#my bading senses are tingling

[cedrickjuans]

TEN LITTLE MISTRESSES (2023) | dir. Jun Lana

[nyctoaerah]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋

“𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅”

╰┈➤𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒: Who would've known that the man you spent a night with was the very same man that you're planning to kill? It was a cruel twist of fate, cause as you spent more time with him, you found yourself growing attached-inlove even. But, you ended up knowing the truth about suguru’s death, and the thirst for justice and redemption for Suguru consumed you. The pursuit of absolution drove you to consider any means necessary, even if it meant risking your own well-being, your sanity, your very essence. You were willing to sacrifice everything just to obtain the revenge you so desperately craved, even going as far as to ignore your feelings for Satoru. After all, it doesn't really matter, because Gojo Satoru was yours, he was yours to play with, he was yours to manipulate, and yours to kill, and he’s not complaining about it.

╰┈➤𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: suggestive themes, racism towards non-sorcerers, aftermath of one-night-stand

╰┈➤𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: Yandere! Gojo Satoru x Fem! Op! Assassin! Suguru's adopted daughter! Reader

╰┈➤𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: This story is the revamped version of my previous fic “Devil in Disguise” it has the same plot, but this one just has a better story flow in my point of view;) also available in Wattpad and Quotev! Hearts and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Masterlist

Previous chapter

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

━━𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟕 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟕

YOU STIRRED INTO CONSCIOUSNESS as the sunlight caressed your bare skin, rousing your sluggish body from slumbering. Your body felt sore for some reasons, especially your thighs, but you didn’t mind it that much.

Lifting your chin, your eyes fluttered open to take in an ornate chamber paneled in gleaming ivory, its lofty ceiling adorned by a glittering chandelier.

Beneath the sheets, your flesh prickled with awareness of your half-nudity yet also a lingering heat that suffused your pore, recalling the fevered embrace of the previous night.

Lavish scents assaulted your senses—the heady perfume of jasmine mingling with masculine musk. Disoriented, you blinked away the veil of slumber, gazing about in a daze.

Slowly pushing up onto your elbows, your mind awakened in fragments—an argument with your sisters, you going on a club, getting drugged.. And him.

Satoru.

You shuddered as sensations washed over your body, recalling his touch last night. The ghost of his kisses lingered on your skin, tingling your thighs, stomach and lips. Merely remembering elicited a renewed flush of heat that spread from your cheeks down your neck.

While you bore no regrets, uncertainty nagged at you. How had you measured up to his experienced caresses? Fragments were all that remained—his  worship of your flesh, Thrilling pinpricks rose goose bumps where his adulating mouth had bade your body ignite with each kiss and nibble. The feel of his mouth exploring your private places, his hands grasping your hips to pull you ever closer. 

The taste of strawberries on his tongue, lips tracing ardent paths across your skin and literally everything.

Drawn back to wakefulness by such vivid recollections, you became aware of your state— lightly clad in merely underclothing, fastenings loosened—not in the way you would put it on.

A question appeared on your head.

Was he the one who dressed you up? Your Fingertips rose to trace the marks left on your skin, purpling love-bites grip of grasping fingers on your thigh, and some bite marks. 

You would’ve frowned until you remembered that you gave him the permission to leave marks.

Something you shouldn’t have done, probably, because it’s probably gonna be hard to hide.

Though sated, You can’t help but wonder, You knew that you sucked at these kind of things, and you wanted something, not repetition but rather clarification.

Had you pleased him fully as he had so fully worshiped you? 

“Stop thinking about that.. s’just a one-night stand..” 

you mumble as you pressed your palm to your brow, despising how your mind stubbornly clings to the stupid memories.

“Stupid hormones...”

On unsteady feet, you got off the bed and padded the plush floor, surveying the place to find your clothing. Finding nothing, your gaze wandered the opulent interior, committing each exquisite feature to memory—slate and marble, gilt and glass conspiring in sensuous splendor.  

Steeling your shaking sinews, you reached for the door, cool metal kissing your fevered skin. Light assaulted you and you winced as you peered into it. 

You blinked slowly as you took in your unfamiliar surroundings. An ornate foyer stretched above you, Fresh flowers accented various surfaces, their sweet perfume. Rolling your aching head gingerly from side to side, you sought some clue as to your location amid the opulence, but alas, everything remained hazy and indistinct. 

Stupid fucking hangovers. You thought as you went towards the stairs.

Struggling to balance yourself, a wave of dizziness and nausea overcame you, your stomach roiling in protest. Clammy-palmed, you steadied yourself against the polished balustrade as you walked down, letting the smooth stairs guide your unsteady steps.

When you were finally down, you felt mortified  as you realized that you’re half naked. Fuck, you forgot.

Maybe you should go back on the room? You hesitated, not really wanting to walk around half naked.

Just then, a familiar voice cut through your distressed haze.

 “Oh, you’re awake.”

You knew that voice—it belonged to Satoru. Squaring your shoulders to muster what shreds of dignity you could, you turned to face him. His hair was damp, a towel draped across his shoulders, below which his torso was similarly bare. Meeting his eyes, you asked the inevitable question to break the awkward silence.

“Oh...uhm...where are my clothes?”

“Oh, I still haven’t finished washing it. You puked on it yesterday.” Satoru mentioned nonchalantly, causing your eyes to widen as the recollection of your vomit soaking the fine silk assaulted your senses once more, filling you with even more shame. 

You forgot, you really did vomited on the poor dress when you arrived here.

“You don’t have to wash it, y’know...” You mumble sheepishly.

“Hmm, nope, i’ll wash it. That dress is pretty on you, it looks exquisitely nice to rip it off your body though, but it’s still nice.”

Your face flushed in embarrassment at his bluntness.

Your face flushed at his blunt candor, a fierce heat swelling within your cheeks. Crimson-tinged and agitated, you averted your eyes from him.

Fuck, you’re not used to people telling you such things.

“I-i can do it myself , you don’t have to do it. I don’t wanna be a burden.” you responded, shaking your head in embarrassment , not wanting to impose. You’ve already embarrassed yourself last night, probably , and now you would have him wash your fucking dress?

Satoru chuckled in response. “No, it's alright. I insist on doing it.”

His persistence made your brows draw together 

“I don’t wanna be a burden,” you firmly stated jaw set slightly, causing him to roll his eyes, and place a hand on his hip sassily.

“I can do it promise. I kinda ruined it too, so seems fair for me to do it, hm?” He drawls.

“No fair,” You shot him a playful glare.

“Well, life isn’t fair, princess.”

“Just give me the dress, i’ll clean it—” 

You began only to be cut off.

“Nuh uh. I’m cleanin’ that. No more arguments.” He said. Your eye twitched at that, yet it somehow made your stomach flutter a bit, from some reason you didn’t knew.

“Anywayss, You should also consider taking a bath, you know?” he murmured softly, sky blue eyes fixed on the ceiling, deliberately avoiding eye contact.

Your face fell. Shit, do you smell bad? As if sensing your doubt, Satoru began to elucidate. 

“Don’t worry, i cleaned you up yesterday, made sure to clean everything! But still, I’m sure you'd like a bath too... to ease your er.. sore muscles..”

He said, a cordial smile on his lips.

“I like aftercare, after all, so you don’t have to worry about you smelling like....” he said, twisting the damp towel between deft fingers. A roguish smirk curled his lips. Your gaze traced the lean lines of his form outlined by the thin fabric, lingering on his corded neck.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Satoru.”

“I meant sweat. Pervert. You’re thinking about something else, aren’t you?” He giggled.

“Heh? You didn’t expect that, did you?” he crooned, idly twining a damp lock around his finger like a school girl getting approached by their crush.

Speech evaded you, your thoughts scattered like leaves before an autumn gale in embarrassment.

He fixated you with an intense gaze, his blue eyes seeming to appraise your every subtle movement and reaction. A sly smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Hm? Why are you staring at me like that?” he questioned with feigned innocence, though his teasing tone implied far more clandestine intentions.

You blinked, brows twitching slightly.

“I didn't knew that you’re such a pervert, princess. now you’re making me all shy.”

Satoru giggled, his words a contrast to his obvious actions again. In no way was he shy, he was shameless after all.

Satoru Gojo has no shame after all.

You struggled to collect your frazzled thoughts.

“I’m uh, staring at the ceiling, you’re just tall so it looks like i’m staring at you.” you replied lamely, cursing your inability to formulate a wittier response internally.

He released a throaty chuckle, clearly unconvinced by your flimsy excuse.

“Yeah, yeah, you gotta take a bath now, let’s yap later after you finished taking a bath, yeah?” His lascivious grin remained firmly in place.

Your cheeks burned anew as you realized your sorry state.

“Er.. i don’t have clothes... My dress is already.. you know...” 

The words scratched painfully in your parched throat as you crossed your arms tightly over your exposed torso

“Mhmm. Don’t worry princess.” He hums.

“You can borrow some of mine, i think i have smaller ones” Satoru shifts his gaze towards a door.

“I’ll get it for you, yeah? Just wait f’me.”

Without delay, he strode from the room with purposeful steps.

Finally.

You exhaled a slow, lengthy breath, letting your tingling fingers trace delicate trails across your scalp as the heat of mortification warmed your cheeks once again, out of embarrassment and sheepishness.

You didn’t expected him to be this caring, cause he’s giving the fuck boy vibes—plus you’re a total stranger in here too.

Maybe he does this to other girls too, You pondered before your shoulders slackened, upon remembering that you’re not really that special—cause he’s probably bedded a lot of girls and does this to them.

Nonetheless, it’s still quite pleasant.

You looked at the lavish surroundings, taking in exquisite details. Gilded trim and intricately carved furnishings was everywhere, it looked fancy and all. Your gaze drifted and lingered on portraits adorning the white walls, peering into the pictures within gilded frames. One picture , though, seized your attention—it was about two people, and one just looked like suguru—but you’re not sure about it yet. 

You wanted to confirm, so you strode forward trance-like, but then, satoru’s voice jarred your walking.

“What are you doing?” Satoru's lilting tones roused you. You turned to find him regarding you with questioning eyes, hands cradling fresh linens and some sort of pills that says “Plan B” atop the pristine fabric.

“Nothing...just looking around,” You murmured vaguely, brows furrowed slightly.

“Ah well. Here is it.” he says.

“I brought you Plan B too. Ugh.. i think i went raw last night, but don’t worry, i’m clean. Sorry [Name].”

You were about to ask him what he meant by that, but stopped when he practically placed the clothes in your hands.

As your hands grasped the unfamiliar fabrics, a weight dropped into your palm—a phone, your phone, to be specific.

“I think this is yours, i found it lying on my couch.” He said, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah.. it’s mine. Thanks ”

Your fingertips traced over the cracked screen, appraising the damage done whilst gripped in oblivion and you wince.

“Damn...”

Notifications assailed your distracted eyes, your siblings’ concerns, there were so many missed calls and texts from them.

A grimace formed on your face, muscles tensing.

Your brat of a sisters is definitely gonna lecture you.

━━𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋

You sunk low into the bath, letting the warmth envelop you and melting away the tension from your muscles. Closing your eyes, you drew in a deep breath, reveling in the soothing scent of jasmine that perfumed the steam. Your fingers idly traced patterns in the surface, disturbing the drifting bubbles.

As you dragged your hands upwards over your skin, the bubbles popped, leaving trails of moisture in their wake. Your cellphone rested on the smooth tiles bordering the tub, its waterproof casing ensuring it would not come to harm. 

Nanako’s tinny voice emanated from the device, pulling your mind from its half-formed reverie.

“Where were you, sister??” she whined petulantly. A sigh escaped your lips; you were in no mood for her querulous nagging.

“You sound like an angry mother,”  you replied wryly.

“Not funny! We were so worried about you,” she retorted, concern lacing her words.

“Where’s mimiko?” You questioned, for you haven’t heard mimiko, after all, normally, it was always the both of them talking to you through phone, now though, it was solely nanako.

“I was uh.. at a friend’s house right now.” You lied feebly.

“She’s with me. She’s sleeping, and come back sister, we gotta tell you something important.”

Silence fell as you considered her statement, your thoughts inevitably turning to darker matters.

 “Just say it on the phone, please?”

“Fine. We can’t find master geto’s body...” Nanako said solemnly, her voice taut with unease. Her words struck like icy blades into your core, and you froze momentarily amidst the comforting warmth, your blood chilling in your veins as you felt your mood suddenly fell. His body had yet to be found? Your jaw clenched involuntarily as restless questions swirled within your mind.

“Why?” you demanded, brows furrowed in consternation.

“Do you already know his killer then...?” The implications were grim, and you sat rigid, mind racing.

“I... I think it’s that okkotsu kid.”

“What the fuck? No way.” You were flabbergasted.

“You mean that kid?”  

You frowned deeply, eyebrows furrowing in a look of utter repugnance as feelings of incredulity and revulsion washed over you. That meek urchin having bested Suguru was an affront to reason itself—the notion was positively preposterous. The lad seemed scarcely capable of lifting his own limbs after all!

“I can’t believe this.” You sighed in disappointment.

“But.  I’m gonna avenge master suguru, don’t worry.” 

“Those monkeys... Are the reason he’s dead... ugh.. those okkotsu brat used to be a monkey too, didn’t he? Then became a sorcerer ‘cause of the special grade cursed spirit.. riki? Was it? Or rika..?”

Your fingers curled into tight fists at your sides, nails digging crescents into your palms. That was a trait you got from suguru, albeit you were influenced by him, as you had the same loathing he held for non-sorcerers.

“True, true, i still can’t believe that he managed to defeat master geto... with that kind of physique...”

“Such a bodyshamer you are, nanako.” You mumble.

“​​​​​​It’s true!” Nanako replied.

“But then.. why would the other sorcerers protect them again...? I mean.. the monkeys... They’re the sole reason why curses are born anyways...”  you muttered through clenched teeth, slumping against the wall of the washroom as soothing bubbles danced across your aching limbs. 

“They probably got manipulated and can’t see the truth. They’re seriously brainwashed by them.” Nanako replied bitterly.

“Seriously. I told you guys that you should’ve just waited for me... Cause you know... We might stand a chance..” You added.

“After all, i’m unregistered, aren’t i? So they won’t know how my cursed techniques works.” 

━━𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋

[written-by-ariddletobesolved]

Pretending Shouldn't Be This Hard

in which Loid notices something different about his wife and he can’t stop staring (while being in denial about how he really feels).

Rated G | 1,121 words | Also read on AO3  

—

Hello! This is my first Spy x Family fanfiction. I'm probably late to the party because I only got into it recently. As per usual, any type of feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it. Have a great day, everyone! x

—

He didn’t know how long he had been staring, but it was probably long enough that the cup of tea in his grasp had lost its warmth. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off his wife – his pretend wife, with a strong emphasis on that particular word. 

But then again, how could he when Yor looked rather different that morning – a good kind of different. Not that she had never looked so good before (she always does, in his eyes), but it’s not every day that he got to see her long dark hair draped over her shoulder in a single braid, with loose and wavy strands framing her face nicely. 

