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butmakeitgayblog · 2 years ago

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Medusa and the Blind Woman

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Come to me, my love

Across fields full of lilies at night

The stars shining overhead

Are witnesses to our love

As bright as the sky.

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(Coming sorta soon to an AO3 tab near you)

She crashes in on an easterly wave.

One that threatens the bare spindles of a long dead port. The wind bites at stilts gnarled by sea salt and the negligence of time, threads of frayed twine whipping in retaliating lashes against the onslaught versus sturdy grecian wood.

Lexa watches from on high, eyes on mastheads and white sails in the distance when she takes a moment to admire her only non-hissing companion, the sea. She stands an eagle in her nest of serpentine thorns, as the speck of a sailor draws near from the horizon, boat marching on the back of winds that carry it onward. The ocean howls of intruders long before they arrive, the swishing churn of embattled rip tides announcing the threat among rustled gusts and spits of algae foam.

It's all become so painfully predictable.

Lexa sighs at the sight of them marching on toward her fortress.

A sinking weight floods her stomach, weary resignation presses heavy against her throat.

The grip of her spade tightens as she reminds herself they mean nothing to her morning, to her schedule, that must be kept. What with the chill slipping through the cracks of a waning afternoon sun setting quick on the intruder's horizon.

She doesn't bother to watch their approach further, instead keeping her thoughts to steady hands that churn earth and crumble stone, driving her blade against charcoal and turning it to soot. She checks her moorings to the west and fells a few fresh saplings for kindling. Nuisances in that particular corner of her nest of thorns, ones she's been waging a losing battle with for ages.

Her thoughts scatter like the seed and silt that pour through the calloused cracks of her fingers, wondering—

A sharp whine fills the air below, followed by a screech and crash of splintering wood. A thunderous boom echoes along the rockside loud enough to shake the very gravel under her feet followed by a full chested bellow.

"Gods damn it all!"

Lexa straightens from her work at the cry of anger, loud enough to have her dropping her tools where she stands. Loud enough to send a shiver across her scalp that hisses and spits its welcome in return.

She slips past brambles and thickets of overgrowth. Moves between boulders and shrugging aside the hang of vine, winding her way to the edge of her oasis. The sweet scent of honeysuckle mixes with sea water as she moves close to the rocky ledge of the cliff shore.

Careful to stay hidden, tucked neatly in the shadows, she lifts a few leaves on the tips of her finger to see her would be… captors…

Or. Captor.

The waters are littered with floating bits of dock and warped wood, now useless and broken into a thousand tiny shards that bob their way back out into the wild.

In its place is a boat.

A rather meager boat, Lexa notes to herself at the feel of a nose nudging her cheek. A vessel of one lonely single seat, barely a rod for a mast, with two matching oars on each side.

The very sight of its paltry build makes her frown. Her lips drop open shock as she looks past the debris of the wreckage to the fleeing white sails receding into the burgeoning twilight distance.

Another screeched caw from a circling bird above makes Lexa jump, ignoring the snap and hiss in her ear at the same time the air fills with a strained, "Oh shut up!"

Well.

This is certainly not what she had expected.

Because…

She's blonde.

Her apparent assassin is… blonde.

And decidedly less muscular than she'd become accustomed to. Not the type bearing rippling muscles, or the thuggish brawn born of beating one's own chest.

This assassin is downright… dainty.

Dressed in a simple white shift in place of the bronze and pounded silver chest plate that Lexa is used to, stands a woman with sun laden ribbons of spun gold hair, bare of the usual swords and shield expected of such a journey and instead grasping a rather pathetic looking stick. Her face is cloaked in a curtain of wispy strands of gold, darkened by sea spray and the looming cliffs above as she fiddles with a satchel tied to her hip. She tussles with the strings, fingers awkward as she struggles to keep hold of the long spindle stick while fighting a losing battle with a knot that ignores her angered muttering.

Lexa watches from the safety of the shadow's edge as the intruder goes about her various tasks. She watches her reach out and smack the end of the stick in her hand along the ground in sweeping thunks. Watches her do a slow sort of pirouette, a kind of turn here and there as she taps each stone and rock around her in a series of dull clicks. Her steps seem timid, calculated in the way they shuffle and pause and then go again, as her head twists slightly at every creak of the trees that bend toward the skyline, every crash of the tide, every chirp of a bird that follows.

She watches the woman zigzag a line away from the wreckage of splintered wood and sails, weaving her way in measured footsteps and the incessant tapping of her stick.

Lexa glances toward the two beady eyes staring at her and gives an equally mystified shrug.

It's only when she comes close, dangerously close to the ridge cut in the cliff face that leads to the well worn path inland that Lexa finally finds her voice.

"Who are you?"

The peculiar tapping stops on the sharp cut of a startled scream. "Hades in hell!"

The hand not brandishing the stick clutches at her chest as she takes a half spin, the stick coming up in a wild arch like a sword apparently ready to slice the air in battle.

Lexa frowns from the safety of her shadowed nook at the ridiculous display below. "If you wish to keep your life, turn back. Now."

The woman makes another half turn in her direction, face lifted and eyes screwed shut. "Where are you? This place is like an amphitheater."

"Your search is in vain! I said—"

"Give me a left or right, lady," she cuts her off impatiently, the stick shaking but still held vaguely menacingly aloft. "Clap or something so I at least know I'm not talking to a tree."

"Leave," Lexa booms with all the might of her weary bones, feeling her words reverberate against the stone embankment and echo into her chest. Power courses through her as she watches her idiotic, would-be killer startle and stumble back… only to right herself and throw her hands up in a huff.

"Fine! I'll just shout at whatever, since apparently that's what you do here!" The stranger slams the stick down on its point, burying it deep into the sand and leans her weight against it, wobbling only slightly with a heaving sigh. "Listen. Just relax a minute and listen to me."

Only the crashing waves and panting drags of her breath echoes in the silence.

"Alright," she says as Lexa seethes and looks on. "My name is Clarke. I'm not… one hundred percent sure where I am, but if I am where I should be, I need you to know that I was sent here by my people, okay? I didn't choose to be here—"

"That does not matter!"

"I know that!" this woman, this Clarke, snaps right back. "I know you're pissed, you've made that abundantly clear, but what I'm saying is, whatever you think I'm here to do, believe me when I say, I am not."

"I think you're here to kill me," Lexa says in all but a growl.

Clarke throws the arm she's not leaning on into the air. "Then it's a wonderful thing we're having this chat, because I'm not."

Lexa's jaw aches with how hard she grits her teeth at the snark soaked rebuttal. "Then what are you here for?"

"I already said I didn't have a choice. I was just shipped off here and told to—." Lexa watches the woman swallow down the rest of her words, blonde hair swaying with the shake of her head. "Look, it doesn't matter what I was told to do. I'm not interested in fighting anyone else's battles right now. All I plan to do is squat here for a few weeks, work on my tan, fix my gods forsaken boat, and get out of your hair… Or uh, not your— The, with the— I'm assuming, if you are— If you're —"

"Why shouldn't I strike you down where you stand?" Lexa calls over the pathetic bumbling of the woman below. "I stay to the shadows for your safety, grace you with an opportunity to flee for your life. Why should I not step forward and let you see the face of your end?"

All Clarke does is snort. "Yeah, good luck with that."

Fingernails digging into the weathered bark of the tree does nothing to soothe the surge of anger that rises in Lexa's chest. She watches as the stranger seems to sigh to herself. The stick gets yanked from where it'd been buried in the sand and shook off.

And then the damn tapping starts again.

"What is that you are doing?" Lexa calls in a huff.

The woman flops a careless hand in her general direction as she calls back, "Playing a real fun game called trying to not break my neck. You can't tell?" and taps the stick against a hip sized boulder along its side and up the top, and then moves on to it's sister to the right in a few series of clicks.

Lexa watches her repeat this process several times over, wandering in short bursts until finding another object of interest before starting the process all over. She watches that face turn up, eyes still shut tight, pausing and leaning and listening to every roll of the waves, every rustle of wind, every minute chirp of birds.

It's only when a head butts her temple and black beady eyes slip closed and stay closed, when the tip of Clarke's stick finds the gnarled roots of an upended tree and the woman chances a feel with her hands along the rough bark that it all finally makes sense.

"You're blind."

She says it more to herself than anyone, long since used to the lack of audience that can talk back, but the astute observation still earns her laugh. One topped with a tired smile from that unseeing face as she eases down onto the overturned tree for a rest.

"Whew. Nothin' gets past you."

#clexaweek23 #clexa #friends or foes #sorry I didn't get it up last night I started feeling awful and gave up #shocking I know

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summertimemusician · 1 year ago

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Linktober (Shadow) 2023

Spirit

Welp turns out my exam season throughly steam rolled through my general Linktober plans, so you get this VERY late thing for now folks who find this, at least until I decide whether to continue this until I finish it even though it's no longer Linktober or if I'll make whatever other stories come later their own thing after exam season is over (mostly because the original for this one is my preferred draft, and that I feel the one for the Link/Dark Link prompt would be kind of wasted if it just sat there collecting dust cause I worked hard on the tension and horror there lord darn it, along with a few others mainly involving Fae Hyrule, Twilight, Time, First, among other Links like Legend, Sky, Warriors, just all of the boys, I wanted to give them all proper spotlight and still want to do that in any way I can). Welp. *Downs coffee like a shot* Also really need to find out how to make a Masterlist on mobile, figure out how AO3 works and answer asks.

