#just expressing and emptying into the tumblr void

[flightlesscipher]

Have you ever missed someone you never actually knew, yet you felt like you knew them for a lifetime? Pieces of art and songs remind you of them, just for you to remember the connection wasn't everything you made it to be. They show up in your dreams. You waste ink in poems that speak louder than the pain stored in tears. Pounding in your chest increases late at night with the reminiscence of what once was. "Maybe in a different universe." Yea maybe..maybe not. I stare at my hands that once craved to be intertwined with yours. Questions upon questions, that will never be answered and probably aren't meant to be. Your absence meant more to me than mine did to you. Life's biggest trick is handing you people that start to mean so much, only to pull them away when you least expect it. Ha, well played. We continue to get fooled..not once..not twice. As many times as need be to teach us that not everything lasts forever. Not everybody has the same heart as us. Not everybody speaks the same love language. Not everybody wants to be shown that they're worth loving and not worth losing. But hey, you didn't know them that much anyways. Missing a soul you barely knew says so much about you. It's possible our souls knew each other in a different lifetime, but in this one, I cared for yours more than you cared for mine❤️‍🩹

[charmedreincarnation]

My sucess story

Trigger Warning: Abusive, homophobia, mentions of suicide

Hey there, Maya! I just had to take a moment and express my appreciation for all the fantastic posts you put out. I can now confirm, without a shadow of a doubt, that shifting is real, manifesting is real, and so is the void. Our desires and ambitions aren't in vain.

I've been part of the shifting community since 2020 when it exploded on TikTok. It might not matter much, but as a gay man, I rarely saw other guys in the community (though Reddit and Amino have a more diverse crowd). I've always felt more comfortable in women-centric spaces because they tend to be less judgmental.

I never saw success stories from guys, especially the kind I wanted to see - like waking up in a new world, not just manifesting money or a girlfriend (or boyfriend in my case >.<). I've always been spiritual and interested in witchcraft, voodoo, deities, and now manifesting and shifting. But it felt like nothing would let me shift.

Growing up with homophobic and physically abusive parents, struggling with poverty, depression, homelessness, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, and more, I began to feel like you could only manifest and shift if your life was okay. I didn't have the luxury of time or safety to practice methods, constantly dealing with noise, verbal abuse, or physical violence.

Then, I read this post

https://www.reddit.com/r/shiftingrealities/comments/14v4lw3/how_to_shift_the_next_time_you_go_to_sleep/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=2&utm_term=1

It led me to your Tumblr because OP used some of your old posts and talked about the concept of the void. All searched lead to tumblr. A couple of months ago (2.5 ish) after one of the worst days of my life, I went to bed sobbing, trying to block out the noise around me, praying and crying for anything - death, shifting, a new identity...

Everything around me started to fade - it was as if I was being engulfed by a white, serene blanket of nothingness. It was completely silent, and I couldn't see or feel anything. The only thing that seemed to persist was my awareness.

Now, I've read about the void before, but mostly in the context of it being a black, empty space. So, I'm not entirely sure if what I experienced was indeed the void or something altogether different. The concept still baffles me a bit, but I'm learning and growing through these experiences.

Regardless of where I was, my heart was set on reaching my dr.I kept praying and hoping, to wake up in my DR.

I woke up in my Twitch streamer DR! I found myself in a completely unfamiliar yet perfect place. My room was equipped with a high-end PC, top-notch gaming gear, and quaint decor items. Milo, my dog, was there too. I was sharing a mansion in LA with my boyfriend and four other streamers. The house was beyond my imagination, and streaming here was a dream come true. As night fell, my friends and I explored the vibrant LA nightlife, creating lasting memories.

After a week, i can’t lie I almost forgot I had shifted here. Then, I set an intention to shift back into this reality but where I had moved out, lived with my best friend and their supportive parents, mastered shifting and manifesting, had my desired looks, and money came easily to me. And it worked!

Since then, I've been living my best boujee gay life, and I shift all the time. I even created a waiting room where I'm immortal and use it whenever I need a break. I wish I could offer better advice, but like everyone says, there isn't a key to shifting. It's different for everyone. But you can and will shift. You can manifest your dream life. You can and deserve to be happy

Oh my god, I'm so happy for you, love 💕💕. I also completely related to what you felt. I know it can seem like your circumstances are holding you back, but believe me when I say this - that couldn't be further from the truth.

It's that same resilience, and your ability to persist despite the odds, that paved the way to your dream life. There’s nothing, I mean nothing that can stop you. Not wavering, crying, or doubt. Nothing. If you want it, it’s yours.

[clockwork-ashes]

Something Lonesome - Part II (once again)

Read also on Ao3 :)

Summary: Elain dies when she’s thrown into the cauldron, but she doesn’t stay dead for long. Over and over, again and again, something brings her back, and every time she finds her way to Lucien.

Note: This is a romance, but it’s also just a story about Elain. There will be a happy ending <3 Also, completely dedicated to the lovely @nocasdatsgay because I have so many ideas and every time I yell them into the tumblr void (the tags) she has something nice to say <3

***

“Are you alright?” Nesta’s voice rang in the large space, echoing off the stone walls of their new bedroom. There was a nervous edge to it, one that suggested she was being very careful with the tone she used. 

Elain took a sharp breath, not answering right away. Her gaze was fixed on the arched window she sat in front of, staring just past the vicious cut of her reflection at the starlit night. The darkness was unnatural, different from the sky she was familiar with beyond the wall. 

Elain stood on the smallest of ledges. 

Bare feet barely touching the cool stone, her pale pink skirts fluttering on a sweet breeze. Her chest rose, the gesture shallow and short, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should step forward or pull back.

A sudden, sickening flash of unease sent Elain’s hand to the windowsill, skin breaking against the rough material, painting it a pretty crimson. The world blurred around her, and she felt as if she were back on that ledge again. Just the cold, empty space as large as any ocean and the pull of something dark urging her to fall.

“Elain?” Nesta’s voice filtered through, sharper now. 

The scent of copper lingered in the air as Elain wiped her hand on the priceless fabric of her dress. She blinked as she felt the familiar, gnawing pull in her chest. It came over her like a wave, the sense that something was slipping further away, always out of reach. 

Elain turned away from the window, raising a perfect brow at the way Nesta was watching her closely. The silver flicker in her sister’s eyes betrayed the concern she refused to say out loud.

“You…” Nesta said, pausing to swallow. “You alright?”

Elain only nodded, the weight of her own thoughts pressing against her skull. She forced a small smile, the expression pulling the skin around her mouth like an uncomfortable mask. “I’m fine,” she murmured, the words hollow as they left her lips. 

Nesta didn’t seem convinced. She tilted her head, a loose curl falling free of its braid. Her blue eyes followed Elain as she rose, the motion stiff and deliberate. “Where are you going?”

Elain paused for a moment, looking at the hollowed dips of her sister’s cheeks. The transformation seemed to have aged her, making the edges of her cruel beauty sharper than any blade.   

Silver flames burned bright as the sun, destroying everything in their path. 

“I think I want a cup of tea,” Elain said quietly, turning toward the door.

Nesta was already on her feet, her slippered steps silent against the carpeted floor as she followed Elain. No words were exchanged between them, yet Elain could feel her sister’s presence like a shadow at her back, a silent comfort. The two of them left the room in step, the faint scrape of the door against the frame making Elain wrinkle her nose in distaste. 

The hallways were empty. The stone walls stretched out around them, cold and unwelcoming. It wasn’t just still, it was expectant, like the space was holding its breath. No guards, no servants, no one from the Night Court lurking in the dark corners. Just the soft, almost echoing sound of their footsteps as they walked, too loud in the silence.

An iron chain dancing against a wooden deck, an anchor dropping into the sea’s dark depths. 

Elain shoved her shoulder against the kitchen doors with a painful thud, holding it so that Nesta and her could slip through the thin crack of space. The room was large, shadows stretching across the counters, untouched by the warmth of firelight. Elain was surprised that there were no windows, that the cooks were expected to spend their days hidden away like prisoners. 

Just as you are. 

The thought was bitter, coming to the forefront of her mind before Elain could push it aside. With a sigh, she inched towards a wooden chair, wincing at the creaking of its legs when she sat on it with all her weight. 

Nesta moved toward the cabinets, her hands searching through the shelves in a mechanical rhythm, the clink of glass and metal the only noise in the empty kitchens until she broke the silence. “Feyre’s still in the Spring Court,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, but it was thunderous to Elain’s ears. “No one’s heard from her. Not the High Lord, and not any of his loyal dogs.”

The words hung in the air like an accusation. Elain didn’t answer, didn’t even look at her sister. Instead, she let her fingers brush over the cold counter. She didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if she even cared to say anything at all.

The air in the kitchen felt ancient, the silence pressing in from all sides, thick with everything they weren’t saying. It felt like being trapped in a space that had never quite let go of its past.

“Elain,” Nesta’s voice broke through after a moment, softer now, almost pleading. “What can I do to help?” It was a question that had lost its urgency, one asked far too many times without an answer. Elain only shrugged, the motion stiff and absent.

Without a word, Nesta set the cup of tea in front of her. The sound of porcelain against wood seemed final. Elain didn’t immediately look up, her gaze fixed on the swirling steam rising from the cup, the faint scent of herbs mixing with the stale air. 

The liquid in the cup was darker than she expected, almost too dark, the colour rich and deep. The edge of the porcelain was stained, the tea clinging to it like a shadow. A shiver ran up her spine, but Elain didn’t pull away, her fingers hovering over the rim, tracing it absently. 

“I’m just tired,” she said, her voice flat and distant, as if it were something she had said a thousand times before, a line she had rehearsed until it lost all meaning.

[thebucketpail]

Of course the one time I actually fill a prompt I forget to save it and end up losing it to the tumblr void.

Alas, if I find it I'll link it but until then, have this.

Tw: light gore, mentions of vivisection

____________

This wasn't the team's first lab break in and it definitely wouldn't be their last. That is to say, they've seen alot of shit. Alot of mad scientists and what resulted from their insanity, their cruelty. But they had never expected to find something like this on what was supposed to be a low stakes mission.

Robin had been the first to find the dingy little cell, not far from the main lab, and stood stunned in abject horror as the others came in behind him.

"Oh god," he heard Arrowette whisper, followed by a litany of strangled gasps and the sound of Superboy's knuckles cracking.

It was terrible, but Robin couldn't manage to tear his eyes away from the curled up teen tied to the wall.

The boy was unconscious, his stark white hair, matted with grime and some green substance, covered the top of his face, a muzzle covered the bottom. What was left visible was littered with cuts and angry purple bruises. Whatever clothes he had been wearing were tattered and torn, displaying yet more injuries.

What was probably the worst, as far as Robin could tell, was the dirty gauze haphazardly taped to his neck. The dressings were soaked through with more of that green liquid, which Robin relised with a hobble sink to his gut was probably the kid's blood.

Robin swallowed the bile threatening to rise to his throat and turned back toward his team. He took a deep breath.

"Okay, new plan," he said, doing his best to keep his leader voice, "Superboy, you get those chains off him. Team, this is no longer an Intel mission, this is search and rescue. Impulse, Secret, Arrowette, fan out. Check the rest of the building for any other prisoners. If you find anyone then report immediately. WG, you call back to Red. I'll see what I can pull out of their database. Remember to keep your heads."

A round of nods was all he got in return before everyone set out on their tasks.

Robin had just wormed his way to into the system when Superboy walked in, the unconscious kid in his arms, and a seriously pissed expression on his face.

"I never thought Cadmus could go this far," he growled, brows furrowing.

Robin grunted on acknowledgement, then made a light sound of surprise as the archaic system finally loaded.

"Well then it's a good thing we aren't at Cadmus then," he mumbled disbelieving as he dove further and further into the newly available files. Quickly, he pulled an empty USB from his utility belt and set to work downloading what looked important, facility locations, blueprints, documents, research, etc.

"Where are we then?" Superboy asked, setting the kid down to peer over Robin's shoulder.

"Some place called the GIW, ghost investigation ward," Robin murmered, "according to these files, they're some kind of government org, designed to hunt and study ghosts. Our guy over there," he jutted his chin toward the kid, "is apparently really powerful. They have alot of files on him and something called the ghost zone."

Suddenly they were interrupted by a serious of loud crashes followed by shouting and Impulse zipping into the room.

"Heyguyswegottago," he sped out before taking in a huge lung full of air and continuing at a slightly slower pace. Slightly. "Reinforcements just arrived and they don't look like they're happy to see us. We couldn't find anyone else other then some asshole scientists. Cissie kicked their butts."

Robin nodded and pulled the USB from the port. "Tell the other to meet back at the super cycle, it's time to go." Impulse nodded and sped back off.

--------

It wasn't their best escape, but it certainly wasn't their worst. Those GIW agents were persistant bastards but it wasn't anything the supercycle couldn't handle.

They were en route back the cave when Superboy called out, "Hey Rob, you might wanna see this." He and WG had been tasked with administering first aid (to the best of their abilities) to their rescue, so that wasn't exactly something Ribin was thrilled to hear.

He let Supercycle switch to auto pilot before climbing to the back seat to see what had his team so freaked out. And yeah. That would do it.

If he thought the neck wound was bad, that was nothing. What was left of the kids torn shirt was removed to reveal a massive Y-shaped incision across his chest. The scars were red and inflamed, mottled with angry bruises and so, so many tiny holes, giving the impression that the wound had been stitched uo and reopened on numerous occasions. The implications of the wound was clear.

Robin set his jaw as he met Superboy's eyes. The confusion was prominent. he didnt know what to do.

"Just do you're best to clean it for now," he said, "we'll have Red look at him when we get back to base."

