#it used to be like. i could retreat to my mind palace to think about ocs and blorbos

[circuslollipop]

cant enjoy some of my favorite songs rn every so often theres an innocuous post that triggers intrusive thoughts why is my brain like this!!!

[protagaster]

Part 1 of the Warrior!Penelope Swap AU

Just a heads up, some of the vignettes in this AU will be structured around the songs in the musical, and some will be short stories detailing the events of the Odyssey (like the prequel did)

Credit to Tumblr users @vioofc and @too-much-flynnolium, for their own ideas surrounding their warrior!penelope AUs led to inspiration for mine!

(Cross-Posted on Ao3)

The Horse and the Infant

After 10 years of war, of battle and bloodshed, the Greek army has finally gained the upper hand against the Trojans. 

From within her Wooden Horse, Penelope vows to do whatever it takes to end this war once and for all. Whether she is truly up to the task, the Gods will see… 

~

Growing up in Greece children are taught to beware of Pandora’s Box: though something may appear to be enchanting on the outside, what it hides within could bring devastating consequences. 

Penelope was thankful the Trojans did not heed the warnings behind this tale. 

The people of Troy underestimated her and her armies, for no greater reason other than the fact they happened to be women. All of Troy assumed that Greece was in a dire state, for why else would the Greeks have to resort to sending their women to fight in their men’s stead. 

While most of her comrades were offended by this notion, Penelope saw an opportunity to finally turn the tides of war in their favor. 

Everything went according to plan. By pretending to sail their ships back home the Trojans assumed the Greeks to have surrendered. This left them cocky, feeling invincible, to the point they did not question the mysterious “gift” left at their gates. 

They brought the beautiful wooden horse into the heart of their palace, not knowing their very own “Pandora’s Box” was about to be unleashed upon their city. 

~

Penelope let out a deep, steady breath.

Inside that very same wooden horse her comrades sat patiently by her side, their clenched fingers fidgeting on the hilt of their weapons. The eyes of her sisters-in-arms were hungry with scorn, their red and gold armor eager to be stained with Trojan blood.

Penelope looked at each and every woman who had chosen to place their trust in her. The Queen of Ithaca’s confidence had never been higher.

The night was silent and the atmosphere calm. There would be no perfect moment rather than now. 

Penelope stood. In her posture she managed to portray the grace of a Queen, the strength of a Spartan, the innate blood-lust of a warrior of Ares, and the anger of a Mother. 

Her comrades, women who fought both willingly and not against their society’s views to stand by her side, who were forced to part with their futures and families over the course of 9 years, they gazed upon their Captain with only the highest of respect and admiration in their eyes. 

After all, it was only with her leadership that they had all managed to survive up to this point. 

All 600 of them. 

Penelope held her head high, addressing her comrades. Her friends. Her sisters. 

“Alright my sisters, listen closely.” She spoke to them in a hush but commanding voice. “Tonight, we make the Trojans pay.”

“These years of war have killed us slowly, but now we'll be the ones who slay!”

Penelope’s eyes dulled in the middle of her speech, her mind momentarily retreating into its most sacred place. 

Home. Ithaca. 

“Think of your husbands and your children!” 

Many of the women grew angry, recalling how many of their spouses were now permanently maimed and broken because of the Trojans. How their children were forced to grow and mature without their mothers, all because of this damn war. 

“Your families wonder where you've been! They're growing old and yet you're still here,” 

Penelope couldn’t help but look at her hair, not as vibrant as it once was 9 years ago. She couldn’t allow this war to go on for another decade. Not after so much time has been lost already. 

“Do what I say and you'll see them again!”

“Yes ma’am!”

~

The women snuck out of the wooden horse, moving with as much quiet and stealth as they were physically able. Each soldier remembered her role, of what Penelope had ordered of them.

“Aegiale will lead the charge,” 

“Clytemnestra will flank the guards,”

“Helen of Sparta will let our mates through the gates to take the whole city at large,”

“Eune will shoot any ambush attack,”

“And little Glauca will stay back,”

“Eury, free Menelaus and the others,”

“Hermy, help your betrothed, kill Hector's home and brothers!”

“Yes ma’am!”

Penelope watched from the shadows, beaming with pride at the success of her army. 

Her plan was coming to a monumental success. The Trojan warriors, men trained in the art of combat from the moment they could walk, were being hunted from the shadows, one by one, as if they were livestock. 

Less and less guards roamed the halls, their bodies lying against each other in a hidden corner of the palace. The palace walls, once an elegant and expensive marble white, were now stained with the vibrant stains of war-red. 

Troy was now vulnerable. 

“Find that inner strength now, use that well of pride!” Penelope reminded her sisters. “Fight through every pain now, ask yourself inside: What do you live for? What do you try for? What do you wish for? What do you fight for?”

Every woman reminded herself of why it was she fought, their answers ranging deep within themselves. 

“What do you live for? What do you try for? What do you wish for? What do you fight for?”

Penelope stared down at the helmet in her hands, unable to forget what it represented. It was specially made just for her, with a metal said to be indestructible. She remembered when it was given to her, only one day before she was forced to leave her home. 

She could never forget the tearful gaze, apologetic and filled with love, of the man who gifted her this helmet. 

Oh how she missed him. 

“Odysseus…”

How she longed to see those intelligent eyes once again. 

“Odysseus…” 

She couldn’t help but recall the time those eyes beamed with pride as they fondly looked down at the very symbol of their love. 

“And Telemachas…” 

Her baby girl, whom she had only known for a single year. What did her baby look like now, 9 years later?

“I fight for us…” 

This was for them. 

“I fight for us!” 

Fighting in this war, aiding her cousin, empowering her fellow woman, following the whim of the Heavens themselves. All of it was for them!

Not for Greece. Not for the Gods. Not even for her. 

For them.

What do you live for?

“Odysseus.” Penelope whispered to herself. 

What do you try for?

“Telemachas.” Penelope stared at her reflection from the helmet’s surface. 

What do you wish for?

“I'm on my way,” Penelope placed the helmet over her head, taking hold of the very spear that started her down this path. 

What do you fight for?

She was going to end this. 

Now. 

“Attack!”

The Greek army made themselves known by jumping out for the shadows, startling the Trojan warriors unlucky enough to be missed during their secret infiltration of the palace. 

Penelope and the others wasted no time inflicting their carnage upon the once untouchable Kingdom. The Trojan warriors were startled at first, desperate to know how their indomitable palace could have been so easily infiltrated. 

It did not take long for them to ready themselves, determined to keep their Kingdom from being painted with even more of that familiar war-red. 

But it was all for naught. 

It did not matter that the Trojan warriors were male; it did not matter that they were bigger, stronger, and more durable than their female counterparts.

For the Trojan soldiers fought to maim, whilst the Greek soldiers fought to kill.

These women recalled how they were forced to watch their husbands leave, only to return one year later with their bodies shattered and spirits broken. They recalled that feeling of loathing and helplessness, unable to even think about avenging their men until permitted by the Gods. 

They remembered the shame on their husbands’ faces for not being able to protect them from fighting in their stead; remembered how their children cried, pleading for them to stay, for the younglings were unable to bear the thought of both parents being destroyed by the war. 

No. Troy had every chance to end this war. Now they suffer just as Greece has, for even the Gods have sealed the kingdom’s fate. 

Tonight, Troy will die.  

~

Penelope, now inside the main court of the palace, speared the throat of one of the Trojan men attempting to slice the back of one of her women. 

There was only a small army of them within that court, both Trojan and Greek alike. The majority of the Greeks fought at the gates of the palace, keeping their adversaries from storming the vicinity.

The warriors fighting by Penelope’s side, only her most trusted sisters-in-arms, worked together to keep themselves and each other alive. Using their many hours of intense training, innate battle prowess, and the blessings bestowed upon them by Ares and Artemis, the women had achieved what was previously thought to be impossible: gaining the upper hand against the Trojan men. 

Bodies littered the dance floor of battle, all of them of Troy. Through Penelope’s strategy, not a single Greek had fallen.

However, as she speared and cut down her enemies, Penelope couldn’t help but notice the Trojan soldiers began fighting sporadically; as if they were desperate to keep her and her comrades from infiltrating the palace any further. 

But why? 

Suddenly, Penelope felt a sharp sting to the back of her head. 

“Ahh!” She collapsed to her knees, rubbing her head to find some relief from the dimming pain. “Who was that?!”

Quick to recover from her bound of shock, Penelope threw herself back to her feet and gripped the hilt of her spear. She was prepared to defend herself against the Trojan foolish enough to strike her. 

What her eyes fell upon, however, was not one of the large, daunting men of Troy. 

It was a Peahen. 

However, this was no ordinary peahen. She was not a modest brown like the rest of her peahen kin. No, this one had her feathers bursting with the familiar blue and green seen on her male equivalents. 

The feathers atop her head had the appearance of a crown, her eyes glowing an eerie white and gold hue. 

Somehow, against all logic, Penelope found herself more fearful of this fowl than she had ever felt against the Trojan armies. 

“A vision…” A voice suddenly appeared in Peneleope’s mind. 

Penelope knew instantly that the voice was coming from the Peahen. The voice was feminine, deep, and full of power. She spoke the same way Penelope would when sitting upon her throne, addressing her subjects. 

“Of what is to come, cannot be outrun. Can only be dealt with right here and now…” 

From that moment she knew the true identity of the Peahen. 

Hera. 

Queen of the Gods. 

Mother of the Heavens. 

“Tell me how.” Penelope asked of the divine Queen.

“I don't think you're ready...” 

The Peahen was honest with the mortal Queen about her thoughts, yet continued with her declaration.

“A mission. To kill someone's son, a foe who won't run, unlike anyone you have faced before…” 

The Peahen walked with grace as she spoke, silently beckoning the mortal to follow. The disguised Goddess led the Greek to a secret staircase, the very thing the Trojan were trying to hide. 

Penelope instantly understood what the God-Queen was commanding of her.

“Say no more!” Penelope ran up the stairs, confidently holding her spear in anticipation. “I know that I'm ready!”

“I don't think you're ready…” 

Penelope pushed the double doors at the end of the stairs open, eager for her spear-point to make contact with Trojan flesh and to finally end this war once and for all. 

She would not have been surprised to see a bulking man waiting for her behind those doors. After everything she’s gone through in the past 9 years, Penelope genuinely thought herself to be immune to the kind of surprises the Gods could throw at her. 

Unfortunately, the Gods never did follow the whims of the mortals they ruled over. 

There was no man standing behind those doors. In fact, no one stood behind them. 

There was only a cradle. 

Penelope’s eyes widened. Unconsciously dropping her spear, she walked over to look inside the beautiful bassinet. 

There he was. Not a cruel man filled with sin, but a babe. Innocent. Pure. Sleeping with not a worry in the world. 

“It's just an infant…” Penelope couldn’t help but hold her hand out, stroking the child’s untainted cheek. “It's just a boy…”

The baby leaned into the warm hand caressing his cheek, recognizing the hand of a mother. 

“What sort of imminent threat does he pose that I cannot avoid?”

The Peahen, once perched on the ledge of the window in front of the babe’s cradle, spread her wings and flew into the sky. 

“This is the son of none other than Troy's very own Prince Hector!”

Clouds started to surround the flying Peahen. They wrapped around the fowl, slowly covering the beautiful bird in white mist. In seconds the Peahen disappeared, the place where she once hovered now a perfectly shaped mass of clouds formed into the appearance of a tall, beautiful, regal woman.

Commanding the clouds around her with a flick of her wrist, the woman shaped one of them into a tiny baby. The cloud-baby morphed, transforming into the figure of a large grown man. 

“Know that he will grow from a boy to an avenger! One fueled with rage as you're consumed by age…“ 

The cloud-man brandished a cloud-sword, slicing at smaller clouds shaped into a crowd of defenseless people. 

“If you don't end him now, you'll have no one left to save…” 

Hera commanded some of her clouds to begin filling the room, surrounding Penelope and the cradle. She modeled the clouds into the form of a very beautiful, very comforting, very familiar man. 

“You can say goodbye to-”

Penelope’s eyes widened, staring at the face of the man whose life she cherished far more than her own. 

Odysseus… 

This cloud-Odysseus, more detailed than any of the other cloud creations Hera had created, stared longingly at the Greek woman reeking of blood. He smiled, that oh-so familiar smile she had longed to see for the past decade.  

“You can say goodbye to-”

Odysseus…

The cloud-Odysseus gazed down at the baby in the cradle. There was this look in his eyes, this desire to cherish and protect. Penelope knew this look well, for it could only be known by a fellow parent... 

No! 

Penelope couldn’t do this. She was a mother! Her role in life was to treasure and protect children, not discard and kill them! 

“I could raise him as my own!”

“He will burn your house and throne.” 

No… 

No! 

Penelope needed to find a way!

“Or send him far away from home!” 

“He'll find you wherever you go.”

 There had to be another way!

“Make sure his past is never known!” 

“The gods will make him know.”

Why was Hera doing this? Why couldn’t she understand!? Penelope can’t do this!

The mortal threw herself down, bowing before Hera in a desperate final plea. 

“I'd rather bleed for ya, Down on my knees for ya-”

“He's bringing you down on your knees…”

The Queen of Ithaca couldn’t hear herself, the Queen of the Gods overpowering everything within her. 

“I'm begging please-”

“Oh, this is the will of the gods!”

Hera’s voice boomed. Commanding. Declaring. Inevitable. 

Penelope shook her head, slowly and in disbelief. Her chest felt heavy and constricting, making every breath a difficult and pained one.  

…how…

“Please don't make me do this…”

How could she be expected to do this? Something so evil, so cruel? 

Something so monstrous?

“Don't make me do this…”

Penelope didn't know when she began to weep, only realizing when her tears splattered on the cold, hard ground. 

She felt a hand being gently placed atop her bowed head. This hand, once commanding and brimming with devastating power, now offered an ironic sense of comfort. 

From one who was also a Queen.

A Soldier.

A Wife. 

A Mother. 

“The blood on your hands is something you won't lose…” 

The hand’s presence disappeared, along with the many clouds surrounding her person. 

The cloud-Odysseus, whose eyes Penelope couldn’t bear to meet, took hold of her chin. This hand, as large and scarred as she remembered it, held her with a firm gentleness she knew was reserved only for her. 