Anyway, not really any warnings this time besides Reader Not Being Okay (par the course really) and angst.

As always can be read as either romantic or platonic, Reader is gender neutral on purpose, technically is meant to be read as either Hero's Shade Time x Reader or First x Reader mainly, but you can interpret it as any Link really lol

Good reading!

This corner of Faron Woods was quiet this time of year.

The woods were solemn in this Hyrule, the sliver of moonlight barely enough of a guide through the mist, it was silent but for the soft padding of animals through the underbrush and the howl of a wolf in the distance (not Wolfie's, not musical enough). The stars were your only company as you were separated from the group, the air was cold agaisnt your skin as you attempted to find your way.

Being alone in the forests of Hyrule never spelled anything good for anyone, but as you felt the brush of a hand tenderly twined in yours, the ghost of leather and the faint clinking of steel, and a faint glow of pale gold and ivory cutting through the veil of the night, mindful of roots you may trip onto and never flickering too far out of sight you couldn't feel safer, even if instead something like melancholy threatened to lock your throat with the chains of silence, you felt as warm as the soft twilight glow and as frigid as ice, frostburned with the bitter cold of your own warring emotions.

You can't help but chuckle a bit whille holding a old scabbard close to your heart, it's a wry sound, "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

There is no answer, of course there isn't, but you don't mind, you know he'll listen, thorns wrap around your heart and crawl up your throat, the smell of lilies and steel coats and sticks in your throat like honey, or maybe blood, "... I didn't think you'd show up, you know? I always considered the possibility but..." You trail off, you feel something brush your side, you can only see him in the corner of your eyes or with a passing glance, there but not, existing but gone, so you keep your eyes on the road and in the flicker of light, so you carefully don't look to your side, you don't think you could contain the shaking in your heart otherwise, to stare at inevitability and prophecy, "... I know, I know you're fine. At least for now, I apologize for all the trouble I gave you."

'It's alright. It could never be a hardship aiding you.', the voice echoes in your ears, and you swallow thickly, breath hitching, the warmth of the sun in the fields of Hyrule, the wind caressing your hair, the song of the animals in Faron Woods, someone holding you carefully, fondly. The warmth of your hand in his. Not really here, but not gone either, more feeling than true echo.

You chuckle, and try to pretend it's not a bit breathless, something like a wounded keen, "... You're too kind. Too, too kind, thank you."

Spirits in Hyrule never spell anything good, in this wild land of light and shadow in a gestalt of divinity. There are some exceptions though, even if it hurts to witness then. So you follow him through the dark, certain that as you've guided his way once, he'll lead you now to where you need to go.

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... The clearing he leads you to is open, but by no means truly quiet among the trees, there is no peace to be found for the armored skeleton here. You choke on sorrow, on unfinished business, on the cruelty of being brought to ruin and being denied peace, and you stumble towards the familiar figure, almost in a trance as your vision blurs, roots and thorny vines wrap over rusted armor and a thorn cape, the skeleton's void sockets piercing through your soul, illuminated by the solemn gaze of the wretched moon and it's uncaring maids of honor in the stars.

You fall to your knees near the decaying skeleton, biting back against the wounded sound that attempts to leave your throat with enough strenght to bleed, you lay the scabbard by his side with a bouquet of lilies and shiver at the gentle, phantom touch, so soft, so loving it almost leads you to ruin all over again.

'... It's foolish to grieve for someone who isn't gone yet.' the thought comes to you, yet you can't help it. You still hurt for him, you still hold onto the fury at the heavens themselves for denying them quietus. For denying them rest over and over and over again. To watch this cycle and be helpless to stop it all due to the will of uncaring gods.

Alive. Dead. Alive. Dead. Denied full rest over and over again, to watch the chance at rest to the kindest of souls found in this world you found yourself in.

You barely register the touch to your cheek, ephemeral as it is, as you can't help but shed tears, can't help but grieve. Because if you don't, who will?

You know by now that some wounds can never heal, some rifts can never be mended. Even with the guarantee of cyclic, eternal rebirth, some things never return to how they were. And reminding yourself of this inevitability to them will never not hurt, even if you know it's futile to blame anyone but the one god who started this, and maybe the goddess who stood complacent to it. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth that it'll one day come to this, that the frost of death and the sharpness of pain will leave a mark the sands of time can't scar over.

You reach a trembling hand towards the one in your cheek, try to find catharsis in the remains of decayed, dead yet ever eternal, ever growing love. And you breathe.

'We'll meet again. So do not mourn for me, please.'

You don't think you could deny him if you tried. Not when you know he's trying to soothe you, to thaw your sorrow. To allow your heart's healing to fallow.

"We will, I know. I'm sorry for making you worry." You chuckle, leaning into the cold, trying to brand the memory of the shadowed, but not gone love given to you so you can return it in kind. Just until you meet again, just until you can give all you can to his not yet decomposing self, grasping onto what remains of him, "I love you."

'I love you too. Until we meet again.'

The cold is gone, the echo of love leaves. And you breathe, and pretend you don't feel empty.

(When you see Link again, reuniting with the Chain on the next day's twilight. You hug him as tight as you can, and hope you he doesn't notice the tears in your eyes. And that you don't feel the lingering traces of a frigid embrace.

When no one is looking, you wave goodbye to the shade. And pray he dreams of warmer days until he finds quietus.)

#linked universe x reader #hero's shade x reader #linked universe time x reader #first x reader #hylia's chosen hero x reader #first link x reader #also know as What Happens When Summer Watches Corpse Bride after Playing MJM #I'll never not be emotional about the Hero's Shade and how it's an inevitability that Time will always die relatively young #how First died alone in the surface and likely never got a proper burial #And the fact we never learn what happens to the heroes after the task is done and THE ONE INSTANCE #we do is to learn they died young in some manner (ex Time. The Link before Hyrule. First.#Probably Twilight if we go by the theory Wolfie in BOTW is a spirit sent to help Wild #Technically pre calamity Wild because losing your memories is technically death of identity although that's for another story #and related to Lost #Most of the more effective LoZ games present themselves as either dark fairy tales and I'm running with that concept #Plus it's literally LEGEND of Zelda. Hardly do things end well for protagonists in actual legends and mythology involving gods #I think I have a right to worry #Anyway I'll probably elaborate more later because I'm tired lol #gotta perish to tackle studying and THEN be free to start on the pages long LU/LoZ essays /jk #unless?#we'll see #summer writes linktober 2023 #summer writes linktober shadow 2023 #summer writes #this short fic was also brought to you by the death holiday we have here in my country because it always makes me sad #and thinking of the Hero's Shade and what happens to First basically made it Depression times 100 lol

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dailycharacteroption · 6 months ago

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Leafshifter (Shifter Archetype)

(art by BangBooDoragon on DeviantArt)

Mimicry is a common adaptation among life across the planet. If you’re soft and vulnerable, mimic something that your predators fear. If you’re fearsome and scary, mimic something harmless to draw other creatures in, and so on.

This extends even to plant life, with many plants finding way to mimic animals or other plant species. Many flowers have parts that mimic pollinating insects to draw the real deal in, or mimicking other plants to avoid being eaten by those that fear the toxins of others, and so on.

With that in mind, the ghorans, a plant species that hyper-evolved a humanoid form and behaviors to convince humans to stop exploiting them as a food source, have a conceptual link to not just this concept, but the shifter class as well.

Today’s subject, the leafshifter, is one of two archetypes that cause the shifter to take on plant forms instead of animals. The other, the verdant shifter, we have already covered, but while the verdant shifter specializes in actually shapeshifting into plant monsters, the leafshifter instead shapeshifters into forms that blur the lines between animal and plant. Like living topiaries, their animal forms are composed of plant matter, gaining the benefits of the form on a macro scale, and the benefits of plant physiology on the micro scale.

Now, this archetype naturally meant for ghorans first, but as always, I’m of the opinion that unless a so-called “racial archetype” (or perhaps ancestral archetype is more appropriate now) specifically requires a certain trait to function, there isn’t any reason why other ancestries can’t take part too.

Regardless of how you handle it, however, these shifters present an interesting way to blend mimicry with the true nature of the plant beneath for surprising customizability.

Rather than grow claws, the basic weapon morph of these shapeshifting warriors is to harden their limbs like bramble-covered tree branches.

While they gain aspects like any shifter, they do not gain the normal minor form associated with that aspect. Instead, they gain a planty aspect of their choice, representing the base plant species that they take on the form of, which is later reshaped into an animal-like form when they invoke the major form. These minor forms can include an assassin vine’s grappling, the punishing thorns of brambles, the climbing skill of a creeper vine, the camouflage of a giant flytrap, the toxin resilience of a mushroom, the immovability of the oak, the senses of the giant shrieker mushroom, the lightweight airy nature of the spore, and even the buoyant aquatic mobility of the water lily.