As Robin settled back into the driver's seat, he mentally added the GIW to his list of enemies. Anyone who had the power to do that, government or not, was going down

[sonder-paradise]

𝐆𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐂𝐡𝐮𝐮𝐲𝐚 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

◊ ft. chuuya nakahara, gn!reader

◊ genre. comfort, chuuya's hopelessly in love with you

◊ a/n. it's been a while since i've written for tumblr.

Chuuya is a man of many talents. He wants to believe he is anyway. But there’s a lot he’s unsure of after the moon greets the city and he’s left alone with his thoughts. So, when the sun rises and kisses the city skyline, he watches it with a heavy heart. The mood of the week sinks like a boulder in the ocean. 

It’s incredibly lonely in the sky. 

He doesn’t fly about too often. Only when he wants to see the sunrise and prays for someone, anyone, to stop this torrid void in his chest. The gravity around him settles once more and he allows himself a brief moment to tumble down, down, down in the vastness of the city. Skyscrapers rush past him, guiding him down to the ground. His stomach plummets along with his body. 

And then it all stops. That familiar red glow redefines him and he’s floating once more. That elation evaporates from his body and he stares up at the sky once more. It’s not like him to do something so idiotic. Even if he is in control of his own body and the abilities it holds. 

He stuffs his hands in his pant’s pockets, staring down at the cracked sidewalks of Yokohama’s city. The sun soaks the stores and streets with a stunning golden hue. Nothing seems to be alive as if the entire city has disappeared. The emptiness in his chest tightens and grows. 

Then, his phone vibrates in his back pocket. He shifts his expression into an unreadable frown, before delving to pick it up. 

“Nakahara speaking, what’s up?” 

“Chuuya, what are you doing up so early?”

His eyes glimmer a vibrant blue and he’s staring up from the sidewalk at the golden city. Your voice sounds soft and tired. He can imagine how sweet you appear with sleep buried in you eyes. 

“That’s a good question… I could ask the same for you.” 

“Last minute work…” 

A pause lingers in between them and Chuuya can make out the rustle of your clothing. 

“I couldn’t sleep. Bad dream.” 

“Dream?” 

Ah, shit. 

“Chuuya, I know you don’t have dreams.” 

Fuck. 

He pauses, swallowing thickly.

You knew. Of course, you knew.

He had told you before and that’s all you needed to remember. You would ask and he would be at a loss for words all over again.

“Sorry,” he thinks a little, “I don’t know why I said that.” 

You laugh on the other end of the phone. The noise is gentle and quiet as if you're trying not to wake someone up. 

Chuuya clicks his tongue, feeling his cheeks warm from partial embarrassment and partially the sound of your laughter echoing through the phone. 

“Shut up. Why did you even call anyway?” 

You stops laughing on the other end, seemingly thinking over the answer yourself. He wants to comment about how you shouldn’t have spoken in the first place, but the words trip on his tongue when you speak again. 

“I don’t know either, honestly. I think I was just tired and thought about you.” 

He clears his throat, covering his face with his free hand. You're too much sometimes. He wants to say that you should be saying that to someone you love, or that you're certainly much too tired for these sorts of phrases. 

But he doesn’t. 

He’s not sure he wants to. 

What if your answer scares him?

Instead, he sighs into the speaker. 

“Want me to pick you up?” 

“Mmm… That’d be nice. I was about to fall asleep in the office.” 

“Let’s not do that. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Chuuya remembers the first time he met you. There was a tenderness about the meeting. Regardless of the outcome, he confided in you. Your outstretched hand was one he was always willing to take. He grasped onto it and held it so tightly he feared he would scare you away. 

But as he tumbles into the office, spotting your figure snoozing away at her desk, he can’t help but fear so much more. Your face is buried in your arms and the coagulated arrangement of items on your desk including an intimidating pile of paperwork makes his chest fill just a bit. 

You stir, blinking back the exhaustion from your expression. Then, you smile. It’s a quiet and tender smile. Chuuya feels it engulf his chest and take over his body. 

He’s enraptured by you utterly and entirely. 

But he sighs, shaking his head as he strides over to you. He clicks his tongue, reaching over to brush away a loose strand of hair. You look up at him and chuckle, taking his fingers in her own and clasping it to your cheek so as to bury yourself in the palm of his hand. 

His chest swells and he sits at the desk. 

“Thank you for coming…”

“No, thank you.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

You stir slightly. Your eyes meet his and for a second Chuuya’s worried he’s shown you too much of the side he tries to keep away from others. He attempts to suppress that, taking his hand away from your skin. 

“Nothing, forget it… I’ll drop you off at your place.”

You shakes your head, leaning back against his arm. His face burns deeper by the second, but he takes it slowly this time. 

“No, let me just rest for a second. Stay with me.”

“Fine… But just this once.” 

He can feel your light breath against his skin. He hopes that you can’t feel his pulse through his veins. It feels just about ready to ignite into hot, molten flames. He covers his face once more, trying to remember the last time he felt so strangely… relaxed and alert all at once. 

But he takes in a deep breath, looking down at you again. 

His chest feels so full all of a sudden.

Taglist: @todorokichills @alittlesimp @greenshirtimaginesii @darlinqserenity @nameless-shrimp @whorefordazai @requiem626k @missrown @nonsense-corner @kiyokoxd @jessbeinme15 @starglow-xx @shadyteacup @scul-pted @kuraxmasha @yochicoz @pompompurin1028 @trashykawahq @swrdemon @life-sus @foolishestchildofchilds @fyodorscello @planetxiao @dazaiaiko @chuuyasboots @allisonlol @questioningmyownexistence @sebtomm @nullified-kiss @nathansside @cuteflowers-101 @sigmafied @boombboi @scarletta-ruan @skgch @httpsobi @dazaiscum @thekaylahub @luciferspen @dazaisfavgf @alice0blog @irethepotato @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @disa-ster @mastering-procrastinating @aestellia @killmewithafanfic @ay-chuu

[chaifootsteps]

You know I want to love Fizzmodeus/Fizzarozzie They're the ship that lead to me creating two OCs of mine that I really love dearly However... idk what it is about the state of the shipping now but outside of certain scenes it... irks me I feel like it went from "two snide mean assholes with the more aggressive/meaner "smaller" partner finally being seen as an equal by someone larger and technically more powerful individual that he can be more honest around"

To basically a glorified sugar daddy/sugary baby relationship that adheres to the stereotypical gay effeminate man is a small nice uwu baby bean that is sometimes sassy needs to be to be protected by his big stronk pan/bi manly man that calls him babydoll and buys expensive shit for him And idk It just sucks out what little magic this ship had for me Its the only ship that actually made me feel giddy and happy like a stereotypical tumblr shipper But now... it feels void, empty, meaningless, and really artificial now Is it normal that I feel this way or am I misunderstanding this ship?

It's extremely normal. You're not the first one to express disappointment in this...lord knows I'm bitter about it, because I absolutely fucking loved Fizz and Ozzie back in the day. One of my favorite HB fics featured them. My most popular fic on AO3 stars them. There were the cunty kings of my heart, one of the few things about HB I still wholly enjoyed at the time. They obviously adored one another, and by every indication, absolutely no one else.

Their support for one another was so mutual, both physical and emotional, and so equal! They were sappy, cuddly, assholes and they had one another's backs no matter what.

Now? They love each other lots and lots and always give each other the last candy in the box, and Fizz is vulnerable and small and needs Ozzie's protection instead of just having it, they're both nice to everyone because Viv likes them and is physically incapable of writing a character she likes that's also rude to Stolas.

It's just such a waste, and such a loss.

[thathermitweirdo]

This is my big secret project! Not a fanfiction, but a COMIC! You might notice that the writing is a bit different than my normal style. Conversations, characters, even the length of chapters, it might seem a bit off in comparison to my other works. This is because this has been written in collaboration with d0not_disturb! If you head over to their tumblr, you'll find a comic version of this fic! The comic is to provide visuals, while the fic is to provide greater details! Please go and support them, it really helps out the project! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

—

It was dark and cold. Those were the first things Grian noticed when he woke up.

The place he was in, it wasn't normal. The air felt heavy and thick, like it was weighing him down with every breath he took. And the cold...it was a familiar sensation. One that Grian remembered faintly, but couldn't quite place. He looked around at the emptiness, nothing but a void of light surrounding him.

Grian shuddered a little, feeling uneasy on his feet. There was something in the air, something in the cold. Something that Grian remembered. Magic. It was very faint. Hard to sense, but he knew it was there. And with that magic, something else would follow.

"Nonono," Grian's eyes widened in realization as he took a step back. "Not this again." Memories were starting to flow back now. Unfortunate memories. Memories he chose not to remember.

He turned to try and run, hoping that maybe he could flee before things got even worse. But Grian froze up before he had the chance to take another step. In front of him stood a man, tall and slim, wearing a dark suit and red tie, a finely trimmed mustache covering his lips. "Mumbo?" Grian's eyes widened as he recognized the redstoner.

His expression was hidden away by the shadows of his place, making his emotions hard to read. "What are you doing here, Mumbo?" Grian took a step forward, his eyes filled with worry.

Claws grasped Mumbo's shoulders, a figure stepping out of the darkness. Grian could feel the pit of his stomach twist and ache at the sight, a deep feeling of dread washing over him. "Don't worry," the figure spoke, a twisted smile playing along their lips. "He's safe..."

Grian knew them. Just based on that voice, he knew them. But they shouldn't be here. They were gone, weren't they? It had been years, how—?

"Did you really think you could run away, fledgling?" Their voice was oozing with fake sweetness, as though they were mocking him. As if they had just let him escape. On purpose. As if they had been watching him this entire time...

A glowing sword came out of the darkness, radiating with purple magic as the blade was brought to Mumbo's neck. Grian froze up in shock, tears breaking through the corners of his eyes. "Oh Grian..." Mumbo held his head low, his facial expression hidden away by the darkness. He slowly glanced up from the ground, his eyes fully glowing purple. "Why didn't you stop them?"

His voice sounded betrayed, empty, devoid of anything Grian could recognize. Glowing purple oozed down his face, almost like tears that leaked from his eyes. His head tilted to the side, he looked like some kind of lifeless puppet. Grian could feel his chest tighten and constrict, his breaths becoming shorter and more shallow. Tears started to spill from the corners of his eyes.

"I'm sorry..." He managed, his words barely leaving his lips. "I-I'll help you! I thought they were gone! I didn't—"

A blast of magic caught Grian off guard, knocking him off his feet and causing his face to slam into the ground. "Oh please," Another voice spat, harsh and rough as he spoke. "Save the excuses."

Corvus. He was always rather cold. One of the Watchers that taught the fledgling. Columba wouldn't be too far behind either, she never strayed too far from her other half. And obviously the third of their little trio was already here, with their filthy claws sinking into Mumbo's shoulders.

Grian tried to get up, though he was met by the pointed tip of a sickle. Corvus stood on the other end of the weapon, his expression covered by his mask. He was a tall man, suited in armor that made the Watcher appear to be a knight. He had horns coming out of the side of his head, with long black hair that fell past his shoulders. He had tail feathers as well, and talons for feet, like a bird hybrid of sorts.

Columba stepped out of the darkness next, her sword radiating with purple magic. She was also dressed in silver armor, her white hair puffy and short. She had a pair of smaller wings on either side of her head, with feathers that not only matched her hair color, but also the same purple color that radiated through her blade. A veil mask covered her mouth, along with a vibrant purple panache that came from her headpiece.

She brought her blade to Mumbo's neck, as if to threaten Grian. And unfortunately, it was working. Grian couldn't risk Mumbo's life, and knowing the Watchers, they wouldn't hesitate to hurt the redstoner if they wanted to punish the fledgling.

"You knew we wouldn't be gone," Based on his tone, it was easy to tell that Corvus was smirking behind his mask. "Besides..." The Watcher snatched Grian's wrist, the sickle still pressed firmly against his skin. "Phoenix just wants a word."

"Indeed I do." The tallest of the three Watchers stepped forward, pushing Mumbo to the side for Columba to hold hostage.

Phoenix was the leader of the other two Watchers, a powerful god with unmatched abilities. They had flowing hair that almost seemed to glow, along with a ring of eyes around their head, almost arranged like a crown of sorts. They had the same bird-like talons the other two Watchers had as well, though they also had a massive pair of wings resting on their back.

Phoenix raised their hand, an orange glow of magic surrounding their palm. Glowing restraints wrapped around Grian's arms and chest, like ropes that seemed to tighten with any kind of movement. The fledgling looked down at his glowing restraints, a bit puzzled. "Huh." His head tilted a bit to the side, "Okay, what's up with that?"

"It's called a precaution, Grian." Phoenix looked a bit fed up with the fledgling, but they didn't seem mad. At least, not yet.

"I feel like Grian is a little slow." Columba tilted her head as she looked at Corvus.

"I can agree with you there." Corvus shrugged, pushing the tip of his sickle a bit further against Grian's skin.

"Shut up! Both of you." Phoenix scolded the two, "We are getting off task."

"Okay, but first—" Columba lowered her blade, though she snapped her fingers together. Purple strings came out of the darkness, wrapping around Mumbo's limbs, as if he were some kind of puppet. "I'm just gonna get Mumbo out of here. He's only a distraction."

He was lifted up by the strings, his body hanging loosely off the strands of glowing magic that bound his limbs. He looked lifeless and empty, the redstoner's eyes still filled with purple magic. It was almost unsettling looking.

"Hey, wait!" Grian tried to protest, "Where are you taking him?!"

"I dunno, somewhere." Columba snapped her fingers again, and Mumbo was pulled out of the dark void, disappearing without a trace. "You won't need him, anyway."

Her voice taunted him, her tone laced with malice. She had no remorse, none whatsoever. It's not like the other Watchers had remorse, either. The three of them had always been like this, lacking empathy in their behavior, their actions; they acted purely according to their own whims.

"You know what?" Grian shut his eyes, his arms fighting against the glowing restraints. He spread out his wings, breaking the magical binds that kept him imprisoned. "I'm out of here."