He tilted her head up, compelling her to meet his gaze. Again, Penelope recognized the look he was giving her. It was the same one he always gave her: eyes filled with a warm, comforting love. 

“All you can choose is whose…”

The cloud-Odysseus faded away, still gazing upon her with those eyes until he was fully gone. 

Would the real Odysseus continue to look at her that way, knowing what she was about to do? 

…

Penelope waited.

… 

And waited. 

…

And waited. 

…

Nothing. 

Hera’s presence was no more. 

All that was left was Penelope, blood-soaked and guilt-ridden, and the baby, still sleeping with not a worry in the world. 

Penelope said nothing. She could only stare at the boy, the very symbol of innocence before it was tarnished. 

Slowly, soundlessly, Penelope picked the boy up. She cradled him gently in her arms, similar to the way she held Telemachas after bringing her into the world. She wanted to make sure he was comfortable. 

Then, without a word, Penelope made her way to the roof of the palace. 

[moodymisty]

Hi i have a request yandere lorgar x f reader (9 ,47,45,42)

Reader decides to support lorgar more after seeing the mental state of him after the burning of monarchy,lorgar starts to become more and more obsessed with her to the extent of treating her like a goddess , he wants to always have her by his side he doesn't want to lose more things in his life.

( idea inspired by roroco316's recent drawing https://www.tumblr.com/roroco316/746301636466589696/the-annunciation-warning-very-hereical-yes-the?source=share )

Sorry for the bad English I'm using an online translator.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

 Author's Note: I love that art so much, so I hope this in a way provides a similar vibe?

Relationships: Lorgar/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Tokophobia, Pregnancy, Does it still count as breeding kink if you’re already pregnant and he gets off on that?, Possessive, Praise Kink, Overstimulation

"Lorgar?"

You cautiously walk into his study and gently call out, peeking your head into to see where he is.

A few moments later you notice him on the far side of the room, looking out one of the large windows at the darkness, spattered with only a few stars. He turns shortly after hearing your voice, and gives a small, pained but pleased smile.

"Ahh, my little goddess. What are you doing up?"

Having successfully tested his mood and found it safe you come in, the door closing behind you. Your more casual, plain nightclothes are at odds with his decorated study, even if it pales in comparison to the one he had on Monarchia.

But that's nothing but ash now. All of those tomes, scrolls, tapestries, memories, gone.

The Fidelitas Lex is now your permanent home, after everything.

"I couldn't sleep, so I wanted to come see you."

There's a myriad of reasons you could blame for your inability to sleep; The only just concluded razing of Monarchia and your sudden transplant onto the Word Bearers flagship, or your growing child; Which has constantly caused you to feel ill up until recently. You absentmindedly brush your hands over your still somewhat subtle belly at the thought.

“I thought maybe seeing you for a bit help.”

You keep shaking and your mind is still racing even days later; It’s preventing you from getting much rest at all. Lorgar softens at your comment and beckons you closer with a hand.

"Come here then, I'd love for nothing more than for you to sit with me for bit."

You walk closer and he moves to sit down on his large chair, lifting you into his arms and sitting you in his lap sideways. It lets you rest your back against his right arm, legs going across his lap.

Taking his left hand he gently brushes it over your shoulder before he rests it on your belly, silently thinking. During it all however, he consciously avoids your arms, and his brow furrows for a moment when he sees your sleeves have ridden up to expose more of your skin.

Your arms and hands still have burns on them from when the invading Ultramarines set the entire palace ablaze, intent to smoke out anyone inside.

They'll heal, its the mental wounds you're far more worried about. For Lorgar more than yourself.

Apparently Lorgar had been not unlike a raging beast when he realized you were still trapped inside, and only managed to calm himself when you'd return to him, Word Bearers at your side. They’d hauled themselves through flames to get you if not only to then plead for their primarch to retreat; as even their legion mother was not worth losing their primarch and everything he had built.

Lorgar speaks up; His voice is quiet, but you can hear it fine in your little bubble.

"To think I almost lost you... Both of you," Lorgar moves his hand from your stomach to cradle your jaw. "I don't know what I would've done. You are my guiding light."

His grip is firm, holding you close as if afraid you'll leave, or be nearly ripped from his arms again. You gently touch his arm.

"I was afraid I was never going to see you again."

Lorgar's face softens, looking down at you.

"Don't worry. I will never allow that to happen again." You grasp at his clothing and pull yourself upward, him leaning down to gently press his lips to your own. The angle is still awkward with his height, but you just manage it.

The look in his eyes is dark when he pulls away, staring down at you as you lay so small in his lap. His tone of voice seems to change as does is attitude; He’s been even more mercurial as of late, to at least given circumstances it isn’t entirely surprising.

“They were all jealous of me, you know that?”

You at first don’t know who he means by that, but his latter statement adds some clarity. “They were all jealous of the world I built, the things I wrote, created,” Lorgar removes his hand from your jaw with a gentle caress, before trailing downward.

“They were all so jealous I found you, someone so beautiful, who understood me,”

His hand rests on your thigh and grabs the fabric of your dress, pulling it upward. Thankfully any cuts and bruises there have healed, since Monarchia. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as you shiver from the air against your once covered skin, and Lorgar puts his warm palm against your thigh.

“Perhaps if they weren’t so intent on killing one another, they would have found love.”

You sense a subtle jab at Guilliman, who had not only been one of the more vocal Primarchs against Lorgar having a lover so close and intertwined with his legion, but as well as having tried to kill all that he loved by razing Monarchia.

Lorgar's hand slips between your legs, spreading your thighs across his own as his right arm still cradles you close to him. His fingers brush over your outer lips and instinctively your knees try to close, but you can’t with his large hand in the way.

“You’re already so wet,” He mutters as if in a way teasing you. “I know I haven’t been accommodating to you, as of late.” Your bed has been quite cold without him, too busy commanding his legions movement after the Ultramarine’s devastation and his newfound disgust for the Emperor.

But he still had you, he had said; All to himself. The news of you being with child had still been fresh in his mind happening only days before Monarchia was up in flames. It only seemed to further his possessiveness of you.

"I have always thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world," Your hands grip his clothing deathly tight, trying to hold yourself steady. "But something about you and our child, you keep getting more beautiful by the day."

His index finger slowly sinks into you, curling upward as he fully sheathes it inside of you. The way you’re sitting sideways, you don’t have much options to move, and so you’re stuck writhing in his lap as he has his way with you.

"Lorgar..." He makes you feel good, you want more, but you can't help but feel as if something is off. Nothing you can speak of to him, as you lean into his arm and your heart hammers against your chest. Your thighs quiver and shake as he slips a second finger into you, stretching you just enough to get the friction you needed.

You've been so sensitive since getting pregnant, it's not long before he makes you cum on his fingers. You cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle your noises despite the room being empty apart from the two of you.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, but doesn't completely remove his hand from between your thighs. Instead as you feel your muscles twitch from the aftershocks he presses his finger against your clit, causing your hips to jerk from the suddenly overwhelming sensation. Within moments you're whining even louder than you had been earlier, the sudden overstimulation nearly too much for you to handle.He gently rubs, slowly pressing and rolling with his fingers before he eventually decides to slip them back into you, but he doesn't get much farther beyond just barely pressing against your entrance.

A firm knock on the door startles you, but Lorgar almost seemed to have been prepared for it. Perhaps he heard them coming, long before the knock.

“...Primarch Lorgar? You’re needed on the bridge.”

Lorgar pulls his soaked hand from between your thighs, and wipes it off on his clothing as he turns to look over his shoulder at the still unopened door. His other arm still holds you closer to him.

But while he is irritated by the interruption, you know that Lorgar enjoys the suffering, in a way. You know once his duties are done he’ll find you again and finally satisfy himself, after he’s waited so long it aches.

“Very well. I will be there in a moment.” Lorgar gently ushers you to your feet, hands hovering as if doubtful you won't fall.

“I can walk still, Lorgar.” You joke at him, and he smiles back.

“I know, I only worry.” His hand drifts across your jawline, before he stands fully upright; You notice him softly adjust the fabric of his trousers.

“I will finish with whatever they have for me, and then I will return to you. Get some rest in the meantime, I urge you.” You nod, crossing your arms gently.

Lorgar’s eyes are soft, but there’s a darkness in them you catch.

“But do be ready for me by then.”

[the-everqueen]

wip tag game

tagged by @two-hands-toward-the-sun. i have...more wips than i remember at any given time, and i just peck at whichever one when the spirit moves me (usually when i'm procrastinating actual work). currently there's eight active in the rotation, with another handful that are more conceptual/bits and pieces i want to come back to later.

Sandman

Lucienne takes the Corinthian for walkies: this is in response to a Valentines day prompt @two-hands-toward-the-sun sent me, "going on a platonic date and being mistaken for a couple." Dream weaponized his sad wet eyes at Luce to make her take some PTO and also provide some enrichment for his recreated masterpiece. they go to the MOMAT

As though attuned to her thoughts, the Corinthian hangs back at a respectable distance—not out of sight, but perhaps out of mind, if she wished. When Lucienne frowns at him, trying to discern whether this is some kind of trick, he makes a show of fiddling with the audio guide, head turned away as he hooks the piece over his ear.

does your husband know the way the sunlight gleams on your wedding ring: Corinthian/Calliope fic in the period between Orpheus and Calliope & Dream's divorce. once again, a woman takes Coco out for her idea of a good time and proves literally anyone else would be a better owner for the Corinthian than Dream.

He means to retreat. He doesn’t think she’s noticed him, and he wouldn’t impose on her privacy. Calliope was always nice to him. But grief smells like weakness, and a Muse’s grief smells different from that of the humans he stalks in dreams, wearing the faces of their long-departed. His mouths water at the scent, unfamiliar but delectable. For a fleeting moment, he wonders what her eyes might taste like, what he’d see if he took them in his own.

gay coworkers: words are HAPPENING in the next installment!

“Technically—" “C’mon, a memory wipe is hardly better—" “I’m not defending his actions, I’m simply pointing out—" “Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” the Corinthian snaps. Matthew and Lucienne exchange guilty glances. “You could at least wait until you’re back at the palace. Doing it in my house, that’s just fucking rude.”

la guard dog literal: Morpheus recreated the Corinthian as a (sort of, semi-eldritch) dog because surely that will fix his behavioral issues. Daniel still rehomes him with Rose Walker.

Jed twists around in his seat. The Corinthian snuffles obligingly at the hand he offers, gives the fingertips a quick swipe with his tongue. Jed’s face splits into a smile. That smile makes something warm unfurl in the Corinthian’s belly, prompts him to worm closer with a thready whimper. No threat. Which is maybe the biggest lie he’s ever told and he didn’t even speak it in human words, but in the moment he desperately wants Jed to believe it, and not just so he can sink his teeth into that vulnerable neck still soft with baby fat.

what if we made those daddy issues literal: semi-period accurate 1920s fic where the Corinthian is Dream's troublesome ward and Matthew is the tutor Dream hires to bring him in line. is this because i'm obsessed with Assad Zaman's outfits in hotel portofino? yes.

“Dream’s not my father.” “I thought—" “He’s my guardian. Keeper. Master. Whatever.” “He—" “Of course he’s benevolent. Can afford to be, I suppose. So long as I perform well.” “Does he—?” “Not how you’re thinking.” Cori barks a short, humorless laugh. “That wouldn’t be conducive to his long-term plans, would it? Breaking his toy before it can be of any real use.” “That’s—" “Good? Yeah. Sure.” Something shutters in his expression. “After all, what would become of this poor orphan child without some generous benefactor to mold him into a productive member of society? Why, then he might just be a scoundrel or, worse—an inconvenient corpse rotting in the road.” “I—" “Well. No use speculating, right?” He flashes a grin that makes Matt think of a dog baring its teeth. “I’ll see you after lunch.” Matt, dumbfounded, watches him walk away.

Logan/X-men

rehome that animal: sequel to the dog crate fic

Mendez isn’t sure what he expected to find in the Wolverine’s hideout. It certainly wasn’t this. This being his former boss, presumed dead after A-T’s last (as in latest, as in final) attempt to retcon its X-23 project several months ago. Mendez didn’t recognize him at first, but he thinks he’d be forgiven for the slight: the Donald Pierce before him looks a lot different from the Reaver commander who’d swanned around in a leather duster and tinted sunglasses, barking orders. Now he’s mostly naked and washed-out looking like maybe he hasn’t seen much sun. His once carefully groomed beard has been shaved to expose sharp cheekbones and a delicate chin. All his muscle and fat is gone, so the jut of his ribs and spine and pelvis show with every small twitch. There’s a lot of twitching, like his body can’t decide whether to prepare for fight or flight.

horse is a one-trick pony and the trick is Werewolves: if you didn't foresee me turning the Reavers into a (literal) wolf pack...well, that's on you at this point.

The pack leader is keeping an eye on him. Not quite staring: casual flickers of his attention between Donald and whatever is happening on the laptop. Mendez’s eyes shine almost green in the bluish screen light. His face looks sharper. His lip twitches and shows the barest glimpse of fang.

...tagging @evenmyhivemindisempty, @cosmictapestry, @aisalynn, @crimeronan, and @stellerssong. no pressure, i just like seeing what people are working on.

[arlenianchronicles]

Years of preparation have finally culminated on this day. Turgon stands in what used to be his room, in the palace of Vinyamar. Early morning sunlight streams through the window and creeps across the far wall.

In the back of his mind, Ulmo calls to him. It is faint, not yet urgent. Turgon has planned his people’s departure and is certain that they shall reach the appointed spot on time. From there, Ulmo shall protect them on their way to Tumladen.

Everything is ready. Yet he hesitates, gazing unseeingly about the room. He sent letters to his father and brother in Mithrim. Admittedly, he did not give them enough time to send him their replies, if they did choose to write back at all. If he were to receive any letters from them now, it would only delay him further from departure. He cannot afford to delay any longer. He must do this.

As much as it pains him to go without proper farewells, it is his duty.

Footsteps reach his ears, furiously hurrying up the stairs beyond his room. There are many voices clamouring, getting louder, pleading, shouting. The door to his room bursts open.