Essentially, as these shifters grow in power, they get to pick and choose their minor aspects to go with their more familiar animal forms. You might recognize the names of those minor aspects as being the same as the plant focus abilities of the plant master archetype for hunters, which makes sense with how the core shifter aspects of the base shifter work. Regardless, these aspects provide lots of mobility options as well as close combat options, so this archetype might be useful indeed for the shifter as a whole. Beyond that, you can pretty much build them however you like.

Even though they don’t necessarily HAVE to be ghorans, the angle of mimicry is a very strong tie for that people, especially since in the Lost Omens setting, they hail from a land where their species was once engineered as a food source, and those of the mystic arts already hold so much political and social power over those that do not. If you can’t beat them directly, fool them. Of course, not every mage requires such deception, and not every ghoran lives in such a situation, but the concept is there, especially since ghorans live with the constant shadow of knowing that some may view them as nothing but chattel.

The iron mining and smelting town of Jusso has had it’s fair share of troubles with the local ghoran population, who take offense at the pollution wrought by their industry. However, when a scanderig wanders out of a pocket of elemental earth deep in the mine, the two forces must set aside their differences to bring down this forgefiend, with combined might of steel and bestial plantlike forms.

It is impossible to say for certain, but some have speculated that the leafshifter technique has a connection with the curious plant monsters known as living topiaries. The ghoran inventors of the technique are quick to dismiss such suggestions, though some would say they are hiding something.

The Jinoge clan of adaro have developed a fascination for the kelp forests surrounding their territory. Such places are prefect for setting up ambushes, especially during their sacred thunderstorm hunts. Some have even learned to tap into the sargassum and take on predatory aquatic shapes composed of kelp and sea grasses.

#pathfinder #archetype #shifter #leafshifter #ghoran #scanderig #forgefiend #living topiary #adaro #ultimate wilderness

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alectoperdita · 1 year ago

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What if for the prompt kaijou with 45 or 40? Dealers choice. Maybe for 40 kaiba dresses up as kaibaman for mokuba or xyz reason & he’s really nice to jou through the anonymity of his costume? 🤔

From Put That Guy in a Situation(TM) Ask Game

Read the previous prompt fill for 45 here

40. Identity reveal/major secret revealed

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One day, Seto would wring Pegasus's lily white neck. Not today, but someday. And soon.

Tribute, his ass. There was no reason for Pegasus to make such a card other than to make him a laughingstock. He even named it after Kaiba.

Kaibaman.

What a ridiculous "monster" design. From the helmet to the flowing brown locks to the mockery of his trademark coat. Kaiba didn't even wear that coat anymore. He constantly reinvented his look to keep his image from going stale. Yet that was still the one most people remembered and would remember, thanks to Pegasus memorializing it in card form.

Mokuba loved it, though. And as much as Kaiba loved his little brother, he sometimes despaired over his lack of taste. Being fourteen only excused him up to a certain point.

It was also because of his love for his brother that he suffered his current indignity—traipsing around his amusement park dressed as one of his least favorite monsters, Kuriboh included.

For KaibaLand's third anniversary, the company had organized a slew of events in the week leading up to the event, including special shows, limited edition merchandise sold only on park grounds, and a mini tournament. All in the name of drumming up attendance. And it worked like a charm.

Tickets sold out weeks in advance. Day after day, they hit the attendance limit. Security caught their fair share of stragglers trying to sneak in through the side entrances. Products flew off the gift store shelves. They could barely keep them stocked day-to-day.

But it was difficult to bask in the resounding success in his current state. Between the helmet and the meter-long wig, Kaiba perspired as he'd never before in his life. The costume's state-of-the-art fabric could only wick so much sweat. In addition to impeding his peripheral vision, the helmet roasted him. But if he removed it for even a nanosecond, he'd be besieged.

That was because of another of Mokuba's bright ideas—a scavenger hunt. He insisted that guests who weren't Duelists (and Kaiba scarcely believed such people could exist) should have a chance to win prizes, too. Thus, the boy had put together an elaborate list of two hundred items, each worth various amounts of points. At the top, with the possibility of netting the player with almost fifty points, was a photo with Kaiba taken on the day of the anniversary.

But Mokuba was as devious as he was clever. Simply because Kaiba had to be out and about for the game to be fair, it didn't mean Mokuba had to make it easy for them.

Hence, the costume. Literally having him hide in plain sight.

Countless guests had approached him for pictures thus far, but he doubted a single one of them would submit it as part of the scavenger hunt. To them, he was one of the park's many character actors.

It was the perfect disguise for surveying the park in relative peace. Kaibaman the Duel Monsters drew less attention from the crowds than Kaiba Seto. So he could go wherever he pleased without being mobbed.

But he was reaching his limit. He needed to find somewhere secluded and shaded to cool off before heat exhaustion claimed him. That wouldn't be easy, given how crowded it was.

He found one eventually. An oasis of calm among the hustle and bustle. Or it could've been if there weren't already people there—a couple plainly in the middle of a quarrel. That alone should've sent Kaiba speedwalking in the opposite direction.

Except he knew the couple.

Well, he knew one of them. Jounouchi Katsuya remained a bit of a thorn in his side to this day. The boyfriend, though? Kaiba wouldn't have known if he wasn't dating Jounouchi. At least Jounouchi regularly made it to the podium in Duel Monsters tournaments. What's-his-name barely broke the top ten in rankings.

Kaiba hated to say it, but Jounouchi could do better than that loser.

"C'mon, babe, you're blowing this out of proportion," What's-His-Name wheedled as he clung to Jounouchi's elbow.

"Leggo. Don't you 'babe' me. I know what I saw," snarled Jounouchi with clenched fists.

Kaiba wondered if Jounouchi might hit the other man.

What's-His-Name didn't know when to cut his losses, though. "She was hitting on me! I swear!"

"You had your hand in her back pocket."

The loser broke into a cold sweat. Perhaps he didn't expect Jounouchi to be so blunt about the matter, especially in public. Just goes to show how little he understood Jounouchi, then. He switched tactics, instead. "You can't blame me. I mean, you saw how smoking hot she was. Tell me you wouldn't cop a feel if she offered. You swing both ways too."

Without warning, Jounouchi lurched forward, putting him intimately face-to-face with the man. Their roles reversed in a flash; What's-His-Name tried to jerk back, but Jounouchi had captured his wrists.

Jounouchi's gaze was equally steely as he spoke. "No, because being bi doesn't mean being a lying cheat. That's all on you."

To say What's-His-Name was shaken was an understatement. He looked ready to shit himself.

"I'm sorry. It'll never happen again. Gimme another chance, Katsuya—"

Something inside Kaiba recoiled upon hearing Jounouchi's given name. Was he that serious with the loser?

Jounouchi dropped his wrists. "No. We're done. Lose my number."

What's-His-Name really had no self-respect. Or brains. He reached for Jounouchi again despite everything about Jounouchi's body language screamed "DO NOT TOUCH." Kaiba could see it already. The inevitable right hook, the blood, and the screeching, then the many headaches that ensued after a public altercation.

He cleared his throat, and the two other men froze. Slowly, their heads turned, and they both gawked at Kaiba. At his costume.

Fighting the embarrassment brewing under his collar, he pitched his voice lower when he said, "That's enough. He's made his position clear."

Suddenly, Kaiba was immensely grateful for his helmet. It would hide a multitude of sins.

What's-His-Name's gaze flitted back and forth between Jounouchi and Kaiba. Perhaps he had been willing to grovel like a worm, just not in the presence of a third party.

"I'll call you later," he muttered before fleeing the scene.

"Don't bother. I'm blocking ya," Jounouchi called after him. Then, straightening to his full height, which was still shorter than Kaiba, he jutted out his chin and said, "Thanks, but I had that handled."

"I know," Kaiba replied. "It wasn't for your sake. I was saving the idiot from the broken nose he was talking himself into."

He hadn't intervened out of the goodness of his heart. No, the only media circus worse than the one where Jounouchi went public dating another man would be a knock-down, drag-out breakup fight of the same relationship on KaibaLand property. That was something Kaiba wanted to avert at all costs.

Jounouchi blinked. Once. Twice. He threw his head back and laughed, wrapping his arms around his waist while his entire body heaved from it. It was Kaiba's turn to stare. Maybe the breakup hit Jounouchi harder than expected. He was laughing like a loon, with tears now streaming down his cheeks.

Should Kaiba say something?

Should he leave him alone?

To his relief, both the laughter and the tears soon subsided. Jounouchi slumped and perched himself on a low garden wall. While wiping the moisture from his eyes, he patted the empty spot next to him. For a long awkward second, Kaiba debated the wisdom of taking such an invitation. In the end, the shade convinced him and he took a seat, back ramrod straight, beside Jounouchi.

Jounouchi kicked his legs forward, scuffing the sole of his sneakers against the concrete. "Betcha wondering why I was with that bozo."