Grian flapped his wings, flying off into the darkness of the void. The other Watchers looked up at him as he flew off, Columba looking towards Phoenix and Corvus for support. "So is anyone going to stop him?" She sounded annoyed, her voice dripping with disdain.

Phoenix lifted an arm, their palm pointed toward Grian with an orange glow surrounding their hand. "I'm on it." They said, their hand closing into a fist.

A shackle made up of orange magic formed around Grian's neck, along with a long chain that kept him leashed. The other end of the chain sat in Phoenix's hand. The head Watcher glanced over at their subordinates, Columba and Corvus standing off to the side of Phoenix. "You two can go. I don't need you here."

Corvus and Columba smiled behind their masks. "Perfect!" They said in unison, disappearing within the blink of an eye.

Phoenix began to pull against the chain, tugging Grian closer towards them. "You know, it's funny." They sounded calm, yet their grip on the chain tightened slightly. "How you think you can run from your problems."

"Well, here's a newsflash for you, fledgling.." Grian could feel the chain around his neck heat up, as if the shackle was about to burst into flames. "You can't."

"Try as you might..."

"But we..."

"Will always be a part of you."

"And we"

"Will always"

"Find You."

[sutaagaaru]

STAR BOY— BONUS #1: SHADES OF WINTER

౨ৎ synopsis: torugu guse is an author who has become a client under the Kaisen Literature Company, for their compilation of poems and short stories. it’s gojo satoru’s job to read it and come up with a design.

౨ৎ summary: gojo satoru reads the first poem in shades of winter.

author’s note: hi! so if you’ve been reading along with STAR BOY, i have created these short bonus chapters that break away from the actual story and are set in the past. it’s a prequel of sorts. you don’t have to read these to understand the main story, but it’s definitely a little insight into satoru’s life, and does tie into the main storyline from chapter 4 onwards. these bonus chapters will be every now and then, not regularly updated with STAR BOY. the reader from the main story is also not featured. it’s literally just about gojo. (and some others…) mwah, enjoy!

“our latest project needs to be read by everyone, by the end of the week. please relay this message to your staff, so we can begin the process of getting it out there next monday. thank you.” one of the board directors spoke, excusing himself from the room.

“what a drag. that whole meeting could have been summed up with an email. don’t you think, nanamin?” gojo satoru complained, as he usually did, to the stoic blond beside him.

“practically anything can be summed up into an email, gojo. but who wants to receive so many emails from their superior, especially if it’s out of work hours?” nanami kento mumbled dispassionately.

“whatever. what is this shades of winter, anyway?” i didn’t know poetry was trending these days.” satoru picked up one of the transcripts left in a pile on the boardroom table, quickly flicking through the pages.

“from what i’ve read, the author published one of their poems on a social media app and it picked up a lot of traction. jumbler, i think it was called.” nanami too picked up a copy of the transcript, immediately placing it in his briefcase.

“hah, you mean tumblr? keep up with the times nanamin. either way, i’m glad they’re all short. it makes them easier to read with my staff.”

“i’ve never understood why you read our projects that way. surely it’s much better and impactful to read it in the comforts of your home, alone.” nanami furrowed his brows.

“that’s only because you like being in your home alone. it’s boring doing it that way, that’s why we all read it together. besides, since these are all lame poems i can read them out loud, that way no one will fall asleep.” satoru took no notice of nanami’s incredulous expression.

“you may be surprised, they certainly aren’t ’lame.’ i managed to find one of torugu’s older works and they are truly beautiful. in any case, i suggest you head to your department. we all have work to do.” nanami exited the meeting room, while gojo stared at the transcript.

as if some stupid poems could surprise him.

shades of winter

ten years.

ten winters, all of different shades and full of pale faces.

i see a bed of snow,

and the twinkle of your eye,

and the shades and faces melt into the winter sky, ten years ago.

nine summers.

countless summer days, when the snow has long left the floor.

i see a burning sun,

and the warmth felt from your touch,

and then, i find, the cold emptiness has only just begun.

ten birthdays.

ten christmases.

ten rotations around the earth.

i feel myself slipping through the void, the endless, unlimited void, which has risen from your absence.

or my absence, i suppose.

when i close my sunken eyes,

i see a bluish hue,

it sort of looks like you.

ten years.

ten winters, all of vastly different shades.

the shades of winter, oh so intricate, yet dull.

duller than the summer days, than the void in my mind.

duller than that you-shaped hue flickering behind my sunken eyes.

will there be ten more years?

will i even remember the details of your face?

it’s too much to think. but the only thing i’m sure of

is i’ll see a bed of snow,

and i’ll begin to cry,

and i don’t know why

when it was a winter, ten years ago.

—torugu guse.

“the rhyme scheme is all over the place! is this really the project we’re working on this week? i mean, what does any of this even mean?” a member of the design staff commented.

“i think that’s kind of the point. the speaker is going through a heavy loss, and spiralling because of it, so they can’t even make sense of their words. that’s what i got from it.” another chimed into the debate.

“i agree, it’s like the speaker is stuck on this person, and even though it’s not clear if they died or just left, you can tell they’re still thinking about the day that person disappeared. what do you think, gojo-san?” someone asked.

but satoru could not speak. his eyes were glued to the page, bouncing back between the words.

“i think… i think we should read these in our own time.” satoru finally looked up, his voice uncharacteristically soft and solemn.

“what? we’ve never done that before, you always said it’s more fun to read together!”

“this is… nothing like i’ve ever read before. i- i’ll be right back, you guys can have a break. i’m just gonna- i’ll be back.” the man disappeared from the office, running to the bathroom.

satoru stared at his reflection in the mirror, his wide eyes and panicked expression looking unfamiliar to himself. that poem, for some reason, spoke to him in a way he couldn’t seem to accept. it was like a poignant reminder of the ache in his heart, a reminder of his worst days.

it was almost as if someone had scribbled down the inner workings of his brain, weaving in the hidden emotions that he kept locked away for his own good.

if the rest of the stories were like that… satoru was terrified to turn the page.

with urgency, satoru turned the water on and splashed his face.

who the fuck is torugu guse?

౨ৎ…!

author’s note: i feel like this could be really obvious or extremely confusing. either way, i hope this made some sense to you, and i sincerely hope you will enjoy this little bonus backstory while i continue to write STAR BOY.

by the way, yes i did write that poem myself… i am not claiming to be a poet but i kinda like how it turned out.

thanks for reading!

© SUTAAGAARU 2024. do not repost, translate, or duplicate any of my works here or any other websites.

taglist: @higurumapet @opheliaas-stuff @diogodxlot @socialanxietyvictim @delirious-donna @zombriesworld @aomi04 @topiatwinss @doyouevenshipit @levin4nami @miguellover6969 @pennameyoruichiii

[qwerty019283ytrewq]

Okay...

I've been coming to this for a long time...

Hiding behind an empty account...

I didn't set a reaction so that they wouldn't find me.

Is this paranoia?

Maybe. But most likely I was just afraid to be possessed even on the Internet. As if all of you can hack into my information, find me, point at me and laugh at me for my awkwardness, for my wrong thoughts, for my gaffes that may never leave the internet.

A funny fact. I've become better at expressing my thoughts thanks to Ao3.

I wrote my first comment under the fic, and ran around in circles for three days, lying in bed, covering my face with my hands and kicking my legs.

"Why did I do that? Who needs it?"

But it turns out that the authors need it. They want to know that their work does not go into the void. That someone needs their work, inspires someone. And I can finally share my opinion, and not just keep it in my mind (my friends do not share my hobbies).

So, I'm Aisha, I'm between 20 and 28, but I'm 16 at heart. English is not my native language, I am literally writing this into a translator. So please be gentle with me.

What will you find here?

My thoughts, and drool, and snot about Maxiel, MV1, DR3. My cries of "PLEASE, SOMEONE WRITE SOMETHING LIKE THIS" or talk to me about it.

On bad days, I'll probably use this as a diary. And although I really could use a notepad for writing, it seems that way...more productive? Ah, let's figure it out in the process.

I don't know how to use Tumblr, I don't understand tags and I'm a complete fool at posting posts...

See you later

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Delirium Chapter 4

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

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53564641/chapters/148517998#workskin

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

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

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

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

Previous Chapters: Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3

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I'm moving.

Floating.

But, everything around me is still.

My senses, too.

Still numb.

Still cold.

Still blind.

Breathing is a chore. I struggle to expand my lungs. If I pause, I don't think I'll ever breathe again.

Too hard. Maybe I should just stop trying.

The darkness tempts.

The void.

But above me, a murder of crows cries out in the night.

Cawing. Clamoring. Shrieking.

After this battle, they should have plenty of corpses to feast on. So, why clamor? Why cry out to the moon in a bloodthirsty song?

Stupid birds.

How terribly annoying.

Just loud enough to keep me from sinking into nothingness.

A shadow looms nearby. I sense it. In the emptiness, it calls to me. And, I can't help but answer. I reach for it, but I can't see. I need to open my eyes. If I don't, then I can't find him.

I try.

I struggle, blinking against a haze of color and motion.

Something warm against my cheek. A voice is speaking. Deep. Rumbling. Like the purring of a lion.

The front of my body is hot while my back is freezing.

The voice keeps speaking, and I finally recognize it.

Sylus.

I try to call for him, but my lips are numb. My voice is thinner than air.

The warmth against my cheek moves to the top of my head. Sliding over my hair then resting beneath my chin. It's a familiar calloused hand. Fingers tip up my face.

Sylus's face swims into view. It's night, and it's dark; pitch black. Yet, his face is perfectly illuminated in the wan evening glow. A frightening and bewitching visage. His eyes blaze as they look down at me. Moonlight paints his hair a gleaming white; it shines as it frames his temples.

"Sylus," I croak out.

Just saying that one word takes everything out of me.

His expression is devoid of anything, yet the line of his mouth speaks of thinly veiled anger.

What was he doing here? Wasn't he returning to N109 for some dangerous errand? 

I feel like I'm floating again. The ground beneath me shifts. I smell gun oil mixed with LUMINIS. Realization grips me. I'm draped over someone's back.

"Get her out of here, Luke," Sylus commands without breaking our eye contact.

"Yes, Boss."

The LUMINIS burns my skin. It stings like biting acid, trapped between my front and Luke's back.

With a sudden gasp, I panic. Start to squirm.

"No," I whisper. "Don't...touch me."

"Whoa, lady, calm down would you?" Luke grumbles beneath me, his grip tightening on the backs of my legs. Pain slams into me with the force of a grenade. The more I move, the more it hurts. Everywhere. But, I persist. Doesn't he know? Doesn't he know the LUMINIS will kill him if it touches him?

I keep fighting against his hold. "Poison..." I choke out. "It'll get on you..."

"Ellara."

Just my name. Said in a tone that brooks no disobedience. A threat and a command all in one. From Sylus, it's a decree. I stop moving. I've only heard him say my name a handful of times. I turn my head to look at him; the angry line of his mouth persists. His eyes demand my compliance, and I don't have it in me to resist. My body goes limp.

Sylus steps back, one hand resting in his pocket. Black and crimson gathers around him like a cloud of malice and fury. His eyes soften, just for a moment. "Luke and Kieran will take you somewhere safe. Wait for me."

I close my eyes. Keeping them open is just too hard.

"Hang on tight, lady," Luke says from somewhere very very far away.

"She can't, Luke," Kieran chides. "Her shoulder's busted."

Movement again as Luke shifts his weight between his feet. Then he jumps, and the world dips and sways. The motion is somehow comforting. Perhaps I should be scared of these two men. I've seen their ruthlessness first hand. But, Sylus trusts them with my life, and that's good enough for me.

"You staying somewhere close by, Lady?" Luke asks.

"Boss said not to go to the hotel," Kieran cuts in. "Need to stop the bleeding or he'll have our hides."

"The Tub then?" Luke offers.

"Good thinking."

From there, I lose track of the conversation. They chatter about some nonsense I can't understand. Something tickles right under my nose and the back of my throat. I cough and taste blood. Looks like the LUMINIS is running through my system.

"Oi, Lady," Kieran pats my cheek. "What's going on with you?"

"Poison," I mumble, nearing delirium. "Wash...off..."

"Definitely the Tub, then," Luke says beneath me.

It's the last thing I hear for a while. 

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With the freezing winds comes the first snow of the year. It comes down hard and fast, blanketing the veranda in white and giving the scene an interesting kind of contrast. 

Sylus watches Luke and Kieran disappear into the shadows of the night with forced dispassion. He's leaving something precious to him with a pair of mentally unstable murderers. Yet, aside from at his own side, there is no safer place for Ellara now. 

Particularly now that Noxis has found her.

With the twins, she is in good hands. His masked monsters are heartless, and in that savagery lies unwavering loyalty. Beasts can only be controlled by fear of something stronger than them. In knowing that there exists no greater power than his own, Luke and Kieran choose to serve Sylus as their leader. They are well aware of the resources at his command, and they will do what they must to ensure the woman survives until their master can return.

Pondering over it now serves no purpose, so he releases all concern for her wellbeing.

There is business to be concluded here tonight, a pathetic little rebellion he should have squashed months ago.

As the snow covers everything around him, Sylus's true hunt begins. He turns on his heel, his crimson eyes aglow with bloodlust, a crooked smile gracing his striking features. With both hands in his pockets, he strides across the veranda, stepping over mangled bodies to move to a group of huddled men moaning and crying as they cower in terror. A pitch black mist surrounds them, holding them captive.

Above, Mephisto's greedy crows cry out to feast, their hunger insatiable.

Blood splats and spatters around Sylus's shoes as he takes each step, mixing into a red slush as he walks. And with each stride, more and more black mist gathers around him. Like a snake, it rises up and strikes, wrapping phantom claws and hands around one of the men and lifting him into the air. The man screams in abject horror, foaming at the mouth when the mist begins to break and snap his fingers one by one. The same filthy fingers that hit a certain Hunter in the head with a club.