If he let his spy instinct kick in, he would probably keep his guard up and think of the possibility of it being Yor’s attempt to lure him to a honey trap. But his initial suspicion about her was proven to be untrue, and after taking her out on a date several times (to keep her happy and to ensure the success of Operation Strix, of course) Loid had learned more about his wife. Although he found her quick reflexes and physical strength intriguing, he still decided that she was no threat to him. Not when she had proven herself so many times that she’s a great mother to Anya, no matter how often she doubted that.

The corner of his lips twitched at that thought and what was happening before him at the moment. Yor was crouching down and gently helping Anya button up her coat as they waited for Becky to pick her friend up for another shopping trip. Yor gave a little murmur, making the little girl with pink hair grin before turning to face her Papa – him with a beam. He didn’t hear what his wife told their daughter – adoptive daughter, he reminded himself – but he could tell that whatever it was did cheer her up, and that was enough of a reason for him to smile back. It didn’t take long until Bond’s soft ‘worf’ got Anya’s attention, and she began to talk animatedly to the gentle giant while Mama combed her hair. 

He let out a sigh, his glance softened as his mask began to slip. That oddly familiar warmth returned to fill his chest – something he couldn’t (nor did he want to) describe. His grip on the cup tightened, and he was torn between finding out what could possibly happen to him all of the sudden and brushing it off as a sense of pride for making sure that Operation Strix was going smoothly. After all, if the Forger family stayed together, it could mean progress, right? 

He got lost in his own thoughts; he didn’t notice that his daughter bade him farewell before she left with the Blackbell kid.

Silence befell them once Yor closed the door. It felt a little odd not having Anya around, but he admitted he could use a little break while his daughter was away. Being a parent really is a full time job, and if he wanted to be honest, he didn’t know he had it in him – the ability to be a parent for Anya. But then again, it has always been Loid Forger who is known as both Anya’s Papa and Yor’s husband; and for Twilight, Loid was just another role he played for the success of Strix.

From his seat, he noticed that his wife had gone to the kitchen. With her back facing him, he could only guess that she was making herself a cup of tea. He knew better than staring, but once again, he found himself unable to look away. Yor’s new hairstyle allowed him a glimpse of her back, which was slightly exposed by the cut of her red jumper. His fingers were tingling, seemingly curious of what her skin would feel like under his touch. It was when he became aware of his own thoughts did he realise that he was blushing.

Get it together, Twilight.

He couldn’t get sloppy, no. One of the rules of being a spy is to not let feelings and emotions get the best of you, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to carry out the task – especially when betrayal was involved somewhere along the line. Besides, he told Franky that people like him couldn’t become emotionally attached to others and it would be very hypocritical of him if he did the opposite. 

“Loid?”

Yor’s soft murmur startled him, waking him up from his train of thoughts, and he tried his best to mask his surprise with a sheepish grin. You’re getting sloppy, Twilight.

“Yes, Yor?”

His wife tilted her head slightly, ruby eyes widened as they gazed at him with something like confusion. 

“Y-you were staring. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Typical Yor, always so polite. Even after months of living under the same roof, he could still sense her awkwardness which is understandable. He knew that sharing a space with someone else after living on your own for years wasn’t easy, and thankfully their frequent ‘dates’ had slowly but surely ease the gap between them, drawing them closer.

“Nothing,” he flashed his wife a smile, shaking his head. “I was just admiring you. You look lovely today, Yor.”

As usual, Yor’s cheeks turned crimson after she heard his compliment and she smiled shyly, her hand flying to cover her mouth and her eyebrows raising. 

“Oh, thank you,” she replied quickly.

Shaking her head, she turned back to the kettle on the stove which had begun to make noises, signalling that the water was boiling.

Loid found her reaction adorable and he didn’t bite back a smile. His gaze softened as he exhaled, feeling the warmth slowly returning. Deep down, he knew that he shouldn’t let his guard down. Years of perfect records as Westalis’ best spy should be well maintained, and he must remind himself that it was just another mission. He must do all that, yes, just not today.

He decided to play the role of an attentive husband for the day and enjoy his day off with his wife. That’s what a good husband does, right? Besides, Yor and Anya’s happiness is always a priority, and as long as they both are happy, Operation Strix will go as planned .

Well, at least that’s what he kept telling himself as he tried his best to pretend like his heart didn’t skip a beat when he caught Yor glancing at him over her shoulder, or his fingers didn’t tingle when he briefly thought about holding her. Pretending shouldn’t be this hard. Why he suddenly felt that way; he didn’t know.

And nor did he want to. 

For now.

[flowerpot112]

Marauders First kisses

SIRIUS BLACK

"But what was it like?" Asked Peter, his eyes wide. James and Remus were either side of him looking on in admiration.

Sirius for his part was lounging in the armchair by the fire basking in the attention from his best mates, a Cheshire cat grin on his face. He had just sauntered through the portrait hole a hero, announcing to the boys and common room at large that he had just 'snogged' Laura Hayes, a fellow third year in Hufflepuff. He was inordinately proud of this fact, being the first amongst the four of them to kiss a girl.

"Brilliant of course you muppet" Sirius said shoving Peter with his foot "She couldn't get enough of me, then again who could blame her?" He gestured to what he knew was a classically handsome face.

"Awesome…" Peter breathed flopping back into the sofa.

"Poor girl, must have inhaled too many fumes in potions, probably brain damaged…." Remus grinned sitting next to Peter, reopening his book without looking at it.

"Well, if she wasn't before she is now." James sniggered as Sirius now aimed his foot in Remus direction. "So you were good at it then?" He now looked on in apprehension, he knew James would never admit it outloud but it was this fear that held James back from his own first kiss, it wasn't as if he wasn't more popular amongst the girls. James, like Sirius, always made sure he was laughed with, never at.

"What do you mean? 'Course I was good at it!" Sirius expression turned from that of absolute pride to outrage before slowly morphing into one of uncertainty "I mean, I think so… I mean it's not difficult, is it? People do it all the time…. Right?" He was proud of his achievement, but now the ever-present doubt crept in. What if he had one it wrong and now she was laughing with her friends as he was with his.

Sirius prided himself on his carefully crafted image, to the world he was the handsome, charismatic rebel of the Black family and he preferred it that way. His mother had taught him long ago to show emotion was to show weakness, he was still working on forgetting these sentiments. He looked to Remus as he often did when he was uncertain.

"Why are you looking at me you bloody idiot? You're the only one who's done it!"

"Yeah, but you always have the answers Remus, answer me damn it!"

"Well, like Pete said what was is it like?"

Sirius thought for a moment then answered quietly "Weird at first… and a bit awkward, I mean it's a bit strange to have someone else's tongue in your mouth! But, overall, yeah…. Brilliant, she was all pressed against me and smelled good and stuff…" He trailed off a small smile coming to his face. Yeah, he consoled himself, he'd done it right. After all Laura had asked him to Hogsmede afterwards. He liked Laura, she was half blood and her father was a mechanic, whatever that was, it it meant she grew up around motorbikes. Sirius was obsessed.

"Awesome" Peter reiterated.

James, his nerves now soothed (after all like Sirius said people do it all the time, could be too hard), grinned at Remus and moved to ruffle Sirius hair "Our boy's growing up so fast."

Remus mimed wiping a tear from his eye as Sirius foot now swung in the direction of James.

PETER PETTIGREW

"Peter! You absolute legend!" Remus gave Peter a congratulatory smack on the back, accidentally sending the poor boy toppling into a bench in the great hall.

"Snogging Marlene McKinnon, who'd have thought it eh?" Sirius said passing Peter a goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Yeah, way to go to old boy" James added his eyes twinkling.

Peter was busy blushing, it was unusual for him to be centre of attention even amongst his closest friends, he often felt he was on the outside looking in. He had been on his way to lunch the previous day, in his own world, grateful it was Friday. His mother had been ill the past week and Peter had been fretting his way through classes, making his usual struggle with spell work an absolute train wreck. This had landed him with three detentions and a stern telling off from McGonagall, followed swiftly by a shortbread biscuit. Marlene McKinnon of all people had stopped him in the halls and, peter noticed in full view of everyone, asked him to Hogsmeade the following day.

"It'll be a laugh…" she had exclaimed bumping him the shoulder. Peter had stammered out his acceptance of her offer through his confusion, feeling as though he was blushing from head to toe.

It wasn't that he didn't like Marlene, he knew her well enough and she was certainly a very pretty witch, it was just that Marlene usually spoke more to James and Sirius than Peter. James had known her well since childhood and the pair had a sibling like bond and Sirius, well Sirius enjoyed flirting.

Still Peter had bade farewell to his grinning friends and joined Marlene to walk down to Hogsmeade making small talk. Once in the Three Broomsticks they had talked about their upcoming plans for Christmas and laughed about the latest pranks he and his friends has played on the Slytherins. This latest escapade had earned the four troublemakers the name 'The Marauders'. They had complained about the ungodly amount of homework the professors had lumped upon them for the holidays whilst shopping in Honeydukes and set back for Hogwarts in silence. Once reaching the door of Hogwarts he had made to tell Marlene goodbye until she has leaned across and pecked Peter on the lips.

Now Peter, thoroughly cheered, had make his way to the great hall where his jokester friends were waiting. As he laughed with them, telling them of his first date and kiss he failed to notice James mouthing his thanks to Marlene, who just nodded and winked back.

JAMES POTTER

James knew objectively girls liked him. He was handsome, funny, athletic, and intelligent. His family's money didn't hurt one bit nor his pure blood status, although any girls interested in that James wouldn't entertain. Now that he was an official member of the Quidditch team it seemed every girl liked him. Well, most girls, he corrected himself thinking of a certain red-haired witch.

He quickly shook himself from that train of thought. He had asked her out, hadn't he? And she'd laughed derisively in his face before shooting a hex his way. Granted Snape was still coughing up soap bubbles from his own hex when he'd asked but he'd been genuine, much to his surprise. No she didn't want anything to do with James. But Clarice Wentworth did.

He brought himself back to the present and threw his most charming grin over his shoulder at her as he made his way across the Gryffindor common room to his fellow trouble makers. The quidditch celebration bash was in full swing, the Prewett brothers having provided all manor of treats and tricks to get the party going.

"Jamie, my boy, having a pleasant time?" Sirius asked, his ecstatic expression betraying his casual tone. After all the whole of Gryffindor house had just witnessed the enthusiastic kiss he'd just shared with Clarice.

"She just planted one on me!" James exclaimed his lips tingling a little at the memory. Which was the truth although he had been a more than willing participant. "Just walked right up and did it."

"Sounds horrific" Peter commented sarcastically.

"Shall we rush you to the hospital wing?" Remus added rolling his eyes. An action James echoed. Remus took a swig of his contraband fire whiskey.

"I'm not complaining," James explained grinning and looking over to where Clarice was giggling with her friends. "Just surprised, I'd not really noticed her properly before." He sure as hell did now.

"Not noticed her! She's bloody fit!" Sirius eyebrows looked to be attempting to join his hairline, Peter nodded vigorously.

"Too busy mooning over, then being hexed by a certain talented witch" James, deciding Remus had had quite enough for one night, snatched the bottle from Remus hands.

"I've no idea what you could possibly mean Remus, my dear friend." Still, he couldn't stop his eyes from flicking to the table where Lily Evans and her friends were sitting. They appeared to be deep in conversation but Lily, sensing James gaze no doubt turned to look at them, he looked away quickly.

Remus and Peter wore identical knowing smiles whilst Sirius just rolled his eyes and leant over to throw an arm around his favourite friends' shoulders. "Never mind Evans, she's a right stick in the mud mate, some birds just don't appreciate perfection when they see it." He shook James a little in his grasp. James appreciated Sirius' flattery, although he wasn't 100% sure his mate wasn't talking about himself.

"It would certainly make my life easier; I'm hoping to make prefect next year and Lily is a shoe in. Don't fancy spending patrols with her ignoring me because you've ticked her off." He threw James a fond but exasperated look "Maybe its best to leave her and Snape alone for a little a while?" He looked quietly hopeful.

James conceded to himself Remus had a point. Whilst it was fun to cause a bit of mayhem with the boys and funnier still seeing Snivellus get what was coming to him, he had recently found himself wanting to impress Evans, wanting to make her smile as Snivellus did, wanting to make her laugh the way Meadows did… wanting it to be her surprising him with a kiss in the common room. He could lay off… for a while at least. Clarice seemed charming and obviously more than welcomed his affections. Maybe spending some time having fun with her wouldn't hurt.

"Agreed."

Sirius scoffed "You're actually gonna let Snivellus get away with that stunt he pulled on Peter last Wednesday? Peters head was 5 times its normal size for hours!"

James tutted "Of course not! What do you take me for?" He threw arm over Sirius in return grinning, whilst Remus groaned "We just cant get caught, that's all"

Now it was Sirius turn to groan, James heard him mutter something about unfairness and credit. James chose to ignore his mates' dramatics. He looked back over to Clarice and said, "If you don't mind lads, we'll pick this up tomorrow, see you in the dorm." He made his way over to her.

REMUS LUPIN

What can only be described as a squeal echoed through Gryffindor tower. The blonde girl rushed past the three laughing Marauders clutching her shirt over her bare chest.

"Manly, Pads, really I'm impressed mate." Said James sarcastically.

"Shut it, Prongs!"

"Yeah Prongs, Sirius is too much of a free soul to be confined by stereotypical gender confines… or at least his vocal cords are" Remus teased as Sirius casually corrected his uniform without a hint of self-consciousness as the boys trooped into their dorm.

They flopped down on their own beds, dumping their bags, and shuffling out of their shoes and jackets, still wet from the storm raging outside.

"Now, Moony my romantically challenged friend, don't be jealous"

"Romantically challenged?" Remus countered, his eyebrows raising "Says the mutt who can't keep a girl past a week!" If Remus was honest with himself, he supposed he was somewhat 'romantically challenged' but he thought of it as more of a side effect of what he became each month. He tried not to mourn the things he couldn't have.

"How dare you!" Sirius clutched his chest in mock indignation as James and Peter guffawed "I'm still finding the right one."

James sniggered even more "And that entail's you snogging you're way through the population of Hogwarts…. How?"

"We can't all pine after Evans now, can we? Simply not enough of her to go around Prongs m'boy"

"She seems to be coming around to you lately James" Peter supplied helpfully defending his friend as he threw a pillow at his grinning friend.

"Thanks Pete, see Black that's good friend!" James said catching the pillow Sirius launched back at his face just in time.

"Yes James your methods of seduction are truly astonishing to behold, I look on in awe." Remus couldn't help but agree with Sirius, the day Lily Evans looked at James Potter with anything other than thinly veiled contempt would be the day Dumbledore showed up to the great hall clean shaven.

He told his dear friend so, to which James replied "Well atleast she knows how I feel! How long have you been mooning over Maeve Mathers now?"

Sirius sniggered at the pun before adding "Ask her out Moony! Join in on the fun!" Remus glared at them, they knew damn well what his worry was. As nice as it was that James was dead certain his condition shouldn't matter Sirius at least should understand Remus' trepidation, growing up in the Black household as he did.

"What we need is a tie!" Peter suddenly announced to his comrades interrupting his thoughts. Three heads swung in his direction, each boy looking at him quizzically.

"Say what?"