Kaiba nodded before he could stop himself.

"I mean, it wasn't all bad. We had a lotta fun in the beginning. We saw each other almost every day. Went out together all the time."

Kaiba was aware. For weeks without end, new photos of Jounouchi and his beau surfaced daily in the tabloids and gossip sites.

Jounouchi continued, "Sometimes it felt like he was showing me off. Which was probably the first warning sign now that I think about it. We were out in public all the time, but we barely spent any time where it was just the two of us except for— Never mind, you don't need to know that part."

Heat gathered under Kaiba's tall collar. He silently thanked Jounouchi for his rare discretion.

"But at the time? I gotta admit. It was nice. It felt good to be wanted like that."

Jounouchi finally looked his way. The helmet's limited field of vision ensured he couldn't see much of anything other than Jounouchi's resigned expression. Not unless he turned his head away. That seemed rude even to Kaiba's limited social graces.

Kaiba cleared his throat. "It doesn't give him the right to treat you like that, especially after you came out for him."

"What? Nah! Please! That was the press blowing shit out of proportion. I've been telling 'em I ain't straight forever. They just didn't believe me until they saw me with a man with their own damn eyes. Dunno if they thought it was a publicity stunt or something, but it's not like I was hiding it." Jounouchi rolled his eyes, then shook his head. "It's so hard to find guys to date."

Kaiba caught himself before he nodded.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, this sucks. Breaking up sucks. But I ain't heartbroken about it. I just wish it hadn't turned out like this. I know it sounds insane, but shit like this makes me feel like I'll never be good enough." Jounouchi slumped forward to assume a rather defeated posture. His bangs fell over his eyes, obscuring them. He didn't move for several moments, leading Kaiba to wonder if he was crying for real despite his insistence he wasn't heartbroken. A deep sigh heaved out of the man. "Anyway, sorry for dumping all that on you, man—"

Kaiba cut him off. "You'll find someone better."

Jounouchi shot up. He gawked at Kaiba with wide eyes. "Ya think?"

"He was beneath you. His best tournament ranking was thirteen." Disdain seeped into Kaiba's tone. "And that's when he breaks the top twenty."

Jounouchi's shoulders shook as he bit his bottom lip. It took him a beat to recompose himself. "God, of course, that's the part you're most outraged about."

Was Kaiba supposed to be offended? Jounouchi made it sound like he was the ridiculous one here. He left it alone, though. Jounouchi was laughing again. It was a vast improvement over the gloom that previously wreathed him.

"Well, I actually feel tons better now." Jounouchi flashed a lopsided grin. The idiot always looked better with a smile, no matter how vapid. "So thanks for that, Kaiba."

He stiffened. Not Kaibaman. Just Kaiba. "Excuse me?"

Jounouchi tipped the helmet back to unveil Kaiba's stunned face. "Your Christian Bale Batman impression could use some work."

Heat engulfed Kaiba from head to toe. The glaring afternoon sun may not be to blame. He groped for something to say. Anything. But Jounouchi caught him red-handed. What could he possibly say to justify himself?

Jounouchi let go. The helmet slipped back into place, obscuring the top half of Kaiba's face once more. Through the lenses, Kaiba watched him intently as the man stood and stretched, extending both arms to the sky.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone"—Jounouchi glanced back and winked—"it's you in the costume."

Read other prompt fill ficlets here

#yugioh #puppyshipping #violetshipping #kaijou #ygo #replies #mediocredoots #my fanfiction #writing prompts #i tried to make Kaiba nicer but he refused to cooperate #sorry this one got away from me and it's a little rambly #i'm sorry the ending is abrupt too #i'll try to do better on the next ones 😔

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ta-chazei · 7 months ago

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First seven seder tarot-inspired cards for Passover on homemade card stock

I - Kadesh – Recite the Holiday Kiddush over a cup of wine

יִשָּׁקֵנִי מִנְּשִׁיקוֹת פִּיהוּ כִּי־טוֹבִים דֹּדֶיךָ מִיָּיִן׃

Oh, give me of the kisses of your mouth, For your love is more delightful than wine.

Song of Songs 1:2

II - Urchartz – Wash your hands without a blessing

מַיִם רַבִּים לֹא יוּכְלוּ לְכַבּוֹת אֶת־הָאַהֲבָה וּנ��הָרוֹת לֹא יִשְׁטְפוּהָ אִם־יִתֵּן אִישׁ אֶת־כָּל־הוֹן בֵּיתוֹ בָּאַהֲבָה בּוֹז יָבוּזוּ לוֹ׃

Vast floods cannot quench love, Nor rivers drown it. If a man offered all his wealth for love, He would be laughed to scorn.

Song of Songs 8:7

III - Karpas – Eat a springtime vegetable appetizer

כִּי־הִנֵּה הסתו [הַסְּתָיו] עָבָר הַגֶּשֶׁם חָלַף הָלַךְ לוֹ׃

For now the winter is past, The rains are over and gone.

Song of Songs 2:11

IV - Yachatz – Break the middle matza

הַנִּצָּנִים נִרְאוּ בָאָרֶץ עֵת הַזָּמִיר הִגִּיעַ וְקוֹל הַתּוֹר נִשְׁמַע בְּאַרְצֵנוּ׃

The blossoms have appeared in the land, The time of singing has come; The song of the turtledove Is heard in our land.

Song of Songs 2:12

V - Magid – Tell the story of liberation

הַתְּאֵנָה חָנְטָה פַגֶּיהָ וְהַגְּפָנִים סְמָדַר נָתְנוּ רֵיחַ קוּמִי לכי [לָךְ] רַעְיָתִי יָפָתִי וּלְכִי־לָךְ׃

The green figs form on the fig tree, The vines in blossom give off fragrance. Arise, my darling; My fair one, come away!

Song of Songs 2:13

VI - Rochtza – Wash your hands with a blessing

מַעְיַן גַּנִּים בְּאֵר מַיִם חַיִּים וְנֹזְלִים מִן־לְבָנוֹן׃

[You are] a garden spring, A well of fresh water, A rill of Lebanon.

Song of Songs 4:15

VII - Motzi, Matza – Bless the matza

אֲנִי חֲבַצֶּלֶת הַשָּׁרוֹן שׁוֹשַׁנַּת הָעֲמָקִים׃

I am a rose of Sharon, A lily of the valleys.

כְּשׁוֹשַׁנָּה בֵּין הַחוֹחִים כֵּן רַעְיָתִי בֵּין הַבָּנוֹת׃

Like a lily among thorns, So is my darling among the maidens.

Song of Songs 2:1-2

#pesach #passover #seder #tarot #papermaking

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loominggaia · 2 months ago

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Future Plot Ideas: 9/24

Even MORE future ideas! Obviously major spoilers are ahead, so read at your discretion. Not all of these ideas are finalized, they may change a lot between now and the final drafts. I also don't have an exact timeline for these events yet. These are mostly character-focused.

You can see more ideas here.

Text under the cut:

LUKAS

Azura and Jelani hire Lukas to paint murals all over Uekoro, honoring the historic abolishment of slavery. These murals get the attention of visiting foreign nobles, who then hire Lukas to decorate their own territories. At some point Lukas starts making more money on these art commissions than mercenary work, and decides it's time to finally transition out of the mercenary life like he always wanted to.

He retires as a mercenary, but still calls Drifter's Hollow his home. He reaches a point where he can make designs at home, then send his team of apprentices to do the grunt work for him. Sometimes he travels to oversee the projects, but mostly he's at home working on other stuff, like his writing career. Azura hires him to write a biography about Zov for her anti-Evangeline exhibition, among other things. Maybe also an embarrassing tell-all book about her mother, just to ruffle some feathers?

AZURA

Azura gathers a lot of valuable intel from Zov that she uses to launch an attack on Evangeline Kingdom. Zov is the longest-surviving pit fighter in history, and with his goblin memory, he's able to perfectly recall the layouts and security weaknesses of every major fighting arena in Evangeline Kingdom. Azura passes this intel along to her troops of Liberators, who storm the arenas during tournaments and rescue hundreds of pit fighting slaves.

These slaves are all tough as nails, pissed off, augmented with surgeries to make them stronger, and highly skilled in combat. Most of them end up joining a special forces unit in the Folkvaran military, and prove to be a huge thorn in Evangeline's side later. The Evangeline economy takes another big fat L from the raids, and the war officially starts tipping in Folkvar's favor.

EVAN

Lukas stepped down as Evan's commander to pursue his art career, and Evan is finding less motivation to keep doing mercenary work without him, especially as his heart troubles continue to get worse. His health forces him to cut way back on the action, and he resigns himself to the paperwork side of things while he lets the younger generation of Good Guys take over.

Evan can't stand this paper-pushing lifestyle for long though, so he makes a point to take frequent vacations and trains the younger mercenaries daily. Passing on his knowledge to the new generation gives him purpose, even if he can't get in on the action himself anymore. Once in a great while, the crew encounters a beast of a mission and he's forced to come out of retirement for a contract or two. Other than that, he just chills and learns to enjoy the simple life with Lukas.