An eye for an eye.

Now if only Ellara could grasp the concept.

Had she aimed for vitals with her shots, this night might have ended altogether differently. She'd always been too soft. Too merciful. Even then.

Glancing down at the others, his expression is one of disinterest. He's used to cowards shaking and begging before him. Why are humans always so predictable?

"I have some questions," he says. "Answers will be rewarded with less pain." The man in the grasp of the mist begs for his life, but his sputtering is not the response Sylus needs. When the coward is used up, he throws his lifeless body aside and moves to the next.  "Who will volunteer?"

"Help us!" the second man shrieks as the mist drags him backwards by his ankles. "Malakai! Please help us!"

The wind picks up speed, scattering the crows circling above. Sylus looks towards the roof of the Mythe, his lips curling into an amused smirk when he sees a lone silhouette crouched there. 

"There you are," he says. "How many more of your pawns should I kill before you decide to greet me?" Sylus smiles, his hands still in his pockets. "Or do I need to burn this anthill to the ground to get to you?"

The figure jumps down, and as it lands, the very ground shakes. The air shudders. A man straightens and stands tall, dressed in dark military armor. Sleek metal covers vulnerable points of his body, including his knees and parts of his gloves. He removes his hood and mask, revealing smoldering violet eyes and onyx hair.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Malakai Noxis?" Sylus asks.

"I'm humbled you remember me," Malakai replies with a sneer. He bows mockingly.

"You've certainly made a nuisance of yourself." Taking a step forward, Sylus crushes a bunch of glass shards under his foot. "This game you're playing with Evol disrupters and false Protocores has become difficult to ignore."

Malakai chuckles. "Oh? I'm honored. It's just a side project, really."

Sylus strokes his chin. "And yet, I don't recall giving you permission to operate on my turf."

"You have no jurisdiction outside N109, Sylus. The rules are different here." His gives a toxic grimace, eyes burning with malice.

"Malakai!" the men in Sylus's grasp scream. "Please help us!" The man's sneer deepens, a shadow crossing his face. Before the captives can say another word, something hisses as it wraps around their bodies. With a series of crunches and pops, the men are crushed like tin cans in a metal press. Blood sprays onto the snow and the other prisoners. They cry out in fear and cower. More screams as the other men meet the same end as their comrades.

Sylus watches carefully, analyzing, memorizing. This is a blatant display of power. Malakai wants him to know that his Evol has grown much stronger than before. Amusing, really. What a hopeless fool. No matter how strong his Evol grows, Malakai could never hope to measure up to him.

"If you think I'll give you any scrap of territory out here, you've got some surprises coming," Malakai scowls.

Sylus's smile never wavers even as Malakai finally attacks. The man sends a massive wave of force flying towards Sylus. It uproots half of the veranda with its might. Splintered wood and debris are launched into the air. Invisible hands grip the larger pieces and use them as weapons, firing them in Sylus's direction. But, none of it even ruffles Sylus's clothes. As the shockwaves and hurtling pieces of wood and metal pass him, a shield of black mist keeps him protected.

In the aftermath, Malakai stands still, fury marring his features. His fists are clenched at his side. The air fills with screams of the Mythe's patrons as people run out of the building in a stampede. The gun fight and now this must have been a catalyst to cause mass panic. Their centerpiece destroyed, their auction thwarted, and much of their manpower extinguished - this could not have been a worse night for Noxis.

And still, it was not enough. Sylus had neglected these upstarts long enough, and now Ellara was paying the price. Tonight would be their last, once and for all.

More men funnel out of the doorways to the veranda. At Malakai's command, they open fire. Blasters, guns, and rifles blast and tear apart the quiet snowy eve. Bullets of all shapes and sizes soar through the air. Ignoring the ensuing chaos, Malakai lifts his arms. With a howling and groaning of shattered wood and rending metal, he lifts a colossal chunk of the roof off the building. With a flick of his wrist, he rips it completely off and away. Another gesture and the massive thing flies towards Sylus. As it's hurtling in his direction, black mist wraps around the object and dyes it blood red. None of the bullets hit their mark, and by the time the other object reaches Sylus's shield, it's burned to a crisp. A snap of Sylus's fingers finishes it off, transforming the rooftop into nothing but ashes.

The men around Malakai balk, their faces draining of all color as they comprehend the power they've just witnessed.

"Is it my turn?" Sylus asks, tilting his head. He pulls a small device out of his pocket. "I'd love to play a few rounds with you, but I'm somewhat pressed for time."

He pushes the button in his hand.

Malakai's eyes widen. He realizes what's about to happen and launches himself off what's left of the veranda into the murky water of the river below.

A moment passes.

And then the world goes up in flames.

One by one, blinding explosions rip and tear into the night club, illuminating the surrounding night like fireworks.

More screaming as people shriek and stampede over each other to evacuate. They slip on wet and icy concrete, tripping over falling bodies and tearing at one another's clothes. Sylus watches them kill and maim each other in their haste to get to safety.

Human cruelty never ceases to amuse him.

His watch buzzes on his wrist. He frowns when he sees Luke's name on the caller ID.

Wrapping the mist around himself, he teleports some distance away and takes the call.

"Boss," Luke says, his voice tense. "Boss, you better come quick. The Lady isn't going to last much longer. We've got her in the Tub, but that shit that spilled all over her is eating her alive."

Sylus ends the call.

He looks to Mephisto's crows flying above and calls to his companion.

Ensure things are clean here, Sylus commands.

Mephisto agrees.

With one final look at the array of explosions still going off behind him, Sylus vanishes into the night.

[genrefluid-arts]

Golden River

Characters: Fontina Cookie (oc) Spring Fondue Cookie (Oc) Golden Cheese Cookie (mention only sadly) Burnt Cheese Cookie

Rating: 13+ (mostly general audiences)

Word Count: 1650

Includes: Oc x Canon

Finally able to write this one-shot thanks to @its-actually-ash on tumblr 

Quick Summary: Reviving the city is meant to be a slow and easy process. But even if your being steady with it, chances are some citizens are gonna have a hard time waking up in their new bodies. Fontina Cookie is no exception.

Fontina Cookie awoke to find herself floating in a silent, empty void. As her eyes fluttered open, she uncrossed her arms, emitting a soft, barely audible moan as she straightened her body. She lets her mind become clearer before she takes a look around, her eyes staring out into the darkness, questions racing inside her mind:

Where is she? Is she alive or dead? Did Her Majesty succeed in reviving the kingdom, or did she fail? And was this a result?

‘No, no…let’s not be harsh here…’ Fontina Cookie thought to herself, sighing

She takes a look around, searching for other cookies.

"He…Hello?" She muttered, "Is anyone there?"

There was no answer; only her words echoed in the still open air. Fontina Cookie could only grimace at this fruitless attempt. She called out once more, louder and more desperate.

“Please…! Someone! Anyone!!”

Again, no one answered and her echoes ranged louder than the previous ones. Whether or not she was alive, she started to feel her own body sink into an anxious shake, holding herself in her arms. This entire place feels like an illusion, an illusion that she is trapped in alone.

Minutes passed, and she began to feel even lonelier than she had been her entire life. From the moment her father died to when Burnt Cheese Cookie started to refrain from talking about his problems to her.

…

Is it meant to be this way… To remain in a place of eternal silence?

Fontina Cookie let out a lamented sigh as she closed her eyes again, simply listening to the tranquil ambiance of the void. Slowly, she felt her body drift on its own accord towards an unknown light, but she couldn't fight it. Wherever she was going, she embraced it…

—

The next time Fontina Cookie opened her eyes, she found herself in a vast field of orange and yellow flowers. The pink-yellow-haired cookie stood up, her white dress brushing against the lush grass as she carefully took a look at her surroundings.

An endless expanse of trees engulfed the area, stretching as far as the eye could see, their towering heights rivaling mountains. Just before that, a glistening river flowed across the region, reflecting the bright sunlight.

Fontina Cookie gasped in awe as she tilted her head in curiosity upon spotting a figure near the wider part of the river. The figure was holding a long prong-like staff in one hand and carrying a pot with blue straps.

Curiosity got the best of her as she inched towards the mysterious stranger. "Excuse me!"

The stranger paused in what they were doing, giving the cookie a gentle and curious smile as she approached.

"Hello," Fontina Cookie stammered. "I was wondering if you know where I am."

"Ah, Fontina Cookie…" The stranger replied. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

The pink-yellow cookie took a step back, a terrified expression on her face. It took a few mere seconds for the stranger to realize their mistake.

"Ah, my sincere apologies," they said, bowing graciously. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Spring Fondue Cookie, and to be straightforward, you are my descendant."

Fontina Cookie furrowed her eyebrows. "It doesn't seem straightforward…"

Spring Fondue Cookie let out a chuckle. "While I can agree it’s quite cumbersome from your perspective, it is the truth."

Fontina Cookie remained silent, fiddling with her hands as her lips pressed together.

“And to answer your question, you’re currently in the realm of the golden river. At least, your mind and soul are.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, her head tilting.

The mysterious cookie cleared their throat. “Back in reality, your body has been perfectly reconstructed by the hands of average cookies. However, unlike the first few who were successful with reconnecting, your soul and mind are still adjusting to your body.”

“And…you know this, how?” Fontina Cookie quizzed.

“The golden river is considered to be an all-knowing source of knowledge … .one that flows back and forth. It knows.”

Fontina Cookie let out a hum, her knuckles rubbing against her chin, her mind putting together pieces of a puzzle, remaining still as Spring Fondue Cookie rested their hands on their lap, waiting with patience and grace.

Reconstruction…body…soul and mind….wait-

"So, that would mean that her radiance succeeded!" she exclaimed, pleasantly surprised.

The stranger nodded in agreement. "Yes, it certainly appears that way. But she still has a long road ahead, for herself and her kingdom."

Fontina Cookie stood there, a puzzled expression returning to her face.

"So…if you don't mind, can you grant me a reason why I came here?" She asked.

"Well…" Spring Fondue Cookie began, tapping their hand against their staff. "Before you finally awakened, I wanted to meet you as a descendant of mine. Thus, I brought you here."

"But why would you want to meet me for?" Fontina Cookie asked, a solemn expression on her face. "In life, I was just a simple cookie who lived in a life of both luxury and complexity."

They lightheartedly chuckled at her response. "The same reason why I desire to meet all my descendants—to ask about their lives, rather it be simple or extravegant before they pass on."

"Pass on…" Fontina Cookie repeated. "You say you meet your descendants? Than…than you met my father!?"

They nodded. "Why yes…Mild Provolone Cookie, the one who took care of lush gardens."

Fontina Cookie stared down at the grassy plain, a hint of sorrow in her expression. "…How was he when he met you?"

"Just as he was when he crumbled on his deathbed, at peace. He felt like his life had been fulfilled. Though he desired to see his daughter and son-in-law union, he was overall content."

The pink-yellow hair cookie stood there in silence, taking a deep breath in and out. "At least he was at peace."

The serene stillness of the moment was only interrupted by the soft murmurs of the glistening river as it flowed leisurely, accompanied by the gentle rustling of the leaves in the calming breeze.

"Another question, if you don't mind. What…are you?" Fontina Cookie's tone seemed sincere, avoiding trying to sound judgmental. But as Spring Fondue Cookie smiled at her, it seemed they didn't mind.

"I am, more or less, the spirit of a cookie whose body crumbled a long, long time ago, and I was given a realm to watch over as a result of my deeds before my life came to an end."

"What were your deeds? Were they good or bad?" Fontina Cookie quizzed.

"…It depends." They plainly said, their expression still sending chills along the sweet-smelling cookie.

"Kindly speaking, when do I wake up?"

"Soon," they replied. "You have time for one more question, if you are not yet satisfied."

"Is that so?" Fontina Cookie, rubbing her arm. "Have you been watching me the whole time?"

"Not all the time, no. I mostly know you from your father. But, I had attempted to reach out to you when you died on that very day…but, I guess your queen had other plans in mind."

Spring Fondue Cookie paused, a sad look in their eyes. "Her method nearly unbalanced the scale of life and death in an attempt to play god, but then again, who wouldn't go through such extreme lengths for their people?"

There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere, and the wind grew harsher as the streams of the Golden River became loud. Fontina Cookie braced herself as the wind blew against her body, her hair waving in the wind.

"The time has come, Fontina Cookie. I pray we meet again much, much later…"

"So I will be seeing you again?"

Spring Fondue Cookie shrugged. "I hope so. It wouldn't hurt, besides…maybe you'll talk about your children…"

Fontina Cookie's eyes widened in shock, just in time where everything to go black.

Fontina Cookie let out a gasp, clenching the blanket tightly as her eyes shot wide open. She took deep breaths, in and out. In and out, slowly but surely pacing herself. By the end of it, she let out a sigh.

'…This still feels like a dream somehow.' Fontina Cookie thought to herself as she slowly sat up, looking around the room. It was almost empty and bare, the only thing keeping it from being a plain sight to see was a few bouquets sitting in vases.

There wasn't too many, but there was a generous amount. She couldn't help but quietly giggle to herself before getting temporarily blinded by a beam of sunlight discreetly peaking through the curtains.

With her eyes squinted, she opens the curtain, her eyes widening in surprise as she finds a flock of cheesebirds outside her window, their chirps filling the air as if they were singing.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, she gazes towards the horizon with a serene, yet small smile. Letting the warmth of the sun brush against her dark skin.

"Fontina…Cookie….?" She heard a familiar voice muttering behind her, it sounded hoarse yet relieved at the same time. Her mouth slightly gapped open as she slowly turned her head towards the culprit, and there he was…

Standing by the doorway, frozen in place, was Burnt Cheese Cookie. Though a man who usually lacked emoting most of the time, he was staring at her with a mixture of shock, sorrow, and relief.