Grinning at the realisation he knew something his brilliant friends didn't Peter sat up properly to explain. "I've heard of muggles doing it, if one of them is with a girl in a shared room they put a tie on the door to let the other lads know, you know so they don't have to walk in on one of them half naked twice a week" He gave Sirius a pointed look.

Sirius remained unfazed "See Remus, we'll get a tie…"

"We have ties Padfoot"

"…and you'll have peace and quiet when shacking up with Mathers" Remus sincerely doubted he'd ever have peace again, not with a stag, dog and rat to contend with. But if he was being brutally honest, his 'furry little problem' wasn't the only thing holding him back.

"You have done it haven't you Moony?" Asked James, as usual hitting the nail on the head.

"Done what?" He attempted to evade, knowing he was never that lucky.

"Kissed a girl you loon, snogged, frenched, necked… canoodled?" Sirius supplied helpfully wagging his eyebrows. Peter cackled and fell to his side, meanwhile James looked at Remus his brows furrowing.

He stammered for a second before answering "I'm not interested." He willed them and himself to believe it.

"Yeah right!" Both Sirius and Peter exclaimed.

Peter continued "How do you know? Its like turnips, I used to always say I didn't like them but mum always said how did I know if I didn't try them and she was right, I tried them and now I add them to every roast, they pair excellently with gravy…" He trailed of seeming to realise the other three were looking at him like he'd slobbered on their shoe.

"Don't think girls are like turnips Wormtail."

Siruis looked back to Remus "Although that is the reasoning I had before making out with Stephen Spellings, maybe you could try a bloke Moony." He grinned daringly.

"And on that note, think its time to drop it lads." James said laughing before shooting both boys a look before turning around to get changed. Remus gratefully turned to do the same.

The boys could be incorrigible, but they usually did what James said, Peter certainly did anyway.

It was later that night when Padfoot and Wormtail were in the bathroom brushing their teeth that James plopped himself down beside Remus on his bed.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about you know. Not having been with a girl before."

"I'm not embarrassed! I just have other worries!" He insisted motioning toward the half moon through the window.

"How many times do I have to tell you Remus? That doesn't change who you are, anyone disagrees, you send them my way" James gripped his shoulder. Remus felt the usual twinge of affection, he knew he was lucky to call these three idiot's friends.

Underneath James guileless gaze he could stop it from slipping out "Well, it is a bit weird, isn't it? I'm 15 Prongs and I've never kissed anyone. What kind of girl wouldn't laugh?"

"It's not weird Moony, you're not pushing 30 or anything." He rolled his eyes and paused before a maniacal grin appeared on his face, Remus groaned, that look never led to anything good. "But Moony, you wonderful man you, if that's what you're worried about…" And before Remus could react James lips were pressed against his.

James lips were soft and warm although his nose bumped into Remus' slightly. It was over rather quickly, and James lent back seemingly unfazed.

Remus sat there in shock whilst James patted him on the shoulder, "There you've done it now. If Mathers asked you've been well and truly kissed before. Nothing stopping you from asking her to Hogsmeade now!"

His shock fading Remus broke into a strained laughter "Yeah thanks a lot" He shook his head at his best friend and shoved the laughing teen off his bed. At least he had done it now, he supposed, and it has been sort of nice, though he may have preferred Maeve to James for his first kiss.

Hope you guys enjoyed.... Also on https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13966800/1/First-Kisses

[spacewitchqueen]

Out Of Touch

TOG Joe x Nicky ficlet in which Joe disagrees with Physics* (link in notes)

It was a quiet night for the team. They had checked in on Andy —she’d said she wanted some time alone, but they still called her every day—, and now Joe was absentmindedly watching a game on TV, lying on the couch, his head on Nicky’s lap. Nicky was reading, book held aloft on his right hand, his left hand playing with Joe’s hair. Nile was curled up on a high-back armchair, her attention on her phone. 

Joe was very much at ease, enjoying the sensation of Nicky’s warmth, the delicious tingle running down his back as Nicky’s fingers raked through his hair in a semi-hypnotic rhythm. Joe closed his eyes. Suddenly, Nile snorted, causing Joe to start.

“Listen to this, lovebirds.” Nile cleared her throat and read. “The sensation of touch is arguably a grand illusion, created as the brain’s way of interpreting interactions between our electrons and the electromagnetic field.”

“What are you reading?” Nicky asked, not taking his eyes from his book.

“An article on quantum mechanics, according to this, the concept of touching something does not exist because electrons repel each other, so my electrons repel the electrons of this chair.” Nile patted the armrest. “I’m really just hovering over it by an unfathomably small distance.”

“So what does that mean?” Nicky put his book down.

“That you’ve never really touched each other.” Nile smiled cheekily.

Joe was not having this, he sat up. “Let me see that.” Nile handed him her phone. He read the whole thing in a minute. “This cannot be real.”

“Well, that’s sort of the point.” Nile shrugged, taking back her phone. “What is real? Touch is just a way in which we interpret the physical world, but maybe our brains don’t know it is not actually possible.”

Joe looked at Nicky and then back at Nile. “No, that is wrong. Of course it is possible, how then would I explain the myriad of different sensations felt over the course of almost a thousand years?”

“A very active imagination?” Nile suggested.

“Imagination?” Joe rolled his eyes in exasperation. “No, this will not do.” He stood up, walked to the bedroom he shared with Nicky and closed the door.

Nicky and Nile looked at his retreating figure for a moment. When the bedroom door shut behind Joe, Nicky spoke. “I disagree with that as well.” He stood up. “I’m going to make dinner, do you want to eat something or is food also an illusion?” Nile laughed and joined Nicky in the kitchen.

Some time later they heard a door creaking open, another one clicking close and the unmistakable sound of the shower. Nicky bade Nile goodnight and went to his room. There was a note on the bed, it wasn’t addressed to him but it wasn’t folded or sealed so Nicky didn’t feel as if he were intruding. He picked it up and read it.

“If this, what we call reality, is but a trick of the mind I still would hold on to it. Because in it I was blessed with the love of my life. That more learned men than I should try to tell me that everything I know to be true is fiction…

How would they explain the simplest of feelings? What do they know of hard steel not just pressed against, but going through your flesh? Or perhaps that was just a figment of my imagination. Would they understand the thousand words held on the softest caress of my beloved’s hand? 

Touch doesn’t exist, they say, and yet I know I have touched him, my lover, my husband, my all and more; I have touched him and I have reveled in his touch. Nothing could be more real than my hand on his hand, my lips on his. If everything ceased to exist, I would still know this. Now and forever.”

Nicky smiled, he could hear Joe’s voice in his head saying those words, he read on.

“Time may be a construct, and yet, we’ve been together for a millennium. What do we care if some men of science now say that in all those years, through all those ages, we have never really touched?”

Nicky felt a familiar presence behind him. Joe rested his chin on Nicky’s shoulder. “I feel for them if they cannot even trust their senses.” 

“Nile didn’t mean to upset you, you know.” Nicky turned around to face Joe and put his arms around his waist.

“I know, I just can't imagine anyone believes that.”

Nicky closed the distance between them, they were standing as close as they could. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t. I believe I am touching you know, I believe I feel your heartbeat and I know you can feel mine.” He tilted his head and grazed Joe’s lips with his, wondering how else would anyone describe the intoxicating sensation that flooded him every time they kissed.

“I also believe that I love you.”

“I believe that too.”

Joe took the paper from Nicky’s hand and they silently agreed to test just how much they knew each other through touch alone.    

The next morning there was a note from Nile on the kitchen table. “This sounds much more like you two: ‘Quantum entanglement means two particles are inextricably linked and replicate each other’s every move, even if they are far apart’.”

“Entangled?” Nicky laughed.

“That’s a theory I can support.” Joe pulled Nicky into a deep kiss.

[demonkidpliz]

Things I learned while re-watching Star Plus Mahabharata (Part 12/many):

1) I didn’t know that Duryodhan wanted to marry Subhadra for political gain. I always thought he genuinely had the hots for her.

2) Why is Krishna STILL HERE?

3) Since he is literally always here why was he not here during the cheerharan? Okay, that was about Shishupal, never mind. We will come to that.

4) Oh my god Balaram is going to recognise Arjun.

5) Never mind, either Balaram is daft or he’s just pretending that Arjun is a problem that will go away if he ignores him.

6) Nice. Krishna mentioning Subhadra and Duryodhan’s upcoming wedding in front of Arjun. Some top tier sneakiness.

7) Krishna tricking Shakuni into touching Arjun’s feet was entirely unnecessary. Also, did Shakuni recognise Arjun? Sure seems so! What a risky joke…

8) Duryodhana, Shakuni and Dushasan standing behind a literal white picket fence in Dwarka.

9) Oh, Shakuni knows that Krishna and Arjun are up to some new yojanas. StarBharat making the political game ruthless with high stakes.

10) Shakuni to Dushasan: Agar buddhi ko vishram diya hai, mere bacche, toh mukh ko bhi vishram do. HAHAHAHA

11) Kunti when she hears Subhadra wants to marry Arjun, “Oh no, the Yadavs are at it™ again”.

12) AAAAAAHHH my fav, Pradyumna, has made an entry. Wtf he’s so cute. I thought he would be MIA and would return when he was older but I am glad they decided to show him here.

13) Subhadra’s eyeshadow game is on fiyaaaah.

14) What is it about Krishna that makes even Shakuni spill his guts out to him?

15) Arjun is here but my spider sense are tingling again. He is going to act difficult. I can tell.

16) They showed Revati! I’m so psyched. She’s so pretty.

17) Subhadra is so sad and Krishna is so pissed and Arjun is so useless.

18) Subhadra has already cottoned on. Meanwhile Arjun is totally clueless. This is going to set the tone for their whole relationship.

19) Aaah Arjun did the stupid thing. He says he’s not going to marry Subhadra. Why though?

20) Because she’s engaged. Hmm. Now methinks Krishna is going to play the Rukmini card.

21) Krishna fucking played the Rukmini card.

22) Krishna be like why would you hesitate to fight Duryodhan? Or even be sad if he takes up sanyas. Looool.

23) Balaram so soft. Calls Revati, ‘priye’.

24) Subhadra be like I am going to kidnap this pansy ass Parth. Arjun be like 👀

25) After dressing up like a woman for Krishna, getting kidnapped by one is nbd for Arjun.

26) Wtf Shakuni just kicks the sarthi out of the way?

27) Balaram looks so mad he looks like he could kill everyone here with that death glare.

28) At the mere mention of Krishna’s name his face is like oh Gods not this again, servants go fetch Kanha.

29) Meanwhile Kanha creeping up on him like 👼

30) Why does Krishna call him Bade Bhaiya and not Dau?

31) The pained expression on Balaram’s face before he breaks into a smile :)

32) Balaram is like one day because of your leelas I’m going to have to hide my face in a cave. Shit went from 0 to 1000 real quick!

33) Krishna pulling another fast one on the Kurus.

34) Brb, joining the gods as they sit down with popcorn to watch Ganga’s 8th vs Devaki’s 8th in an epic showdown.

35) Why is Rukmini not here for the wedding?

36) Arjun is such a mama’s boy, I love it.

37) Draupadi is spending their year in mourning for Arjun. Meanwhile, Bhim is still trying his best to win her over. She doesn’t deserve you, Bhim!

38) Arjun praying to Panchali before marrying Subhadra. I hope you did the same before marrying Uloopi and Chitrangada.

39) Balaram is like either you live in Dwarka with my sister or you take her to Indraprastha. The man makes very good points.

40) Draupadi is pissed. Understandably so. But I can’t help but wonder if we have held back millennia worth of progress because as a society we have promoted polygamy and polyandry.

41) Subhadra trying to win Draupadi over with some top tier sneakiness. My God, I love the Yadavs.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Any more As Yet Unread or HRH?

Here is the next part of HRH, anon.  

Kudos to @claryclark, @smashing-teacups, and @notevenjokingfic for not letting me quit on this thing, and for helping me find a voice with it again.

;nsfw under the cut

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations|Part VII: Magnolias| Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location | Part XV: Motorcycle | Part XV: Cabin | Part XVI: Market

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XVII: Stables

Folded against the warmth of Fraser’s leather jacket with her legs on either side of his hips, it was easy for Claire to pretend.  That they were not going home (to the Queen’s summer residence), that they were just out for another ride. That the rest of the world just existed as transient wax figures, melting and insignificant.  That their world existed solely in the cabin and that it waited for them just around the bend (the bed, the kitchen, the spot for two in front of the fireplace, the shower with the slightly mildewed curtain, the soft planks of the small deck off the rear of the structure).

They were a couple meant not to be seen, not to be heard, but just to exist together as one.  Claire indulged the fantasy as she closed her eyes, felt his fingers wind through hers when her grip slackened around his waist.

“Ye alright?” he asked, grip pulsing as he slowed to let another vehicle pass on the narrow road.  She turned her hand so they were palm to palm.  She pressed the very tip of her index finger to the thin, throbbing skin of his wrist.

“Better than just fine,” she said, attempting to sound strong, reassured, confident (and failing in actually being any of those things).

He lifted her hand, kissed the place where a fortune teller’s thumbs would divine a destiny for her if she were the kind of woman to frequent such a place, and then carefully situated it over his stomach.  “No’ much further.”

She closed her eyes, drawing herself to Fraser’s back as tightly as possible.  The nearness of home was precisely what she feared most.

Claire’s first glimpse of the palace’s exterior alone was as effective as a bucket of ice water sluicing down her spine.  The sensation jarred her out of the two and a half days of their cabin tryst and back to reality.  She tucked herself further into the warmth of his jacket as they came around a bend and through a grove of trees, trying not to count their remaining minutes of anonymity.

The motorcycle ground to a stop, kicking up an opaque earth-flavored plume of beige dust around them.  It was like the world knew they needed obscurity just a few moments longer.

With her cheek against his back, Claire concentrated on the indistinct perimeter of gravel and unkempt clover (it had overtaken the grass in a whimsical, fairytale kind of way).  After a series of heartbeats, long enough that Jamie wondered if he had imagined the whole thing (the weekend – their trip to the market, a car ride, cooking side by side, excavating the shape of her body from beneath bedsheets), Claire moved.

He reached for her waist to steady her as she threw one leg over the motorcycle. His hand fit there just as it had over and over again that weekend.  The pleasure and warmth of the touch, though, made her heart flutter and then morph into the ghost it would be until she could see him again.

“Tomorrow?” she inquired hopefully, letting a finger catch a curl just above his collar as her eyes darted around the stables.  All it would take was the attention of some well-meaning employee who had become a weekend straggler for the plume of dust to settle, for things to change. She was fully aware of this fact when she touched him (hand hesitating only momentarily), but Fraser could sense the conflict in her.  It dwelled in the oaky bite of her amber eyes, between the arches of her well-manicured eyebrows, in the tremor in her fingers as she touched his nape.  To be caught would mean there was no need to skulk around with one another, to make plans under the cover of a dusky dinner time after everyone had left for the evening.  Being caught would be freedom itself.

But no one was there to catch them, to disrupt her pre-packaged life and his mundane post-war subsistence.

Claire’s other hand curled around Fraser’s shoulder. She longed to feel his heartbeat under her cheek as she slept, to wake to his hulking form over her as he kissed the delicate, almost-avian swoop of her neck.