BUDDY AND JENNIE

Buddy lives at the Temple of Love and Light in Taybiya, earning a position as Patience's assistant. They love their new life and are eager to spring out of bed each day to help Allkind. Though they were once conflicted, they now understand the evil of the Crescent Cult and have fully turned their back on Goryx, just as Lily turned her back on Dario.

Buddy still has significant physical and intellectual disabilities from their "upbringing" in the agony cradle, but they are getting stronger with daily therapy from the priestesses, and they understand Karenza's teachings better than most people. They are the most eager and dedicated Karenzan in the temple. Patience is very much a mother-figure to them, but Lily and Zov are also supportive and Buddy considers them their family.

One night, Buddy hears Lily crying out and thinks she's in danger, so they come barreling into her bedroom...only to find her and Zov having sex. But Buddy's only exposure to "sex" before this were the violent rapes that occurred daily in the Crescent Cult, so they have no understanding that it can be a good thing. They believe Zov is attacking her, so they tackle Zov and trap him in a chokehold, trying to give Lily a chance to escape. Zov has a bad temper and normally something like this would really piss him off...but it doesn't, because he's too impressed by Buddy's chokeholding technique, and also proud of their courage in trying to keep Lily safe.

Zov decides Buddy has combat potential and begins teaching them what he learned from years of pit-fighting. Buddy may be crippled, but they learn to make the most of what they've got, as Zov taught them the dirtiest tricks in the books to take down opponents much bigger than themselves. After a few months of training, Buddy becomes a little ass-kicker that everyone underestimates.

Lily and Zov eventually marry and adopt a goblin toddler named Jennie. Buddy is extremely protective of Jennie, because their only experience with children previously was watching the Crescent Cult throw them in agony cradles, and they can't bear the thought of this happening to her.

Zov and Lily are doing as well as one could hope, but still suffer from periods of intense mental illness from time to time. When Zov is psychotic and Lily is crippled by depression, Buddy acts as Jennie's guardian until her parents get better. Jennie is a curious girl who likes to sneak out of the temple, dragging Buddy along on all sorts of wacky shenanigans. Let's just say their combat training comes in handy.

ALAINE

Alaine finds herself inexplicably slowing down and feeling ill. Her folk remedies aren't working, and it reaches it point where she can barely do her job anymore, so she seeks real treatment. Dr. Che suspects it's something beyond his scope, so the crew takes her to a hospital in Zareen Empire. Sadly, she is diagnosed with cancer. This is not surprising to her, as she did grow up in one of the most polluted areas on Looming Gaia, where such a thing is common.

The good news is, Zareen Empire is well-equipped to deal with cancer and she is expected to survive with proper treatment. The bad news is, treatment will take a long time and she will not be able to do mercenary work or return to the Hollow until it's over. Even though he despises Zareen Empire, Glenvar volunteers to stay there with Alaine and care for her until she gets better.

This period tests the absolute limits of their relationship, and it's the thing that finally convinces Glenvar to stop drinking and take his relationship with Alaine seriously. They both have a lot of personal growth by the end of it.

BALTHAZAAR AND AZADORA

After Talzihaar, Eleza, and Alzira's deaths in the Crescent Cult terrorist attack, Naima and Riza move to the Hollow. Initially, Balthazaar tells Azadora that Naima is his sister and her aunt. But eventually he's forced to confess the truth, as he falls in love with Naima and they get married. Azadora learns the truth about her real parents and she's devastated that Balthazaar would lie to her for so many years. She wants to set out on a personal quest to find Allmother and get more answers about her past.

Balthazaar becomes too old and out of shape for mercenary work anymore. He retires to become a horse rancher while Naima and Ginger run the Hollow's first official schoolhouse together, taking shifts teaching kids and adults alike.

Balthazaar is disappointed in Azadora's decision to become a mercenary, but respects her wishes and doesn't stop her. He and Naima focus on pushing Riza through college so she can one day be the educated breadwinner of the family.

JAVAAN

After living a dishonorable life, Javaan meets an honorable death in battle defending his friends from the Crescent Cult. Whatever issues the FGG had with him are buried in the past, and he goes down in their memories as a hero. Ranger honors his father by taking his place in the FGG and using all the skills he taught him.

THE KIDS

Now with so much of the old guard out of commission, the Freelance Good Guys are in serious need of hands. Isaac takes Evan's place as captain and appoints Azadora as his commander. Evan even graduates some of the young mercenaries-in-training early and approves them for easy contracts to start with.

The crew now consists of Isaac, Azadora, Elska, Skel, Linde, Jeimos, Jasenia, Zacry, Frederick, Ranger, Trip (Mr. Ocean's "daughter"), and Nora. Cinnamon is still too young to join contracts, but is an aspiring mercenary-in-training.

GINGER AND FAMILY

Ginger is running the new schoolhouse with Naima, bringing a solid education to the new migrants trickling in to Drifter's Hollow. Itchy's candy has been catching on over the years, until one day a Zareenite businessman buys his recipe for a big chunk of money. Itchy and Ginger use the money to send Tomato to a fancy boarding school in Sodergen for a few years. There he meets two boys named Kast and Thetos...

Cinnamon is growing into a foul-mouthed little menace. She has Ginger's intelligence, Itchy's deviousness, and she's a telepathic prodigy, which is a recipe for disaster. She weaponizes her disabilities to manipulate people and also uses her telepathy to get what she wants. She's spiraling into a successful criminal career, so in an act of desperation, Itchy and Ginger send her to Evan's boot camp and she begins training to be a mercenary.

Hanging around the Good Guys does eventually straighten her out, and she learns to use her powers for good...mostly. But she will always have that little devious streak she inherited from her father. Her advanced skills in magic give her a big ego, and she's prone to getting herself into situations over her head. She looks through other peoples' eyes using telepathy and communicates almost totally telepathically. When she does communicate verbally, it's usually to curse at someone.

OLOF

One day while working a contract in Folkvar Kingdom, Elska and Frederick recognize Olof's wife, Haldora! They know her by her facial tattoos and missing finger. She was rescued from Evangelite slavery by Azura's liberators, and is now married to Steel-Breaker (the centaur who refused to breed with Elska in "Unbreakable", appeared again in "Blue Boy", and would later become a Red Liberator troop leader)

They take her back to the Hollow to visit Olof. Olof refused to remarry until he knew her fate, and he's disappointed to learn that she did not do the same for him. Haldora is hardened by years of slavery trauma and is obsessed with seeing Evangeline Kingdom fall. She tries to recruit Frederick and Olof into the Folkvar military, and is disappointed by their "cowardice" when they refuse.

Olof realizes this is not the same woman he married anymore and sadly watches her return to Folkvar Kingdom. On the bright side, he finally knows her fate and he realizes it's a relief, because now he can finally move on with his life. He opens his heart to love again.

LINDE AND JEIMOS

Jeimos' rich-billionaire-daddy Ojio agrees to make a huge donation to the Order of Love and Light, but only if Austerity helps Jeimos with their gender issues. Austerity agrees and gives Jeimos a female-to-male transformation. Jeimos feels much more at ease with this new male body and decides to celebrate by making love to Linde...only to get her pregnant. They didn't think such a thing was possible, but it seemed Austerity's transformation was truly flawless!

Neither of them are ready to be parents, but Linde already had one abortion in her past and can't stomach another, so they decide to do their best. Linde gives birth to a healthy child, which the whole village helps to raise. They name him Cygnio, after a character from Star Rangers, because Jeimos is a big hopeless nerd who can't help themselves.

-----

I might post some more ideas later, but that's what I have for now. If you guys have any objections or suggestions please let me know! I'm always open to new ideas and criticisms!

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

#lgspoilers

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ihavemanyhusbands · 1 year ago

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Santa Comunione

Part II // Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

Also on AO3

Part I

Summary: Hannibal Lecter often does things just to see what happens… and seducing a holy woman is one of those things.

WC: 6.1k words

Overall Warnings: MINORS DNI THIS FIC IS 18+, Corruption, Blasphemy (?), Religious Imagery, Italy arc (Rome instead of Florence), Canon divergence, Self-Harm, Some whump, Angst, Eventual smut, religious trauma (i think?), I’m not a religious expert btw tho i grew up Catholic, mentions of wounds and scars, Ofc Hannibal has a God complex, Vague Catholicism, reader is a nun lol, lmk if i missed anything!

----

“Like a lily among the thorns,

So is my darling among the maidens.”

-Song of Solomon 2:2

The note, just like all the others, had been neatly folded and tucked into a hiding spot you were sure to find. It had become like a game at that point, even if you always knew where to look.

This time, you found it right at the base of the statue of St. Teresa, near the petrified swish of her marble skirts. It seemed significant enough to make your heart skip a beat, especially given the message.

Though he never signed his name, you’d memorized his elegant penmanship, swooping and yet also contained in its preciseness. It made the words feel more powerful, somehow. You gingerly traced your fingers over them, as if hoping to find more pieces of him there.

At first, the notes were wholly platonic. Mostly verses that were meant to inspire in some way or another, but sometimes snippets of poems found their way in, too.