The harpist could only give him a reassuring smile. "Hello, Burnt Cheese Cookie.."

The silence continued to follow, but before Fontina Cookie could react, the gatekeeper suddenly rushed forward, his arms wrapping around her as he pressed his head against her shoulder, firm yet gentle. The harpist hugged back as tears dripped down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry…" He kept uttering, nearly inaudible. His hand gently combed through her hair.

"It's alright…" Fontina Cookie replied, feeling her own tears drip down her cheek.

[damedechance]

Watch Me Fall Apart

ACOTAR Writing Circle - Part 3

Read on AO3: Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

Tumblr: Pt 1, Pt 2 (3/3)

Keep reading below for all of Part 3!

The ACOTAR Writing Circle is an event organized by @azrielshadowssing where several writers each start a fic, and then pass it off to someone else for the second and third parts. Please go to her page for more information, and to see the masterlist so that you can read all of the fics! This is the FINAL PART so all of the fics should be updated and completed soon if you want to binge <3

For Part 3, I am continuing the fic started by @azrielshadowssing and continued by @headcanonheadcase!! You guys have no idea how much I love medical dramas, so this was definitely very exciting to me.

Pairing: Nessian Word Count: 8.4k (~20k total) Rating/Warnings: E (explicit content, mentions of workplace harassment, depictions of medical procedures and traumatic injury) Summary: Nesta and Cassian are the top residents in their hospital, and they're competing for the same specialty. The tension between them is always high, but is it really because they hate each other?

Continue reading below the cut for all of part 3! Or scroll up and read on AO3 :)

PART THREE

The air snapped– abruptly shifted from nothing into this rigid, stale force that pressed up against her chest and prickled over her skin until she couldn’t even stand to breathe it in. Nesta felt her hackles raise, every muscle tensed with unease. She’d been filled with dread earlier, but it quickly evaporated, leaving behind an empty void right at the center of her chest.

She knew what it looked like.

Cassian’s expression all but confirmed her suspicions–his face twisted into a horrible scowl as his gaze darted from Rayer’s still outstretched hand to the spot where it rested on her lower back.

It looked like Nesta was cozying up to an attending to receive his favor. In some witless plan to get first pick on all of the best cases, or to receive special treatment in the OR. Maybe he’d throw her some solo cases or let her hold the retractor while he worked on a delicate procedure. At the bare minimum, she’d be guaranteed to breeze through her intern year. But give it some time, and maybe at the end of her residency he’d toss her a few bread crumbs. A recommendation letter, or a fellowship, or– hey– maybe even an illustrious research position.

That was what it looked like.

It was what everyone would think, anyway. What Nesta couldn’t blame Cassian for thinking, even though she knew that if he even bothered to look at her face, he’d see the truth she was so desperately trying to convey with her gaze. 

Even if he did read the explanation in her eyes, he’d have to actively fight against every other, far easier explanation to believe her. And their track record didn’t necessarily afford her any benefit of the doubt. Prior to that night at the bar, she and Cassian had been at each other’s throats for any scrap of an advantage over the other. 

And after the way she had treated him this morning? She couldn’t blame him if he dismissed her.

It was irrational, and exhausting, and so entirely unfair, but Nesta felt fury rise white hot through her veins, anyway.

Because really, what did Cassian have to angry about? What right did he have to bear that indignant expression? Even if she was hooking up with her attending, Cassian held no claim over her. No reason to look so furious, especially after hooking up only a handful of times. He had no right , and it was not fair, not fair, not fair.

If he would just look at her, he’d see all of that.

But Cassian didn’t, and the moment passed so quickly that it was almost as if Nesta had imagined it. Except she could still feel the fire of her outrage, and still had to suppress the way she was nearly shaking from it.

Only, Cassian simply continued his stride towards them, as if he had never been stalled in the first place. Rayer turned to watch his approach as he realized belatedly that Cassian had appeared. Nesta opened her mouth, prepared to defend herself, but Cassian spoke before she had the chance.

“Collapse on a construction site,” Cassian announced bluntly, and Nesta felt herself deflating instantly. “Multiple traumas en route. Dr. Odell asked me to come get you personally, since the nurses’ station is so backed up with admissions. It’s all hands on deck.”

Cassian didn’t stop walking, not even as he delivered the news, and for a wild moment Nesta thought that he would collide with either herself or Rayer, causing them to tumble to the floor. But instead, Cassian pushed forward, right in between them, forcing Rayer to step back.

Nesta watched with a detached sort of curiosity as Rayer’s hand fell from where it had been pressed into her back, and then clenched into a fist at his side.

And then her head snapped up, and Nesta began jogging after Cassian. Clearly, he meant to be followed.

“How many?” Nesta asked breathlessly. She shook her head in an effort to obtain some sort of clarity. “What’s their status?”

Pulling her thoughts into even a semblance of order was a hopeless endeavor, apparently, because Nesta couldn’t seem to rid herself of that murky fog. The half-thoughts and lingering feelings of dread and outrage. She raced down the hall right behind Cassian, but she might as well have been on a completely different plane with how scrambled her mind was. Bouncing around from trying to recall the complications of combined chemo and radiation on tumor resections for Mrs. Green, to the way her skin crawled when Rayer placed his hand on her, how much she wished she had thought to grab breakfast, Cassian’s bedsheets– none of it was useful to her, now.

She was only vaguely aware of Rayer following after them.

“Seven, so far,” Cassian said, and he must have answered her immediately, but it felt like it had been years since she’d even asked the question. Seven traumas. “All construction workers recovered from the field. Two coded on transport, probably DOA. The others are a mixed bag, and one is still being extracted from the site. Odell said to expect crush injuries, blunt head trauma, lots of lacerations.”

They reached the end of the hall, and Cassian threw his arm out to shove open the door to the stairwell. He stood to the side, allowing Nesta to rush through first.

“It’s gonna be a long day,” Cassian said, catching her eye as she brushed past him.

Nesta pressed her lips together, and then turned away rather than respond. She was already halfway down the first set of stairs when she realized that she didn’t hear anyone following behind her. She paused with her hand on the railing, and twisted around to look back up to the doorway.

Cassian stood, easily filling the threshold with his broad frame, and effectively blocking Rayer from making his way through.

“Odell only mentioned getting Archeron,” Cassian said, so smoothly that it could only have been a lie. “I’m sure they would have paged you if they needed you.”

Rayer visibly bristled. “All hands on deck, right?”

At this, Nesta raised her eyebrows. His tone held thinly veiled distaste, but Nesta had always assumed Cassian to be a favorite amongst the attendings. 

Rayer continued, “Non-emergent surgeries will likely be pushed, and the ER is going to be flooded with head injuries. You’re going to need me.”

“Just following orders,” Cassian said coolly.

It was almost unsettling, the way Cassian–a measly intern–had somehow amassed enough authority in such a narrow doorway to have his superior trying to justify his own utility in a trauma room. She couldn’t see Cassian’s face, but she wondered if it was just as impassive as his voice, or if it betrayed the animosity he clearly felt.

And then two pagers chirped–hers and Rayer’s–and effectively sliced through the tension. Nesta didn’t have to look to see that it was a 911 from the pit.

“Come on,” Nesta said. She turned and continued her descent without another glance towards the others. She called over her shoulder, “We don’t have time for this.”

Whatever silent agreement they came to, it was none of Nesta’s business as Cassian and Rayer fell into step behind her. They followed her down the rest of the stairs, and when she opened the door, it was Cassian’s hand that shot out to hold it open for her again, as if he was purposely putting himself between her and Rayer. 

If she had the time, she might have tried to understand why he was so insistent on keeping them separated. She might have pored over the image of him stepping between them in the hallway, might have played back that look he had given her as they entered the stairwell. She’d have gone over it, again and again , to try to discern the direction of his hatred.

But as it was, Nesta didn’t have the time. Because as she approached the ER, she could see that it was already packed, and that they desperately needed more doctors.

Two of the trauma rooms were already occupied, and she could hear the monitors and the voices of her colleagues from within them–their tones urgent and even a bit anxious. Curtains were drawn around three of the trauma beds, but might as well have been left open from how frequently the nurses and residents kept passing through them. The registrars were simultaneously answering the phones and handing out tablets to the doctors that came to respond to the crisis. And in the corner, nurses helped some of the other interns into their PPE, all while other medical staff filtered in and out of the ER with gauze and IVs and suture kits.

Organized chaos, in the most awful and amazing sort of way.

Rayer, for all of his far more disturbing and even revolting qualities, was still an experienced surgeon. He was unencumbered by the greenness that still afflicted Nesta and the rest of the interns. The apprehension that kept them lingering on the edges of the room awaiting orders instead of jumping straight into the fray. Rayer had already switched out his lab coat for a gown, and was putting on his gloves as he walked up to one of the trauma beds to examine a patient.

Nesta was glancing over to where red lights were flashing in from outside, casting odd shapes on the walls, when she felt Cassian’s hand on her elbow.

“Nes–”

Nesta shrugged him off.

“How about this?” she said as she began making her way towards where Madja, one of the trauma nurses, was helping Emerie into a gown and gloves. Jurian and Lucien were already walking away, each headed to their own case. “We’ll each get assigned to a different case, and we won’t have to talk to each other for the rest of the day. Deal?”

It was harsh. And she’d already established that it was unfair, but Nesta knew that if she had any hope at all of getting through this next case–whatever it might be–she had to push Cassian out of her mind completely. He had already been enough of a distraction during the aneurysm–her first aneurysm as lead surgeon–and she didn’t need another one, now. She didn’t need his concern, ire, or pity.

She needed nothing.

Especially not Rayer, or the way he tried to catch her eye from over the bed of his patient. He was standing over a victim of blunt force trauma to the skull, and still he was trying to get to her.

Thankfully, Dr. Odell appeared then, and he walked right in front of Emerie, Nesta, and Cassian–effectively cutting off Rayer’s view of her.

“Emerie, you’re needed in procedure room two,” Dr. Odell announced, sounding impossibly bored. He already had blood all over the front of his scrubs, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Nesta realized that if Odell was free now, it must have meant that one of the patients that had already coded in the ambulance was pronounced dead.

She watched, feeling oddly numb, as Emerie walked off.

“Late,” Odell said, admonishing both her and Cassian before he continued. “Archeron, you’re needed in–”

“Odell,” Rayer suddenly called. Odell turned at the interruption, allowing Rayer back into view. Nesta glared towards him, but it wasn’t enough to deter him from continuing. “If you can spare one of your interns, my patient needs burr holes.”

It was clearly meant to be an enticing offer. Something that the Nesta and Cassian from only a couple of days ago would have fought each other tooth and nail for. Because Rayer stood leaning over the patient’s bedside, tucking his penlight back into his pocket as someone came in with an electric razor, and another nurse prepared the drill.

Rayer’s eyes lifted, and he looked directly at Nesta. Expectant.

“I’ll do it,” Cassian offered suddenly. He finished putting on his gloves, and before anyone could protest, he walked forward to accept the drill from the nurse.

“I guess that leaves you to trauma two with Dr. Long,” Odell said, patting Nesta on the shoulder perfunctorily. As though he were trying to console her over some grave loss. “Better luck next time. Page your resident if you need anything–I have to prep for the next rig.”

Clearly, it wasn’t Nesta who was in charge of her own limbs as she made her way through the chaos towards trauma two. It must have been some unseen force, some mystical wind that pushed her along, because she was too busy trying to erase the image of Rayer’s irritated expression from her mind. She muttered her thanks as a nurse held open the door for her, and then blinked as she took in the scene.

One final thought rose up out of the fog, before she smothered everything down to make room for the scene in front of her: Why would Cassian do that?

“Dr. Archeron,” came the voice of Dr. Long, disdainful and unimpressed, as always. “Nice of you to finally join us.��

Inwardly, Nesta flinched. Dr. Amren Long was notorious for her cold demeanor and downright sadistic treatment of the interns. She was irredeemably cruel, but somehow her caustic tone was exactly the right thing to shock Nesta back into herself. To remind her that she was a doctor–a surgeon– and that there was a patient on the table.

Even as the monitors droned, and people bumped into her shoulders in their haste to replace blood bags and administer medications, Nesta found a perverse sort of calm. Relief, even.

“Patient’s status?” Nesta said in lieu of greeting. Dr. Long wasn’t known to be a fan of niceties or paltry excuses. Even if she made the effort to apologize, Amren still would find Nesta to be incompetent.

There were numerous bodies crowded around the bed, but Nesta could make out the faces of one of the ortho attendings and Jurian–who was apparently assisting him on the case–as she approached Dr. Long where she was positioned near the patient’s head. He was wearing a cervical collar and had an obvious gash above his brow.

Dr. Long held out her penlight to Nesta. She accepted it, and as Nesta examined the patient’s pupillary response, Dr. Long spoke in that eternally unaffected tone.

“Thirty-nine year old male presents with crush injuries to both lower extremities and pelvis,” Amren said. “Suspected pelvic fracture with venous injury. Ortho requested neuro consult due to open head injury and loss of consciousness in the field. GCS of five upon admission with slowed pupillary response–”

“We need you to clear him for surgery,” the ortho attending, Dr. Sprague, said.

Amren’s gaze drifted over to him, clearly displeased at having been cut off. Without making eye contact with Nesta, she said, “What is your recommendation, Doctor?”

“I’ll bring him up to CT,” Nesta replied, already handing back the penlight and making her way towards the exit. She knew Dr. Long typically preferred her residents to take action instead of waiting around for approval.

“Inspired,” Amren said, voice dripping with derision. The nurses began to prepare the patient for transport as Amren stepped down from her stool and headed towards the exit. “Page me when you’re done, Archeron.”

“Right,” Nesta muttered, standing aside to allow the nurses to wheel the patient out. Evidently, Dr. Long didn’t hear her–or didn’t care to–because she was already at the registration desk, holding her hand out to accept another tablet for a different patient.