Turgon turns. Standing in the doorway is Fingon. The sight of him is like a dose of ice water, and yet -- Turgon ought to have expected this. Part of him cannot help but feel relieved, glad even, to see his eldest brother one last time before leaving.

Fingon’s face is flushed from the flight up the stairs, perhaps from the entire journey here from Mithrim. At least, that is what Turgon assumes. It could very well be the heat of anger instead.

Standing behind him in the corridor are Turgon’s guards. Turgon waves his hand; it does not tremble, thank the Valar, and the guards retreat, albeit hesitantly. Fingon glances back at them to make sure they have left, then slams the door closed and turns on Turgon.

“So, this was your intention all along?” Fingon says. His voice quivers, though from wrath or from grief, Turgon cannot say. “You left us for Vinyamar. Now you are leaving us again for a city that does not exist!”

Turgon looks away. If he meets Fingon’s glistening eyes, the shield around his heart will break. “Who told you?”

“I questioned the messenger after receiving your letter. He would not tell me where this city is, only that you are departing very soon. I rode here as fast as I could.”

“We are leaving in a couple hours. Our travel must be kept secret; I trust you will not divulge it beyond Father’s confidence --”

“Oh, blast it all, Turgon!” Fingon cries.

Turgon falls silent. His heart pounds rapidly in his chest, beating like the paws of a rabbit running from wolves. After a moment, Fingon speaks. “How did you find this city?”

“I had it built in secret.”

“Where?”

“I cannot tell you. Unless you wish to join me and remain within its walls forever.”

He hears Fingon take a step into the room. “You have not even told Father. And what of Aredhel? Do you think she will take this lightly?”

“Aredhel knows. She has decided to join me there.”

Fingon sucks in a sharp breath. "So you -- you plan to stay there till the end of Arda, never to see us again? You cannot mean anything else by ‘remaining within its walls forever.’”

“The city’s location allows for it to remain guarded and secret, so long as none give it away,” Turgon explains. “If I am to ensure that there is no opportunity for that, then all who know its location must stay inside the city.” He swallows. “That includes myself. If I were caught by Morgoth outside my city --”

“You do not trust yourself to keep it a secret if you were caught?”

“Is that such a surprise?”

“You are too strong to submit to Morgoth.”

It is Turgon’s turn to be surprised, enough so that he looks at Fingon to find his brother gazing back at him determinedly. Fingon saw him almost fall to pieces after Elenwë was lost. After that, Turgon drew himself so tightly together that his face became as stone, unmoving and unbending. Locked away behind his inner defenses, he kept his anger and grief, doubt and despair. He is to become the king of Gondolin. He cannot afford to fall apart when his people need him most.

But it is still a possibility. As much as he can appear tall and stalwart in the face of Darkness, he is still just himself. He can still be broken into a thousand pieces.

“You do not believe me,” Fingon says, a note of bitterness in his voice. The sunlight catches in his golden ribbons, turning them to molten fire in his dark braids. “But I know it. You would never betray your people, or Father, or myself. You need not stay hidden in your city for all time.”

“What laws I give to my people, I must also follow. It is only just.”

“So I am to never hear from you again?” Fingon demands. “This is to be our final meeting together?”

“I will think of you and Father always.”

“That is not good enough! What if you need my help, but I cannot find your hidden city? What if Morgoth finds out and descends upon you one night, and I am not there to help you and Aredhel, and little Idril?” Tears slip down his cheeks, gleaming like crystal drops in the sun. “Mother is gone. Elenwë is gone. Argon is gone, and now -- now you might as well be! What am I to do about that?” His voice cracks and his breath hitches, chest heaving with sobs not yet released.

Turgon does not have the words. It is for my people’s safety. As a prince, Fingon would understand, but it will do nothing to heal this wound to his heart.

So he reaches out and cradles Fingon’s face, bringing their foreheads together. Fingon grips Turgon’s wrists, and eventually, his breathing steadies.

“I know you feel it is your duty as the eldest,” Turgon murmurs. “But you are no longer responsible for me, Finno. I am a leader of my own people now, and I must do what I feel is best for them. Just as you do for yours.” He gently kisses Fingon’s cheek. “I will be alright on the journey there. I think I can safely assure you of that. Ulmo has promised us his protection.”

Fingon swallows hard. “I -- that is good to know,” he says hoarsely.

“Indeed,” Turgon smiles, but the grief finally cracks through his shield, and his next words are shaky. “So you see, you need not worry too much. Alright?”

Fingon nods, unable to speak. Turgon knows not how it happens, but in the next second they are holding each other close, a final embrace. Fingon has to stand on his toes in order to properly wrap an arm around Turgon’s shoulders; he tugs insistently, so Turgon must bend down a little. Distantly, he remembers that it was slightly more awkward with Argon, but that never stopped Fingon before.

Turgon listens to his brother’s whimpering and weeping, muffled against his shoulder, and hugs him tighter. On the far wall, the sunlight lengthens, and Ulmo’s call grows clearer in the back of his mind. But that time is not yet here. For now, Turgon stands with Fingon, and lets his tears fall into his brother’s hair, unnoticed.

_____

I wasn’t expecting to write an entire one-shot for this; originally, it was just going to be a small snippet of dialogue, but the scene kept playing out in my head and getting longer, so I decided to write the whole thing!

If I were to make this a full-fledged fic, this scene would likely be longer with more exploration of their feelings, but as it is, I think it works well enough for an art post! Plus you get a closeup of Fingon’s anguished face! Man, I just love Fingon+Turgon angst loll

[averagecontentenjoyer121]

Chapter 10: Reunion

Three years of living with the royal family has been nice to Athena. She was constantly taken care of by Penelope whenever she needed it, and Penelope had a sixth sense for when that was. And the happiness that Telemachus brought her let her overcome most obstacles. But there was still this sense of loneliness creeping its way into Athena. Staying locked up barely being able to talk to others had given her a sort of cabin fever. Granted she loved the royal family to death, but the lack of communication with others was driving her slowly insane.

One night Hypnos was running late for whatever reason and so she went out for some air, hopefully to clear her head to help her sleep. She began walking along a river that ran parallel to the palace. As she walked she began to hear singing. The same singing she had been hearing in her dreams. She quickened her pace, determined to discover who it was that was singing.

As she turned around the curve of the river she had made it back closer to the palace. She could now see the window leading into the room she slept in. And there lying on the edge of the beach was her. She had been singing the reverse of what her kind usually do, she was pouring her feelings out into the world.

Athena stood there mesmerized by the singing. Not because it had drugged her mind, but because it was genuinely beautiful. Athena listened to the concert that was all for her, but then she shifted her leg. Some stones crackled under her step causing enough sound to alert the siren. She turned to gaze at her attendant, her face turning a shade of dark red. She retreated under the water not knowing what to say.

Athena rushed after her, but was unable to reach her. She sat beside the river unsure if she should say what entered her mind or not because the siren might just be gone, but she did anyway. “Uh, I’ve heard your singing in my dreams and tonight hearing it in person was better than any dream could ever be,” silence persisted but so did she, “I’ve kept this piece of coral you gave me. I still don’t understand its meaning, but I know, to you, it’s important for me to keep this,” she said, after pulling out the red coral she hadn’t taken out in three years, “If you decide to come out I’ll be waiting over here,” Athena said vaguely gesturing behind her.

Athena slowly moved away from the water hoping the siren would reappear. Noticing the lack of reemergence she settled down on the oddly soft grass, using her cape as a makeshift pillow. As she lay there half asleep, the siren cautiously came out of the river. She slowly crawled towards Athena, of whom could hear her approach. Once the siren got to Athena it paused for a moment. She then curled up beside Athena, resting her head on Athena’s chest. Athena then moved slightly so that she was now embracing the siren while she slept, which caused the Siren to blush again. The white noise generated by the purrs of the Siren aided both in their search for sleep.

Penelope came into Athena’s room to wish her good night only to be surprised to see that she was gone. She looked out the window to see Athena slumbering with the Siren. She smiled happy that Athena had found another friend. Suddenly the irritating demeanor of the god of sleep made itself known. “Hay Athe-“ he was cut off by the shushing of Penelope. She then gestured out to where Athena slept. “Why didn’t she bring ‘er into the room,” he whispered, “would’ve been more comfortable.” Penelope glared at his ignorance. “You think they’ve had a bash?” He said with a mischievous grin which was contrasted by the bags under his eyes. Penelope clamped down on his cheek like a coconut crab while staring at Hypnos in disgust as she hadn’t known what he meant, but made an assumption of its meaning. “Settle yourself, I made a joke about if you thought they’ve kissed. Jeez get your mind out da gutta,” he squicked out. “Still rude to ask about a relationship you don’t know about,” Penelope said through a scowl. “Ya think she needs my help this time?”

“No, and I want you to stay away from them. I know you’ll ruin their moment.”

“Alright then, I guess Athena 1, Hypnos 1195,” he says, chuckling in tone mocking defeat, whilst flying away on his winged ears.

Penelope stood there with her arms crossed, but with a softer expression. She stared out at Athena smiling as it seemed the two had gotten closer.

The sun warmed the two bodies residing beside the river. Athena opened her eyes to see the scaled fish-like body of the siren resting partly on her left, somehow not triggering pain within Athena. Athena smiled happily to finally get to see the person who had allowed her to be in Ithaca. Athena slowly began to sit up carefully moving the siren’s head so it now lay on the left side of her lap. She began to brush the siren’s hair waiting for her to wake up so she could for the first time talk to her. The siren purred as it woke, then realizing that it was being touched, it turned to look at Athena who was smiling down at her. The siren’s face became a dark maroon hue as it felt a strange version of happiness and fear. Her body tensed unsure about what to do, until Athena spoke, “Hello, I don’t think I caught your name,” her face only grew more and more maroon. She spoke for the first time in years, “Pithera,” she whispered out her barely opened mouth. “That’s a wonderful name,” said Athena. Pithera smiled, having been charmed by Athena’s nice words. “Oh,” Athena continued, “I said that I still had this, but I didn’t know if you heard me,” She said, pulling the piece of coral out. Pithera’s eyes grew as she saw the coral. “I don’t know what it means or why you wanted me to have it. Could you please tell me?”

“We give those we love coral. If they keep it that shows they also love us, but if they don’t that means they don’t love us,” she quietly said looking off to the side, “b-but you’re the first one who’s ever kept the coral I gave,” she said with an overjoyed smile. Athena embraced Pithera. First surprised by Athena, Pithera then embraces her back, nuzzling under her chin.

Ive also started work on chapter 11, and edited the earlier chapters a little, but that’ll have to wait until I get and AO3 account, the edits that is.

[rileythelonelyalien]

Pantalone x GN!Reader (a scarf? for me?)

A/N: hello!! I've had this particular fic in the works for a super long time and I finally had the motivation to finish it: this is a fic that is similar to the Dottore one I wrote a few months back its about Pantalone this time however and the reader makes him a scarf!!

My posts are most likely going to take much longer to write now since I have a lot of assignments that I have to work on for Sixth form which is kind of a bummer but I will try to post whenever I can!!! anyways I hope you enjoy this Fic :D (fic is under the cut)

Want to read the dottore version ?

You knew your lover enjoyed spending his fortune as well as indulging in on the luxuries of life , every piece of clothing had to be of the highest quality , no matter the price. However quality and aesthetic did not necessarily mean that the garment would be functional as intended. You recall the time you had forgotten your scarf behind whilst going out into town with Pantalone and he lent you his, unfortunately it did not do much to help as the scarf itself was quite thin and thus did not work as intended. Ever since that had happened you had watched each time your lover would leave and put on that very same scarf the lack of warmth it provided him concerned you deeply and it began to plague your mind for extended periods of time. It eventually gets to the point where you decided you will have to solve this issue by your own accord : now you did not have nearly enough mora to get him a similar scarf with a better thickness so you did the next best thing that came to min which was make him a handmade knitted scarf. Surely this would be better than that sorry excuse of a scarf he had currently.

Fortunately for you , before Pantalone had taken you with him to the palace you quite often would knit your own garments to wear all the time so you still had a bunch of left over materials that you had left over that you had stored in a safe place for until you decided to use them again. You spend quite a bit of time sorting out through all the materials you had and selecting the few yarns that would be high enough quality and yet still thick enough to actually hold up its purpose to be used for his scarf , once you had narrowed the selection of yarn you had begun to knit the scarf was one of the most simplest garments to knit therefore it wouldn't take long for you to finish it , Pantalone’s long hours at his office also world to your advantage as it would give plenty of time to be able to focus on this mini project of yours. As you sat there knitting you would often think about what your lover's reaction might be to receiving something like this , he had always been the one providing you with lavish gifts and you could only gratefully accept his show of affection , although it's not as materialistically valuable as the gifts he gives you it still shows your adoration towards him no?  

Soon enough with only a few days of work on this project you had finished it to your own standard of perfection, feeling quite fulfilled having finished a piece in such a timely manner even if it was a simple garment, it was still an achievement worth feeling good about. However, you decided against giving Pantalone his gift to him straight away, instead you were going to wait for the perfect opportunity to be able to present your gift to him. With fate on your side barley any time had passed before the perfect opportunity had shown itself and now it was time for action. Pantalone had entered your shared bedroom in order to retreat for the day , his face softens once he sees you contempt , laying on the bed. You noticed his presence and quickly got out of bed in order to meet him , running over towards him and throwing yourself into his embrace. 