‘Come find us,’ she thought somewhat ruefully, able to picture completely the face of someone on her staff seeing her like this. ‘See us.  Have the bravery to open your bloody mouth. Tell everyone the queen’s shagging the Crown Equerry.’

“Tomorrow we can ride,” she supplied.  “Find a quiet corner of the grounds.”

A pause to ready him for a confession.

“I want to be with you more than just in secret, but we…”

Fraser’s affirmative sound was low, gravely in his throat before he turned to excavate her handbag from the depths of the motorcycle’s saddle bag.  Suddenly having no choice but to acknowledge the impending loss bubbling a quiet brew in her belly, Claire tightened her grip on him.  

‘Stay, stay, stay with me,’ she yearned to plea.  ‘Just come up there with me.  To my room, those halls.  They can’t say ‘no’ to me.  They won’t say ‘no’ to me.  You aren’t ready, and I know that.  You never will be ready, the people of this country will never be ready, so let’s do it.  Now.  Why wait?’

“This weekend,” Fraser began as he pushed an errant curl from the center of her forehead, “has been sae perfect, Claire.”

“I…”  

Her voice trailed, fading into the narrow plume of exhaust that was slithering out of the motorcycle’s tailpipe.  Words felt just as toxic, and she choked not on tears, but the thought of that world back there that they had only just started to construct.  

Jamie could not look at her just then, could not face her.  His eyes did not dart around the perimeter as hers had, but instead they found a spot alongside the building where the clover was growing wild.  He fixed his eyes there as his hand fell away.

“This was the best weekend of my life,” she whispered as a bookend to make her feelings clear (they could not be any clearer). She bent to touch his stubbled cheek with her lips one final time.

He made a sound, low and indistinct (certain, reciprocal).

‘Again with that noise,’ she thought. It was a white-hot tone originating from somewhere ancient, surely not from him. (But he didn’t need to say anything at all.)

His vocal cords were paralyzed, useless appendages for a beat, until he croaked, “Me too.”

The sun had begun its descent, the bottom curve just barely tucked beneath the line of the horizon.  The weekend was at its end, the summer-bloated sun finally giving way to the chill of nightfall.

It was time to go (to return to a place she did not belong, never belonged, but she would somehow remake in time – remake it to create a space shaped for him, shaped for her), so she bade him farewell in the only way she knew how.  It was the only way that would stop her from clearing the lump in her throat and asking him to take her upstairs.  She kissed him (hard, firm, fully).  The shape of his mouth, the taste of it, the responsiveness of it from that first night that felt like an occurrence centuries old just then were all memories.  She knew it (that mouth, his breath, what it did to her, what it did to him), but she wanted the memory to be fresh.  A breathless, aching, swollen reminder of it to carry with her on the short walk back to her cage. So he urged his lips apart, though but he did not kiss her back (could not kiss her back). His lips had died a slow death as they crossed the city limits, the realization dawning in him that this right here (born in the stables, tended on horseback, blooming in the cabin) was sacrosanct, cloistered, and perfect.  

And it would change.

Finally, he confirmed their plans with only the barest, whispered “tomorrow.”

Like a gymnast fallen off her apparatus (the tight line of a balance beam to walk, the unforgiving plane of the vault that threatened her, the uneven bars with a backwards and blind approach), she attempted her maneuver again.

A kiss to draw from Fraser the shine of the man that had pressed her against the wall of a cabin shower just ninety minutes earlier.

The man who looked up at her under a torrent of water, and declared with a blind authoritativeness, “You’re mine. I’m yours.”

The man who made her whimper until she wept with need.  

The man who took the mundane parts of a world it was easy for her to forget even existed (the unity in a simple pre-work chore of making a bed scented like their lovemaking, in shopping with a squeaky trolly for produce and tinned fruits, in filling of the tank on a vehicle as she dabbed a fresh coat of lipstick in the rearview mirror with the preternatural tingle of anticipation that in short order he would suck it clean off her mouth) and made it a technicolor dreamworld.

This time, his lips animated and molded to hers.  

He kissed her back.  

Long and hard; searing, but in no way final.

It ceased to be an exchange between lovers and instead became self preservation.  

Breathless, Claire was the one to pull away, lips heavy and bright with a swelling rush of blood. (A good victory, they both concluded.)

“Tomorrow,” he parroted, his voice firmer.  

Claire wiped her mouth with her sleeve, the glistening evidence of his kiss melting into a secret known only to the exceptionally discrete fibers of her blouse.

“I love you, Fraser.”

His hand fell from her hip to the curve of her bottom.  He smiled, tilting his head.  “And I love you.”

And with that, he watched her walk. Her smart trousers were a little worse for wear (creased, dusty) and her hair whipped free in the light breeze as she unbound it from her scarf. Though she was heading back towards the mottled brick and arched entryways of the castle that she had often described as her cage, she looked lighter somehow.  Like it was not a burden, but instead a challenge.

“Claire,” he called, not bothering to examine his surroundings yet again for company.

For only a second, she peeked at him over her shoulder and ruffled her hair with a roving hand.  She smiled, waved, blew him a kiss.  

Okay.  A look.  It was all he needed.  Yes, okay.

He nodded and watched her turn again.

As she neared the palace, he realized for the first time that while he had her Friday night through Sunday evening, he would be well and truly alone on Sunday night.  It gave him a sudden, sinking appreciation for the things that she had said she would never be able to give him.  

A Sunday dinner, a quiet discussion in bed about what the week ahead would hold.

Doing dishes side by side (he was an egalitarian sort, afterall, being raised by a father who did not mind “women’s work” and was the brother of a woman fiercely invested in equal sharing of a household’s day-to-day maintenance).

The radio would be turned low to a station that did not quite come in.  

To the crackling song, they would hum or sing, sway in time to a familiar rhythm.

Early in the evening, he would make love to her with his hands revealing all the hills and valleys and quiet lochs of her, the sounds that he could elicit with a touch, a caress, a kiss, a lick.  

The news would come on the radio.  

They would listen half-heartedly, playing naked with a deck of cards so fresh that they snapped and cracked when shuffled.

He would tell her everything.

(That he loved her.  That he was damaged, and how he came to be that way.  That something about her made him not see the world through a pinhole for the first time in a very long time.  That he was so glad that he could tell the world about them, about her - a woman so insightful and funny without meaning to be that it stole his breath.)

He would tell her everything.  

And without him asking (he never would), she would take it from him, bear it for not more than a moment on her narrow shoulders, and then let it go for the both of them.

And then he would make the paintbrush of her hips move in arcs across their shared bed linens again.  To create a piece of abstract art that only they could know. He would take her at his leisure, sinking his fingertips into the modeling clay of her hips and arse and covering the softest parts of her with his mouth again and again, just as he had that first time.

When it was time for them to grow their family, he would measure her belly with his hands and lips.  Rub her feet after a long afternoon.  He would perhaps take a second job.  He would insist on being in the room when she went into labor, to hold her hand and brush the curls from her forehead, to catch her eye and promise that it would be okay.

She was almost to the door of the palace in her wretched, wrecked pants.

He blinked.  

A searing burn and then an ache: They would not have those things.

He did not begrudge her it.  (Her life. Her birthright.)  He could not because he had known the weight of her title the moment he saw her turn around in the stables that night. He knew that it was unfair to resent a status that she could neither dispose of easily or help. But the depth with which the realization struck him – fast, hot, like a poker.  

Clearing his throat, he drove away well before he could see her cross the threshold of her cage.

In bed that night, simultaneously too hot and too cold (sweating, shivering), he tried to ignore the things that took him over.

The hollowness in his chest.

Their first night together when Claire mumbled in her sleep and fussed with the covers, a sheet slipping free from her form to expose the soft peak of a breast.  

The ridiculous amount of butter and jam she smeared on her toast, and the way she turned a spoon about her tea cup three times counterclockwise and once clockwise.  

The splitting apart of her face as he commented on the jam, the corners of her eyes wrinkling as one small hand offered him a bite.

The hardening of his cock, unbidden, at the thought of her whispering to him in the night about the ways that he made her ache, the confession that she had touched herself thinking of him before their weekend together.

The way she had marveled at the market over the mundanity of things like tinned peaches and stale, pre-packaged biscuits.

When he woke it was as though he had not slept at all.

He was living with a secret so broad, growing at all times, that it made him wonder if his body had seams.  A zip along his spine and at the back of his calves.  A line of snaps along the curve of his skull that he could open at his leisure to relieve the pressure.

By Monday morning, a cold shower and aspirin were not enough to staunch the bulbous ache growing in his head.  

He spent the day doing paperwork and waiting for someone to declare knowledge of his weekend activities.  

When finally asked (“what did ye get up to this weekend, boss?”), he made bland comments about some time at a family cabin.  

He wondered, tearing into a ham sandwich and apple at lunch, whether he felt somewhat like what a robber feels.  The knowledge of a heist, clandestine and forbidden, becoming a persistent niggling begging to break free. Wiping crumbs from the front of his shirt, he saw her.  

Mrs. Fitz.

With her watery eyes and toddling steps.  

He knew (just knew) what was in the note clutched in her pale fingers before he opened it.

Her writing.  The Queen’s writing.  Not Claire’s writing.

Been detained for now.  

Tuesday?

It is supposed to be a nice night.  

Perhaps a good night for a ride?

& always,

C.

He ran a finger along the clean line where the note had been folded.  Where her fingers had pressed down.  

Was she hesitating to meet? Had regret consumed her such that she had drifted?

Jamie cursed under his breath, closing the note again and nodding to Mrs. Fitz.  Meeting her swimming, faded denim eyes was surprisingly easy, though she did not have the glass face of her Queen. He could not tell what was clicking away behind her inscrutable, lined face.  He nodded.  She took back the note, an act that sent his heart teetering over the edge.

“Did she say when?”  His voice was coarse, somehow disembodied as he acknowledged the truth of their relationship to someone outside of it for the first time.

“Tuesday,” she said evenly, tucking the note into the hip pocket of her smartly-tailored and unseasonably thick wool jacket.

“Aye,” he ground out. “Tuesday.”

But Tuesday brought another visit from Mrs. Fitz.

A second note.  

This one signed much the same, though with an apology (“Duty calls and I am so very sorry, Fraser”).

And then her promise of Wednesday.

And when Wednesday came, she came with company.

An ambassador from a Canadian province or mayor of a Canadian city, he was not sure which, because the sound of his teeth grinding together transformed the introduction into  mere white noise.  He looked at her, shaking the man’s hand.  She was detached but for a flicker, a nod, the press of her palm against back just above the beltline as they inspected the Queen’s stables.

And then, she was proper as a nation could expect of its Queen.

“Colonel Fraser,” she started primly, flicking a stray bit of hay from the elbow of her riding jacket.  “I trust that we have a horse to accommodate our guest?”

“Aye, we do, ma’am.”

As he helped her into the saddle, his hand sculpted itself to the shape of her calf.  He smirked at the sharp intake of her breath, the quick dart of her eyes.  

“It’s no’ verra queenly to touch yer stable lad’s arse.”

“It was not your arse,” she hissed, wrestling the reins from his hand and fighting the urge to slap his hand away as it traveled over the back of her boot to her ankle.

“Ye’ve got a good fit for a saddle here, ma’am,” Fraser called a little too loudly, his eyes sparkling a little too brightly.

“James Fraser–”

“I’d take ye right here if we werena wi’ an uninvited guest.”  He reveled in the way her cheeks pinked a glorious, embarrassed rose color.

“Fraser.” She was only halfway annoyed, and he was sustained by the fact that he could recognize as much from her face, from the way she shifted slightly in the saddle.

The steed upon which the Queen’s guest was mounted came ambling over.

Giving a weak, two-fingered salute, Fraser bade her a pleasant ride, and retreated to his office.

It wasn’t until Thursday that she made good on the promise to visit.  It was late.  Well after the sinking of the sun and the warming up of a veritable orchestra of summertime insects, and long after any reasonable employee of the Crown had departed for the day.

It was the kind of visit that they had planned when they parted.  Alone and untethered to any sort of duty. At a distance, Claire paused to watch Fraser work. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows and a bead of sweat was coursing down his temple.  He looked roguish in a movie star way, a little too intense in his work and maybe a bit dangerous.

“You have not shaved this week, have you?” she finally asked, leaning against the gate of an empty stall.  “I thought as much when I saw you last night.”  

Jamie did not look to her, but his shoulders squared at the soft, conciliatory lilt of her attempt at banter.  

“Are you cross with me, Fraser?  Will you look at me so I can tell?”  She paused (one one thousand, two one thousand, three–), and his head fell as he rested the pitchfork against the wall. “I know I said Monday, and it’s Thursday. So I could not blame you if–”

“Ye verra well could, though,” he interrupted as he pulled shut the feed room door and turned to her.   “Blame me that is.  It’s no’ like I didna ken that ye have duties when I took up wi’ ye.”

“You ‘took up’ with me?” she asked, incredulity sneaking into her voice like a teenager out past curfew.  

“Ye ken what I mean.”

“Are you very cross with me?”

“No, no’ cross wi’ ye, Claire.” It was only half of a lie, for ‘cross’ was different than ‘frustrated with all of this need for you that lives in my guts and makes it hard to breathe.’ Unabashed, he looked her up and down once, twice, three times.  His tongue darted out, inhabited with a mind not entirely its own, and he wet his lips. “More cross wi’ the world, yer majesty, for endeavorin’ to keep us parted.”

He bowed with an exaggerated depth. The gesture drew mad, barking laughter from the pit of her stomach and and she strode towards him.  She was up and into his arms before she could realize that he was closing the distance between them more quickly than her legs could carry her.  With a ragged breath, Fraser consumed anything else she could have wanted to say.  Wound tight around him (arms, legs), she first tasted the salt at the corner of his mouth.

“I wasna kiddin’ when I said it–”

“Here?” she breathed into his mouth as he backed them through one of the open gates into an empty stall.  

“Aye,” he confirmed, dropping to his knees and easing her onto her back. She was magnetic, undeniable and perfect.     Opening her mouth to lodge some mannerly protest that she did not truly mean, Fraser worked his fingers between fabric and flesh, over the plane of her stomach, and between her legs.  

“I want ye right here.”

She made a sound and fisted his shirt in her hands.

“And from the feel of ye, ye want me to take ye here just fine.”

The space between her brows melted.  In its place was a quiet, determined crease as she ground down against his fingers.  

“I have been wanting this…”  She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, sank her teeth into it only for a moment before continuing as a breathy, but somehow full-formed version of herself.  “Since Sunday night.”

He took it all in, because their three days apart seemed something like a premonition of a longer separation.  

His shirt went taut against his back as she gathered fistfuls of fabric and pulled him closer.

“I’ve wanted ye right here in the stables since ye came clambering in wi’ yer tight pants and pert wee arse.  Where I’ve wanted to have ye since I first saw ye that night.”  Shaking her head as if to say “talk less,” Claire whimpered and let his shirt free so she could reach for his belt.  Just as her fingers slipped the leather free from the buckle, he whispered, “Ye’re mine, ye ken that, aye?”

“And you are mine,” she managed, a bit breathless as his thick, sure ring finger sank into her.  