As Nesta jogged to catch back up to her patient, the ortho attending stepped out of the room, Jurian closely behind him.

“Stay with her,” Dr. Sprague ordered Jurian. Judging by the way he snapped off his gloves, he was clearly irritated at having his surgery delayed. “Page me the second the patient is out of CT. That pelvic injury can’t wait for long.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Jurian said. He shared a knowing look with Nesta as Sprague walked away. Together, they marched off after their patient towards CT.

Dr. Long might have been unsettling, and Dr. Sprague standoffish, but they were both such a welcome reprieve from the distraction that had previously affected her, that it brightened her mood considerably. And as they waited for the radiologist to complete the CT, even Jurian’s company was blissfully silent, likely due to his disappointment at not being able to land a date with Vassa the previous night. It was almost enough to allow her to relax, if not for the fact that their patient was in such a dire state.

As the nurses helped the patient out of CT and prepped him for the OR, Nesta paged Dr. Long and waited for the scans to come up. Jurian waited beside her, cursing when he saw the pelvic scans. The patient had an anterior-posterior compression fracture with injury to the internal iliac, and was bleeding into his pelvis. As Jurian ducked out to call Dr. Sprague and the OR, Amren stepped into the booth.

“What do you see?” Amren asked as she looked over the radiologist’s shoulder. Together, they clicked through each slice of the head CT.

“Minor cerebral edema without the presence of a bleed,” Nesta said. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall. “It’s possible the bleed is so small that the CT hasn’t picked up on it yet, so he’ll need monitoring while he’s in surgery for the pelvic fracture. Repeat CT after he’s out of the OR. But as long as intracranial pressure goes down, it won’t be surgical.”

“And?” Amren asked. She looked over her shoulder, lips downturned in a very displeased line. Nesta was forgetting something.

Nesta paused, momentarily at a loss as she racked her brain for any other solution. Dr. Long might have been short–downright tiny , even–but her presence was so foreboding that Nesta had to fight back a chill.

“Um,” Nesta said. “Pharmacologic management. Acetazolamide to reduce the production of cerebrospinal fluid.”

“Astounding,” Amren jeered. “See to that, won’t you?”

Nesta jumped up. It wasn’t so much an attempt to block Amren’s exit as it was a knee-jerk reaction, but Amren halted before she reached the door, anyway.

“Something else, Dr. Archeron?” Amren asked.

“Nothing,” Nesta said gruffly. Unsure herself, even, of why she seemed so reluctant to let Amren go.

Amren sighed. “Walk with me, Doctor. You might have the luxury of time to waste on pointless conversations, but I’m needed back in the ER. You can accompany me as they prep your patient for surgery.”

Nesta followed Amren helplessly out the door and into the hallway.

“Dr. Long,” Nesta began. “I’d be grateful if–”

Amren abruptly turned around, forcing Nesta to a screeching halt. And even though she towered over the woman, Nesta couldn’t help but feel just a speck of trepidation at the sight of the fury in Amren’s eyes. Nesta gritted her teeth.

“It may not be as flashy as performing a burr hole procedure at bedside,” Amren began, her voice measured. “But this is a teaching hospital, and I do believe there is merit in learning the basics before being allowed to run rampant all over the hospital, being allowed to assist in highly complicated procedures. It’s easy to mistake yourself for a god when you’re holding a scalpel, but it’s my job to ensure you children don’t forget you aren’t infallible.”

Amren took a deep breath, and Nesta bit down on her tongue to keep from lashing out at her in the pause.

“If you’d like to abandon your patient in the interest of basking in some fleeting moment of glory,” she said, “be my guest, Dr. Archeron. I’m sure Dr. Rayer would set a fine example for you.”

Nesta paled at the mention of Rayer. In her cozy little bubble of the radiologist’s suite, she’d almost forgotten about him.

Almost.

“That’s…” Nesta sucked in a breath. “Not what I was going to say.”

Amren stared at her for a second longer, head tilting to the side as she studied Nesta’s expression. She must have discovered something, because then Amren was stalking back down the hallway and throwing a door open.

“Get in,” Amren said, ushering Nesta into the on-call room. “We have patients waiting.”

As the door clicked closed behind them, Nesta managed to summon the presence of mind to check that the room was empty, this time.

“Out with it,” Amren said as soon as Nesta turned back to face her.

“Out with what?” Nesta said.

She expected to receive more of Amren’s impatience, or even her ridicule. Something that would give Nesta all of the vindication she needed in order to be sure of her decision not to tell her anything about Rayer. Because if she hadn’t been able to tell Emerie, or Cassian, or even confront Rayer himself–there was no way that she’d tell Amren.

Except Amren didn’t ridicule her. And she didn’t require any explanation, at all.

“Dr. Rayer is worthless,” Amren said plainly. “Both in and out of the OR. And I don’t think I’d be entirely out of bounds if I informed you that he’s recently accepted a position as Chief of Surgery at a rival hospital.”

Nesta’s jaw dropped before she could catch herself. “And why are you telling me this?” she managed to grind out.

“Because you can’t go wrong, either way,” Amren said, shrugging. “Either you report him, and he loses his new, highly sought after position and is brought to justice for his actions. Or he leaves in only a few weeks, and you’ll be free of him, regardless.”

Nesta scrubbed her hand down her face as she tried to make sense of everything.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Because I interviewed for the same position,” Amren said disinterestedly. “Do what you want, Dr. Archeron. I’m only offering you the information.”

“No, I mean–”

Nesta stopped herself. Amren knew what she meant, that much was clear.

How do you know what he did?

“Don’t waste too much more time,” Amren said. Nesta's mind reeled, trying to figure out whether she meant wasting time getting to her patient, or waiting time on reporting Rayer. She opened the door, and the light from the hallway spilled into the room as Nesta’s ears filled with the din of the hospital once again. “I expect a page from you if our patient’s status changes.

Nesta nodded. “Yes, Dr. Long.”

Nesta allowed herself only fifteen seconds in the relative privacy of the on-call room after Amren left. Fifteen seconds to pull herself together and mentally reframe the previous conversation in a way that made sense. It was likely that Dr. Rayer had a history of harassment, and that it had been whispered about in the halls of the hospital. It wasn’t too surprising that Dr. Long had heard of it.

What was more unbelievable was why Amren, of all people, would try to help Nesta. Because Amren always appeared so unaffected, had always staunchly rejected any of her colleagues' attempts at anything even approaching personal. It was such a rare moment of compassion that the only thinking that made sense to Nesta was that Amren wanted Rayer’s reputation to be so thoroughly tarnished that the rival hospital had no choice but to offer the open position to Amren, instead. Either that, or for their hospital to fire Rayer, leaving the position of Chief of Neurosurgery to Amren.

Right, Nesta thought. That must have been it.

The rest of the morning and even the afternoon was spent sitting on a stool in the OR. Nesta carefully monitored the patient’s vitals and intracranial pressure, periodically ordering more medication, as Jurian and Dr. Sprague performed transarterial embolization to control the pelvic bleed, and then stabilized the fracture with an external fixator. Thankfully, the patient made it out of surgery in stable condition with no signs of worsening edema.

“Fine work,” Amren said when Nesta provided her with the update. “If you aren’t too busy next week, I think I could be convinced to allow you onto my service.”

That was as close as a compliment as Nesta thought she would ever receive from Amren, but it did little to deter her from actually being excited at the thought of studying under her.

After Nesta showered, she found the halls to be mostly empty. Her cohort must have been busy in their own ORs, looking after their own patients, and after a quick check in with the ER, Nesta found that the worst of that morning’s emergency was over. There were no more cases for her to pick up, especially now that non-emergent surgeries had been pushed to allow for the trauma cases.

Nesta finished her charting leisurely, humming to herself as she worked.

And she continued humming the same tune on her walk to the HR office.

***

“They offered to send one of their lawyers,” Nesta relayed to Emerie. 

After the events of that day, Nesta had trudged home, fully expecting to land face first on her bed and sleep through the entire weekend. Only, Emerie and Gwyn–their other roommate–had kidnapped her for an impromptu feast of sweets and other various junk food, effectively forgoing a more nutritious dinner.

Laying sprawled out on their living room floor, buried beneath mountains of blankets and throw pillows, the three of them dined on ice cream and potato chips as rain began to pour down outside. It fell in sheets, and the sound was so soothing that Nesta had begun to tell her friends everything without second guessing it.

“Yeah?” Emerie asked. “Did you want one?”

Nesta nodded through a yawn. “I thought it couldn’t hurt.”

“How was the conversation with the Chief?” Gwyn asked. She shoved another handful of popcorn in her mouth, and Nesta couldn’t help but snort at the sight of the elegant Gywn rather inelegantly stuffing her face.

“It was fine,” Nesta said, shrugging. “He definitely heard me out, but I could tell he was pissed.”

Emerie raised up on her elbows, looking down at Nesta. “At you?”

“No.” Nesta shook her head, which was enough to calm Emerie, who flopped back down onto her throw pillow. “At Rayer. Him and the lawyer explained to me what the process would be. At first they said there wasn’t much they could do, since it was just the one incident–”

“But it wasn’t just one!” Gwyn exclaimed, clearly outraged.

“Let me finish,” Nesta said. A smile rose up over her lips, and it felt odd to be so happy at her best friend’s indignance, but the results of her afternoon had left her with a strange sense of levity. “At first they said there wasn’t much they could do. But I think Dr. Long must have gotten through to some of the other interns and workers at the hospital, because before I even left the office, four other women came in to tell the Chief the exact same thing.”

Emerie’s lip curled up in distaste. “That man is such a fucking pig.”

“Yeah,” Nesta agreed. “But now, with five corroborating stories, they said they would have to terminate Rayer.”

Nesta grinned as she accepted the hugs from either side of her. Even with Gwyn’s hair in her mouth, Nesta couldn’t help but feel glad. The system was broken, and today was only a very small , personal victory, but it was a victory, nonetheless. And it was such a luxury to just allow herself to enjoy the company of her friends.

“Effective immediately,” Nesta finished as soon as her friends were done hugging her.

“He deserves much worse than that,” Emerie said. “But I’m glad something came out of today. How are you feeling, Nes?”

Nesta sighed, and then sat up to begin clearing up the mess caused by their junk food party. 

“Relieved,” she said earnestly. “I mean, the lawyer said we definitely have some options about how we want to move forward with things–and who knows how that will go–but I feel like a big weight has been lifted. I only wish I could have seen the look on his face when he got told the news.”

Gwyn hopped up to help Nesta with collecting some of the chocolate wrappers.

“I hope he cried,” Gwyn said, smiling at the thought.

“Maybe,” Nesta allowed.

Emerie was the last to rise up from their nest of pillows and blankets on the floor, and was just about to say something when they heard someone knocking on their front door from over the sound of the rain.

Nesta frowned, her brows drawing together. She shoved her armful of wrappers and empty ice cream containers into Emerie’s hands. “I’ll get it,” she said.

Striding over to the door, Nesta only allowed herself a brief wipe of her wrist over her mouth to ensure there wasn’t any chocolate stuck to the corners of her lip before swinging the door open.

“Cassian?” Nesta asked, blinking as she realized who it was.

“Nes,” he said, almost sighing as he caught sight of her. His shoulders sagged in relief. “I just got out of the OR. I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” Nesta said. She stepped aside to allow Cassian in. His hair was dripping wet, landing in dark curls right above his shoulders, and his clothes were soaked all the way through. “Did you run here?”

Cassian shook his head. “I drove. But it took me a few minutes of pacing outside your door before I made up my mind to actually knock.”

“To make up your…” Nesta trailed off. “Cassian, why the hell are you here?”

“I came to check on you.” Cassian awkwardly shook out his hair as he glanced sheepishly up at her. A droplet of water landed on her shoulder, and Nesta slapped a hand up against it as if it would stop the feeling of warmth that bloomed within her as the water settled into her skin. “But as soon as I got here, I realized you might not want anyone to check on you. Least of all, me.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Nesta insisted.

“I know,” Cassian said. A crease appeared between his brows as he frowned, and his voice pitched low. “I should have, Nesta. I tried to do what I could, but I know it wasn’t enough, and I’m sorry.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Nesta saw Gwyn and Emerie lingering near the edge of the living room sofa. Sighing, Nesta grabbed Cassian by the wrist and pulled him towards the stairs.

“Let’s talk in my room,” she suggested.

Cassian nodded, though he still looked contrite as he allowed himself to be led up towards her bedroom. Nesta made sure that the door was locked to prevent Gwyn or Emerie from barging in under the guise of offering some sort of treat before she turned to address Cassian again.

“You look really pathetic,” she blurted once she caught sight of him.

Cassian barked out a humorless laugh. “I guess I deserve that.”

“No,” Nesta said. She slapped a hand against her forehead. “I mean you’re shivering. At least grab a blanket, or something.”

When he didn’t move to do so, Nesta rolled her eyes and pitched forward to snatch one off of her bed. She forced it around his shoulders, and then perched herself on the edge of her mattress.

“Explain,” Nesta said.

Cassian released a breath. He still looked like he was freezing, but the blanket seemed to have stopped the shivering, for now.

“I had no idea that Rayer was being so–” Cassian groaned, raking his fingers back through his long hair in frustration. “That he did any of that. But when I came to get you this morning, I realized just how fucking horrible he was, and I wanted to help you in any way I could, but there was that accident.”

Nesta’s lips parted in astonishment. “That’s what you’re sorry for? Not noticing?”

Cassian winced, and avoided meeting her gaze. “Yeah, that. And that I couldn’t help.” He laughed again, and the sound was dark. “Instead of helping you, I assisted the fucking guy in surgery.”

Nesta pulled on Cassian's wrist to force him to sit down on the bed with her. Once he was on eye level, she flicked him in the forehead to get his attention.

“Ouch,” he said.