Over time, they got slightly more daring, even if they were from the same source. You had always admired boldness, as he well knew. You could even imagine the sly upturn of his lips while you read them, over and over again.

Had he suspected that a tingle would begin between your shoulder blades, quickly suppressed before becoming a full shiver? Or that heat would creep up your neck and flush your cheeks?

He wouldn’t be too far off.

Something tender had been blossoming within you, but instead of weeding it out, you found yourself… nurturing it. Succumbing to it, even.

Could something like that really be so terrible? It was certainly worth the pain of the aftermath.

You tucked the note into a hidden pocket in your shift, biting your bottom lip to keep your excited grin under control.

On the days you received notes, he’d show up later in the evening to walk you home. You knew that as a doctor he led a busy life, but he always made time to see you at least twice a week.

You never asked what he was up to whenever he was absent, but sometimes you did wonder. Whenever you were together, though, you settled for simply enjoying every second of his company.

You’d walk at a languorous pace, sometimes even braving to hold onto his arm, but that was the extent of your physical contact. Without counting the time he’d patched you up, of course.

Despite how things had progressed, he was still a gentleman. He understood the importance of discretion as well as you, and that only made these rendezvous more exciting.

The last few hours of the day were torturous, especially since you kept glancing at the clock. Its slow, steady ticking seemed to mock you, so you tried distracting yourself as best as possible.

By closing time, your hands were trembling in anticipation. Still, you pretended to be busy wrapping up as you heard his patient footfalls cross the threshold.

“Almost done,” you called over your shoulder, offering a covert smile that was reserved for only him.

You went to grab your belongings before quickly re-emerging, and he pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he sighed, further driving his point across by drinking you in.

You averted your gaze demurely, guiding him out into the warm evening air. “Long day?”

“Longer than I care to admit, but suddenly it doesn’t seem to matter.”

This made you look up at him, and your eyes snagged on something uncharacteristic.

“It explains why you’ve not matched your tie and handkerchief today,” you pointed out teasingly.

He let out an amused huff, offering you his arm. You threaded your hand into the crook of it without thinking, pressing just a little closer.

“There’s a reason for that, actually,” he said. “You happen to have the matching handkerchief.”

“Oh, I do, don’t I?” You mused, pretending to have forgotten about it, even if it was in your satchel at that very moment. “I apologize, it slipped my mind. I’ll get it to you next time we see each other.”

“Will you?” He tilted his head to one side, raising an eyebrow.

You pursed your lips for a moment, frowning. Before you could pull away, he lightly pressed his arm against his side, effectively trapping your hand in place.

You let out an irritated huff, staring ahead.“So you think me a thief now?”

He chuckled. “Not at all. I was merely curious.”

“Seems like you feel that way about me most of the time.”

He studied your profile, still grinning. “Can I ask you an uncomfortable question?”

“Sure, why stop now?”

“Are you clinging to this material possession because it’s a reminder of the kind gesture behind it?”

You thought about it for a moment, unsure of how to answer. The way he posed the question made you suspect he already knew it, but he wanted to hear what you would come up with.

You opted for being honest, still feeling like you’d been caught red-handed.

“I suppose… It has brought me some comfort, the same way my rosary does. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Your cheeks were ablaze under his amused scrutiny, but you still didn’t meet his eye.

“I was hoping it was something of that nature,” he said finally, arm relaxing.

You didn’t withdraw, but your pride made you remain obstinate. “Now I must insist on returning it as soon as possible.”

“If you’re so adamant… Why don’t you come to my apartment tomorrow? I’ll be around all day taking care of some things,” he offered. “Plus, I need to see how your back is progressing. Some privacy would be nice, don’t you think?”

You weighed the offer, both thrilled and terrified at how big of a step it would be. You definitely didn’t want the madre superiora to start asking questions about the checkups, so this was the only other option.

Besides, you trusted him. He’d taken his time to earn it, despite your skittishness. With his gentle care, his steady patience, and his efforts to truly see you. The one hidden beneath layers of armor and biting remarks.

And so, the words left your mouth with little reluctance. “Yes, tomorrow works.”

——

It wasn’t until you were in front of the mahogany door, fist raised to knock, that you remembered missing a crucial part of that day’s meeting — setting up a time.

On the one hand, he did say he’d be home all day, but on the other… would he find it in poor taste that you showed up unannounced? Though to be fair, it’d be even more rude not to show up at all…

Before you let your thoughts spiral further, you decided to just suck it up and get it over with. After all, you didn’t really want to leave after making the trip all the way there.

At the first few knocks, the door creaked open slightly, but no one was behind it. You peered through the slit, only seeing the edges of a lavishly decorated living room.

“Hannibal?” You called tentatively, pushing the door further open.

No response, just an eerie silence.

You took a step inside, quickly glancing around. No one seemed to be around, and there were no signs of a break-in, which only confused you further.

You thought it might be best to leave his handkerchief along with a note explaining what happened, so you searched for a pen and paper in a nearby cabinet.

In an adjacent room, you could suddenly hear a light thud. It was quiet again for a moment, but then another thud followed, loud enough for you to confirm you weren’t imagining things.

Curiosity overrode your senses and you slid closer to the source of the sound. Just a little down the hallway, you were met with another half-open door — the bifold kind, made of wood and intricately etched glass.

Through a small gap, you could see just a fraction of what seemed to be Hannibal’s bedroom, with the aforementioned sitting at the edge of his bed. His back was to you as he gazed out the window, shoulders slightly hunched forward.

Without thinking, you started to reach for the door’s handle, but a new sound startled you — Labored breathing, interrupted only by a soft, needy whimper.

You blinked, not daring to believe what you’d heard. It had to be a hallucination; A lustful dream. Perhaps your spirit had risen while you slept and wandered the darkness to find him.

But no, the chill that went through you was as real as day. Your entire body turned to stone as you registered the placement of his hand, and how it was moving at a slow, steady rhythm.

Your first instinct should have been to turn away, make your presence known and wait in the safety of the other room. To fight against the siren’s lure of his voice in such a vulnerable, uninhibited state.

Instead, you covered your mouth with one hand, unable to tear your gaze away. A tingling sensation began in your extremities as another moan escaped him, followed by what seemed to be an obscenity in a language you did not know.

You shifted infinitesimally, trying to get a better look while remaining hidden. You gripped the doorframe with your free hand, fearing your legs would give out.

Unbeknownst to you, Hannibal had smelled you as soon as you’d walked into the apartment — soap and incense and just a hint of rosewater.

His grip on himself tightened as he noted the heady, unmistakable scent of your arousal.

How he wished that he could bury his face at the source of it and get utterly lost in you;To feel his head cradled by your thighs while he showed you what real paradise was.

His breaths began coming out in short pants, his movements becoming more frantic and desperate. His hips rolled, too, bucking up to meet the movements of his hand as he chased his release.

You could only see part of his profile, his eyes closed and his mouth slack in mindless pleasure. His hips stuttered and he made a sound like a man agonized, weak to his carnal desires. A word that sounded suspiciously close to your name spilled from his lips as he climaxed, the image searing into your mind forever.

It continued to sing in your veins as you snapped back into reality. Your heart was pounding in your ears, so loud you feared it might give you away.

Automatically, you extricated yourself away from the door and scurried back down the hall. In your haste, you failed to notice his handkerchief falling out of your pocket, right in the middle of the living room.

You shut the front door as quietly as you could, hoping no neighbors saw you making your escape. As you navigated through the streets back home, it all replayed in your mind over and over again, keeping you alight.

You kept your head down the entire way, avoiding eye contact at all costs, lest somebody see the fire in your gaze.

———

A week passed, and there was no word from him. You did not try to reach out to him, either, engulfed in an amalgamation of conflicting emotions.

Your days were spent trying to keep your mind blank, so you took on twice as many tasks. But whenever there was a lull between them, your thoughts would unerringly return to him.

Even in dreams, you were plagued by the memory of him. Most nights, you’d wake up with thighs slicked together, but you hadn’t done anything about the pulsating issue between your legs. You kept your windows open so that the nocturnal breeze might soothe your feverish skin, but it only helped marginally.

At mass, you wondered about the taste of him as you drank communion wine; The feel of his warm skin on your tongue as the wafer was placed upon it.

You’d become a real heathen, it seemed. Or perhaps you never stopped being one, not even after years of donning the costume of innocence.

Your longing was so vivid that sometimes, the breeze felt like an echo of his touch. It caressed your skin coolly, leaving goosebumps in its wake. It was in those moments that it was easiest to close your eyes and let your mind drift.

Your hand would wander, resting on your inner thigh — close enough, but still on the safe side. You could feel the heat emanating from your core, further enticing your fingers to inch closer. Possibly the hardest test of your self-restraint, but you weren’t too sure it was making you any stronger.

What made things worse, you hadn’t noticed the handkerchief’s disappearance until you’d made it back to the convent. In a panicked frenzy, you’d retraced your steps looking for it, praying that it was somewhere on the road.

But, just as you deserved, your prayers hadn’t been answered.