“Mine.  Mine alone, now and forever,” he continued, one hand going for the waistband of her riding pants and rolling them down.  After a breath and rather indelicate removal of her pants, he looked at her like she was sunlight and summertime itself. With a careful flick of her wrist, she finally freed him of his pants and took him in hand. It didn’t strike her to marvel at the fact that he had somehow toed off his shoes and only had to arch and kick to free his legs from his work pants.  All that mattered was the promised stretch of completion, the weight of him over her, a coarse whisper in her ear to make her moan and writhe.

The Lord’s name tumbled in vain from his lips as he looked down between them where they had both been bared.  Her hand moved again and he shook his head, taking her wrist and firmly holding it over her head, pressing it down into the straw “I mean to use ye hard, my Sassenach.”

“Do it,” she goaded him, smirking and curling her fingers around the thumb he had pressed into the palm of her hand. “Do it now, and don’t be gentle.”

Saying it twice was unnecessary, for he reached between them then and guided himself into her an easy, unyielding thrust. The sense memory of each time they had made love flooded back to her, and when he moved again she choked on her own breath and arched up into him.  

Without her needing to ask him to make good on his promise to use her hard, he did.  Thighs falling further open, she took in his frustration and gave him her own.  When he took her mouth, she sank her teeth into his lower lip and carved half-moons into his shoulder with her fingernails.

He possessed her then, body and soul.  He could see it in her eyes, the way her mouth started to form requests he was already well on his way to fulfill (harder, faster, more), but melted into the sound of her moan as he did the very things she was primed to beg him to do.

When he pulled out suddenly, the wet length of his cock against her thigh as he released her wrist, she started to ask what he was doing, but was interrupted by two firm fingers inside of her.  

“Come for me,” he implored roughly, his fingers searching and stroking her with no small amount of skill.  She was just about to unleash something more coarse than anything she had ever said (“then keep fucking me properly”) when Fraser stroked up, the pads of his fingertips beckoning her to rise (up, up, up).  Her eyes blistered with hot tears as she slapped her hands uselessly down into the straw alongside her thighs.  

Arching up towards him (into the sensation, accepting it with a clenched belly and slackened jaw), she wondered absently if they would always be like this.  As his thumb moved in an arc over her, his assault became twofold, and she concluded that fate had surely mapped out an entire eternity of this for them. He leaned into kiss her gasping, agape mouth, and felt the first tremoring promise of an orgasm ripple down her spine and into his hand.

“Claire,” he whispered, stricken at the sight of her only half-naked yet entirely undone and lovely as she could be. He drew everything she gave from her, and she gave it all. “I’ve missed ye so.”

Her insides had given way to contradiction.  A primal urge to beg him to stop.  A contradictory need to let him know he could never stop.  A desire to touch the planes of his shoulders as he coaxed her trembling body to completion.  A premonition that touching him would sear her hand, sending her into an abyss from which she surely could never return.

All she managed was a wilting plea: “please.”

He slid into her just as purposefully as he had at their first joining, but more gently, reverent somehow.  His thumb did not lose pace or rhythm, but she looked up at him almost desperately as he pressed forward, slid back, and started again.  

More.  Never stop.  I love you.

It was the work of four thrusts to finally finish her, and she felt him everywhere.  

(Rushing out of the pads of her fingers.  Swelling in her belly.  Shimmering up her spine.  Clouding her mind.  Burning behind her eyeballs and blinding her.  Pulsating between her legs. Simmering on her tongue.)

She clutched him, dragged him down, and sank her teeth into his shoulder to keep from screaming.  In the basest part of himself, he wanted her screams to bound off the walls and make his eardrums ache.  He wanted her nails to trace furrows into his already-scarred back.  

Mine.  Yours.  Together.

He spilled into her just as her high ebbed into delirious, taffy-thick stupor.  For her part, Claire cupped the back of his head as he finished and her forehead became the home for his as he bowed his head.  Shifting just enough so that he would not crush her, he fell onto her and heaved a contented sigh.  

“Job well done,” she mumbled after a not insignificant time time had passed with the melding of breath and slowing of hearts.  She kissed his temple, tasting salt and letting her eyes close.

“I work hard in yer stables, yer majesty.”

She chuckled, carding her fingers into his damp curls and not bothering to wonder how exactly she would make her way back up to the palace without looking like she had just been rogered six ways to Sunday in a pile of straw.

It could have been years that they laid there, skin drying and arousal fading, but it was closer to half an hour.  

“It is not entirely uncomfortable, this,” she mumbled, head indicating the pile of straw where they were sprawled out together.  

“It’s no’ just good for soakin’ up horse piss, though I suspect ye’ll be pickin’ bits out of your arse for a week.”  She laughed, deciding that she loved him even when he was unbridled of any sense of propriety and allowed himself to be crass.  Reaching between them, he groaned, “Insatiable.”

She hummed, shrugging noncommittally as she took him into her hand.

One could reasonably anticipate that this would be how HM Queen Claire would be caught with the Crown Equerry.  With their pants in a pile on the floor of the stables and the stable boy buried to the hilt inside of the Queen, there would be little for them to do other than deny what was plainly true.  But they would not be caught making love on the stable floor, nor would they be caught cleaning up and kissing before the Queen walked back to the palace for the night.  No one heard the Queen moan or beg, scream, or cry out.  No one heard the Crown Equerry staking his claim to the woman he loved, giving in to a second, lazy, fatigued round as HM Queen Claire wrapped her mouth around him.

No.  This would not be it – this moment, their reconnection, their bodies’ work to release the frustration of separation wrought by nothing more than circumstance.

But as James Fraser curled his fingers into his beloved’s curls, mumbled her name, and let all worldly thoughts fade, neither knew that they had precious few hours of privacy remaining.

Because their cover was about to be spectacularly blown.

[biscuitinferno]

Forget Me Not

Summary: Emet-Selch reflects upon a patch of flowers and the memories associated with them.

Pairing: Emet-Selch/Reader (Unnamed Amaurotian)

Warnings: none, unless you hate the slightest bit of affection

Word Count: 1733

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A few Shadowbringers MSQ spoilers ahead! I suggest finishing the main quest line of 5.0 if you don’t want to spoil anything. 

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Emet-Selch scowled at the patch of flowers at his feet. The small blue flowers seemed to taunt him. The very sight a torture to behold. He knew exactly who had created these flowers before the great sundering. 

You. 

You had created them. Emet-Selch had always been first to witness the birth of your creations, no matter what they ended up being. He closes his eyes, looking back to that time so long ago when he had first witnessed this creation. 

You had bade him join you in one of the many parks Amaurot had, a sweet smile lighting up your features on the walk there. It was infectious, your smile, and however he tried to keep his face neutral there was no stopping the gentle smile that spread across his lips. You were excited, he could tell though you did not voice it. For you stayed quiet in the hope to keeping your surprise alive. Upon entering the park you bid him close his eyes in a voice with barely contained excitement. Emet-Selch obeyed without a thought. There was no reason not to, for he trusted you completely. And if for the off chance that this was a ruse to get him to step into one of your clever tricks you loved to play with him, he would go along with it. For he enjoyed those troublesome creations as well.

You led him through the park, a warm hand slipping into his to help guide him the way. You hand had been so… perfect to hold. So right. It filled his entire soul with a tingle of warmth. When you stopped him at a particular point, your hand left his. The absence made him desperately crave to have it returned. Your hands on his shoulders turned him around and your voice was in his ear. “Open your eyes.”

Emet-Selch did as he was told, eyes opening to a patch of small blue flowers blanketing the ground in the shade of a large tree. So delicate, they were. So you.

“You made these?” Emet-Selch asked full of wonder. He knelt to get a closer look, fingers trailing over the soft petals. Upon his closer look he found not only blue blossoms, but both pink and white ones speckled throughout.

You clasped your hands together and nodded. “Yes, I was looking over similar creations and was inspired.”

“They are beautiful,” he murmurs, standing again. You are beautiful, he had continued in his mind, his gaze seeming to get stuck on you. “Have you named them yet?” 

You paused and thought for a moment. “Forget Me Nots,” you told him quietly. “Is it weird? I thought of Myosotis too because the petals look like little mouse ears...”

“No, not at all. I am just curious of your reasoning on the name,” Emet-Selch reassured you quickly. 

You look away from him. “I,” you began, suddenly shy. “I was thinking of you, Hades. Of me. For my desire for neither of us to forget about each other. You are Emet-Selch now, a leader of our people. You have so many things that you could be doing, but still you make time to spend with me. For that, I am eternally grateful.” 

“It will not be long until you join me there,” he assures you. “I have witnessed many of your creations first hand and can testify to the strength and control you have. Your trials will prove you little trouble.”

“Even so,” you bite your lip, uncertainty still holding fast. “No matter what happens, my hope was that if we have less time to spend together in the future, that we can look down at these flowers and remember while apart.”

Emet-Selch felt his whole body alight with delight. If it weren’t for the mask he wore, he was sure that you would be able to see the bright glow on his cheeks. For him. These flowers. He finds himself smiling. He stepped up to your side and gently placed a hand on your cheek. You returned the gesture, both basking in the comfort of each other's souls.  

Footsteps approach him and Emet-Selch tears his eyes away from the planter and the far away memory. You-- no. The mortal husk of the warrior of light harboring your half complete soul, approaches him. There was a scowl set on the warrior's lips, their eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

It was truly unsettling to Emet-Selch just how much this incarnation that bore the shards of your soul resembled you. He had made a habit of finding each piece of your soul throughout the years just to see what appearance you had taken on, and this one by far resembled you the closest. There of course had been little things that had matched your appearance in your other vessels; same eye color, or the same shape of the lips, or the same tilt of your head when you would look at something. But never had they come together in such a way before. Emet-Selch wasn’t sure how to feel about this. Perhaps it was just another thing to mock him. Another reminder. Another stab into his chest. 

"Must you wait outside my apartment too?" The warrior crosses their arms, shifting their weight onto one foot, a motion you had employed whenever you were mildly annoyed at something. "Some might call you a stalker."

Emet-Selch snorts loudly, rolling his eyes. "My dear hero, as far as I am aware it is not a crime to take a walk. Stopping to observe the scenery outside your residence was merely a happy coincidence," he slips into the easy charm he had cultivated with this persona. The warrior frowns even more, opening their mouth to say something but Emet-Selch stops them. 

"Tell me, hero," he begins, turning his gaze back to the flowers. A strange sense of curiosity had filled him and Emet-Selch needed an answer. "Do you know what kind of flowers these are?"

The warrior of light seems visibly put off guard, their face twisting up in confusion. But they take a look down at the planter regardless. "Forget Me Nots?" They answer after a few moments.

“So you do. Wonderful,” Emet-Selch smiles. “Now answer me this: how do you feel when you look at these flowers?”

The warrior scrutinizes Emet-Selch, more confusion flashing through their eyes. More suspicion. “Is this a joke?”

“Far from it, hero. It is a simple question that I had hoped you would deign to answer. If I so readily indulge with your ceaseless inquiries then it is only fair you return the favor.”

This made the warrior pause. They are thinking, eyes darting between the flower planter and Emet-Selch. “I’m not sure…” they finally say after an extended look at the flowers. “Honestly, these flowers, I have always been drawn to them. I guess they have always been a favorite of mine. I am unsure what the reasoning is but when I look at them I feel… surprisingly... wistful? I don't know."

Emet-Selch closes his eyes and hums. The irony of the situation was not lost on the Ascian. To have your soul right here in front of him, to be looking at these flowers, and to not remember anything... It makes him want to roll his eyes. Forget Me Nots. What was the point of making them if you would one day forget everything? But to be fair, Emet-Selch was hard pressed to believe that you had known any of this would happen, especially when the initial creation of the plant was long before the first calamity.

There is a quiet moment between the two of them. Emet-Selch reflecting and the warrior being even more confused at how this conversation was playing out. “Have I answered your question sufficiently?” The warrior asks. 

“Oh, yes hero. You have given an adequate answer,” Emet-Selch retrains his golden eyes to the flowers. He can’t help the soft smile that tugs at the corner of his lips or the softening of his eyes. "Long before the sundering, I knew the soul who created these flowers. I had been curious to know your thoughts on them since you share a surprising amount of similarities to them," he explains seeing the warriors troubled look. He bends down and plucks a small cluster off the plant. His thumb brushes against the petals and wishing it was your hand he held instead. A mischievous thought darts through his mind and he can’t help but heed its call. 

Emet-Selch steps up close to the warrior, his eyes never leaving theirs. They stiffen but stay rooted to the ground all the same. Without another thought he tucks the blossom into their hair just behind their ear. He admires it there for a moment, recalling how you had done this to him in the park that day you first created them. “There,” he repeats the words that you had said to him as well. “It suits you."

The warrior was dumbstruck for about five moments before their wits returned and they stumbled away, knocking the Ascian's hand off their cheek. A mix of horror and disbelief crossed their face along with a bright flush of their skin. "What are you-- I-- you--"

The lack of words that the warrior has makes Emet-Selch smile. What an interesting reaction, he muses to himself. Still sputtering, the bright faced warrior turns and dashes off in the direction of the Crystal Tower, not bothering to pull the flowers out of their hair. Would they remember before they came before the Exarch to pull it out? Or would they forget and have to face inquiries as to why it was there? Either scenario made the smile on the Ascian's lips widen.

It sparks a bit of hope within him. If the warrior can feel the calls of your soul, whether they realize it or not, then there must be a way to reawaken you. You must be in there somewhere, watching and waiting for the opportunity to emerge. Emet-Selch only needed a few more pieces of your soul to be rejoined, or a strong enough image-- something that would catch your attention and unlock those deep buried memories. And when they did come flooding back, you would return to him. You would be in his arms once again.

Like it was always meant to be.

For he has never forgotten about you.

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Forget Me Nots; Myosotis. 

Meanings--- 

True love, eternal love, fidelity, honesty, long-lasting connection, remembrance

Color Meanings ---

White: Purity, innocence

Blue: Trust, respect

Pink: Romance, love, gentleness 

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[forkanna]

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTES: Sorry for that delay! Holidays got a bit crazy, and I've been sorting out my life since then. Will try to get this posted a bit more regularly from now on!

Also, the theme song for this chapter is "Feeling Of Falling" by Cheat Codes and Kim Petras.

                                             CHAPTER ELEVEN

The corners of my mouth lifted up the tiniest bit. "So… this counts as a date?"

"UGH!" Miss Kawakami got up from the table and crossed to lean against the kitchen bar. Seeing her framed there, between the mini water cooler and the espresso machine, her dress revealing just enough of her back to make my fingertips tingle and my mouth run dry…

'No, Makoto,' I thought to myself. 'Focus. Don't let your weird new gay feelings distract you from helping her.'

"Look. It doesn't have to be a date. This was just the kind of dinner you deserve from a date. Not specifically from me. Not me being your date, I mean, um… if that makes sense."

"Well, why not? I'm already a maid for two of my students. Gave you a bath and let you massage me, put on this dress for you. Why shouldn't I just say 'fuck it all' and throw myself into your arms? Huh?"

There was anger and frustration bleeding through now, and it made me duck my head in fear. "I'm sorry. Y-you can leave, I won't tell anybody you left early. I d-don't want to keep you here if you-"

"No, that's exactly what you want. Right?" Finally, she turned, and she was shaking with anger. "I told you already that this can't happen, and here it is. Happening. What gives you the right to just ignore my wishes? Like I'm not the grown up here!"