“So you weren’t mad at me?” Nesta asked. “When you saw us this morning.”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Cassian said as he rubbed at the spot on his forehead. “I’m mad at myself, Nesta. And him, obviously, but you took care of him. Which, by the way, must have taken a lot of–”

Nesta waved him off, lip curling up as she fought at the disgust that rose up through her. “Let’s not talk about him. I had enough of that, today.”

Cassian nodded, eyes going wide. “Okay, yeah. Of course.”

“I want to talk about you,” Nesta said. Images flashed in her mind again. Of Cassian, placing himself between her and Rayer. Attempting to keep Rayer away from her. “Did you offer to do the burr holes so that I wouldn’t have to?”

Cassian watched as she pulled the edges of the blanket tighter around him, and swallowed.

“Yes,” Cassian said. “I didn’t think you’d want to be in the same room as him, let alone standing at the same side of the operating table.”

Nesta hummed, nodding. “Alright. You’re forgiven.”

“Wait,” Cassian said. He shook his head, and more droplets of water landed on Nesta’s collarbone.

“You’re splashing,” she commented.

“Yes, but,” Cassian said, “I really am sorry. I don’t want you to say that just to get rid of me, Nes. And it isn’t why I’m here, not really. I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Cassian,” Nesta said. “Stop tormenting yourself. I’m doing fine.”

Cassian took in a long, measured breath, and then nodded. “Okay. I’m glad to hear it.”

He moved to take off the blanket, but Nesta leaned forward, throwing her arm around his shoulders so he wouldn’t get up.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you either,” Nesta said. “Actually, I’d really like it if you could stay.”

She watched as Cassian’s throat bobbed, and then he nodded. “Sure, I’d like to stay.”

Nesta began to slip the blanket off of his shoulders, and tossed it into a damp pile on the floor. “Do you have work tomorrow?”

He shook his head, and allowed Nesta to pull his soaked shirt off over his head. “No.”

“Me neither,” she said softly. “Take off your pants.”

“Nesta,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a smile. “I don’t know if now is really the time.”

“For what?” Nesta asked innocently, though her eyes lingered in the shapes of his tattoos over his chest. “I want you to stay the night, and if you’re going to sleep in my bed, I’d really prefer it if you didn’t get the sheets soaking wet with your clothes.”

Cassian cursed at himself before shrugging off his pants. “I should have brought an umbrella.”

Nesta slipped beneath her covers, tucking a pillow under her head before she pulled back a corner of the comforter to make room for Cassian.

“Are you getting in?” Nesta asked. She yawned, and then patted the open space beside her. “I’m cold.”

Without another moment of hesitation, Cassian slid easily into the bed, folding her up into his arms and resting his cheek on the top of her head. As soon as Nesta wrapped her legs around his, he hissed.

“Shit, Nes,” Cassian said. “Your toes are freezing.”

“Warm them up, then,” Nesta gritted out, pinching his side.

He chuckled lightly to himself, and the warm, melodic sound faded away to the pelting of the rain against her window. For a while, they stayed swaying in the silence. Nesta counted over one hundred of Cassian’s breaths before she whispered.

“It meant something to me, too.”

He might have kissed the top of her head in response, but by then, Nesta was already asleep.

***

“Cassian,” Nesta hissed. She slapped her hand against his back. “Cass. Get up, I’m starving.”

From above her, Cassian groaned. He pressed his hands against the mattress on either side of her head to lift himself up enough to look at her. At some point during the night, he must have rolled entirely on top of her, because as soon as Nesta woke up, she found herself being squished beneath his entire body weight.

“Morning,” he said, blinking at her. Nesta tried to ignore the way her stomach flipped excitedly  behind her navel at the hoarseness of his voice.

“Get off of me,” Nesta spat. “I need food.”

“Let me get it,” Cassian said. He rolled himself off of her, and then threw his legs over the edge of the bed to get up. A cold draft slipped under the blankets in the brief moment where he threw the blankets off of himself, and Nesta glared up at his back, tugging the blankets up to her neck.

“Bring something sweet,” Nesta whispered after him as he opened the door to her bedroom.

Cassian’s laugh followed him out into the hallway. “Chocolate isn’t breakfast, Nes.”

He was gone for only a few minutes, but Nesta had slipped effortlessly back to sleep by the time he returned–only to be awoken by something small and hard pelting her in the ribs.

“What the fuck, Cassian!” Nesta said. She shot up in bed, and dug around through the blankets to find that projectile he’d launched at her.

Cassian chuckled over by the door, clutching his stomach as he pulled it shut. “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. You said to get you something sweet.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Nesta’s fingers closed around something round. She pulled it up to her face to investigate.

A clementine.

“I meant like waffles, you jerk,” Nesta said, lobbing the offending fruit back at his head. Cassian caught it effortlessly as he flopped back down on the bed beside her with the rest of his hoard--each snack decidedly round and regretfully orange.

“Come on,” he said, tugging at the blankets. “Let me back in. I’m freezing.”

“You’re exiled,” Nesta said.

Cassian sighed, but surprisingly didn’t offer any more argument. Nesta watched suspiciously as he began to peel the clementine. All in one piece, in that infuriating way of his. Tiny droplets of the juice sprayed into the air as he pulled each slice apart.

His lips looked so full as he pushed the fruit into his mouth, and Nesta realized with a jolt that he’d been entirely too aware of the way that she was watching him.

Nesta felt her cheeks heat up, and immediately pulled her face into a glare to hide her embarrassment.

“Want some?” Cassian said, grinning.

“No.”

“Just a bite,” Cassian insisted. He rolled onto his side, throwing one arm over her so that he was hovering above her, and then held a slice of the clementine up between them. “I promise you’ll like the way it tastes.”

Without even being aware of it, Nesta clenched her thighs together. She swallowed.

“I know what a clementine tastes like, idiot,” she said. She turned her head to the side when Cassian tried to press the fruit against her lips, and felt it cold against her cheek.

“And you like it, don’t you?” Cassian said. His voice was still that gravelly, sleepy tone. She had to close her eyes, or else she felt like she might do something stupid, like beg him to kiss her.

“It’s fine,” Nesta said. Cassian had slowly dragged the fruit back to her lips, and he felt him pressing it gently against her mouth.

His head must have drifted closer, because she felt his hair–softly curled from the rain–brush against her cheek. Softly, he said, “Open your mouth, Nes.”

Before she even realized she was doing it, Nesta parted her lips, allowing Cassian to feed her the piece of fruit. And as soon as she felt his fingertip, her eyes fluttered open, and her lips closed around his finger.

Cassian’s gaze was impossibly warm, all of his focus centered directly on her lips as she sucked his finger into her mouth. Her tongue darted out to lick the juice from his finger tip, and then she released it with a pop to chew on the slice of the clementine. Cassian’s eyes were intent upon her the entire time she chewed, heavy and exhilarating, and when she swallowed, his thumb brushed across the side of her neck.

“Nesta,” he whispered.

Nesta bent her legs, propping her heels up on the mattress so that her thighs bracketed Cassian’s hips. Letting go of the blankets in favor of combing her fingers through his hair, Nesta tilted her chin up at him. Citrus coated her tongue.

“Cassian,” she returned. One of her hands traveled down, skimming over the black swirls across his chest, and finally pausing at the front of his pants, where she could feel him hardening. “Is this for me?”

He nodded, his head rolling effortlessly, as if it was more of a reaction than a conscious response. His hips rolled up into her hand, and Nesta slowly wrapped her fingers around him. He took in a shaky breath.

“Nesta,” he said again. “Maybe I should leave, before we get carried away.”

Nesta’s fingers tightened in his hair, and a fleeting bolt of panic rushed through her.

Don’t leave.

“We can stop if you want,” Nesta said almost too softly for even herself to hear. “But I already told you, Cass. I want you to stay with me.”

All of her reasons from before–the excuses about not wanting to be distracted or about wanting to remain focused on her work. They were so inconsequential, somehow. So ridiculous, in the face of the way his gaze could create entire universes right at the center of her chest. She wasn’t fooling anyone, if she kept insisting on pushing him away.

So she only pulled him closer. Released his length in favor of cupping both sides of his face. This time, he was looking right at her, and she felt sure that he could read everything in that glance alone.

“I don’t want to stop,” he let out. “I just want it to–”

“Mean something?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

Nesta pulled him down to kiss her.

Me too.

Cassian’s mouth was still sweet and sugary from the fruit, but his lips met hers with anything but sweetness. They slid against hers hungrily, pushing, until she fell back against the bed and felt her mind turn to peach fuzz from within her skull. She sighed, trying to catch her breath, but he kissed her like he thought it might settle some long unsatisfied part of him, like he’d be able to find a home for that part of him in the corner of her mouth. She wondered if he sensed that in her, too–if the sweetness across her tongue matched his just as completely.

Nesta’s hands were insatiable. They roamed across the broad expanse of his chest, her palms smoothing over every ridge of his ribs and her fingertips grazing over the muscles of his back. She canted her hips upward, attempted to catch his in every movement, but Cassian kept himself maddeningly away.

“Cassian,” she whined. “I need more.”

His palms were over her breasts in an instant. A groan rose up from his throat and shook against her lips as his hands squeezed her from over her shirt. She huffed up into his kiss, her teeth glancing the edge of his tongue as she reached down to her shirt with trembling hands. She wanted to pull it off.

“Wait,” he said into their kiss. “Just a… minute.”

Much like his mouth, his fingers moved with such a reverence that Nesta wondered if his very touch was turning her into melted, pouring silver. If each caress might be molding her into something new that fit just perfectly into his hold. One hand fisted in the fabric of her shirt as the other slipped beneath it, and then she felt his hand warm and bare on her breast. His fingers pinched and rolled her nipple, and her teeth buried into his lip.

He might have been moaning in pain–Nesta immediately released his lip, just in case–but then his hips fell down onto hers, pinning her to the bed as he ground into her.

“I fucking…” he said, panting. “Oh my fucking god, Nes.”

Finding Cassian sufficiently distracted, Nesta tore her shirt out of his grip and pulled it off over her head. Pieces of her hair fell from their braid and landed across her face, over her eyes, but Cassian brushed them aside before she could. He didn’t seem to mind that she was trying to remove her own clothes, now, and absently Nesta smiled at the thought that 'wait'  might not seem so important to him, now.

Cassian slipped a hand beneath Nesta’s back, curving her up into him as he finally pulled himself away from her lips with a gasping breath. Until he pressed his mouth back down upon her again, this time over her breast.

Nesta moaned, white hot sparks bursting behind her eyelids, and fisted both hands in Cassian’s hair. He sucked at a spot just next to her nipple, his tongue sweeping out to smooth the sting as his thumb flicked across her nipple.

“You’re so fucking,” he said. “I’m so…”

He finished neither sentence, pressing his face into her chest as he shook his head in something that seemed like disbelief. Both of his hands continued brushing up and down her sides, clutching at her breasts or pulling her closer, and when it seemed like he might be content to do just that forever, he tugged at her wrist to remove her hand from his hair, and then entwined her fingers in his.

He pressed both their hands down against the mattress, and then propped himself up.

“Turn around,” he said.

“Take off your pants,” Nesta countered.

Cassian held her stare, a challenge in the tilt of his eyebrow, and let go of her hand to tug down his boxers in one, swift movement. She had only one, fleeting second to appreciate the sight of him before his hand was back on hers, pulling her up towards him and into his lap.

“Turn around,” he repeated, this time far rougher.

Nesta sighed as he pushed her back down into the mattress, this time with her cheek pressed up against the pillow and her stomach flat against a crease in the blankets. She felt his fingers hook in the waistband of her pants, and tried to help him take them off, but evidently he needed no help, because while she was still kicking them off of her ankles, Cassian was tucking a pillow beneath her hips and angling her ass up towards him.

Cassian fell, his chest pressing deliciously up against her shoulders, and raked all of her hair over to one side so he could press his lips against the corner of her jaw, his tongue flat against the pulse of her neck.

His cock pressed against her ass, and Nesta arched back against it, whining when he tilted his hips away each time she tried to coax him into mind-numbing friction. 

His hand squeezed roughly against her ass, and Nesta could have sworn her eyes rolled back in her head.

“I want you, Nes,” Cassian said. And the way he spoke, the words tripping so effortlessly over the tip of his tongue–Nesta believed that these were words he’d been wanting to say for a while. And words he desperately needed the answer for. “Do you want me?”

His palm curved around her ass, and his fingers found her clit, already feeling tight and swollen. She could feel that the inside of her thighs were already wet with her arousal, but could someone no shame at the thought of Cassian discovering just how ready for him she was.

“Yes, Cassian,” she said. She leaned her head back to allow him to suck at her throat. “I want you.”

He sighed into her ear, his fingers dipping into her center, stroking another moan out of her.

“You’re so fucking good, Nes,” he said, voice still taking on that unbidden, dazed sort of tone. “I want to make you come. Over and over and over–”

His hips rolled, his cock grinding against her ass again, and Nesta gasped as this movement was accompanied by the curl of his fingers. He repeated the movement– again and again and again–and she gripped the edges of the mattress above her head so tightly that her fingers felt numb.

“Oh my god,” she rushed out. “Please fuck me. Cass, please fuck–”

Another finger slipped inside of her, and Nesta’s voice was choked off as she came, hard and sudden around his fingers. She felt herself clenching around him, might have been embarrassed at just how little it had taken to get her to this point, where she was pliable and so ravenous beneath him–if not for the fact that his hand was gripping her ass again. And before she had even fully recovered from her orgasm, he pressed his cock into her while her core was still fluttering.

Nesta felt herself stretched around him, and had to give up her hold of the mattress in favor of biting down on the knuckles of her fist to prevent herself from screaming out in pleasure. Cassian’s hand was on hers immediately, pulling her hand and pinning it between their bodies against her back. Then he wrapped his fingers around the front of her neck, turning her face to the side so he could lean over and swallow each of her moans into his mouth as he thrusted into her.

