guys🌌💕 i’ve been diving into emily brontë’s "the night is darkening round me" and while reading I made some connections between some poems and the lnds characters. here are some of my picks that I think resonate the best.

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» the prisoner «

in the dungeon-crypts, idly did i stray,

reckless of the lives wasting there away;

'draw the ponderous bars! open, warder stern!'

he dared not say me nay - the hingers harshly turn.

'our guests are darkly lodged,' i whisper'd, gazing through

the vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue;

(this was when glad spring laughed in awaking pride;)

'aye, darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide.

then, god forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue;

i scoffed, as chill chains on the damp flag-stones rung:

'confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear,

that we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?'

the captive raised her face, it was as soft and mild

as sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child;

it was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair,

pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there!

the captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow;

'i have been struck,' she said, 'and i am suffering now;

yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong,

and, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long.'

hoarse laughed the jailer grim: 'shall i be won to hear;

dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that i shall grant thy prayer?

or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans?

ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones.

'my master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind,

but hard as hardest flint, the soul that lurks behind;

and i am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see

than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me.'

about her lips there played a smile of almost scorn,

'my friend,' she gently said, 'you have not heard me mourn;

when you my kindred's lives, my lost life, can restore,

then may i weep and sue, - but never, friend, before!

(.....)

'oh, dreadful is the check - intense the agony -

when the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see;

when the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again,

the soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.

'yet i would lose no sting, would wish no torture less,

the more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless;

and robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine,

if it but herald death, the vision is divine!'

she ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go -

we had no further power to work the captive woe:

her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given

a sentence, unapproved, and overruled by heaven.

» ‘no coward soul is mine’ «

no coward soul is mine

no trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere

i see heaven's glories shine

and faith shines equal arming me from fear

o god within my breast

almighty ever-present deity

life, that in me hast rest

as i undying life, have power in thee

vain are the thousand creeds

that move men's hearts, unutterably vain,

worthless as withered weeds

or idlest froth amid the boundless main

to waken doubt in one

holding so fast by thy infinity

so surely anchored on

the steadfast rock of immortality

with wide-embracing love

thy spirit animates eternal years

pervades and broods above,

changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears

though earth and moon were gone

and suns and universes ceased to be

and thou wert left alone

every existence would exist in thee

there is not room for death

nor atom that his might could render void

since thou art being and breath

and what thou art may never be destroyed

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» remembrance «

cold in the earth - and the deep snow piled above thee,

far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave!

have i forgot, my only love, to love thee,

severed at last by time's all-severing wave?

now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover

over the mountains, on that northern shore,

resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover

thy noble heart for ever, ever more?

cold in the earth - and fifteen wild decembers,

from those brown hills, have melted into spring:

faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers

after such years of change and suffering!

sweet love of youth, forgive, if i forget thee,

while the world's tide is bearing me along;

other desires and other hopes beset me,

hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

no later light has lightened up my heaven,

no second morn has ever shone for me;

all my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,

all my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

but, when the days of golden dreams had perished,

and even despair was powerless to destroy;

then did i learn how existence could be cherished,

strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

then did i check the tears of useless passion -

weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;

sternly denied its burning wish to hasten

down to that tomb already more than mine.

and, even yet, i dare not let it languish,

dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;

once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,

how could i seek the empty world again?

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» stars «

ah! why, because the dazzling sun

restored our earth to joy,

have you departed, every one,

and left a desert sky?

all through the night, your glorious eyes

were gazing down in mine,

and with a full heart's thankful sighs,

i blessed that watch divine.

i was at peace, and drank your beams

as they were life to me;

and revelled in my changeful dreams,

like petrel on the sea.

thought followed thought, star followed star,

through boundless regions, on;

while one sweet influence, near and far,

thrilled through, and proved us one!

why did the morning dawn to break

so great, so pure, a spell;

and scorch with fire, the tranquil cheek,

where your cool radiance fell?

blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight,

his fierce beams struck my brow;

the soul of nature, sprang, elate,

but mine sank sad and low!

my lids closed down, yet through their veil,

i saw him, blazing, still,

and steep in gold the misty dale,

and flash upon the hill.

i turned me to the pillow, then,

to call back night, and see

your worlds of solemn light, again,

throb with my heart, and me!

it would not do - the pillow glowed,

and glowed both roof and floor;

and birds sang loudly in the wood,

and fresh winds shook the door;

the curtains waved, the wakened flies

were murmuring round my room,

imprisoned there, till i should rise,

and give them leave to roam.

oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night;

oh, night and stars return!

and hide me from the hostile light,

that does not warm, but burn;

that drains the blood of suffering men;

drinks tears, instead of dew;

let me sleep through his blinding reign,

and only wake with you!

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» anticipation «

how beautiful the earth is still,

to thee - how full of happiness!

how little fraught with real ill,

or unreal phantoms of distress!

how spring can bring thee glory, yet,

and summer win thee to forget

december's sullen time!

why dost thou hold the treasure fast,

of youth's delight, when youth is past,

and thou art near thy prime?

when those who were thy own compeers,

equals in fortune and in years,

have seen their morning melt in tears,

to clouded, smileless day;

blest, had they died untried and young,

before their hearts went wandering wrong,

poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,

a weak and helpless prey!

‘because, i hoped while they enjoyed,

and, by fulfilment, hope destroyed;

as children hope, with trustful breast,

i waited bliss - and cherished rest.

a thoughtful spirit taught me, soon,

that we must long till life be done;

that every phase of earthly joy

must always fade, and always cloy:

‘this i foresaw - and would not chase

the fleeting treacheries;

but, with firm foot and tranquil face,

held backward from that tempting race,

gazed o'er the sands the waves efface,

to the enduring seas -

there cast my anchor of desire

deep in unknown eternity;

nor ever let my spirit tire,

with looking for what is to be!