"O-oh," I breathed softly, shutting down. Like a puppet with its strings cut. "You're right. I apologise."

"Makoto, what…?" Then she sighed in exasperation, throwing up both hands. "See? You act like a little kid getting yelled at! Why aren't you yelling right back at me? This is not how it would work if we were equals in this relationship! What the hell am I saying? We're not even in one! Oh my GOD…"

"Hey, it's alright," I said, finally rising from the table as I kept my voice low. "Listen. I'm… I'll go to my bedroom for a few minutes. Please enjoy your meal, and… if you're gone when I come back out, I'll underst- understand."

My voice had broken on the last word but I tried to recover quickly as I strode away from the table, the room spinning. Sadayo didn't do anything, but she did watch me go, trembling as she stood there trying to weather the blunt force of a million different emotions buffeting her all at once.

Something I could relate to.

I had only been laying on my bed for a minute or two, tears rolling down into the pillow silently as I stared at the wall, when I heard a soft knock at the door. "Come in," I said as I hastily blotted at my eyes with the tissue in my hands.

"Hey," she breathed. My lights were off, so all I could see was the halo of her slightly messy hair from the backlighting. "I, um… I seem to have lost my appetite."

"That's fine. I'll clean it up later, and… Sae and I can have the leftovers. She'll just wonder why I made duck. I'll get your money in a m-"

"I'm not leaving yet," she reassured me. "Can I sit?" I nodded, so she sat on the very edge of my bed, not quite far enough back so that we were touching. "So… now it's my turn to apologise."

"For what? You didn't do anything wrong."

"No, I did. I really overreacted out there, I… don't know why I did that. Well, I do, but it doesn't make it okay."

Eyes still blurry, I glanced up at her face that I could see a tiny bit better now. She looked pale, and scared, but not nearly as two-steps-from-crazy as she did before. Her eyes closed for a moment as she contemplated the situation, chose her next words carefully.

"You aren't… the only one."

"Hm?"

"You aren't the only one who feels this… pull toward each other." Another breath to steel herself. "I couldn't tell you when it started, or why, or how I could actually feel anything this strong for a girl in my class. But it's real and it's there."

Now I sat up a little more on my elbows. "What are you saying? Do you-"

"Wait," she bade me with a hand raised. "The thing is, that doesn't change the situation. You're a kid! And my student - and my boss when you request me through the agency. It's so messy… and I'm straight, so even if we did anything with these crazy feelings, it's probably not going to work out in a 'happily ever after' way. When I sit there and picture my ideal future, it's married to a husband who's providing for me, whose big, strong arms can comfort me when I'm sad or stressed out." Then she snorted. "Not that I'm gonna meet one at the rate I'm going, as my mom would say."

"Oh."

Her lips pulled into a little sad smile. "But I will admit you got to me way more than I thought. Just something really special about you, Niijima-san."

"And there's something special about you, too, Kawakami-san." At the term of address, she did raise an eyebrow and laugh a tiny bit, but let me continue instead of interrupting. "I've done a lot of thinking, about… what you said. Your bath and all that."

"Don't remind me," she sighed. "And how much thinking could you have done in five minutes?"

"No, not just now. The whole week." I sat up a little more as I continued, "You're my first in a lot of ways. But honestly? I don't think it matters that much. Because I know how I feel about you even without those things. Maybe I already did, because…"

When I didn't continue right away, she prompted, "Because?"

"You were the teacher I looked forward to seeing the most every day," I confided. "Probably because you were attractive to me, even though I didn't understand that until the hotel room. But it must have already been there, because… you flirting with me shocked me, but not enough. I should have been a lot more scared - I should have wanted to run screaming from the room. Instead, it almost felt… natural. And that scared me the most."

Miss Kawakami frowned. "But that flirting was just part of the job. You know that, right? I didn't… I thought you were a young man who paid to have me flirt with him. That isn't disgusting to you?"

"Like you said, it's your job. I think it would be pretty stupid and narrow-minded of me to judge you for that. Really, the way you're working so hard to pay that student back only makes me admire you more."

"Oh," she breathed, staring down at where her hands lay in her lap. As she watched, one of mine came to rest atop them, and she looked over to see my face was a lot closer. "M-Makoto, wait…"

"For what?" I whispered - and I could barely believe I was doing any of this. But it was too late to turn back; that ship had sailed. "I think you need to know right now how serious I am. Sadayo…"

Her eyes closed. "Shit. You say my name like that, and I can't…"

"Can't what? Sadayo?" That time, I was teasing a little.

"Can't resist you. Can't fight back against this huge mistake."

The last word gave me pause. Enough so that I changed my tactic; my lips pushed into her cheek instead of her mouth. But it was still a kiss. I had never kissed anyone before, and now I had, and it was my Japanese teacher. Life really is crazy. For that moment, however, we were just two women who didn't know how to handle their feelings, and it was more powerful than I ever dreamed.

"Oooooh, okay," she let out in a shaky sigh a few seconds later, when I had drawn back to rest my chin on her soft, warm shoulder. "Wow. That was nicer than a little peck on the cheek has any right to be. God…"

"Yeah?" I breathed cautiously. "I figured I should start small. Not push too much."

"So you're all in now, huh?" she asked with a bitter chuckle, despite the warmth in her eyes as she gazed down at the floor. "Totally gay, and totally gay for your teacher?"

I shrugged as I pet along her back, and she melted. It was almost comical except it was too inflaming to be laughed at. "Guess so. I'm as confused as you, but it just seems silly to pretend I'm not interested."

"Makoto… your moves are like… A+ level moves. How are you only eighteen? How are you a girl?!"

"Do you want me to put the mustache back on?" I laughed.

"No!" We both chuckled for a moment, even though halfway through she shivered and arched her back. "Oh my GOD, you are barely doing anything and I'm ready to go."

"Ready to go?"

Fearful eyes turned on me. "Wait - forget I said that. Shit, why did I say that?!"

"Do you mean…" My eyes widened, and I felt heat explode within my cheeks. "Oh."

"I said forget I said it, so stop thinking about it! Wow, I really am a mess - I need to see a therapist or something!"

My teacher was turned on. Was this really happening? Despite the fact that, as she said, I was barely doing anything to her, apparently it was getting her aroused and ready for me to explore further. Only question was…

Was I as ready to explore as she was to be explored?

"It's okay," I reassured her, petting a little more firmly and hoping it would help. "I, um, I don't remember you saying anything. Just that I have some good moves. Did you say something after that?"

Her embarrassed laugh spoke volumes. "Nice try, kid. Ugh, I'm such a loser."

"Why? Because having someone focused on you feels good? Because this…" I pet a single finger down the middle of her back - not even sure how I knew to do that, running purely on instinct - and she shook and shivered. "…feels good?"

"Stop, please…"

"Really?" My hand came to rest in the middle of her back, staying totally still. "I will if you want me to."

"Yes. I do." So I took the hand away. Her eyes were sad, but what she said was, "Thank you."

Swallowing hard, trying to ignore the pinprick of fear in my stomach, I whispered, "Of course. I'm sorry, I just… I thought I could make you feel nice, and you might feel less… mad at yourself? Scared?"

"You did, in a way. But you also made it way worse." She turned to gaze at me. "Because it worked. You got me all revved up by barely doing anything - and I only felt that with the best of the dates I've been on. Even then, most of the guys had to work harder to get me there."

"Except… you don't want it from me. I'm a student, and a girl." She nodded, and I sighed. "I understand."

"Well, I don't," she blustered, folding her arms over her chest. My hand was resting on her thighs now, but I tried to keep it still so as not to draw attention to that. "This is nuts! I feel like I'm being pranked, except it's way too real to be a prank, so…"

"How do you think I feel? You're my teacher, and so beautiful. And a woman - which I think I'm somehow more comfortable with that than you are. But it doesn't mean I'm not panicking."

"You're panicking?" she asked, and I could tell she was almost grateful to think about me instead of her own feelings. "But you seem so cool with it all. Like, other than when I scream at you like an idiot."

My lips split in a smile. "Not an idiot. You just weren't expecting any of this. We're both trying to figure it out." I pet her thigh a little now, and she shivered. "Is this alright?"

"N-no." I stopped. "God… I can't believe how different it is with girls."

"Hm?"

"I ask you to stop, and you actually do it. No 'Aww, c'mon' first, no telling me I'm some big tease if I get less comfortable."

"Oh," I chuckled softly. "Do you want me to do that instead? I probably could learn."

"GOD NO!" Then we both laughed. "It's one of the only clear advantages. But, um… anyway, yeah. How do you keep from blowing your stack while I'm over here, sweating enough to fill a bucket?"

"You are not sweating," I snorted as I thought the question over. Finally, I sat up completely, my legs out and to the side behind her as my face rested against her shoulder. She didn't seem to mind me there, even if my touches were too much for her to handle at the present.

"Miss Kawakami, I wish I knew what to tell you. But I've always been like this under pressure. I'm still freaking out and trying to figure out what to do, but it's like… there isn't any point in letting the panic turn me into a mess, so I just… don't. And I can't explain to you why I'm like that, either."

"Lucky," she pouted.

"I feel lucky. You're not yelling at me for all this, and… I do keep worrying about what you said."

"Which thing I said?"

"That I'll go too far and you won't tell me to stop, and I'll hurt you. That's why I keep taking such… small chances." I kissed her shoulder again, and she sighed. "Like that one."

Humming her pleasure at the next kiss, she finally whispered, "They're small but they aren't small. My brain is telling me 'no', but my body…"

After the next kiss, when she still hadn't finished her thought, I whispered, "Tell me."

"My body wants this. Needs it - and that's all I'm going to say, because it's already really terrible that I told that to any student. I deserve everything that's happened to me in the past few years. Scummy old woman."

"Hey." I reached up and gently moved her chin so she was facing me, and her eyes grew wide and fearful. "Don't talk about yourself like that. It's not fair. Those two are wrong."

"How are they wrong? I got a student killed, and now I'm feeling way too much for another. I'm a monster, Makoto-chan."

Smiling, I leaned a little closer. "Don't you mean 'Niijima-san'?"

"Right. That thing."

"You aren't a monster. And you aren't scummy. You're a beautiful, smart-"

"I can't take any more compliments," she laughed shakily as my face got closer. "I can't take any more of this, no matter how much I…"

"What? No matter how much… you want it?" I guessed.

All she could do was nod before our lips made contact.

Kissing Sadayo was both everything I had ever dreamed it could be, and nothing like I expected. Which didn't seem to fit together very neatly, since those feelings were such different shapes. It was warmth, and softness, and openness… passion and comfort mixing like fire and water. And now that I had tried it…

I could no longer imagine kissing a man. That easily. As much as I still couldn't believe I was with a woman, it felt so right that I didn't want to question it anymore; didn't think it was necessary. Her mouth was sweet and warm and open to me, and as our lips kneaded each other, I craved more, I leaned up harder against her, my arm wrapping around her back to keep her close.

"Shit," she breathed when we finally broke apart. Only then did I realise her hand had come to rest on my upper arm, another around my waist.

"Huh? I mean… hey."

"Hey." Swallowing hard, eyes swimming with the threat of tears, she went on, "I'm… just… it's not fair."

"What isn't fair?"

"That a little girl just gave me the best kiss of my life."

Blushing though I was, I managed to protest, "I'm not a little girl. I'm a grown woman; I just so happen to be in school, that's all."

"You'll be 'grown' when you can order that wine at a restaurant," she muttered, and I couldn't help smiling. "This is still a really… terrible idea, but…"

"It's good, though?" I insisted on knowing. "You're not just flattering me? I've never kissed anyone before."

"Stop reminding me how young you are," she whined. But when she saw me biting my lip, she closed her eyes and whispered, "The best. You just barely beat out Katsuya from my high school; he was really good, too. Like, legendary."

"Wow, high school must have been a really long time ago. How do you even remember?" When her eyes flew open, I dipped my head. "Teasing. O-or trying to. You really shouldn't shame yourself so much for this happening; it was… fate."

Her hand began to caress up and down my arm, and I felt the goosebumps dimpling and shifting under the light touch. "You believe in that stuff? Like fate? Oh - right, you still owe me a reading."

"Reading?" Her heeled foot raised up and waggled just in the corner of my vision, and I smiled bashfully. "Oh yeah… I don't know why I thought that would work."

"Honestly, I wasn't sure why you were asking about my shoe size until I saw the heels in the bathroom. So it did work; it just was very suspicious. Like, what is solestry, anyway?!"

"It's a real practice!" When she squinted at me, I shrugged and admitted, "So maybe it's not very widespread…"

"If you wanna play with my feet again, just ask. You don't have to make up fortune-telling excuses; I don't even believe in tarot cards or any of that."

Sure I was beet red by now, I whispered, "Wh-why are you so sure I'm some pervert? I just liked giving you a massage!"

"You did kiss them," she laughed. "And I'm teasing. But you keep getting all flustered, so if you want me to stop my teasing and let you play with them… just say the word and I will. I mean it."

"But you freaked out when we kissed. Why would that be any different? Because they're only feet?"

"In a word… yeah?" We both laughed. "Okay, okay, so you're not into it. I just… I don't know, I'm trying to think outside the box. Things that won't be as dangerous as that kiss was a few seconds ago. Do you want to take another bath?"

"Only if we're both naked."

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Sadayo was still gulping and gaping at me when I hastily averted my gaze to stare at the wall, my fingers flexing where they rested against her shoulderblade. Seconds ticked by in silence as we tried to figure out how to recover from that line.

"So…"

"Maybe we should go back to eating," Sadayo whispered.

"I thought you lost your appetite."

"I did. But um… that kiss kind of… woke it back up. So either I satisfy it that way, or…"

My eyes lifted to meet hers, and I was aware of how close our mouths still were. "Or we could do it in a fun way?"

"No. We really shouldn't do that. I want to, I… guess there's no point pretending I don't, but it's still a bad idea."

"I'm sorry I said such a stupid thing," I suddenly blurted. "I thought it would be funny, or flirty, but instead it sounded… kind of… scary."

"Yeah," she agreed with a hard swallow as she pulled me tighter against her side. "But I know you weren't doing that on purpose; I'm… this is why you don't date somebody nine years younger than you, right? They don't have the same experiences you do. I've been around the block a few times; you just got to the neighbourhood."

"Then show me. You're already my teacher at Shujin; teach me this, too. How to do it right instead of… of messing up and making you feel bad."

"This is not what 'sex education' is supposed to mean, you know," she chuckled. I smiled a little along with her.

"Let's finish dinner. I feel like you don't want to try more because you're worried about too many things, so maybe it's smarter if… we don't keep sitting on my bed."

A long whine issued from her mouth. "I kissed a teenager. On her goddamn bed, I must be out of my mind!"

"Yeah, but… think of it this way." I couldn't help smiling up at her as I whispered playfully, "You're hot enough to get a teenager to kiss you. On her goddamn bed. Has to count for something."

That did at least earn a giddy laugh from her as she facepalmed. "Sure. It means I'm a real vixen for a predator, right?"