You’d made it all the way back to his apartment, but this time, the door had been firmly shut. It made dread pool in your stomach, and his subsequent absence only exacerbated it.

Was it really the end? You wouldn’t blame him if he never spoke to you again.

Still, you searched all the usual hiding spots for notes every day, but always came up empty. It felt like a spear through the heart each time, but you tried to bury it deep within.

Until one night, when your self-restraint was at its most fragile and you were trying to digest the idea you might not see him again, your resolve simply shattered.

Your fingers crossed into forbidden territory, and at the first tingle of pleasure, your movements became frantic and desperate. You surrendered to it, losing all other sense. It had been much too long since you had last done it, and all the times you had suppressed yourself had accumulated inside you.

Once you’d started, it was hard to stop. At the same time, the release wasn’t delayed at all. In fact, it hit you hard and fast, but it did not seem like enough. If anything, it seemed to only whet that yawning appetite of yours even further.

In the morning, you’d scrubbed your skin raw under a hot stream of water. You attempted to erase any sort of trace of the sins clinging to you, incensed by the fact that you didn’t even think it had been worth it – not at your own hands.

But how could you ever confess to such a thing? You could barely even—

“May I see it? I’ll need you to take your shoes off so I can assess the damage, Sorella.”

You stopped in your tracks, petrified in the middle of the hallway. You’d recognize that voice anywhere, but it seemed surreal at that moment, especially drifting out of one of the other nun’s rooms.

You spotted the madre superiora stepping out of said room, and you approached under the guise of benign curiosity.

Peering into the room, you saw Hannibal kneeling next to the bed. One of his legs was propped up and the sorella carefully set her swollen ankle on his thigh. He examined it delicately, his fingers featherlight on her tender skin.

A sharp bitterness coated your throat and when you swallowed hard, you felt it spreading to your stomach. You tried to control your breathing, trying to keep your grip on your mask of concern.

“Everything okay, Francesca?” You asked her in Italian, keeping your eyes on her. “What happened?”

“Tripped and twisted my ankle,” she responded in the same language, grimacing as he moved her foot slightly to look at it from another angle.

He didn’t look up, but he was still keenly aware of your presence. He smelled the soap and the incriminating scent beneath it, which made him tense a little.

The ghost of a smile barely made the corners of his lips twitch, but you weren’t sure if you were imagining things. You plastered on a sympathetic grin of your own.

“You’re in good hands, I’m sure you’ll feel better in no time,” you said through your teeth, and you thought you saw him glance through the corner of his eye at you.

“Grazie, Sorella.”

With a nod, you continued on your way, heading down to the kitchen. It was your turn to help with dinner prep, so you’d have some time alone while everyone else worked.

The old kitchen had stone walls and floors, which preserved coolness and provided relief from the heat outside. It was quiet and cozy, probably the best place for you to be in at that moment.

You started a fire on the old stove and placed a large copper pot full of water atop it. You tried to let your thoughts slip away as you washed and peeled carrots and potatoes. All the years of training yourself to go into autopilot certainly helped, but that same bitter taste was still coating your insides.

It was after a couple of minutes that you heard footsteps descending the stairs into the kitchen. You didn’t think much of it, staying focused on your task, but then you registered a tall figure stop at the threshold.

“It seems that I missed you the other day,” you heard him say. “Regardless, thank you for the handkerchief.”

Your gaze snapped up to him, eyes wide and flickering with a primal sort of fear. For a moment you could only stare, caught like a deer in headlights. He only stared back, challenging.

You tilted your head slightly to the side, resuming your task, your grip all too strong. “Don’t you have a patient to attend to, Doctor?”

“I needed to get some ice for Sister Francesca’s foot,” he explained. “Though I am glad I can also check in with my favorite patient. I haven’t been able to see the progress of your wounds for some time now…”

You shrugged, petulant. “I’m in one piece, am I not?”

There was a momentary pause in which the tension was becoming more and more palpable.

He broke the silence. “I sense you’re upset with me about something.”

“I am not upset. Merely working, as are you.”

“I see… Well, would you mind showing me where I can get the ice, please?”

“Allow me,” you sighed.

You set down what you were working on and stood up from the rickety wooden stool you sat on. Wordlessly, you had him hand you the small bowl he carried and slipped over to the freezer. You bent down a little to reach the ice, still silent as you filled up the bowl for him.

“Here you go, Doc—”

As you turned around, you nearly bumped right into him. You let out a startled gasp, given that you hadn’t even heard him approach behind you. You took a small step back, nervously glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one else was coming.

“Thank you kindly,” he said, taking the bowl back but not moving an inch otherwise.

His amber eyes held yours, incandescent once more with desire. You swallowed hard, a knot twisting in your stomach riotously. You clenched and unclenched your fists at your sides.

“Is that it?” You whispered.

He took a step closer and you backed up once more, your back pressing against the freezer. Your heart leaped to your throat — an appropriate response for a cornered lamb with almost nonexistent chances of escape.

“No, I don’t think I’m quite done here yet,” he responded, his voice equally low.

You shuddered. “What is this? What are these games you’re trying to play with me?”

He tilted his head in silent question.

“You know what I’m talking about. All along, you have charmed me. You have led me astray by the heartstrings and—and you have incited sinful ideas in my mind, tainting me!”

He had the gall to smile slyly, eyes narrowing slightly. “And how, pray tell, have I done that?”

You pursed your lips, having already spoken too much for your own liking. He smiled, a little too smug.

“No? You don’t wish to tell me?” He pressed. “I know why. You wouldn’t be able to deny that you hid behind my door, silent as a church mouse, and watched me during a most intimate moment?”

He leaned in closer, effectively looming over you. “You wouldn’t deny it, because you were taught lying is a sin.”

You let out a pitiful sound, something between a sharp exhale and a whimper. The two of you stood there in the charged silence, searching each other’s gazes. He reached down for your hand and slowly brought it up to his face, only closing his eyes as he inhaled deeply.

Then, you felt the gentle brush of his full lips against the pads of your fingers, kissing softly. You felt his tongue lightly trace your ring finger and sparks shot down your spine, threatening to make you spasm violently.

“Was this the hand you used when you thought of that moment?” He murmured.

You couldn’t react. You couldn’t move. You could barely even breathe.

He pressed one more kiss on your hand before calmly letting it go at your side. You opened your mouth, wanting to say something and yet also unsure of what it should be. He understood all the same, seeing everything he needed to know written on your face.

“Thank you again for the ice,” he said with a wink.

With that, he departed, leaving you still trying to pull your thoughts into order.

——

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her,

Bring her into the wilderness,

And speak kindly to her.”

-Hosea 2:14

His very first note. You’d read it over and over again. His words had always been clear, but you’d willingly chosen to overlook their intentions and play along.

It was easy to get away with it when it was that simple: just words on paper. The rest was merely skimming the surface, speaking around the things you actually wanted to say. Communicating subtly through gestures and lingering eye contact.

You looked up at the moon — only a sliver of light, like a winking eye. You felt like a live wire, muscles taut and a restless spirit. At that point, you didn’t think you could be subtle any longer… and you didn’t want to be, either.

And so you ran in the cover of night, only a thick coat and a sleeping shift covering you. You felt, for the first time in a really long time, the wind tousling your hair. It felt strange being so exposed, but an almost frightening sense of freedom came along with it.

What could this say about you? That all along you were beyond saving, no matter how much you wanted to pretend otherwise?

At least, you never pretended not to be easily swayed — At the first delicate word or piercing glance; The first stab of hunger, adoration, need. Easily malleable, body and soul.

You hurried up the steps of his apartment building, trying to keep the sound of your panting breaths to a minimum. Your fist connected with his door immediately, urgently, and you couldn’t even worry about what time it was or if you were being terribly impolite.

Then he opened the door, eyes wide and hair slightly disheveled. Next thing you knew, you were crashing into his arms, reaching up to bring his face to yours. You slid your lips over his in a searing, desperate kiss. Your knees buckled, but he held you up, pulling you closer.

His mouth eagerly captured your soft, dizzied whimpers, his tongue coaxing more of them. He maneuvered the two of you past the threshold, closing the door behind you.

You let your coat fall to the floor, one less unnecessary layer between you. You broke apart to catch your breath, his forehead leaning against yours. It took a moment for the two of you to register it wasn’t a dream, hands touching each other’s faces, necks, and shoulders; Solidifying together.

“Cara mia,” he rasped, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. “It has become unbearable, has it not? Trying to untangle the thorns of our affections?”

“Truly sacrilegious. Perhaps that torment was our punishment.”

“Only a cruel God creates pleasure but forces his creatures to abstain from it,” he said, his hands ghosting down your back.

His hot breath fanned over your lips, so close and yet so far. You planted a kiss on his enticing top lip, still holding his gaze, your eyes obsidian in the darkness of the room.

You’d let the serpent wrap tightly around you, hissing your darkest desires into your ear. Why, then, must you heed another God when you were becoming so devout to this one?

“Show me,” you breathed.