You can feel his laughter reverberate through your ears as your body shakes along with his chest as he lets out a small laugh at how adorable he found your antics. He gently places a gloved hand atop of your head as he hums in content at the contact before letting out a dejected sigh ‘ my treasure, I'll be leaving tomorrow early in the morning as I have some business to attend to in one of the banks on the far side of Shneznaya … I’ll have to leave for the day I do hope you do not mind ?’ He let out the news he's been meaning to say and as soon as this leaves his lips you bring your head up from his chest to look up into his eyes ‘ Your leaving tomorrow?’ you question ‘indee-’ before Pantalone could even finish his sentence you dash out of his arms and for a moment, he is distraught as he feels like he had offended you in some sort of way , this was not the case. You quickly rummage through the things you kept under your bed until you are able to grab what you were searching for as soon as your fingers interlace with the garment you quickly make your way back to your lover. Your hands outstretched offering to take what was in your hands ‘I made this for you … I thought that your scarf its lovely but it's not good for its purpose , its thin and won't keep you warm and I worry that because of that it will make you more prone to illness if you're constantly traveling like that and I couldn't let that happen so here’ as soon as you finish your small ramble you proceed to motion for Pantalone to take the scarf. You watch as your lover does something quite particular , he proceeds to take of his gloves before even going to even touch the garment. After he had taken his gloves however, he gently takes the item out of your hands , running his fingers across the surface and even holding it up to his eyes seemingly examining the work that had been put into the creation of this scarf. His actions seem to make you feel bashful as your gaze lowers as you try to avoid Pantalone's eyes contact. However, his silence seems to be telling to how he feels : he was truly enamoured that you had managed to create such a beautiful item in his eyes and still preserve it initial purpose. He truly admired the work and effort you had put into this scarf. Furthermore, the reason behind why this scarf was even created in the first place absolutely melted his heart , he had gotten used to a life of which ‘kindness’ always came with a price , not one thing came for free there was always the expectation of a reward or pay-back. Yet this was a symbolism of how you would do something unconditionally for him out of your own love for him and that was much richer than anything that could be bought with mora. 

After the prolonged silence and examination of your scarf Pantalone hands you the scarf as he smiles at and proceeds to ask ‘My treasure , do you think you could wrap this scarf for me?’ His voice low and comforting showing how this gesture had taken effect on him. You smile as you oblige his request , he leans forward so that you are able to reach his neck as you gently wrap him in the scarf to be snug against his neck keeping him warm and serving as protection from the harsh Shneznayan winds. Just before you could step away from him Pantalone catches you by the waist and bring you into a loving kiss ‘thank you dearest , truly you never fail to surprise me day after day ‘ he smiles as his hand gently caresses your face, he was clearly admiring your features absolutely infatuated with you and the things you do for him. He has never felt richer than he did in that very moment. 

[a-simp-named-slickback]

Star-Crossed | Basim x OC | Chapter 5

The jinni's continues to torture Basim, and so are his feelings for Nashira.

TW: mental health issues. I wanted to try portray what I thought Basim’s visions would look like from a different person’s perspective.

The stars twinkled in the night sky over Anbar. At this time of night, most people had retreated into their homes, gathering around a fire and a meal with their loved ones. The smells of spices wafted through the air and took to the rooftops, where Basim and Nashira sat together.

Between them they shared a bowl of tebit, a canister of water, and of course, a pouch full of sweet juicy dates as they gazed at the stars together.

Over the course of a few months, they’d find time to share a meal and talk, much like how they’d do as youths. Though instead of studying, they spent their time talking about life. Asking and answering questions they had never considered as teenagers.

Tonight, Basim’s mind wandered away from conversation. He yawned, not having gotten much sleep in the nights before. The jinni continued its torment, both in sleep and in his waking moments. What was worse, he still had little answers for it.

Every now and again Nehal presented him with some strange tome or symbol that reminded them of the artifact they found at the Caliph’s Winter palace. Each of these strangely familiar findings left Basim with more questions than answers, and the jinni’s torment continued to take its toll every time.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could deal with this. He needed answers soon.

“Basim?”

Hearing Nashira say his name brought him out of his thoughts.

She furrowed her brows, “Is everything alright with you?”

He nodded, “Everything’s fine.” He answered.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, “If there is something wrong, you can tell me. I’m right here.”

His eyes softened. For a moment, he contemplated telling her about the jinni, how it kept him up at night, how it haunted him in his dreams and his waking hours, and how it had done this for the majority of his life. How could he explain such a thing to her? Nashira was a woman of science, she didn’t believe in the supernatural. She’d probably write him off as crazy and have him admitted to the Bimaristan if she could.

He waved her off, “I’m fine, really,” He said, “I was just thinking.”

“About?” She pressed, giving him all her attention.

He chuckled, “I was thinking about something you had asked me before, about whether the stars controlled our fates. I realized, I never heard your answer for it.”

Nashira blinked, “You’re right,” She tapped her chin, “I suppose never did answer the question now that I think about it.”

She thought for a moment, “I think perhaps I misunderstood my father’s point of view on the subject.”

Basim tilted his head, “Explain?”

“When he said the stars controlled our fate, I assumed he meant we didn’t have free will to make our own choices in life. Naturally, I disagreed with that notion. Whether or not our actions have the intended consequences, we made those choices. Not every choice is equal, sometimes the consequences are minor, some major, but regardless we have the choice to go down a certain path or another. A parent can tell a child not to eat sweets before dinner. The child ultimately makes the decision to listen to the parent and not get what they want, or disobey them to get what they want at the expense of being punished. The parent can not control what that child does, only the child can do that for themselves.”

Basim listened intently to her as she spoke. She was making a good point.

“However, there are things that happen outside of our control,” She continued, “A natural disaster, a corrupt government, illness, death, and our paths become altered by these events. Our choices are limited to what is available to us from that point onward, though the choices presented may not be the ones we desire to have. Those events limit our free will, and it doesn’t stop there! You could be a child born to cruel parents, a person born into a poor family-”

She paused for a moment. “Or a young woman forced to marry when she does not want to…We may have the free will to choose how we act, but fate is often the determinant of the circumstances in which we make our choices. I think that is what he meant.”

Basim nodded, “I think that is quite insightful.”

She shrugged him off, “I’ve had a lot of time to think it over.”

They sat in silence as a question gnawed at Basim’s mind. Something he had wondered in his youth. Something he felt with unshakable conviction.

“Do you think certain things are meant to be?” He asked, “Like, are some things inevitable? Bound to happen regardless of circumstances?”

She raised a brow, “How do you mean?”

He leaned back on his hands, “I’m sure I was always bound to join the Hidden One’s. I was so eager to join them as a boy, that I don’t think anything could have stopped me. Or you. You’ve always been smart, and your father was a brilliant scholar. You were always meant to be an astronomer.”

Nashira hummed, “There’s a possibility but I don’t think anything is as simple as meant to be, Basim. At least, not as simple as you make it sound.”

“Oh?” He asked, “Care to argue your point?” He had a glint of mischief in his eyes, enjoying their debates.

A corner of Nashira’s mouth turned up, “Who are we to decide what is and isn’t meant to be? We aren’t omniscient beings, our viewpoint is limited to our own lives.”

“Didn’t you just say we have free will to make our own choices?” He smirked, thinking he got her.

“I also said some things are out of our control,” She held up a finger to his face, unable to stop herself from grinning as well, “Case in point, how we-”

Nashira’s grin faded suddenly.

Basim raised an eyebrow, “What is it?” he pressed, “Don’t hold your tongue, Nashira, I want to know what you think.”

“You’ll think it’s stupid.” She protested.

“If you are stupid, then I am completely hopeless,” He laughed, “Just tell me.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, still sounding unsure, “You won’t get upset?”

“I promise,” He said, waiting for her to continue.

Nashira sighed out a breath and took a moment before speaking again, “...There’s us, for example. You told me once you thought we were meant to be. Regardless if you or I believed it, that does not make it true."

Basim, taken aback at her moment of vulnerability and honesty, sat with that notion for a bit. Their once lively debate turned quiet as they sat under the stars. It was then that the feelings he kept at bay for months came bubbling to the surface. There they were, on a rooftop in Anbar, looking at the night sky together. Almost identical to the night they shared their first kiss together.

He looked at her, “I meant that, back then.” He said, holding her gaze.

His sincerity warmed her heart, “And I believed you. But if we were meant to be, well, we’d be together now.”

Basim nodded, “We are here now. That has to mean something, right?” He felt himself grow bolder as he went on, feeling himself drawn to her.

Nashira let out a shaky breath, still holding Basim’s gaze, not noticing how close they were getting to each other, “We are.” She whispered, her breath ghosting his lips that were only inches away from hers.

Slowly, hesitantly, they leaned into one another until their lips pressed in a shy kiss. The first one only lasted a few seconds, but the next one and the ones after that increased in vigor. They're hands started out locked at their sides until Basim snaked one to caress her jaw, and Nashira crept hers to the base of his neck. Their movements knocked off their respective head coverings, baring themselves to each other and the stars above.

Soon, the need for air became too much for them to ignore and they pulled away. Resting their foreheads on each other, satisfying their need to remain close to one another as they caught their breaths.

Nashira let out a shaky breath, “We can’t do this, Basim.”

Basim breathed out of his nose, “We can’t or we shouldn’t?” Those were very different things after all.

An ache grew in Nashira’s chest, “Omar will return soon.” She whispered.

“And I will go back to Alamut when my work here is done.” He sighed.

They pulled away from each other, adjusting their hood and head scarf. He should have known better; it seems, like always, Nashira was right again. He was a fool to think he could leave his feelings in the past while still maintaining a relationship with her. He was even more of a fool to think fate was on their side.

After a long silence, Basim stood up, “I should go.”

The sniffle he made almost went unnoticed by Nashira. If there were tears in his eyes, she wouldn’t know. His hood obscured any emotion he might have felt in that moment.

Her eyes blinked back tears, “Please,” She whispered, “Stay.”

He shook his head. He wanted to stay. He wanted to so badly. He knew if he did, he wouldn’t have the resolve to leave before they both did something unforgivable. Who knows what the outcome of that would be? His oath to the Hidden Ones was absolute, he’d have to uphold it. If they needed him to leave Baghdad, he’d have to do it, leaving Nashira to suffer the fallout of their actions.

He swallowed hard, “Good bye Nashira.” He said, not facing her.

Without another word, he was gone.

____________________________________________________________

Weeks later

It was dark again.

And cold.

Basim had been here before, too many times before.

The jinni used to haunt him in his sleep only, but lately…

Over these last few months, as Basim eliminated his targets, visions of the jinni haunted him while he was awake. Sometimes these manic episodes would last a few minutes, others a few hours.

This time was no different.

Basim’s eyes darted around, trying to keep his eyes on the jinni, or perhaps trying to wrest the visions away. He felt like had been walking forever, but to where he couldn’t tell.

His heart raced. His palms sweat. He clutched the front of his robes. He needed to be strong. He needed to sever his ties to the past like Master Roshan told him he needed to. He needed to let go of his life before the Hidden Ones. His father, Nehal, Jasib-

Nashira’s face flashed in his mind. Her soft eyes, her dark curls, her melodic voice whispering in his ear.

Curse him, why couldn’t he just let go of the past!

He would not be weak.

He would not be weak.

He would not be-

“Basim?”

______________________________________________________________

Nashira furrowed her brows, looking upon Basim.

She couldn't make sense of his expression. There was a wild look in his eyes as they darted everywhere, never seeming to focus on anything. He was covered in sweat and, in some places, blood, though she was confident it wasn’t his. Still, his jerky movements worried her.

He stumbled in here not too long ago, a great surprise to her who hadn’t seen him in weeks. She doubted she would see him again after that night in Anbar.

She stepped forward, “Basim?” She said his name again, hoping it would get his attention. Still, he looked around, not seeing her there right in front of him.

She tilted her head. How could he not see her?

He began hyperventilating, “Nehal?” he called out, sounding pathetic. His breath quickened like he was struggling for air. Now she was growing worried.

Nashira shook her head, “No…no it’s Nashira.” She reached out to touch him on the shoulder, only to quickly find out what a terrible idea that was when he roughly shoved her hand away.

“Stay away!” he shouted, backing away from her.

“Okay, okay!” She reassured, jumping back. Basim was much stronger than her. That made him dangerous in his current state of mind. She needed to be careful.

He grunted, clutching his head in his hands, falling to his knees, “It’s just the jinni again….just the jinni…” He said it over and over again but he wasn’t speaking to her. He was talking to himself.

What is this jinni, Nashira wondered. Was this what Basim was seeing and talking to? Was this what was making him act so erratically?

Nashira had heard stories of jinnis as a child, the same as any child in Baghdad. None of the stories spoke of jinni’s tormenting people in this way. Her father, a man of science, largely brushed off such supernatural notions as this, and she learned to do the same. Once again, Basim seemed to challenge everything she thought she understood.

Nashira crouched down, getting on his level and did what any good scientist would do. She observed him, to better understand.

“She’s not here…it’s not her…not ya habibti….” Basim choked back a cry, “I am….alone….”

Nashira had never seen Basim like this. For as long as she knew him, she never saw him break down like this. Never saw him look so…timid. His voice, usually deep and baritone, sounded so impossibly small.

How long had these spells….this jinni…been tormenting her sweet Basim?

Without thinking she reached a hand out towards him, but pulled back. What could she do? Could she really help in out of this state?

On second thought, why was she even thinking so hard about this? The longer she thought the more he’d suffer this spell. She needed to act now.

Nashira moved closer to him, carefully reaching a hand out to him. Her hand rested on his back, and relief washed over her when he did not shove her away.

Gently, she rubbed circles in his back, “It’s okay ya habibi,” She whispered, “I’m right here…you’re not alone.”

His breathing calmed down a bit. Slowly, Basim sat up from his hunched over position, coming face to face with Nashira. This time, he seemed to focus on her, at least in her direction because his stare looked as thorough as it was focused on something far away. In his vision, there was still darkness, but now there was a light shimmering in the distance. A light where her voice came pulled him to.

“Nashira?” He whimpered, praying she wasn’t just another illusion.

He sucked in a breath, feeling a soft palm cradle his face, “I’m right here, ya habibi.”

Basim leaned into her touch, the hair of his beard tickling her palm. She pushed the hood off his face so she could see him better. The dark circles under his eyes grew bigger since the last time she saw him, meaning he’d hardly slept. Or at least, his lack of sleep was growing worse than before. She assumed his lack of sleep was because of his Hidden One duties. Now she wondered if this jinni had something to do with it.

She ran her thumb along his cheek, giving him a comforting look as she did, “I’m right here, Basim. You don’t have to be scared.” Their foreheads were just inches away from each other, as if she had to show him she was right there with him.

Basim’s hand crept towards his face to cover her hand with his own, sighing at how soft it felt. She was real and in front of him, right within his reach.

His breathing slowed, the smoke cleared, and his eyes filled with light again and there she was. Her golden brown eyes staring back at him, seeing him. That both calmed and terrified him.

He crumbled into her, clutching her robes, afraid if he let go she’d vanish like smoke. He dug his face into her neck, forgetting himself around her. He felt his nerves calm when her hands carefully ran up and down his back in response.