'it is hope's spell that glorifies,

like youth, to my maturer eyes,

all nature's million mysteries,

the fearful and the fair -

hope soothes me in the griefs i know;

she lulls my pain for others' woe,

and makes me strong to undergo

what i am born to bear.

'glad comforter! will i not brave,

unawed, the darkness of the grave?

nay, smile to hear death's billows rave -

sustained, my guide, by thee?

the more unjust seems present fate,

the more my spirit swells elate,

strong, in thy strength, to anticipate

rewarding destiny!'

» self-interrogation «

(….)

‘time stands before the door of death,

upbraiding bitterly;

and conscience, with exhaustless breath,

pours black reproach on me:

‘and though i've said that conscience lies,

and time should fate condemn;

still, sad repentance clouds my eyes,

and makes me yield to them!'

‘then art thou glad to seek repose?

art glad to leave the sea,

and anchor all thy weary woes

in calm eternity?

'nothing regrets to see thee go -

not one voice sobs "farewell",

and where thy heart has suffered so,

canst thou desire to dwell?'

‘alas! the countless links are strong

that bind us to our clay;

the loving spirit lingers long,

and would not pass away!

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» ‘the night is darkening round me’ «

the night is darkening round me

the wild winds coldly blow

but a tyrant spell has bound me

and i cannot cannot go

the giant trees are bending

their bare boughs weighed with snow and

the storm is fast descending

and yet i cannot go

clouds beyond clouds above me

wastes beyond wastes below

but nothing drear can move me

i will not cannot go

- - -

i'll come when thou art saddest

laid alone in the darkened room

when the mad day's mirth has vanished

and the smile of joy is banished

from evening's chilly gloom

i'll come when the heart's [real feeling

has entire unbiased sway

and my influence o'er thee stealing

grief deepening joy congealing

shall bear thy soul away

listen 'tis just the hour

the awful time for thee

dost thou not feel upon thy soul

a flood of strange sensations roll

forerunners of a sterner power

heralds of me

- - -

i would have touched the heavenly key

that spoke alike of bliss and thee

i would have woke the entrancing song

but its words died upon my tongue

and then i knew that hallowed strain

could never speak of joy again

and then i felt

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» death «

death! that struck when i was most confiding

in my certain faith of joy to be -

strike again, time's withered branch dividing

from the fresh root of eternity!

leaves, upon time's branch, were growing brightly,

full of sap, and full of silver dew;

birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;

daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.

sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;

guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride;

but, within its parent's kindly bosom,

flowed for ever life's restoring tide.

little mourned i for the parted gladness,

for the vacant nest and silent song -

hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;

whispering, 'winter will not linger long!'

and, behold! with tenfold increase blessing,

spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;

wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing,

lavished glory on that second may!

high it rose - no winged grief could sweep it;

sin was scared to distance with its shine;

love, and its own life, had power to keep it

from all wrong - from every blight but thine!

cruel death! the young leaves droop and languish;

evening's gentle air may still restore -

no! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish -

time, for me, must never blossom more!

strike it down, that other boughs may flourish

where that perished sapling used to be;

thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish

that from which it sprung - eternity.

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» faith and despondency «

‘the winter wind is loud and wild,

come close to me, my darling child;

forsake thy books, and mateless play;

and, while the night is gathering grey,

we'll talk its pensive hours away; -

‘iernë, round our sheltered hall

november's gusts unheeded call;

not one faint breath can enter here

enough to wave my daughter's hair,

and i am glad to watch the blaze

glance from her eyes, with mimic rays;

to feel her cheek so softly pressed,

in happy quiet on my breast.

‘but, yet, even this tranquillity

brings bitter, restless thoughts to me;

and, in the red fire's cheerful glow,

i think of deep glens, blocked with snow;

i dream of moor, and misty hill,

where evening closes dark and chill;

for, lone, among the mountains cold,

lie those that i have loved of old.

and my heart aches, in hopeless pain

exhausted with repinings vain,

that i shall greet them ne'er again!'

» honour's martyr «

the moon is full this winter night;

the stars are clear, though few;

and every window glistens bright,

with leaves of frozen dew.

the sweet moon through your lattice gleams

and lights your room like day;

and there you pass, in happy dreams,

the peaceful hours away!

while i, with effort hardly quelling

the anguish in my breast,

wander about the silent dwelling,

and cannot think of rest.

the old clock in the gloomy hall

ticks on, from hour to hour;

and every time its measured call

seems lingering slow and slower:

and oh, how slow that keen-eyed star

has tracked the chilly grey!

what, watching yet! how very far

the morning lies away!

without your chamber door i stand;

love, are you slumbering still?

my cold heart, underneath my hand,

has almost ceased to thrill.

bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs,

and drowns the turret bell,

whose sad note, undistinguished, dies

unheard, like my farewell!

tomorrow, scorn will blight my name,

and hate will trample me,

will load me with a coward's shame -

a traitor's perjury.

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» the old stoic «

riches i hold in light esteem;

and love i laugh to scorn;

and lust of fame was but a dream

that vanished with the morn:

and if i pray, the only prayer

that moves my lips for me

is, 'leave the heart that now i bear,

and give me liberty!'

yes, as my swift days near their goal,

‘tis all that i implore;

in life and death, a chainless soul,

with courage to endure.

» self-interrogation «

(….)

‘and rest is sweet, when laurelled fame

will crown the soldier's crest;

but, a brave heart, with a tarnished name,

would rather fight than rest.'

'well, thou hast fought for many a year,

hast fought thy whole life through,

hast humbled falsehood, trampled fear;

what is there left to do?'

‘tis true, this arm has hotly striven,

has dared what few would dare;

much have i done, and freely given,

but little learnt to bear!’