With careful, patient hands, he slid your night shift off your shoulders and down your arms. He kept his eyes on yours, anchoring you to the moment. The tips of his fingers traced little lines of fire on your skin. You wore no undergarments, so you were quickly bare for his appraisal, in complete contrast to his dressed form.

Almost unconsciously, you reached for the buttons of his pajama shirt. He stood absolutely still, letting you slowly uncover him as well. Once the last button was undone, you pushed it off, hands experimentally roaming over the expanse of his chest.

Then you were kissing him again, unable to help his gravitational pull. Your bare skin against his felt electric, and all you wanted to do was press even closer. He pulled you up into his arms and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you to his bedroom, gently setting you down on the edge of the bed.

He broke the kiss in order to turn his bedside lamp on, more than eager to get a better look. His eyes slid over the expanse of you, desirous to familiarize himself with every single inch. The intensity of it felt like he was already caressing you, but his hands were currently at his sides.

“There has never been a more beautiful sight,” he murmured reverently. “Not the rising sun or a saint’s statue. Not even Venus emerging from the sea.”

Heat crept up your neck and towards your face. You shifted, suddenly feeling a little prudish under his assessment. Old habits died hard, you supposed, but you wouldn’t let them overtake you.

One of his hands made contact with your leg. He caressed up your calf and stopped at the knee, slowly pushing one leg apart from the other. You sighed softly, arching in a silent plea for more.

“Yeah?” He rasped, a feline sort of grin on his handsome face.

Impatient, you reached for his hand, pulling him towards you. His lips found yours for a moment before moving to your jaw and down the slope of your throat.

His hands roamed all over, mapping out every curve, every plane, every dip, and swell. You found yourself submitting amiably to the pleasure of his touch, beating down that guilt that had been forcibly rooted in you.

His mouth continued to trail downwards, teeth grazing the fleshiest parts. He delighted in your twitching and the hums of pleasure you tried to contain. Licking around your navel, he made your whole body shudder, hips bucking.

“H-Hannibal,” you gasped.

“You can tell me if you want me to stop at any point,” he said, looking up at you.

You nodded in understanding, urging him closer by pressing the heel of your foot against his back. He chuckled, kneeling on the floor by the bed and kissing your inner thigh with a fondness that melted you.

And when you felt his breath on your slick folds, you knew you were a lost cause. You wanted to arch again but he wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you even closer, his mouth sealing over your most sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream at the initial shock of pleasure, eyes wide as saucers. Oh, you’d forgotten what ecstasy a skilled tongue could bring, but never before had you experienced one quite like his.

He was voracious but unhurried, tongue lapping at you with gusto. You trembled underneath him, burying your hands in his hair, holding on for dear life, and yet also not wanting him to pull away.

At first, your moans were restrained, kept behind your bitten lip. He knew you were holding back, trying to keep yourself away from the edge, and he simply couldn’t allow that.

“You taste divine,” he rasped, looking up at you. “I could sup on you for days.”

Your eyes met his for a moment before you quickly looked away, blushing deeply once more. You covered your face with one hand, embarrassed at being so wanton, so obscenely disheveled in his presence.

“Why do you hide, Tesoro?” He purred. “Are you afraid of showing me just how much you’re enjoying yourself?”

“I—”

But before you could utter another word, his tongue dipped into your cunt, his nose slightly brushing against your sensitive clit. A loud moan escaped you at that, and he groaned along with you.

“That’s more like it,” he pulled away for a moment to give you a sly grin before diving back in.

“Hannibal, please, I don’t think I can…” Your panting words faded into a sharp exhale as he found your sweet spot.

He was relentless now, strategically targeting the spots he discovered made you react more.

You squirmed at the lewd sounds your body made as he ravished you, but more and more you were lost in that blissful haze. The muscles of your abdomen tightened and you felt yourself steadily climbing to the peak of your pleasure.

As you got closer, you began to chase it with wild abandon, bucking your hips and grinding against his face — a much better replacement for your own hand. Your moans and hitching breaths were music to his ears, and the sight of you coming utterly undone for him forever seared in his mind.

You rode out waves of unadulterated euphoria, feeling it all over your being like licking flames. He’d only been the kerosene to that spark that had been growing inside you, and it wouldn’t be so simple to extinguish.

As you lay there in the aftermath, still panting from the intensity of it all, he kissed his way back up your body. You tasted yourself on his lips, growing ravenous at the mere thought of the communion of your beings.

“I need you,” you whispered. “I need all of you.”

“I’m yours for the taking,” he said earnestly, like a vow that he’d never break. “How do you want me?”

“Just like this,” you said with a rising fever, bringing your knees to his hips. “I want to forget where you end and I begin.”

The words seemed to unleash something within him, a sort of primal response that flickered in his amber gaze. He claimed your mouth once more as if intent on consuming you completely. His body was firmly pressed to yours, his weight a welcomed comfort. Then, you felt him push into you ever so slowly, the stretch both foreign and yet also familiar; Something you recalled from eons past, but never like this.

A lot of things felt new with him, completely reawakening you in ways you’d never thought possible. You gasped into his kiss, clawing at his back as he fully sank in. His pace was slow at first, savoring the closeness, pelvis grinding against yours. He was intoxicated with your warmth, your smell, your taste. Driven wild by it, even.

You responded with equal fervor, the two of you intent on marking each other in any way you could. Completely surrendering to just physical sensations, a mindless sort of ecstatic violence. The wolf’s arrival to its most anticipated devouring.

Soon you were pleading with him for more, to go faster, harder. He obeyed your every command seamlessly as if already understanding what your body needed. He kissed and sucked at the sensitive flesh of your neck, teeth and tongue on your pulsating artery.

You fell apart under him once more, face twisted in rapturous agony, his name on your lips. But that didn’t stop either of you, too frenzied from all the longing, all the time you had to restrain yourselves. It was a marvel, really, that you had held off for as long as you did.

He rolled onto his back and pulled you on top of him. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips as you gyrated them, head thrown back in ecstasy. He let you set your own pace like that, content with watching you continue to unravel atop him.

The rest of the night was like an opium dream, stretching infinitely and intensely. No corner of the bed was left untouched, your bodies twisting and bending and colliding in all sorts of positions.

Not once did you extricate yourself from one another, not even as exhaustion overtook you, plunging you into the best sleep you’d ever had.

———

Rolling green hills and vast plains sped past the window beside you, a few farmhouses and groups of cows scattered between. The metallic shuddering of the train dimly filled your ears, accompanied by soft conversations. Your mind was far away, beyond the idyllic visage unfurling before you.

It was the first time you’d ever been outside of Italy. It was a drastic change, one that was a little frightening, but a welcome one, too. So far, the French countryside was an appealing mystery that you wanted to uncover, and you had all the time in the world.

Your eyes then focused on your faint reflection in the window, not recognizing yourself for a moment. You were still getting used to wearing regular clothes again, especially when you showed more than you used to, even if it was all still modest. Your eyes seemed clearer, more alive, and the dark crescents underneath them were slowly disappearing.

Guilt still reared its’ ugly head from time to time, twisting your stomach into knots. But it was losing some of its viciousness, and you had help escaping spiraling thoughts and physical punishments. You’d been healing nicely, or at least you were in the process of it, anyway.

You felt Hannibal’s finger tracing down your bare arm, and you looked away from the window to face him. He smiled as your eyes met, noticing how you almost instinctively leaned closer to him. You brought your hand to his, and he looked down at the golden band around your finger.

“What are you thinking of, Cuore mio?” He asked, voice low and intimate.

His tone made you think of the way he’d recited his vows to you on that late night under the stars, when the two of you decided you could never be parted; Something only for you to share, no one to prove your love to.

“How everything seems so endless now, stretching farther than I ever could’ve fathomed,” you said, looking around you. “Nothing seems contained. I can no longer see the edges. Does that sound absurd?”

He kissed your hand, smile widening. “No, not absurd. At our crossroads, a new path made itself clear to me. There is no end in sight, but I intend to follow through.”

The truth was you could scarcely see the division between the two of you; Blurred in such a way that it was like living through each other. You felt him sitting amidst the pews of your ribcage, listening to the hymns of your heart. Your flesh was his flesh, your breath his own.

And even stranger… it felt a little too much like freedom, which he had presented to you on a silver platter.

You leaned in and kissed him softly, almost chastely. When it came down to it, you liked to savor him slowly, letting the anticipation build over time. The look in your eyes was adoring, but there was also that feverish glint that he’d come to recognize.

“How long until we’re there?” you murmured.

He chuckled lightly. “You’ve become quite insatiable, haven’t you?”

“Can you blame a poor sinner like me?”

The tip of his nose grazed yours. “Not when I am so keen on indulging you.”

The announcer’s voice came on over the intercom, listing the remaining stations. You recognized the name of your destination, at the very end of the train’s line. You rested your head on his shoulder as the two of you continued to gaze out of the window, savoring the beginnings of your new life together.

The sun continued its slow trail across the sky, its rays lengthening and bathing everything in golden light. In your eyes, this was the real Paradise, the place you’d been searching for most of your life.

And it was even more beautiful than you had ever envisioned.

---

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