They sat there, her holding him, him holding her, for what felt like an eternity. They had hoped as much, at least.

Before long, Nashira helped him up as best as she could. Despite his episode seeming to be over, his body was still stiff. That coupled with the dense amount of muscle he owned made it difficult for Nashira to aid him though she did so nonetheless.

“Come,” She straightened them both up, “You must rest. You look so tired…”

All Basim could do was nod in agreement, slowly making his way to the seating area Nashira led him to. There were several pillows scattered around the colorful rugs, and Basim suddenly became aware of how exhausted he was.

Nashira helped him lay down, as Basim was still shaken from what happened. She smoothed a hand over his heart, feeling it slow from her touch.

“Rest, Basim.” She said just above a whisper. Above him, glowing in the dim moonlight, Nashira looked so angelic to him. He wanted to remember every part of her face like this, bathed in moonlight under stars. That tender look in her eyes as they crinkled in the corners from her smile. The mark just above her eyebrow that danced with her expressions. He never wanted to forget her face.

When she moved to stand up, Basim wouldn’t let go of her hand, “Stay with me? Please?”

Nashira’s eyes widened, then softened, and she wordlessly laid down next to him. She wrapped her arms around his torso, laying her cheek on his back. She felt him place his hands over hers as he slowed his breathing, feeling sleep take over.

They lulled each other to sleep with their shallow breaths.

_____________________________________________________________

Basim awoke before Nashira.

It was morning, the sun just beginning to break above the minarets. The call to worship rang out in the distance. He blinked a few times from the sunlight breaking through the window, memories of the night before flooded his mind again.

He remembered the jinni, he remembered the nightmares, he remembered Nashira’s words and her touch.

I’m here, ya habibi.

His heart fluttered remembering those words. He looked down, seeing Nashira’s head resting on his chest as the sunlight shone on her hair and face. Her shallow breaths coming in and out of her nose brought a smile to his face. With his fingertips he inched his hand close to her hair to move a fallen lock awake from her forehead.

It terrified him that she knew now, about the jinni, about the nightmares…he still dreaded having to explain the extent of them. Despite seeing him in his worst state, she still just saw Basim. That alone made him feel safe being vulnerable. He hadn’t felt that in so long, not with the life he led now. Such a thing would usually see his demise.

Then he remembered where he was: laying in the arms of a married woman. A married woman whose entire life would go to ruin if she were caught in such a situation with a man other than her husband, regardless of the innocence of their interaction.

He slithered out of her grasp, hoping to make it to the window without waking her. He quickly pulled up his hood and began gathering his things.

He swallowed hard. What on earth was he thinking? He knew better than to come her. Pursuing this, pursuing her again would only cause more trouble for her. She had a life, a husband, and her passion to think of. He couldn’t risk ruining that for her. He wouldn’t. She deserved all the world had to offer and he wouldn’t get in the way of that.

As he made his way to the window, he heard a shuffle on the rug behind him.

"You're leaving?"

He gasped, looking back to see Nashira fully awake on the rug where they slept.

He hung his head, "...Yes." He muttered, memories of the night before flashing in his mind. He did not want to see the look of pity on her face.

Nashira shook her head, "No, please. Stay." She pleaded with him, "I don't want you to leave. Not again."

She got up from where she lay and slowly made her way to him, trying to get him to look at her, though his eyes seemed glued to the ground when she stood in front of him.

She took one of his hands in hers, "Do you remember what happened?"

Basim reluctantly nodded.

"How long has this been going on for?" She asked again.

He sighed, "As long as I can remember."

Nashira's eyes widened, "You have been suffering with these nightmares for that long?"

He finally looked up from the ground, nodding.

He didn't see pity in her eyes, instead, there was a deep sense of compassion there, and he suddenly felt stupid for thinking she'd be judgmental.

She furrowed her brows, "I knew there was something wrong but I never wanted to push you to say anything." she hung her head, remembering how torn up he looked when he arrived to her observatory, "Perhaps I should have..."

He shook his head, "No, no, I didn't want you to find out this way," He lifted her chin up, "Please do not blame yourself."

"Why didn't you want me to know?" She asked?

Basim shrugged his shoulders, "How could I expect you to understand something I can not even make sense of?"

Nashira's eyes grew sad as she listened to him speak.

"Ana majnun. A madman." he continued, "I've tried so hard to deal with them, to let go of the past, but I can't...I am sorry I burdened you with all of this...I'm sorry I never told you."

Nashira squeezed his hand, "Do not apologize. Being there for you has never felt like a burden.” She caressed his beard in her hand, “And you are not the only one who can't let go of the past."

Basim’s eyes softened as he held her gaze. He pulled her in for a hug, holding tight as if she’d go up in smoke if he let go. But she wouldn’t. She was real, and she was right there with him.

"No more secrets between us, ya habibi." she whispered in his ear, “You asked me once before if I loved Omar. I don’t. I love you, Basim.”

Basim swallowed hard as they pulled away, deciding to throw caution to the wind, "I love you too, Nashira. I never stopped."

Nashira's heart fluttered from his words. Regardless of what fate had in mind for them, she made the decision right then and there: She would chose Basim one hundred times over. Madman or not, nothing would stop her from loving him wholeheartedly.

Her hand gently guided him to her, pressing their lips together. His arms snakes around her waist. His kiss was as sweet and tender as she remembered, and all the others that followed after. Basim kissed her back like he couldn’t get close enough to her, like he’d wake up and realize this was all a dream.

They pulled apart, resting their foreheads together.

“Turqburni, Nashira.” His thumbs drew circles in the fabric of her robes on her back.

Nashira brought her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for another deep kiss.

______________

Author’s Note: Tuqburni is an endearment phrase in Arabic that roughly translates to “you bury me.” According to my research, the idea behind the phrase is that the person loves someone so much, they’d rather die and be buried than live without their partner.

[raineandsky]

#39

Contrary to popular belief, being a court jester has more perks than one would assume.

It’s a simple job, really. Easy to do. You just have to know how to juggle and make crude jokes on the spot and that’s about all it takes to get into the royal palace.

Anytime he’s not entertaining or sleeping off such he’s exploring. There’s a calm—and use—in figuring out the twists and turns of the corridors, the views from the windows, the hidden corners that no one else seems to know exists.

Today is about as normal as the rest of them. The jester is ushered up horrendously early, dressed in his frankly embarrassing entertainment clothes, and dumped at a crude kitchen table with a bowl of whatever slop has been made this morning. Not even twenty minutes after greeting the waking world he’s trekking through the halls and shoving the doors open to the king’s conference room.

“Bless the gods of good humour for your existence,” is the greeting the king gives him. It’s a new one, that’s for sure. The general is standing next to him, looking as dour as always at his entrance, and for a moment the jester questions whether he read the call for entertainment right.

“I’m unsure if my existence warrants a blessing for those already blessed, my liege,” the jester says lightly, and the king positively roars with laughter. It barely deserves a pity laugh in his mind, but he’s learnt the intricacies of the king’s humour in his time here. What the jester thinks is funny doesn’t even see the light of day when he’s working.

“Close the door, my boy, these are private matters.” The jester isn’t exactly sure whether he means to shut them on the way out, but after a moment the king adds: “I could do with something a little lighthearted in a moment like this.”

His general frowns worriedly as the king sinks into his throne with a content sigh. “With all due respect, my liege—” which the jester has learnt means ‘I’m about to insult your god-given authority’ “—you are right, these are private matters. I’m unsure if an audience is a good idea.”

The king waves him off idly. “The boy is hilarious, and in times like these a little fun never hurt anyone. I could use a good mockery of the little brats on our borders, anyway.”

The jester glances at the general with the hopes of conveying the question of ‘what?’, but all he gets is blanked. “My liege—”

“The supposed queen is bringing forces to my walls, general.” The king leans back in his chair, his eyes perusing a map splayed out on the table. “What do you suggest we do?”

The general’s gaze finally flits to the jester, but the boy’s question has already been answered. His eyes are locked to the map instead, staring at the little wooden soldiers circling the kingdom. “From what I can see, they’re aiming to cut off our entrances,” the general says after a moment of deliberation pointed blatantly at the jester. “Anywhere they’re not doing this, there’s been sightings of catapults. They’re going to bring this city down if they can.”

“So?”

“So…” His stare casts onto the map as well, stepping forwards to shift some of the figures about. “We catch them early. There’s an exit they don’t seem to have noticed in the North—if we can beat them to our walls we have the element of surprise and the advantage of not bringing the fight to civilians.”

“I like that idea, general. Has the queen been sighted with her men?”

“Not that I’ve heard, my liege. Most likely she’s hiding in her own kingdom.”

This has all been too much of a shitshow to comprehend, let alone make fun of, and all the jester can think to say is; “what a coward.”

The king glances at him like he just remembered he’s there, but he chuckles regardless. “Indeed. We have the advantage of fear if we know this. We can strike her while they’re busy trying to destroy us.”

“And once they get news of their own kingdom being attacked, they’ll no doubt retreat,” the general adds, and the king gives him a hearty slap on the back that would probably topple anyone else. “We have a plan. We split our forces—some to hold the fort here, and some to destroy their army from the top of the food chain.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

The general and the king frankly look a little incensed at the jester’s input. Shit. It wasn’t meant to come out, but he’s already here, he supposes. “They’re sending their entire army to us,” he continues. There’s a loop on his belt at hand level that’s suddenly getting a lot of love with the rising anxiety of talking out of line. “Shouldn’t we focus on defending ourselves first? If we split, she’s already won.”

“Do you suddenly understand the strategies of war, jester?” the general spits. “I can’t say you’re particularly humorous today.”

“I agree,” the king says, and his tone is that of a business deal. “Thank you for your time, boy. You’re excused.”

He would say something else, but the glares he’s getting are enough to get him executed. So he bows to the king, calmly lets himself out, and bolts.

He comes across one of the cooks when he bursts into the kitchen, who looks a little startled to see him. “Jesus, did you run here or something?” she asks over his haggard panting, and she sighs when he manages to give her the slightest nod.

“Get… get someone else to… take over this,” the jester says between desperate breaths. “We have to go. There’s– there’s horses in the stables that we could probably take–”

“Slow down, kid,” the cook interjects quickly. “Is something going on? Did someone find out?”

“We have to tell the queen to retreat. There’s a secret exit that they want to use to catch her forces by surprise, and the king wants to kill her while she's separated from her defences. I– I tried to tell them it was a bad idea, but… oh god, we don’t stand a chance.”

The cook has taken to staring into the distance in thought, before she suddenly abandons her pot on the table with a hearty clunk. “Grab the horses. The army’s still a few days away from here—we can beat them to it if we run.”

[weirwoodsugar]

on one hand i am soso eager for winds but on the other im kinda scared george will mess up alleras by like switching to using she/her pronouns for him exclusively and the name sarella after the other characters find out or doing some shit like that

oh for sure. the thing is “girl disguised as a boy to do boy stuff” is such a standard issue Classic Fantasy Trope that he’s brought in a few times already that on one one hand i feel like, well there’s no way he’s going to just play that straight right? like he’s going to Do Something with it surely. surely. but on the other hand we’ve seen too little of alleras on page for me to be able to anticipate WHERE he’s going with it. i think my chances that i’m going to get “alleras boy :)” out of this are pretty low but i also think getting characters like alleras and sam together and not doing ANY Interesting Gender Stuff would be an uncharacteristic fumble. i don’t have much faith that he’s ever had any intention of making this NOT secret-girl trope, played-straight or no, so all i can really hold out for is that he won’t be totally boring about it. i think if he put in the effort he COULD handle writing a character with Ambiguous Gender but alas there is always the chance that that is simply not his intention here and i will just have to retreat to my mind palace.

[louisfriend-ironsulfide]

How about something a bit angsty? Maybe hannibal getting some ptsd flashbacks and clarice comforting him or even the other way around?

Or if you're in the mood for something fluffier, them getting a dog for the first time? I feel like clarice would be a huge dog person lol

Cute as hell, thank u! Originally I went with the angst but then halfway through I realised I was basically rewriting this fic that already exists. Go read it if you haven’t, it’s one of my favs and deals with his ptsd well.

I’m incapable of writing short one-shots btw, so apologies.

(Word count: 2508)

She sits before the fire and she stares- or some version of her stares, rather.

And though it is not Clarice Starling, as he is familiar with her, who stares at the fire on these low days, that isn’t to say he doesn’t know exactly what she thinks and feels.

Hannibal Lecter himself admittedly used to seek physical warmth when visions of his past became overbearing. He supposed their histories were similar in that way- both tinged with frost. Him, then, wailing in the cold snow as Mischa was dragged from him and Clarice, then, tiptoeing across icy grass as she fled desperately from the cries of the pleading lambs.

But, although he understood on a fundamental level why she chose to sit before the fire in still silence when she struggled with what he could only consider ptsd, he still found himself unable to help her and that hurt beyond all else.

He’d done his part in easing her struggle months ago- back whilst they’d still been staying on the Chesapeake; her trauma had been an unresolved, gaping wound back then and he’d stitched her right up, yet old wounds itched sometimes and no amount of tender attention could ease that itch when it came. One simply had to wait it out; like a causeless fever.

Hannibal Lecter hated waiting it out. Sometimes Clarice’s emotional slumps could last days- or even weeks. And during those times she could be as cold and withdrawn as the dark memories that ensnared her; she wouldn’t shy from his touch per se but she wouldn't welcome it either, and she’d turn from him in the night, leaving him feeling remarkably alone on his side of their vast bed.

He observed her closely, that evening. More closely than usual.

He was reclined on the far end of the couch in the drawing room, nursing a cold snifter of whiskey, as she sat on the rug at his feet and watched the flames dance lower and lower in tandem with the setting sun. Her eyes seemed to be glazed over. It was as if her very soul had retreated within her, leaving her body to act as a crude puppet in the meantime. And, though he had access to most of her own personal memory palace, he could not reach her when she wandered into the recesses of her mind during these times.

He had a theory, however.

It’d been forming for the last few days and the more he ruminated over it, the more plausible a cure it seemed. He was unable to help her during these periods of depression because she’d become desensitized to him. They lived a fairly solitary life, the two of them, and that was fine for the most part but it was variety that Hannibal Lecter realized Starling needed occasionally, and he was cursing himself for not realizing it sooner.