"Hey, don't call yourself that," I scolded her, eyes darkening a little. I saw her blink in surprise at how insistent I was. "Not ever again. I'm the one who's been chasing you, not the other way around; that makes you an herbivore, I think."

"Well… I… sure, yeah," she admitted with a weary nod. "You're right, let's go eat. That duck was really good and I feel terrible that we kind of flirted our way out of finishing it."

"You really like my cooking?" I asked as we stood up, arms still loosely around each other. Now I was a lot shorter than her again - only because she was still wearing the heels. Which was at my insistence, so I had no one to blame but myself.

"Makoto, it was amazing. Where did you get that recipe?! Not that I can cook anything besides curry and instant ramen, anyway… what a failure of an adult I am."

"I think you're perfect," I breathed as we left the room. That only made her groan.

                                                    To Be Continued…

[cassi-misc-art]

FFM 2021 - Louis

I wanted the world to make sense. I wanted a world I could understand the rules of, where I could more easily tell who was "bad" or "good," even if there were still people who could hide it. But I couldn't bring myself to wish away the world I had grown up in, no matter how stressful and strange it was.

So I wished myself away instead.

I found myself in bed, in a quiet room in a wooden building. An inn, I presumed. I was dressed only in breeches, and there was a large traveling sack in the corner of the room furthest from the door. I sat quietly for a while, regarding the bag thoughtfully. I would really need it, wouldn't I. I had no more home, no more family... Nobody to force interaction on me, but nobody to interact with except strangers. Well. Too late to worry about that now.

The travel sack had a few shirts and a second pair of breeches, and there was a pair of sturdy boots that had been partially hidden behind it. I took my time getting dressed, judging the texture of the shirt I'd chosen, feeling the floor beneath my feet as I checked the bag for a pair of socks (there were none), and pulled on the boots, tightening the laces and wiggling my toes around as I adjusted to them.

Once I was dressed and comfortable, I made my way downstairs. The dining room was generously but not overly populated, and I did my best not to stare at the non-human patrons. Orcs! Lizardfolk! Just as I had imagined them! "Hey, kid!" I flinched, then turned around. One of the orcs handed me a bow and a quiver full of arrows. "You only needed to turn it in for the night, not give it up!" He laughed, slapping my shoulder with enough force that I rocked sideways.

I laughed as well, a bit nervously. The orc was right, and I felt foolish for not realizing that I obviously needed a weapon in this world. I thanked the orc with a mumble and left the inn. I'm a ranger, and rangers are comfortable in the embrace of nature, so it wouldn't be too conspicuous when I headed into the nearby forest instead of walking the road out of town. I knew I was weak, but I also that I had certain abilities, in this world. There are rules to be played by, and I intended to see what those rules allow me to do. I walked deeper into the woods, still keeping to the wider gaps between trees, where there's more sunlight filtering down. I don't have dark vision, so I didn't want it to be too dark.

The main concern in testing this hypothesis would be to find a subject. While I could hear birds singing and the occasional rustling of a squirrel in the branches above me, I could not actually find an animal close enough to me to test my abilities on. But it was nice just to walk, so I didn't mind terribly. I grew hungry after some time, and sat myself down on a log, searching through my sack and finding a wrapped package of dried meat and a sack of mixed nuts. While I snacked, I heard the chattering of a squirrel above me. I leaned my head back, trying to spot it, and after a moment I was able to discern its location. I moved more slowly, hoping it would come closer in curiosity, and eventually it did. I leaned over and placed a cashew as far from me as I could reach, hoping to at least lure the squirrel down to a reasonable distance, and then put my own food away, leaning forward, arms on my legs to keep myself upright, patiently waiting for the critter to get within range. It took a while, but at last, he came down. And then I did it: I cast a spell.

Speak With Animals.

"Hello, small friend."

The squirrel blinked and looked up at me. "Can talk squirrel? Strange! Hello! Am Chipchur!"

"Chipchur? A good name. I am Louis. Tell me about yourself."

"Loowis want know Chipchur? Okay! Chipchur wise! Handsome! Fast! Chipchur climb tree to top, see all! Chipchur nest good for babies! Chipchur babies strong!"

He was very proud of himself, and was eager to unleash that pride, but there was no competitive edge to his bragging. To Chipchur, these traits were important to share with others. When I asked if there were any other squirrels 'like him' he informed me that Peepchip was wise, Chursqueak had a comfortable nest, and so on, sounding just as proud of them as he was of himself.

I didn't notice the sensation in my hands at first. It was only when I began to wonder how soon the spell would end that I noticed the warmth in them, like holding a coffee mug. As Chipchur and I conversed, the warmth only grew stronger, from a tingle to an itch and finally, true pain. I did my best to hide my discomfort, not wanting my first conversation with a wild animal to be ruined by such a thing, but as the spell faded and I bade Chipchur farewell, I couldn't ignore it anymore. But I didn't know why this was happening, or how to stop it.

Something in the back of my head told me what was happening. That every time I cast a spell, I would follow it up with this one.

I ran.

I needed to find water, or mud, or just an open area. I couldn't let this happen.

Rangers aren't supposed to cast Fire Storm.

[findinganewshrubbery]

Old Bri’we & Xo’catl

_Xo’catl always surprised her on some level, no matter how many times she found him or, as was more common vice versa. He was a Primal, yes. He was the -Apex-, yes. Blood got him started but he held restraint tighter in his claws than she did. She knew this from how he had been present when she had taken Mag’s tongue, how his stance had subtly changed when her blood had hit the air, and how he had wanted to practically thrash the smoulderthorn and yet, had -asked- first. He was the same social rank as she was if she remembered correctly, but as she was handling it he had asked. She was always very careful to ask him to do things, and made a note to doubly so be certain to. He had respected her. She would respect him in turn.

That wasn't to say she didn't already respect him. He had kept a distance when they had first met. She had explained to him that it was simply because he was a larger male, she remembered. She never had asked what he thought of being considered by size and gender before being a primal even entered the picture. _

She ran. Somewhere there was a friend who was grieving just as much as everyone else, who she doubted anyone else save for the others of his pack would bother to check on him. She only slowed from time to time as she scented the ground and communed with the ambient flora. Did something large come through here? Yes. Good. She was on the right track. She ghosted along, a sliver of grey with a ruff of red mane sliding through the underbrush unseen.

_By the time she had realized she was bossing him around, telling him to sit and drink she had been surprised that he had actually complied. He was the leader of the pack. Supposedly he only obeyed the chief without question. If anyone else told us to drink strange liquids, he had mused, and she found herself both relieved and angered that he would trust her that much. What if someone comes to you wearing my face, she wanted to scold him. He knew the edges of how she considered herself a monster, and the words died in the back of her throat as she checked him over with a glance, seeing both inside of him and out. Minimal fel taint. Good. Otherwise unwounded. His regeneration had probably taken care of anything superfluous and he clearly had been fast enough to avoid anything serious. There were patches of fur missing, after all. Flesh healed faster for trolls than fur regrew. He was fine. Good. Now to tell him what he had missed._

She nearly lost his trail, overshooting it and heading down to the beach, pacing back and forth along the edge of the water as she sniffed and snuffled. No scent, no plants-

Stranglekelp in the water. She perked her ears and listened. Nothing interesting? She must have overshot it. She circled and sought out the edges of the scent she was tracking, finding it half-way up a small mountain. Yay, climbing. She grumbled as she continued.

_She had heard him, ears of a bat and all that. For once she was thankful that her shapeshifting was poor enough to have bleed-through effects that had warped her trollish natural form. Her sight was reduced, but her hearing was keen from the bat. The muscle tone she had built up was denser, from the bear. She had marginally better reflexes that compensated for how much heavier she was than normal from the panther. She could hold her breath better from the sea lion. Who did he have, she had wondered, to keep him company through his grief? The raptor, Ma’cua, but would that be enough? For the instinct side of things, maybe. But balance would serve better._

Her claws rasped against the stone as she made her way along, huffing as she settled on the relatively flat surface and took in the scent of old kills. It was well ventilated, but bones could only smell like bones, after all. Raptor hung heavy in the air, and the panther she wore was cautious, more so than she normally was. Step lightly, taskmaster, her instincts bade her. Today, we meet on -his- terms, his territory. It would be foolish to think for an instant that simply because he is acceptant of my antics at my perch, that he would automatically be so accepting in his own home, she told herself, and shed the spirit of the panther she wore.

No point in sneaking up on him, she mused. He likely already knows i’m here. Who could blame him if he snapped at her? Things happen. She just hoped if she needed to she could get enough distance to fly if she needed it. She was far enough away that the keening that sawed through her consciousness in the city was reduced to an ignorable whimper, and had the focus to do what she could.

The druid moved forward, unafraid.

She called to him, ears perked as she listened, moving forward once he grunted in response until she came to the ledge that was a good two feet over her head and, with resignation, reached to haul herself partially up and fold her arms to anchor herself, torso and legs flat against the stone. When he didn’t immediately tell her to bugger off, she deemed it safe enough to climb up and was both thankful that he spared her pride and also miffed that he didn’t reach back and help her up. As she spoke, she caught his ears flicking down at the reminder of the funeral she had just left. She gave him the trinket she had grown - one of three, for him, herself, and Kiki’ti - and asked if she could stay.

_“Do as you wish.”_

She paused to ponder what she wanted to do, down to the core of her being. She wanted to scream until she died of asphyxiation. She wanted to open up his skull to determine if the changes to his form were strictly external or if alterations to his brain had occurred to allow for better processing of extrasensory information that heightened senses often brought, she wanted to hit things and tear them apart with her hands as she sang and danced in the gore as the euphoria of taking the life of another living being surged through her while she kicked her heels up. She wanted to know if he needed a hug, if that was appropriate between friends.

_“Don’t really think that’d turn out too well.” She mused._

They went back and forth with idle chatter for some time, with her detailing the latest bout with Azan’ji and fighting the urge to ask the Apex if there was anything she could pass on to the primal fledglings, anything she could do to help in his absence so that the already iffy reputation of Primals wouldn’t be irrevocably damaged. She wanted to ask about how his experiment (the term sent a tingle of curiosity and excitement through her before she subdued it) was going, with working to allow Primals to perhaps spar with meatbags, but decided to hold onto that card until she ran thin on topics. She offered part of her thoughts on why she felt comfortable around Primals, that she knew she wouldn’t likely be able to beat one but if she could knock one down, she could plausibly get away. She mentioned she had knocked the Bear down, and flexed, making light of it to keep the mood positive.

When he mentioned she had beaten Jaws, she scoffed internally, replaying how she had gained momentum as a bat before letting the sturdiness of her bear bloom through her limbs, granting her mass and strength before bowling the tall Drakkari over and sitting on him. She remembered the feeling of being King that always came when she wore that form. She remembered how fast he had moved after she had let him up. She would never make the mistake of thinking that she could take a Primal on, one on one, fairly. If she -cheated-, of course that changed everything...

_“Don’t get it wrong, I knocked him over, not beat him.”_

He replied something to the effect that it was the same thing, and the rest of the evening passed in peace.

[araitsume]

Patriarchs and Prophets, pp. 581-591: Chapter (57) The Ark Taken by the Philistines

This chapter is based on 1 Samuel 3 to 7.

Another warning was to be given to Eli's house. God could not communicate with the high priest and his sons; their sins, like a thick cloud, had shut out the presence of His Holy Spirit. But in the midst of evil the child Samuel remained true to Heaven, and the message of condemnation to the house of Eli was Samuel's commission as a prophet of the Most High.

“The word of the Lord was precious in those days; there was no open vision. And it came to pass at that time, when Eli was laid down in his place, and his eyes began to wax dim, that he could not see; and ere the lamp of God went out in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was, and Samuel was laid down to sleep; that the Lord called Samuel.” Supposing the voice to be that of Eli, the child hastened to the bedside of the priest, saying, “Here am I; for thou calledst me.” The answer was, “I called not, my son; lie down again.” Three times Samuel was called, and thrice he responded in like manner. And then Eli was convinced that the mysterious call was the voice of God. The Lord had passed by His chosen servant, the man of hoary hairs, to commune with a child. This in itself was a bitter yet deserved rebuke to Eli and his house.

No feeling of envy or jealousy was awakened in Eli's heart. He directed Samuel to answer, if again called, “Speak, Lord; for Thy servant heareth.” Once more the voice was heard, and the child answered, “Speak; for Thy servant heareth.” So awed was he at the thought that the great God should speak to him that he could not remember the exact words which Eli bade him say.

“And the Lord said to Samuel, Behold, I will do a thing in Israel, at which both the ears of everyone that heareth it shall tingle. In that day I will perform against Eli all things which I have spoken concerning his house: when I begin, I will also make an end. For I have told him that I will judge his house forever for the iniquity which he knoweth; because his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not. And therefore I have sworn unto the house of Eli, that the iniquity of Eli's house shall not be purged with sacrifice nor offering forever.”

Before receiving this message from God, “Samuel did not yet know the Lord, neither was the word of the Lord yet revealed unto him;” that is, he was not acquainted with such direct manifestations of God's presence as were granted to the prophets. It was the Lord's purpose to reveal Himself in an unexpected manner, that Eli might hear of it through the surprise and inquiry of the youth.

Samuel was filled with fear and amazement at the thought of having so terrible a message committed to him. In the morning he went about his duties as usual, but with a heavy burden upon his young heart. The Lord had not commanded him to reveal the fearful denunciation, hence he remained silent, avoiding, as far as possible, the presence of Eli. He trembled, lest some question should compel him to declare the divine judgments against one whom he loved and reverenced. Eli was confident that the message foretold some great calamity to him and his house. He called Samuel, and charged him to relate faithfully what the Lord had revealed. The youth obeyed, and the aged man bowed in humble submission to the appalling sentence. “It is the Lord,” he said: “let Him do what seemeth Him good.”

Yet Eli did not manifest the fruits of true repentance. He confessed his guilt, but failed to renounce the sin. Year after year the Lord delayed His threatened judgments. Much might have been done in those years to redeem the failures of the past, but the aged priest took no effective measures to correct the evils that were polluting the sanctuary of the Lord and leading thousands in Israel to ruin. The forbearance of God caused Hophni and Phinehas to harden their hearts and to become still bolder in transgression. The messages of warning and reproof to his house were made known by Eli to the whole nation. By this means he hoped to counteract, in some measure, the evil influence of his past neglect. But the warnings were disregarded by the people, as they had been by the priests. The people of surrounding nations also, who were not ignorant of the iniquities openly practiced in Israel, became still bolder in their idolatry and crime. They felt no sense of guilt for their sins, as they would have felt had the Israelites preserved their integrity. But a day of retribution was approaching. God's authority had been set aside, and His worship neglected and despised, and it became necessary for Him to interpose, that the honor of His name might be maintained.

“Now Israel went out against the Philistines to battle, and pitched beside Ebenezer: and the Philistines pitched in Aphek.” This expedition was undertaken by the Israelites without counsel from God, without the concurrence of high priest or prophet. “And the Philistines put themselves in array against Israel: and when they joined battle, Israel was smitten before the Philistines: and they slew of the army in the field about four thousand men.” As the shattered and disheartened force returned to their encampment, “the elders of Israel said, Wherefore hath the Lord smitten us today before the Philistines?” The nation was ripe for the judgments of God, yet they did not see that their own sins had been the cause of this terrible disaster. And they said, “Let us fetch the ark of the covenant of the Lord out of Shiloh unto us, that, when it cometh among us, it may save us out of the hand of our enemies.” The Lord had given no command or permission that the ark should come into the army; yet the Israelites felt confident that victory would be theirs, and uttered a great shout when it was borne into the camp by the sons of Eli.