Beneath them, the bed rocked up against the wall, and Nesta thought it might have been the entire earth swaying beneath them.

Fuck, she mouthed against each of his kisses.

Another orgasm crested within her as Cassian continued to rock his hips into her, the waves of it crashing down around her with such overwhelming pressure that it was all she could do to just repeat his name, to tilt her hips up each time he rolled forward, and melt when he pressed his cheek against hers. In front of their faces, their breaths collided into a heady, silvery mist, and then Cassian’s hips stuttered once.

Another time.

He came with his arms wrapped around her, and his face buried in the crook of her neck.

“–so fucking much.”

Her chest heaved as she attempted to catch her breath, perfectly in time with his, and Cassian fell back against the bed, pulling her up over him so that they could lay pressed against each other a moment longer.

There were few things as exhilarating in life as surgery. But with all ten of her fingers pressed against Cassian’s chest and his heartbeat thudding into her cheek, Nesta knew that there was only one thing that made her feel this whole.

[deepspacedukat]

Recenter

I was in a very introspective mood, and while I was asking myself some very important questions, I felt an intense desire to untangle some thoughts via a character. Obviously this doesn’t reflect my situation, but this is how I felt S’Talon might handle similar questions. I didn’t even intend to write anything cohesive or post-worthy, but I didn’t want to just delete this. May as well toss it into the void that is tumblr dot com. In my mind, this is pre-Raptor’s Descent Enjoy!

S’Talon belongs to @bigblissandlove1 - thank you so much, friend, for allowing me to use your pretty Romulan Captain Mans to ramble like this! 💖

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

S’Talon (OC)

[A/N: I was in a mood. S’Talon decided to pop in and exist in my brain for a while.]

Warnings: None, unless introspection and discussions of artistic processes bothers you.

~*~

As S’Talon stared at the blank canvas before him, he almost felt as though it was staring back at him. The last mission he’d returned from had been difficult, and it left him feeling exponentially more introspective and reserved than he normally did. Everything felt just a little bit more up in the air...less tethered than it had before, and he found himself wondering why.

He hadn’t felt this unsettled in decades. His first mission with the Tal Shiar had been so filled with excitement and action that when it ended, he was left with a detached, floating sort of feeling. It was as if the adrenaline pumped its way through his system, leaving behind a gaping void where his sense of direction and purpose had once been.

He’d taken several weeks after that first mission to recompose himself - to ask some difficult questions and face the honest answers to those questions head on. Where did he want his life to take him? What sort of a person did he see himself becoming? How much should he allow his position in the Tal to change him? He hadn’t wanted to lose who he was...to give up his art entirely in favor of espionage.

But art had no place in his future, at least not officially. He had a family name to live up to. He had a reputation to uphold, duties to perform, and expectations to fulfill. As much as he felt as though the Elements guided his hands when he was creating, he knew that he had to do something meaningful for Romulan society. The Tal Shiar’s work was dangerous, but entirely vital.

So...why did he feel like this? Why did he feel so empty after decades of exemplary service? Why was there a hollow in the pit of his stomach after so many successful missions? Why this mission in particular?

And why was the vibrancy of his paints suddenly so offensive to him?

Oh, the paints themselves hadn’t changed, but with the gray mood he was in, the reds and yellows and greens all seemed so...garish. He thought that painting something warm and light might lift his mood, but all the colors had done for him as he’d pulled out the tubes was make him irritable.

Downing a glass of kali-fal, the Riov swept the tubes of paint back into the box he stored them in and switched tactics altogether.

What material brought him the most comfort? What felt like a natural extension of his being?

Charcoal. The expressive lines and smudges were as seductive to him now as they had been when he first smeared it across a page. Paradoxically, the lightness of the stick in his hand grounded him better than anything else in the universe. Whenever he was stuck on a particular question, charcoal held an answer.

Securing his largest pad of paper to his easel in place of the canvas, S’Talon allowed himself to work in large strokes, swiping vine charcoal over the paper in slow, delicate movements to create blobs of gray. Taking a deep breath as he began to smooth out the edges, he began to feel the tension bleed out of him.

This he understood. There was no question of why he loved charcoal. He had no need to ask himself how to create a particular effect with this medium, because he’d used it so much that it was second-nature. He’d filled dozens of sketchbooks with nothing but pencil and charcoal. He’d stained many white garments and linens with the residue left on his fingers after losing himself within his sketches. Hell, he’d even walked into a meeting with Koval unaware that there was a smudge of the stuff across his cheek. 

Glancing out the window at the rain pattering gently down across the horizon, S’Talon breathed deeply, forcing his mind to turn itself off to everything else but the paper in front of him. He would allow his subconscious to stew over his questions and problems while he created some sort of organized chaos with his charcoal. He’d need a clean shirt after this session. He always did when he was in one of these heavy moods, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was letting his materials take him away from himself for a little while.

Pouring himself a second glass of kali-fal, S’Talon shifted on his stool as he evaluated his progress, not even noticing the dark gray smudges left on his glass.

~*~*~

Taglist:

@bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes @emilie786 @horta-in-charge @toebeans-mcgee

[skyedom]

I hate it here now Tumblr isn’t fun anymore.

I came here to express my art and creativity while also maybe gaining a bigger following but I’m not so sure anymore.

For one I haven’t gotten anywhere during the past year. I’ve been posting more OG stuff yet no traction at all.

Tumblr used to be a silly old site where I could not only scream into the void but also allowing anything of niche interest. But now it’s just a sad, empty place…dead even.

I had my very first blog during 2019 in which doesn’t exist anymore and I can say for sure that it has not been the same since the period of 2019-2021. I really miss that era when it was actually fun and experimental.

[lostalienchild]

Barbara X Rosaria: Corruption

I promised a fanfiction and here it is. It's pretty bad. Oh well. Not proof read❗TW: nsft, manipulation

HC link

It was normal for Barbara to spend long nights at the cathedral. Planning events, practicing her chorals, even cleaning up here and there required detailed work from the deaconess. Nights were calming without the bustle of the city folk, so although she was not a night owl, she often would look forward to late nights at the cathedral. Barbara often assured a tentative Jilliana that she would be fine by herself. "I'll be sure to close everything up for the night. I'll be fine, I promise," Barbara would say with a hand over her heart.

As a courtesy, tissues were left and placed in the confessional. It was 8pm and Barbara's eyes were watering from all the yawning she was doing. Remembering the courtesy in the confessional, she walked over towards it and sat inside. Once inside she grabbed one and dabbed at her eyes before sighing. It was later than she expected it to be. The time had flown by her and she was already anticipating the grogginess of tommorow morning. At times like this Barbara was honest with herself even though the other side of the confessional was empty. She would imagine Barbados listening in her minds eye as she lamented her troubles. Words of mental anguish would spill out, about the cathedral, the other nuns, her ability as a deaconess, her sister, and her sweet parents. Was she failing? Did she make the wrong decision? Was she holding herself back? And with no role model or blueprint to compare, she was truly left alone to nurse her own wounds.

Her heavy body slumped against the wall of the confessional. Just resting her eyes for 5 minutes couldn't hurt anything right? She closed her eyes and rested her head back against the cool wood. Time didn't register itself in her mind and her awareness dipped only to stir when she heard a faint click. Had julliana come back to check on her? She fully expected to see her worried expression stapled with anxious brown eyes with a hand over her heart as always. But instead she saw, red? How? Who?

The figure stared down at her until it clicked into Barbara's brain. Julliana didn't have red eyes nor hair. It was Rosaria. She stood at the entrance of the confessional, holding the door open with one hand with the other at her side. Rosaria's expression was the same no matter the circumstances or occasion. The lack of expression is what was the most unnerving. The emptiness had the potential to be filled with anything; rage, sadness, maybe even indifference, but you wouldn't ever know. And most importantly, was the emptiness towards you, or was it just empty? But Barbara had always figured that no human was truly void of emotion, which is why she always tried to get just the tiniest bit closer to Rosaria.

Poor Rose. For Rosaria to not let her guard down ever, she must be hurt and lonely. It was another wound for Barbra to heal. But Barbra didn't understand. Didn't Rosaria want to feel better? Of all people she wanted to be the person Rosaria trusted the most; to heal her heart. So it was rather a pleasure to see Rosaria standing in front of her, especially with her attitude towards the church. Although Barbra did get quite the shock.

"Ah! Oh, Rose! Barbados you scared me!" Her hands reached for her racing heart as if to grab it before it jumped out. "Wha-what are you doing here? And when it's so late?"

"I was gonna ask you the same thing." Her raspy voice was so distinct. "I noticed a few lights still on outside. Ugh, don't tell me you practically live here?" She scoffed and crossed her arms.

"No, no it's just that sometimes there's more work to be done." Now Barbara was embarrassed. It really did look like she spent all of her time at the cathedral now. She began to fidget and a blush crossed her cheeks.

"You the only one here?" A nod from Barbara prompted a scoff from the nun. "That's dangerous you know. There's a lot of monsters out at this time, even inside the city."

The tonation of Rosaria's pronunciation of city had an underlying warning to it. It caught the blondes attention and she looked up at the towering figure. Rosaria placed both her hands on either side of the door Jam and stepped inside. "Rosaria?" A sound of confusion left Barbara's mouth followed by a yelp. In the confined space of the confessional, Rosaria had plopped herself right onto the blonde's lap and trapped her head between her hands that she had placed against the wall. The thud of the closing door filling the silence. Barbara stared up, wide eyed. This change in behavior was what was the most terrifying. The unpredictablility was suffocating. Barbara shivered. She was cold. Her head was cold. Rosaria had placed her hands on either side of her head and held her cheeks.

"Now why on Teyvat would a little thing like you be alone? You think you should lower your guard just because you're in a cathedral." She leaned in. "Evil doesn't care about the place you're in, so as long as it's in shadow." Barbara was stunned. She sputtered, babbled, and mumbled her way into several unfinished sentences, trying to find any coherent thought she could hold onto, but they fell away. All the while she searched for reason in the nun's eyes to no avail. The action of her chin being grasped and pulled forward till she was centimeters away from Rosaria's lips silenced her.

"Rosa." Tears pricked at the corner of Barbara's eyes. She was overwhelmed and so cold. She wanted to ask so many questions but ultimately settled on one.

"Did you come looking for me," she slurred through her clenched cheeks.

"Mhm."

"Oh, oh I'm so happy! You really came just for me?" Barbara's sparkly expression illuminated Rosaria's blank expression. Rosaria wrapped her arms around Barbara's head, in which Barbara happily returned the hug, despite being smothered into her bossom. Barbara was in heaven. She knew Rosaria was a caring person under neath her cold demeanor. She shivered as she embraced the cryo user. Suddenly her thighs were cold. Her dress, why  was it being pulled? Suddenly she was clad in just her under garments as her dress was yanked up over her head from behind. "Huh?" Barbara leaned back and stare up in confusion. The thud of heavy fabric smacking wood filled the silence as her dress fell.

"Do you like me," asked the nun. Barbara nodded. "Take this off," Rose's cold finger tapped Barbara's bra. "Be a Good little slut." Barbara gasped. "Rose! You can't say that in here! That's disrespectful to our Archon!" Rosaria scoffed. "You're one to talk, you're half naked in a confessional." The blonde just about jumped out of her skin. Rose was right! This was debaucherous! She was wearing little to no clothes here of all places. And she let it happen. How could she possibly face the other sisters if they found out?

A rough kiss brought her back to her senses. Rose was kissing her. It was nice, but she was so conflicted. Before she could make up her mind the kiss was broken. "You wanna know why you're half naked? Cuz you want this. You've always wanted this. Wanted me to take you just like this huh?"

"Rose." Barbara squeaked.

"You let me do it right? You're not complaining."

"Yes! Yes but... " She wanted to get closer to Rosaria more than anything, but Barbara didn't understand why getting closer to Rosaria involved removing her clothes.

"Then do It." There was irritation in her voice. "Take the rest of your clothes off."

"O-okay, like this?"

Rosaria's icy gaze pierced into Barbra's skin as she maneuvered herself under the nun in the small space, removing her bra, leggings, underwear, and shoes. She tried to cover herself but rosaria immediately reprimanded her. "Don't cover yourself. I didn't say to do that."

"Rosa...." Barbara squealed when the cryo user's cold finger tips pinched her nipples. "Sit on the floor." Barbara slid off the ledged of the bench onto the floor and looked up. "Perfect."

Rosaria placed a leg onto the bench behind the blonde and hovered over Barbara's face before pulling the crotch of her body suit to the side, exposing her core. "Come on sinner. You can confess your sins here."

[citiofmyheart]

purpose

this blog will be to express the parts of me that I cannot express irl because I'll be called delusional.

so queer stuff, alterhumanity (except I'm 100% nonhuman), spiritual/religious stuff, my other quirky beliefs, and I also love complaining so I'll probably do some of that. maybe fandom stuff too, who knows?

my tags so I can remember, bc I suck at organizing silly Tumblr tags (and everything else)

#spiritual gen - what it sounds like. will probably be mostly pagan-ish and animistic since that's what I'm interested in learning about rn. idk what I believe yet so don't ask

#yap txt - just me talking to the void, talking, complaining, ranting, normal txt posts, etc.

I might shove all otherkin type stuff in #alterhuman so I have just one general tag idk yet tbd

I'm sure I'll need tags for dysphoria posting eventually

#void - stuff that resonates with my feeling of disconnection from a vessel, emptiness, dislike of being perceived (not just for the meme it really bugs me), nonhumanity, dysphoria, alienation, kenopsia, flesh ew, eerie aesthetics, idk just Void. voidpunk ish posts sometimes mayhaps?

#vent obvious

#happymaxxing - posts to make me feel better because I'm Unstable

I'll update as I need to.