Before he’d found his way into her life, she’d kept her dark thoughts at bay by occupying herself with playing the role of the righteous hero. She helped people. She saved her lambs; lambs like Catherine Martin and Evalda Drumgo’s infant. As much as she occasionally enjoyed helping him, he was not a lamb and he did not suffice in calming those scarred parts of her psyche. And, although her wound had long healed and the urge to help people wasn’t as insistent within her, it was during times such as these that he realized she needed this release more than ever.

So he decided he’d do just that. He’d give her something to care for. Something smaller than herself; something that she didn’t feel was constantly analyzing her, as he often found himself subconsciously doing.

He stood up from the couch, suddenly, and his frown deepened when she didn’t so much as turn her head.

“Clarice.”

She blinked, but no more.

“I’m going out, mi amor. There’s something I need to collect. I’ll be back shortly.”

Short simple sentences. He feared anything longer wouldn’t reach her. She merely nodded once and he left her.

Hannibal Lecter chose their practical truck instead of the sleek mustang as he pulled out of the driveway, favoring its convenience in transporting cargo and also registering that the cargo he was planning on picking up would likely ruin their beautiful sportscar.

He wasn’t an animal man, particularly, but that wasn’t to say he disliked them. In fact, with the exception of Clarice, he would always favor the company of an animal over that of a human being.

He’d put off the idea of pets for some time, for the notion of cleaning up animal waste didn’t quite appeal to him and it seemed jarring in contrast to the fairly lavish lifestyle they were living, but Clarice needed somebody other than him to keep her company when her mental health took a dive.

And what better company than a dog?

It would be something new to occupy her. Some smaller being to care for to ease the frown lines between her brows when he was unable to. A dog wouldn’t be able to speak back or overcomplicate things in any way. It would be something for her to simply hold when she wished for comfort without the sticky complications of human emotion and communication.

Because, to his dismay, he couldn’t pretend to be able to fix any and all hardships she stumbled across. Something he’d learned quite recently and something he was realizing even more so as he shared his life with her was that people were, at times, utterly unreachable and unpredictable and trying to help Clarice when she was in these dark moods could occasionally be akin to digging around in a splinter and pushing it deeper. Even he, with his pure precision and infinite knowledge, could occasionally needle perhaps just a touch too much. So he’d get her something that could reach her. Something that wouldn’t burden her with complicated concepts such as language and complex emotions.

And she liked dogs a lot, apparently. She’d mentioned her brief time with Pilcher to him, before, and had spoken more about dogs than she had about the poor bug doctor himself. She’d never been able to have one herself because work took her away from home too much. Times had changed, of course.

Hannibal Lecter preferred cats, admittedly, but he’d make the sacrifice. Cats seemed far less work and he fondly recalled the barn cat he'd had as a child who had chased the mice out of the stable often. Cats appeared to enjoy wandering off and looking after themselves which he appreciated, but he’d endure the overzealous loyalty of a dog for her and her only.

He’d spotted one at the kennel some few weeks ago when the idea of buying Clarice a canine companion had first crossed his mind. If it was up to him, of course, he’d purchase from a reputable breeder but the entire purpose of taking this animal home was to nourish Clarice’s need to save something and she’d much prefer a kennel dog with some baggage attached to it, he was sure.

He parked outside and entered, exchanging a brief word with the woman at the front desk who instantly recognised him, for so few upper-class men entered the little kennel that resided on the outskirts of Buenos Aires.

He followed the kindly woman through to the back and was pleased to see the dog he’d had his eye on was yet unclaimed. It was a shiny golden lab, at least one years of age, and full of spirited energy despite its unfairly docked tail and the fact that it was notably underweight. Apparently the creature had been found wandering the streets, abandoned. It’d been checked for diseases; that he’d made sure of. All that was left was for him to take it home and feed the poor mutt enough to keep it happy and healthy. He was sure Clarice would be thrilled.

He paid the small fee, including a generous tip, and was then on his way.

There was a cage and a small assortment of necessary items such as food and bedding already stored in the back of the truck but the excitable creature simply would not stop yapping at his legs and so Hannibal eventually gave in and allowed it to settle on the passenger seat beside him.

He sat there for a moment, staring ruefully at the dog, breathing so heavily that its shiny chest heaved as its tongue lolled from between its chops and dripped saliva on his nice leather.

“Sit,” he said simply, testing it. The dog continued to bounce from paw to paw and beat at the door with its heavy tail. He frowned and tried again.

“Siéntate,” he tried.

The dog instantly planted its wagging behind down immediately and panted expectantly. Hannibal Lecter pursed his lips in satisfaction and then remembered the bag of treats he’d picked up, opening it and throwing one to the mutt. It caught it excitedly and then lay down on the seat to gnaw at the morsel of beef.

And with that, he started the truck and made his way home, wondering at which point he’d become the sort of person to buy a dog for his lover purely because she was feeling a little under the weather.

…

Clarice heard the familiar chug of their truck pulling up and winced, having felt remarkably guilty when Hannibal had up and left so suddenly just an hour ago. His tone had seemed clipped. She figured he was upset with her. It wasn’t the first time she’d found herself struggling with her own frustratingly damaged mind and he was often good at knowing what to do - namely, letting her be alone to work it out of her system - but she’d been out of sorts for longer this time and she couldn’t blame him for getting fed up with her.

She hadn’t moved from her nest on the carpet. She was a little tipsy, too. He’d left his glass of whisky unfinished and she’d saved him the trouble. She realized how pathetic she must’ve looked then and, with a small shudder like the final breath of a dying bird, she sat up and attempted to straighten herself out.

She stood, preparing to meet him when he came in the room so she could apologize for her poor disposition, but frowned when she heard something strange.

She’d heard the door close just down the hallway but it wasn’t one set of footsteps she could hear as she listened to him set down his bags and tuck the keys away. There was something else, too- a padding sound followed by strange clicks like something tapping on the wood of their flooring.

“Hannibal?” She called out; the first fully-formed word she’d spoken in days. Her throat was a little sore from disuse.

He didn’t reply but she did hear him approach, followed by that strange clicking.

Fear of the unknown gripped Clarice for a moment, then, and she braced herself as she watched the door to the drawing room open, unsure as to what he had with him and whether or not his patience with her had finally reached its end after so many happy months together.

And then her sudden trepidation left her as swiftly as it had come, as she was immediately accosted by a blur of calf-high golden fluff. She fell back onto the couch, still a little unstable in her poor state, and the ball of energy wasted no time in jumping up and lathering her face with its tongue, its short tail beating a frantic pattern against her legs as it climbed atop her in a frenzy of excitement.

“Oh my God.” Another few well-placed licks to the face. She managed to get her hands under herself and sat up with some effort, pushing the bounding animal off of her enough so that she could catch her breath and run her hands properly through the tangle of golden floss.

And then she looked up at Hannibal, who had entered the room and seemed immensely pleased with himself, watching the pair of them bond.

The little beast positively collapsed when she began to scratch under its ears and she hit a spot of satisfaction. It rolled onto its back, pale belly up and tongue lolling out like something from a cartoon. Starling felt tears spring in her eyes, unable to handle the wave of emotion that had befallen her.

“I thought you hated dogs,” was all she said- no thanks needed- for Hannibal could see all too clearly the glee that had seized her. Quite frankly, he was just glad she was talking to him at all. He’d missed the twang in her voice.

He smiled and came to rest carefully beside her, reaching out and joining her in petting the excitable puppy, although a little less enthusiastically. “I‘ve said no such thing,” he hummed. “Merely that I’m not overly keen on them. Hate is a strong word.”

Starling bit her lip, fending off tears as she looked back down and continued to scratch away. Now on its back, Clarice could see the puppy was male. “Does he have a name?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d leave that liberty up to you. He’s yours, after all.”

“You mean ours.”

A shake of the head. “No. Yours. I thought you could use a friend, Clarice. Somebody other than myself, that is.” A small smile, then. “I realize there are times that you need your own company, but I can’t have you aimlessly staring at the fire, hardly eating, for days on end.”

“Hannibal…”

“Of course, him being yours does mean you’ll have to clean up after him…”

She smiled ruefully, then- some of her usual light finding its way back into her face. “I expected no less.”

“He’s a kennel mutt. A little underweight, I’m sure you’ve noticed.” A slight tilt of the head. “He needs some love, Clarice. And what better person, hmm?”

His intention for the unexpected gift became clear, suddenly, and Starling felt her chest throb with a strong emotion for which she had no name. The panting dog was forgotten for a moment as she quickly closed the space on the couch and hugged him for the first time in days, which he received gladly- even as he felt a muffled sob wrack her body.

He held her tight, until their moment of peace was interrupted by the pup worming his cold, wet nose in between them; clearly the puppy felt left out. Hannibal Lecter resigned himself to the fact that their solitary life would now be shared by a third companion, although the bright grin on Clarice’s face as the beast clambered onto his lap to lick at her nose eased his crotchetiness.

“He’s gorgeous.” She fussed at him, still smiling. “So he has no name?”

“No, though I suggest you pick one soon so I have some sort of title by which to scold him.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Clarice shot him a look as she babied the pup, and then hummed thoughtfully. “What was that old horse you told me about? The one you had as a kid.”

Hannibal raised a brow, surprised at the niche memory. “Caesar?”

“Yeah, that was it.” She grinned down at the noble, wagging little ball of energy and seemed to preen as she addressed him. “Caesar.”

[baggebythesea]

Princess Glimmer and the Day of Many Choices: Entrapta won't let you kill her boyfriend (17/?)

"Now, this has all been faaaaaashinating," Entrapta interrupted the conversation, voice strained "but it's time for me and Hordak to leave."

""You can't leave," George objected. "We're not done lynching yet."

"We can't leave," Hordak objected. "I'm not done paying penence for my many crimes yet."

"Is that so?" Entrapta asked, and suddenly all around them they could hear the skitter of many, many metal legs as her robots scuttled in place. "But the thing is, I don't care. This has been a very stressful day, you are making it more stressful and I'm taking my boyfriend home."

Without minding his protests, the biggest robot scoped Hordak up with a mechanical arm and slammed him into a storage compartement. Entrapta climbed on top of it.

"If there are any complaints about this developement," she said with prim, slightly shaky voice, "You are welcome to leave it to my assistant 'Mrs Murderbot'. You'll find her in the middle of the main castle-labyrinth, protected by heavy, automated canons, death traps and killbots in the independent kingdom of Dryl. Only, please don't contact us anytime soon. We want to be left alone. Thank you."

And with a roar of engines, they were gone.

"Well, that didn to go perfectly," Bow said.

"Actually, that was exactly what could be expected," George said, watching the retreating Entrapta and Hordak with narrow eyes. "When the people finally have the power to judge the Horde, the princesses step in to protect them."

"For the people in power, 'sides' matter less than 'rank," Lance agreed. "If the leaders of the Horde were prosecuted for their crimes, it would set the dangerous precedent that leaders everywhere could be judged for crimes, including the princesses. They would rather see the leaders of the Horde go free."

"I think that's a bit misleading," Perfuma said, holding tightly on to Scorpia's arm.

"I have no idea where you got that idea,"Glimmer said, one hand in Despara's, one in Catra's.

"If I'm not needed I'll go back to my garden, or my room full of fluffy pillows, in the Brightmoon Castle," Shadow Weaver said.

"Therefor the only way to truly change the power structure is to  TEAR DOWN THE PRINCESSES FROM THEIR CRYSTAL PALACES!" Swift WInd bellowed.

"DID SOMEONE SAY SWIFT WIND?" Bow and Sea Hawk yelled.

"Hey, we don't live in crystal palaces," Perfuma objected.

"Um..." Glimmer said.

"Well..." Frosta said.

"Traitor," Despara hissed.

"Just because you made me doesn't mean you have claim on me," Swift Wind sniffed.

"I know it looks like the princesses might protect the horde," Bow pleaded, "but..."

"But they don't," a new voice said. Everyone turned to look at the new arrival on the scene, former Horde Soldiers Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio.

"The Princesses don't protect the Horde," Lonnie went on. "Only a few dropouts. The rest of us have been thinking..."

Part 16: https://www.tumblr.com/baggebythesea/712214265219645440/not-a-single-one-of-you-picked-the-black-and-white

[scholars-of-nym]

Grave

Setoto had been quite absent-minded lately. Alka Zolka fiddled with his battle-axe and practiced his movements with a frown - he should ask her, he thought to himself.

Setoto was sitting at a safe distance on a half-collapsed stone bench. Even now, when she’s usually studying the Nymian books Surito was able to dig up, she was simply staring off into space.

“Hrm…” Alka made up his mind. He sheathed his axe and walked over to Setoto, who blinked and looked up to him. He could see in her eyes she was still somewhere far away - even her smile, usually bright and wonderfull, was a little sad.

As she saw him approach, Setoto closed the book she wasn’t reading. “Ah, Alka! Have you finished your movements already?”

Alka nodded. “Yes, but more importantly -” he sat down next to her. “What’s wrong?”

Setoto blinked. “Oh, it’s - it’s nothing, I just…” She looked down, struggling to find words.

“Setoto,” Alka said gently. “I know that something’s on your mind. Please, share your burden with me.”

Setoto was quiet for a little while, avoiding Alka’s gaze. “Tomorrow’s my father’s birthday.” she whispered.

“Oh… I’m sorry…”

Setoto sighed. “I mean… I miss him, a lot, and I am glad that I have something to remember him by… but I can’t - he never got to have a burial…” Setoto put her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking. “I never got to say goodbye…”

Alka put his arm over her shoulders to comfort her. “I’m sorry, Setoto. That must be so hard.”

Without thinking, Setoto leaned a little closer to him. “I wish i could do something for him. I know I can’t bring him home - it’s far too late for that.”

Alka pondered it over, his brow furrowed. “What about a memorial stone? I know we can’t bury him, but… we can place it somewhere nice, and…”

Setoto nodded slowly, smiling through her tears. “Yes… I do think that would be nice.”

Alka smiled softly. “Good. Let’s pick one out, I’m sure there’s a suitable one around here… do you know how to chisel? I know someone who can teach you…”

Setoto nodded again. “Yes… let’s begin.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Along the shores of Bronze Lake, up on the cliffs, there’s a small patch where Nymeia lilies grow in the wild. It has a clear view of the palace and the little village that sprang up around it. A few young trees gave a scattering of shade in the midday sun.

In the midst of it all, a white marble stone foraged from the ruins of Nym, of the house, the home where Setoto and her father once lived. It was cut to shape, as smoothly as a novice could. The lettering may be shaky and unsteady, but there was no doubt that it was written with love.

Here lies the memory of my father, who gave his life in search of a cure for me, his daughter. An accomplished Scholar and a wonderful father, I will be forever grateful and filled with love for you. I pray you have found your rest.

“Thank you, Alka.” Setoto said quietly. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Alka smiled softly. “Anything for you.”

Setoto smiled, holding a large, white feathered quill. “He loved these, I never saw him without one. As soon as he’d gotten an idea, or wanted to note something he didn’t want to forget, he’s whip it out and write it down with it. Often he’d put it in his hat - even after he’d just used it, ink and all.” She chuckled. “It stained terribly, the workers at the washeries were always quite unhappy.”

She placed it at the base of the stone. “It feels good to remember.” she said, absent-mindedly. “It hurts, but… it’s nice, to share his memory.”

Alka nodded. “I’m sure he’d be proud of you.” He put a hand on her shoulder.

She looked up, wiping away a few new tears. “I’d like to be alone now, for a bit.”

“Of course.” He smiled gently. “I’ll stay here for the night. You can always find me if you wish for company.”

Setoto smiled back. “Thank you, Alka.”

As he retreated, Setoto looked back at the stone, and she sat down amidst the lilies. “I love you, father, and I miss you terribly. I wish you could see me - at last, I am myself again!” She sniffled. “I hope you like this spot - Alka found it, originally. I think you’d like him - he’s so very passionate and gallant, and he’s been a great help in my studies.”

She looked out over the lake, feeling the breeze on her face - something she dearly missed while she was a tonberry. She crouched closer to the stone and put her hand on it. “I’ll always remember you, and I’ll visit you regularly. I promise.”

The stone was starting to become warm in the sunlight, and she smiled through her tears.

[trishfullertonwriting75]

METAMORPHOSIS - a Thranduil fanfic

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Jessa,” she replied. “It’s short for Jessamine. A variation of Jasmine, like the flower.”

“A beautiful flower,” he replied, his voice reminding her of velvet for some strange reason. “A soft white, with a yellow centre.”

She smiled. “The Egyptian ones, yes. I am dreading asking this…”

“My name is Tharden,” he said, before she even got the question out.

“Somehow I already knew it would be something like that,” she sighed, turning her eyes to the waitress who appeared at her side. “Two coffees, please,” she told her.

The waitress disappeared, and she turned back to him.

“You knew of my name?” he questioned, with a slight frown. “How can this be?”

She stared at him as the seconds ticked past. “I’m not as stupid as I might seem,” she said eventually. “Don’t make the mistake of assuming that I am.” Her cool demeanour was back, and he sat back slightly. “How can I know your name? I just knew that it’d be something...mystical, ethereal. And totally made up.”

“I have not indicated that I assume you to be stupid,” he said, and she could hear how insulted he was in his tone. “I have indicated nothing.”

“I’m tired, and I don’t want to play games,” she said decidedly. “So where do you live, and how do you intend to get home?”

Something in his eyes changed. “I am not from here,” he said.

“I gathered that much,” she muttered. “So where are you from? Our meeting twice isn’t a coincidence, and anyway, I don’t believe in those. How did you get here? Bus? Car?”

Confusion clouded his eyes, which she noticed were a perfect shade of ice blue. “I do not know what these things are that you speak of,” he said. “And I do not know how I came to be here.”

The waitress reappeared and placed two mugs of coffee on the table, retreating with a smile.

“I think you probably do have amnesia,” she replied as she tore open two sachets of sugar and stirred them into her coffee.

He frowned. “You seem to be convinced I have a problem with my memory,” he said. “I do not.”

“Then how come you don’t know how you came to be here?” she asked. “Pieces of your life don’t just disappear. You must have some idea. Don’t tell me that you wear clothes like that for fun.” A finger gestured towards his seemingly odd attire.

His gaze roamed up and around, and she found herself in awe of his perfect bone structure.

“Something terrible has happened,” he murmured. His eyes dropped back to hers. “I do not belong here; I should not be here. I do not know how to fix this.”

“I’ve read about this kind of crap,” she grunted, blowing across the surface of her mug and taking an experimental sip. “I just never thought I’d ever come face-to-face with one of the idiots caught up in it all.”

He fixed her with a death stare.

“Oh come on,” she reasoned, setting her mug back onto the table. “You appear out of nowhere, dressed up like you’ve just stepped right out of another time, have zero knowledge of where you are or how you came to be here, and you expect me to believe it? Ha – not in this lifetime, mister, or the next one either, come to think of it.”

“You know of my time?” Excitement flared to life in his eyes as he leaned forwards.

“Oh for fuck…stop this!” she hissed in anger. “I can’t help you if you keep this crap going. Just tell me where you’re from; it’s not that difficult a question.”

He leaned back again. “Perhaps the answer is,” he said quietly, looking out of the window at his side.

She gave a soft snort. “So you’re going to tell me that you’re really some sort of majestic elf, probably a King or something, and have a huge palace and-“

“How do you know all of this?” he demanded in a low whisper, leaning towards her again. His angry eyes searched hers.

“You’re good, I’ll give you that,” she retorted. “Unfortunately, some of us have an education and common sense, and don’t buy into complete nonsense.”

“I do not speak nonsense!” he hissed. “I do not tell untruths!”

“Maybe not in your own mind,” she retorted. “Drink your coffee. If I can’t figure out where you’re from, I can’t help you. I have a home to go to.”

A sudden sadness filled his eyes, taking her breath away.

“What?” she asked. Her eyebrows came down in a concerned frown. “What is it?”

He shook his head, rising to his feet. “I will take my leave.”

“Sit the hell down,” she said in exasperation, grabbing his wrist.

He looked at her hand then at her, and she could clearly see the restrained anger in his eyes. Pursing his mouth, he slowly lowered himself back down.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both acutely aware of the other’s irritation and frustration.

“Ok,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “You believe you’re some sort of hierarchy of elves or something. What year is it?”

He frowned. “I do not understand the question,” he said.

One eyebrow lifted. “It’s a state of time,” she snapped. “Like as in how old someone or something is, when something was made, or created, or whatever the hell…I don’t know.”

“It is the Coltan Age,” he said, tucking some of his luxuriously long blonde hair behind his ear.

Jessa gasped. “Oh my…fuck…they look real,” she gasped, ending on a short laugh.

“What does?”

“Your ears,” she said, indicating with her mug. “Not bad at all.”

“Of course they are real!” he said indignantly. “You humans may have small, ugly ears, but we do not.”

Her laughter bubbled over, and she set her cup back down before she spilled it.

The blonde seated across from her slowly folded his arms over his chest. “Something amuses you?”

She bit her lip in an attempt to hold back her amusement. “I think exhaustion must be seriously fucking with my head,” she decided. “So…your ears are real.”

“Everything about me is real,” he retorted. His gaze darted over her. “Unlike some.” His attention span had already catalogued that her hair was a lighter colour at the roots. She had dark lines painted on her upper eyelids, and a blue colour on her fingernails that sparkled as her hands moved.

She chuckled, lifting her cup again. He watched how she held it, how she blew on the hot liquid before sipping it. Deciding that whatever the odd-smelling drink was, it wasn’t poisonous, he copied her. She sighed, running her hands through her long black hair, and his eyes narrowed.

“What is this scar?” he asked, reaching over and gripping her arm, tugging it towards him.

“Childhood accident,” she replied. The touch of his fingers on her limb made her flesh sizzle and tingle. “I fell out of a tree.”

One eyebrow arched upwards as he glanced from her arm to her eyes. Lowering his eyes again, he gently rubbed his thumb over the scar, murmuring something in a soft whisper that she couldn’t make out. Releasing her arm, he sat back, watching her.

Shocked eyes met his across the table. “I’ve had that scar for over twenty years,” she gasped as she looked from her arm to him.

The scar had completely vanished, leaving unblemished skin in its place.

“In my world, we do not fall out of trees,” he informed her. “And we certainly do not have scars which say otherwise. Our scars are from winning wars, being victorious over our enemies.”

**********

She broke off with a gasp of pain as the sharp glass slipped from her hold, slicing her four fingers open. Blood instantly poured out of the wounds, splattering over the glass and the table. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit!” she wailed, hurriedly setting the weight of the mirror down. “Shit! How could I be so stupid?!”

She held her hand up, turning as she looked for something to wrap around her fingers.

A strong, warm hand gripped her wrist and pulled her forwards. Tharden prised her fingers open, allowing the blood to flow faster.

“What-“ she started.

“Sssh,” he whispered softly, pressing his fingertips against the bloodied cuts. Low murmured words in a tongue she didn’t understand reached her ears through the sounds of her panicked gasping as she stared at him in horror. A faint tingling feeling coursed through her hand.

He slowly released her, stepping back from her.

Her gaze lowered to her fingers, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. Turning with a frown, she walked over to a small sink and turned on the flow of cold water, washing blood away. “My God…” she whispered, inspecting her hand.

Her skin was flawless, with no cuts or marks.

“What did you do?” she gasped.

He said nothing, but gently pushed her to one side so he could wash his hand. Using the hand towel to dry, he held her gaze as he handed it to her.

“This isn’t real,” she said, shaking her head. “This can’t be. It’s impossible. What the fuck’s happened here..?”

“I healed you,” he replied.

Her gaze darted up to meet his. “I see that,” she retorted. “But how? What did you do?”

“You do not know of elven powers?” he asked with an element of surprise.

“Apparently not,” she retorted. “Look…you need to start being honest with me. What the hell are you? Who are you?”

“I am Tharden, King of the Whitewood realm,” he answered. “I carry the healing power, as do select numbers of my people.”

She backed away from him, fear in her eyes.

“You need not fear me,” he said. “I mean you no harm. Surely you know that?”

“I don’t know what I know,” she whispered. “This can’t be real, this can’t be happening.”

“I am as confused as you are,” he said. “I am here in this strange world, I have no idea where this is, or how to get back to my own land. You are the only being I have come into contact with, other than the scoundrel who accosted you earlier this night. I too am confused.”

She could feel the vibration of her heartbeat pounding hard against her ribs. “I’m dreaming,” she said finally, shaking her head as she looked away. “I’m dreaming.”

“This is no dream, Jessa,” he told her. “If it was, I would gladly wake up in my own bed, back in my own kingdom. But I fear that is not going to happen. I am here, for whatever reason the Gods see fit to have sent me here, and I do not know how long they intend to keep me here.”

Deep blue eyes watched him suspiciously, and he sighed.

“What else can I do to prove that what I speak is the truth?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “I don’t think I even know my own name anymore.” She had kept backing away, and stumbled into a sitting position on a small table near the door as she bumped into it. Staring down at her hand, she flexed her fingers.

He took a deep breath. “There is one other way which may persuade you to believe that I speak the truth,” he said, picking his words carefully.

She looked up at him. “And send me even further off my head?”

He leaned his hip against the table where the half-finished mirror lay, and folded his arms. “It is neither my wish, nor my intention to traumatise you in any way,” he said softly. “You have shown me nothing but kindness since I arrived here. However…the only thing I can think of to prove that what I say is true might not be acceptable.”

She huffed quietly. “I don’t think there is much more you could do to shock me,” she muttered.

He leaned away from the table and began to pace the length of the room. “Over the years, I have seen many battles, many wars,” he said. “Many elves have perished in what seemed like unwinnable wars against the Great Evil that plagues our lands. Families destroyed. Towns and villages desecrated and ruined. Lives changed forever. My life too was altered during these battles.” He stopped and faced her. “I have survived against the odds.”

She gazed up at him. “What happened?”

“There were times when I have been careless, too motivated by my anger and my desperation for victory,” he replied. “It blinded me to the dangers around me, and during one of these battles, I fell victim to my own limited vision.”

She frowned slightly.

He took a deep, slow breath, closing his eyes, and push up one of his sleeves.

Her mouth opened as she stared at him, a horrific scar materialising on the otherwise flawless skin. It covered his entire limb, stretching from his wrist up past his elbow. Slowly rising to her feet, she hesitantly stepped towards him, stopping just a foot or so away.

Layers of exposed muscle were visible, dark reddish-brown in colour. He opened his eyes, not looking at her, but rather focusing on something on the wall behind her. Deep concentration showed on his face.

“My God,” she whispered, stunned.

She took a step back as he shifted his gaze to her, the scar disappearing before her eyes.

“That is not something I show on a whim,” he said, his voice low. “Very few people have seen it. And you are the first of your kind.” He pushed the fabric of his tunic back down to his wrist.

If she thought her heart was beating hard before, it was trying to force its way out through her chest wall after seeing this. “I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I just…” She trailed off, shaking her head for the umpteenth time. “I think somebody drugged my coffee or something.”

“I apologise,” he said. “I know that what you saw is not a pleasant sight to cast your eyes upon.”

“Is it painful?” she asked suddenly.

“Occasionally,” he replied. “But I have had it for centuries. I am used to it.”

“You healed me, why couldn’t you heal that?”

“Some injuries are too deep, too severe to heal,” he said. “The burn was very deep, and destroyed the flesh. Even elven powers cannot rebuild what is no longer there.” He could read the confusion, the questions, and the reluctance to believe his words in the depths of her

eyes. “We can heal others, but we cannot self-heal…at least not to the depths that I would have required.”

She closed her eyes, turning away from him and taking several deep breaths. “I can’t process this,” she murmured. “This just goes against everything that I’ve ever learned, been taught. None of this makes any sense.” She glanced back at him. “So you’re telling me that you’re not a human being?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“So you’re what…an alien?”

He frowned in confusion. “A what?”

“Never mind,” she sighed. “Why the hell did I stop the damned car..?”

He stepped closer, placing his hand on her arm in a gentle touch. “Because you are clearly a caring person,” he said. “In my experience of humans, that is a seldom shown trait, something I have not witnessed often.”

**********

The rain had eased off to a slight drizzle by late afternoon, and the gale-force winds had died down. The sun shone intermittently, reflecting a blinding sheen off the wet road surface.

“I think this is probably close to where I pulled in last night,” Jessa said, leaning over the steering wheel of the car as she peered through the glass in front of her. “Yes…look. There’s my tyre treads.”

He leaned forward too, narrowing his eyes as he stared at the trees. “It looks so different during daylight,” he murmured.

“Everything does,” she quipped, turning the engine off and unbuckling her seatbelt. “Come on. Let’s see what we can find.” With that, she bounded out of the car and walked over to the woods.

Tharden unfolded himself from the vehicle, glad to be free of the infernal restriction. Long strides carried him over to stand beside her, and he gazed up at the leaves as they fluttered in the breeze. He stepped forwards onto the wet grass, walking towards a particular group of trees.

Jessa watched him in silence as he touched a hand to the bark of one of them, wondering what would happen.

Nothing happened.

He held his position for a few moments, before moving to the one beside it.

Still nothing.

“I cannot sense anything,” he said. “There is no energy here indicating that this is where I should be in order to return to my world.”

“Maybe we need to give it some time,” she suggested. “Maybe once whatever it is knows that you are here, then whatever happened to bring you here will happen again to take you back.”

He moved from one tree to the next, trying to lock in on something only he knew of, and she could almost feel the despair in him. Tree after tree passed under his hand, and still nothing happened.

“Maybe me being here is changing the outcome of things,” she said eventually. “I’ll go and wait over by the car.”

He nodded, saying nothing.

The light rain continued to fall, and before long he was soaked through. She took refuge in the car, idly playing around with her cell phone to waste some time. Occasionally she glanced over towards the trees, and saw that he had almost disappeared in amongst them as he searched for something.

After around an hour had passed, she looked up to see him standing at the edge of the road again, so she opened her door and climbed out. Shoving her hands into her coat pockets, she slowly approached him, wary of his expression.

Ice blue eyes turned in her direction, and she was blown away by the deep sadness that lurked in them.

“It seems that I am unable to return,” he said quietly. “At least, not at this moment in time.”

She touched a hand to his arm in a show of sympathy. “Maybe try again another time?”

He nodded, just a slight movement of his head. “I would like to thank you for your hospitality,” he said.

She frowned. “Why do I sense a but coming next?”

“I shall remain here, in the hope that something happens,” he answered. “I will not encroach on your life any more than I already have, or intrude into your habits.”

“Listen, I know you must be feeling like shit right now, but no way am I going to leave you out here,” she opposed him. “There’s no problem with you staying at mine until you get sorted, honestly. If anything, it’s actually been fun having someone around to talk with.”

His mouth curved up in the briefest hint of a smile as he shook his head. “You have your own life, Jessa, your own way of doing things. You do not need a lost elf wandering in the midst of things.”

“Now you’re talking crap,” she said. “You can’t stay here all alone for God-knows how long. You could be waiting for weeks for all you know. At least at my apartment you have food and shelter, somewhere to sleep.” She watched him, convinced he was arguing with himself inside. “And anyway,” she added. “At least with me, you know I’m not going to attack you or try to do weird experiments or anything on you. You’re safe at my place.”

A slight frown creased his forehead. “I am humbled by your generosity,” he said quietly. “But I do not wish to become a burden or be in the way.”

“You won’t be,” she assured him. “Come on, let’s get out of this rain. Your clothes will need to be dried again. Maybe I’ll wash them first.” She turned and made her way back to the car, stopping when she realised he wasn’t following her. Glancing over her shoulder, she frowned at him. “Do I have to drag you over here?” she demanded.

He smiled at her pretend annoyance, and gave in, following her. “I am not used to not being in control of my life or my own destiny,” he told her, once they were on the move again. “In my world, I am the King – I control everything around me. Nothing happens without my approval.”

“It’s got to be difficult, being stuck in foreign lands,” she admitted. “But to reiterate what I said – you’ll be safer at my place, as opposed to standing around in all weather conditions waiting for some sort of sign that you can get back. We don’t know if, or when that sign will present itself, and realistically, you could be waiting around for quite a long time.”

“Yes,” he agreed in a low voice.

She changed gears as he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “All I can suggest is that however possible, you try to relax and whatever will happen, will happen,” she advised. “Maybe you came to this world for a reason. And I still can’t believe I’m having a conversation with an elf about another world!” She broke off in a laugh, and he grinned in amusement.

“I dare say it is very strange, for you also,” he acknowledged. “I seem to have been looking at it only from my point of view. I had not really given any consideration to what must be going through your mind.”

“Lots and lots of weird things,” she laughed. “It’ll all come good, Tharden. Just have a little faith.” She flashed a smile at him and he contemplated her words.

**********

“I find it sad that this is where my Whitewood forest should be,” he remarked as they strolled along. “Such a large, dense woodland, yet this is merely a scratch on the surface of the true beauty.”

“In this world, humans are cutting trees down all the time,” she replied, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. “Houses are being built everywhere, shopping malls, business complexes…it’s no wonder the cities are known as concrete jungles.”

“The beauty of nature is something which should be cherished; protected,” he said.

“I agree, and I hate seeing the forests hacked down,” she told him. “But again, like so many other conversations we’ve had – what can one person do to change an entire planet’s viewpoint?”

He stopped, turning to face her. “I could not live my life in this world,” he said. “Yes, it is beautiful in its own way, but it is cold…remote…mechanical. There is no heart and soul in a lot of what I have seen.”

Knowing he’d spent countless hours on the internet, she knew he’d seen quite a lot.

“Humanity has a lot to answer for,” she said as they started walking again. “It seems to be our nature to destroy ourselves and everything around us, and that makes me sad. I can only imagine that it’ll get worse as time passes. I honestly can’t see things improving.”

“I do not wish to lower your mood Jessa, but I agree with you,” he said. “From what I have learned since I came here, the human race seeks only to profit. Not to learn, or to cultivate and preserve, but to amass as much wealth as possible. I have an immeasurable amount of wealth in my kingdom, but what nature gives us is more important to me.”

“And that’s the way it should be,” she said. “I actually think-“

Her words were drowned out by an enormous clap of thunder, so loud that she took her hands out of her pockets and covered her ears. The sky overhead turned pitch black as thick, heavy clouds rolled across, and a strong wind picked up.

Tharden felt an odd sensation course through his body, followed by an ice cold chill in his heart.

It was time for him to return to his own world.

He turned to Jessa, and the instant her eyes met his, she knew. He could tell by her eyes that she knew what was going to happen, and both of them were powerless to stop it.

He opened his mouth to say something, reaching his hand out for hers, but a brilliant flash of lightning blasted overhead and the ground shook beneath them as another peal of thunder seemed to tear the skies apart.

Jessa instinctively turned away from the flash of lightning, covering her eyes with her arm against the searing brightness. She turned back, to find herself completely alone.

Falling to her knees in a combination of devastation and horror, she stared in stunned silence at the spot where Tharden had been standing. The thunder and lightning had stopped, and the wind had faded to almost nothing. An eerie silence surrounded her, and nothing moved.

*********

[goat-and-a-pig]

Chapter 20

Soos happily led them to the castle. “Just let me speak for you dudes,” he said under his breath. Then he yelled up to the guard. “Hey! It’s me! Soos! Can you let me in?” The guard yelled back. “And who are they?”

“They’re with me dude! Don’t worry!” The guard did seem kind of worried, but he let them pass anyway. “Just don’t tell the boss,” he said. “I don’t want to lose my job.”

“Thanks Thompson! I won’t!” Soos led them into the palace. “We gotta keep a low profile dudes, so that they don’t catch you. Come on, the archives are this way!” While they were sneaking, his mind wandered.

Wow! Look at me, sneaking royalty into the palace! Why do they need to sneak in? That doesn’t make sense at all. I can’t believe I’m doing this!

“It’s truly an honor to meet you!” He whisper-shouted back at them, and they all startled out of their thoughts. “Are we there yet?” Asked Icarus and Steve at the same time. Poor guy, Soos thought. Glad to see he’s okay now. “No, but I was just saying how lucky I was to meet roy-”

“Ssh, Soos! We could get caught!” Dipper shushed him. “But I’m glad we met you too,” he added, smiling. A passing maid gave them an odd look. Soos smiled nervously and quickly covered with, “INTERNS! I’m, uh, showing them around ha. Ha-ha.” She gave Soos an odd look, smiled, and said, “Sorry, Soos- I have to get back to the kitchens to clean up. Catch you later?” Soos waved at her retreating figure. “Sure! Good to see you too, Melody!” He sighed happily, then turned back to their mission.

“Ah! Here we are!” Soos showed them the ornate wooden doors. “Soos, Dipper, and I will guard the door while you look. Try to be quick,” Mabel instructed. Icarus took a few deep breaths in and out. “Okay. Let’s do this.” They slipped inside.

“Couldn’t you just have used your Royal Guard status?” Soos asked, curiosity spiking. This odd group was weirdly endearing. “No, if Lieutenant Powers had spotted me, I’d be fired. I mean, I’m quitting anyway, but I don’t want to draw attention to us.” He grimaced. “Well, I guess that makes sense why you didn’t just say “I’M ROYAL, MOVE OUT OF MY WAY, PEASANTS!”. Oh, and I’m glad to see you’re back, Mabel! Have you been to Pied Mount yet? And hey, dontcha think those two kinda look like the Banished Prince and the Missing King?” The twins shared a heavy look.

“We’re trying to keep a low profile. Um, do you wanna talk about something more interesting?” Soos shrugged amicably. “Okay!” They stood in silence for a moment. “Have you ever heard of the Legend of the Gobblewonker?” Both Dipper and Mabel shook their heads. “Tell us!” Soos grinned. “Living in the lake, near Scuttlebutt Island…”

[atangledfate]

She knew it was likely unavoidable, that conflict may well always hound at there heels. But it didn't make her worry any less for her beloved. She had a serious condition, and one that Blaze was still coming to terms with. The fear she could lose her at any moment was setting in and, she was powerless to stop it. She could help manage it though and she fully intended to. She'd do what ever she had to to insure Poppy did not suffer this way again, or at least not anytime soon.

She Sighed and crossed her arms not so sure she couldn't have prevented this. Yet she couldn't do anything to change the past. She reached up and gave puppy a soft hug as she stood and caressed her cheek gently. her eyes showing her worry but also her trust in her love, and that desire to keep her safe from this.

" Promise me you'll take it easy for the rest of the day... alright? "

She whispered to poppy worry in her eyes as she turned to Scarlette with a nod of her head.

" I understand... i have quite the temper myself. I do know some techniques i can teach her to help calm her furious soul, and i'll be sure and keep an eye on her during such functions... thought it will be nice to see her in a dress ..."

She said the last bit more as a tease then being serious as she sported a soft smile at Poppy. Before turning to Scarlett fully and placed her hands behind her back.

" you will need to teach me what signs to look for, but for now... let us retreat to the dinning hall, and i'll introduce you to Jean... our head chef at the palace. He's always been quite talented in his craft, though i am sure he has much to learn from one so learned as yourself "

She wrapped her arms around Poppys arm and walked along with her choosing to stay rather close to the bigger woman. Both because she cared for her but also to make sure she was in fact ok. She just didn't want to let go of her just yet. Maybe she was making a fuss over it but, she was her bride she was allowed to fuss right?

The dining hall itself had changed since the morning. now its long table was returned and plates were being set out by the staff. A calmly old catfish walked up to the two with his hands in front of him. His long whiskers shifted as he stopped to greet them, his round pudgy belly sticking out as he adjusted his chefs hat.

" GREETINGS Princess! zee! you and zee new family has arrived! i have several dishes in mind for a wunderful! meal yes! i am so excited to cook zee meal! it has been so long since we have had such important guests yes! "

Her looked so very excited! his round belly jiggling with anticipation! He was quite the character! Jean had been the chef in the castle for years! and he loved his job dearly! while he wasn't a mean or cruel man! this kitchen was his or he saw it that way! he just wanted to make the royal family proud! in what ever way he could---and blaze believed he was very talented! he prayed Poppy was wrong about scarlett and himself!

" Jean.. its good to see you have things prepared, Scarlett this is our head chef Jean. He does all of our meal cooking here at the palace. Well i shall leave you both to discuss our meal, Poppy shall we go rescue Gardon from the clutches of ----"

she paused seeming to question how she should refer to Lilly and looked up to Poppy.

" Am i permitted to call Lilly my daughter now? Do you think that would be ok? do you think she'd be ok with that? "

"I'm honestly surprised it didn't hit as soon as the fighting stopped, though I suppose it's been a long time since it's acted up. It might've caught up since she started to relax and wasn't as tense." Scarlett was sure Poppy's body was keeping itself from going out in such a dangerous situation. It helped that the opossum wasn't overexerting herself and had to push just to walk away.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up. I made the choice to fight it out with her, though I am surprised my heart is acting up. Guess I was a bit stressed out before all the fighting started dealing with my sisters." Poppy had been trying to blow off some steam before that after the call she head with Piper before she heard the fighting. Should've popped a pill before the fighting started.

"Stress with the kind of heart injury you have doesn't help either," Scarlett said, making a mental note to remind everyone about Poppy's heart. "Keep an eye on her when it comes to interacting with people. This one has quite the temper on her, and I'm sure she'll have to be dealing with plenty of royals from now on." The feline could only imagine the stress both Blaze and Poppy were going to deal with.

"Alright, I think you've made your point." Poppy knew her mum said that not only to inform Blaze, though to tell her she needed to keep her temper under control. The opossum then stood up. "Don't worry, I actually feel fine now, promise." Main reason for saying that was to both keep Blaze at ease and not to get the glare from her mum again.

"Good, now if you'll point me in the direction of the head chief, I'll be making sure he cooks a proper meal." Scarlett seemed to be steeling herself like she was about to go to battle with the head chief.

"I was actually hoping you could save Gardon from Lily. I wouldn't be surprised if by this point my little girl is running all over the place." Poppy knew her daughter could only contain her energy for so long before rushing around. Hopefully it wasn't too bad, and she was just hopping in place.

"I suppose, though I still want to meet the chief and talk to him." Scarlett supposed just for today she'll not make a fuss and let someone else cook the food.