The Philistines looked upon the ark as the god of Israel. All the mighty works that Jehovah had wrought for His people were attributed to its power. As they heard the shouts of joy at its approach, they said, “What meaneth the noise of this great shout in the camp of the Hebrews? And they understood that the ark of the Lord was come into the camp. And the Philistines were afraid; for they said, God has come into the camp. And they said, Woe unto us! for there hath not been such a thing heretofore. Woe unto us! who shall deliver us out of the hand of these mighty Gods? These are the Gods that smote the Egyptians with all the plagues in the wilderness. Be strong, and quit yourselves like men, O ye Philistines, that ye be not servants unto the Hebrews, as they have been to you: quit yourselves like men, and fight.”

The Philistines made a fierce assault, which resulted in the defeat of Israel, with great slaughter. Thirty thousand men lay dead upon the field, and the ark of God was taken, the two sons of Eli having fallen while fighting to defend it. Thus again was left upon the page of history a testimony for all future ages—that the iniquity of God's professed people will not go unpunished. The greater the knowledge of God's will, the greater the sin of those who disregard it.

The most terrifying calamity that could occur had befallen Israel. The ark of God had been captured, and was in the possession of the enemy. The glory had indeed departed from Israel when the symbol of the abiding presence and power of Jehovah was removed from the midst of them. With this sacred chest were associated the most wonderful revelations of God's truth and power. In former days miraculous victories had been achieved whenever it appeared. It was shadowed by the wings of the golden cherubim, and the unspeakable glory of the Shekinah, the visible symbol of the most high God, had rested over it in the holy of holies. But now it had brought no victory. It had not proved a defense on this occasion, and there was mourning throughout Israel.

They had not realized that their faith was only a nominal faith, and had lost its power to prevail with God. The law of God, contained in the ark, was also a symbol of His presence; but they had cast contempt upon the commandments, had despised their requirements, and had grieved the Spirit of the Lord from among them. When the people obeyed the holy precepts, the Lord was with them to work for them by His infinite power; but when they looked upon the ark, and did not associate it with God, nor honor His revealed will by obedience to His law, it could avail them little more than a common box. They looked to the ark as the idolatrous nations looked to their gods, as if it possessed in itself the elements of power and salvation. They transgressed the law it contained; for their very worship of the ark led to formalism, hypocrisy, and idolatry. Their sin had separated them from God, and He could not give them the victory until they had repented of and forsaken their iniquity.

It was not enough that the ark and the sanctuary were in the midst of Israel. It was not enough that the priests offered sacrifices, and that the people were called the children of God. The Lord does not regard the request of those who cherish iniquity in the heart; it is written that “he that turneth away his ear from hearing the law, even his prayer shall be abomination.” Proverbs 28:9.

When the army went out to battle, Eli, blind and old, had tarried at Shiloh. It was with troubled forebodings that he awaited the result of the conflict; “for his heart trembled for the ark of God.” Taking his position outside the gate of the tabernacle, he sat by the highway side day after day, anxiously expecting the arrival of a messenger from the battlefield.

At length a Benjamite from the army, “with his clothes rent, and with earth upon his head,” came hurrying up the ascent leading to the city. Passing heedlessly the aged man beside the way, he rushed on to the town, and repeated to eager throngs the tidings of defeat and loss.

The sound of wailing and lamentation reached the watcher beside the tabernacle. The messenger was brought to him. And the man said unto Eli, “Israel is fled before the Philistines, and there hath been also a great slaughter among the people, and thy two sons also, Hophni and Phinehas, are dead.” Eli could endure all this, terrible as it was, for he had expected it. But when the messenger added, “And the ark of God is taken,” a look of unutterable anguish passed over his countenance. The thought that his sin had thus dishonored God and caused Him to withdraw His presence from Israel was more than he could bear; his strength was gone, he fell, “and his neck brake, and he died.”

The wife of Phinehas, notwithstanding the impiety of her husband, was a woman who feared the Lord. The death of her father-in-law and her husband, and above all, the terrible tidings that the ark of God was taken, caused her death. She felt that the last hope of Israel was gone; and she named the child born in this hour of adversity, Ichabod, or “inglorious;” with her dying breath mournfully repeating the words, “The glory is departed from Israel: for the ark of God is taken.”

But the Lord had not wholly cast aside His people, nor would He long suffer the exultation of the heathen. He had used the Philistines as the instrument to punish Israel, and He employed the ark to punish the Philistines. In time past the divine Presence had attended it, to be the strength and glory of His obedient people. That invisible Presence would still attend it, to bring terror and destruction to the transgressors of His holy law. The Lord often employs His bitterest enemies to punish the unfaithfulness of His professed people. The wicked may triumph for a time as they see Israel suffering chastisement, but the time will come when they, too, must meet the sentence of a holy, sin-hating God. Whenever iniquity is cherished, there, swift and unerring, the divine judgments will follow.

The Philistines removed the ark in triumph to Ashdod, one of their five principal cities, and placed it in the house of their god Dagon. They imagined that the power which had hitherto attended the ark would be theirs, and that this, united with the power of Dagon, would render them invincible. But upon entering the temple on the following day, they beheld a sight which filled them with consternation. Dagon had fallen upon his face to the earth before the ark of Jehovah. The priests reverently lifted the idol and restored it to its place. But the next morning they found it, strangely mutilated, again lying upon the earth before the ark. The upper part of this idol was like that of a man, and the lower part was in the likeness of a fish. Now every part that resembled the human form had been cut off, and only the body of the fish remained. Priests and people were horror-struck; they looked upon this mysterious event as an evil omen, foreboding destruction to themselves and their idols before the God of the Hebrews. They now removed the ark from their temple and placed it in a building by itself.

The inhabitants of Ashdod were smitten with a distressing and fatal disease. Remembering the plagues that were inflicted upon Egypt by the God of Israel, the people attributed their afflictions to the presence of the ark among them. It was decided to convey it to Gath. But the plague followed close upon its removal, and the men of that city sent it to Ekron. Here the people received it with terror, crying, “They have brought about the ark of the God of Israel to us, to slay us and our people.” They turned to their gods for protection, as the people of Gath and Ashdod had done; but the work of the destroyer went on, until, in their distress, “the cry of the city went up to heaven.” Fearing longer to retain the ark among the homes of men, the people next placed it in the open field. There followed a plague of mice, which infested the land, destroying the products of the soil, both in the storehouse and in the field. Utter destruction, by disease or famine, now threatened the nation.

For seven months the ark remained in Philistia, and during all this time the Israelites made no effort for its recovery. But the Philistines were now as anxious to free themselves from its presence as they had been to obtain it. Instead of being a source of strength to them, it was a great burden and a heavy curse. Yet they knew not what course to pursue; for wherever it went the judgments of God followed. The people called for the princes of the nation, with the priests and diviners, and eagerly inquired, “What shall we do to the ark of Jehovah? tell us wherewith we shall send it to his place?” They were advised to return it with a costly trespass offering. “Then,” said the priests, “ye shall be healed, and it shall be known to you why His hand is not removed from you.”

To ward off or to remove a plague, it was anciently the custom among the heathen to make an image in gold, silver, or other material, of that which caused the destruction, or of the object or part of the body specially affected. This was set up on a pillar or in some conspicuous place, and was supposed to be an effectual protection against the evils thus represented. A similar practice still exists among some heathen peoples. When a person suffering from disease goes for cure to the temple of his idol, he carries with him a figure of the part affected, which he presents as an offering to his god.

It was in accordance with the prevailing superstition that the Philistine lords directed the people to make representations of the plagues by which they had been afflicted—“five golden emerods, and five golden mice, according to the number of the lords of the Philistines: for,” said they, “one plague was on you all, and on your lords.”

These wise men acknowledged a mysterious power accompanying the ark—a power which they had no wisdom to meet. Yet they did not counsel the people to turn from their idolatry to serve the Lord. They still hated the God of Israel, though compelled by overwhelming judgments to submit to His authority. Thus sinners may be convinced by the judgments of God that it is in vain to contend against Him. They may be compelled to submit to His power, while at heart they rebel against His control. Such submission cannot save the sinner. The heart must be yielded to God—must be subdued by divine grace—before man's repentance can be accepted.

How great is the long-suffering of God toward the wicked! The idolatrous Philistines and backsliding Israel had alike enjoyed the gifts of His providence. Ten thousand unnoticed mercies were silently falling in the pathway of ungrateful, rebellious men. Every blessing spoke to them of the Giver, but they were indifferent to His love. The forbearance of God was very great toward the children of men; but when they stubbornly persisted in their impenitence, He removed from them His protecting hand. They refused to listen to the voice of God in His created works, and in the warnings, counsels, and reproofs of His word, and thus He was forced to speak to them through judgments.

There were some among the Philistines who stood ready to oppose the return of the ark to its own land. Such an acknowledgment of the power of Israel's God would be humiliating to the pride of Philistia. But “the priests and the diviners” admonished the people not to imitate the stubbornness of Pharaoh and the Egyptians, and thus bring upon themselves still greater afflictions. A plan which won the consent of all was now proposed, and immediately put in execution. The ark, with the golden trespass offering, was placed upon a new cart, thus precluding all danger of defilement; to this cart, or car, were attached two kine upon whose necks a yoke had never been placed. Their calves were shut up at home, and the cows were left free to go where they pleased. If the ark should thus be returned to the Israelites by the way of Beth-shemesh, the nearest city of the Levites, the Philistines would accept this as evidence that the God of Israel had done unto them this great evil; “but if not,” they said, “then we shall know that it is not His hand that smote us; it was a chance that happened to us.”

On being set free, the kine turned from their young and, lowing as they went, took the direct road to Beth-shemesh. Guided by no human hand, the patient animals kept on their way. The divine Presence accompanied the ark, and it passed on safely to the very place designated.

It was now the time of wheat harvest, and the men of Beth-shemesh were reaping in the valley. “And they lifted up their eyes, and saw the ark, and rejoiced to see it. And the cart came into the field of Joshua, a Beth-shemite, and stood there, where there was a great stone: and they clave the wood of the cart, and offered the kine of burnt-offering unto the Lord.” The lords of the Philistines, who had followed the ark “unto the border of Beth-shemesh,” and had witnessed its reception, now returned to Ekron. The plague had ceased, and they were convinced that their calamities had been a judgment from the God of Israel.

The men of Beth-shemesh quickly spread the tidings that the ark was in their possession, and the people from the surrounding country flocked to welcome its return. The ark had been placed upon the stone that first served for an altar, and before it additional sacrifices were offered unto the Lord. Had the worshipers repented of their sins, God's blessing would have attended them. But they were not faithfully obeying His law; and while they rejoiced at the return of the ark as a harbinger of good, they had no true sense of its sacredness. Instead of preparing a suitable place for its reception, they permitted it to remain in the harvest field. As they continued to gaze upon the sacred chest and to talk of the wonderful manner in which it had been restored, they began to conjecture wherein lay its peculiar power. At last, overcome by curiosity, they removed the coverings and ventured to open it.

All Israel had been taught to regard the ark with awe and reverence. When required to remove it from place to place the Levites were not so much as to look upon it. Only once a year was the high priest permitted to behold the ark of God. Even the heathen Philistines had not dared to remove its coverings. Angels of heaven, unseen, ever attended it in all its journeyings. The irreverent daring of the people at Beth-shemesh was speedily punished. Many were smitten with sudden death.

The survivors were not led by this judgment to repent of their sin, but only to regard the ark with superstitious fear. Eager to be free from its presence, yet not daring to remove it, the Beth-shemites sent a message to the inhabitants of Kirjath-jearim, inviting them to take it away. With great joy the men of this place welcomed the sacred chest. They knew that it was the pledge of divine favor to the obedient and faithful. With solemn gladness they brought it to their city and placed it in the house of Abinadab, a Levite. This man appointed his son Eleazar to take charge of it, and it remained there for many years.

During the years since the Lord first manifested Himself to the son of Hannah, Samuel's call to the prophetic office had come to be acknowledged by the whole nation. By faithfully delivering the divine warning to the house of Eli, painful and trying as the duty had been, Samuel had given proof of his fidelity as Jehovah's messenger; “and the Lord was with him, and did let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan even to Beersheba knew that Samuel was established to be a prophet of the Lord.”

The Israelites as a nation still continued in a state of irreligion and idolatry, and as a punishment they remained in subjection to the Philistines. During this time Samuel visited the cities and villages throughout the land, seeking to turn the hearts of the people to the God of their fathers; and his efforts were not without good results. After suffering the oppression of their enemies for twenty years, the Israelites “mourned after the Lord.” Samuel counseled them, “If ye do return unto the Lord with all your hearts, then put away the strange gods and Ashtaroth from among you, and prepare your hearts unto the Lord, and serve Him only.” Here we see that practical piety, heart religion, was taught in the days of Samuel as taught by Christ when He was upon the earth. Without the grace of Christ the outward forms of religion were valueless to ancient Israel. They are the same to modern Israel.

There is need today of such a revival of true heart religion as was experienced by ancient Israel. Repentance is the first step that must be taken by all who would return to God. No one can do this work for another. We must individually humble our souls before God and put away our idols. When we have done all that we can do, the Lord will manifest to us His salvation.

With the co-operation of the heads of the tribes, a large assembly was gathered at Mizpeh. Here a solemn fast was held. With deep humiliation the people confessed their sins; and as an evidence of their determination to obey the instructions they had heard, they invested Samuel with the authority of judge.

The Philistines interpreted this gathering to be a council of war, and with a strong force set out to disperse the Israelites before their plans could be matured. The tidings of their approach caused great terror in Israel. The people entreated Samuel, “Cease not to cry unto the Lord our God for us, that He will save us out of the hand of the Philistines.”

While Samuel was in the act of presenting a lamb as a burnt offering, the Philistines drew near for battle. Then the Mighty One who had descended upon Sinai amid fire and smoke and thunder, who had parted the Red Sea and made a way through Jordan for the children of Israel, again manifested His power. A terrible storm burst upon the advancing host, and the earth was strewn with the dead bodies of mighty warriors.

The Israelites had stood in silent awe, trembling with hope and fear. When they beheld the slaughter of their enemies, they knew that God had accepted their repentance. Though unprepared for battle, they seized the weapons of the slaughtered Philistines and pursued the fleeing host to Beth-car. This signal victory was gained upon the very field where, twenty years before, Israel had been smitten before the Philistines, the priests slain, and the ark of God taken. For nations as well as for individuals, the path of obedience to God is the path of safety and happiness, while that of transgression leads only to disaster and defeat. The Philistines were now so completely subdued that they surrendered the strongholds which had been taken from Israel and refrained from acts of hostility for many years. Other nations followed this example, and the Israelites enjoyed peace until the close of Samuel's sole administration.

That the occasion might never be forgotten, Samuel set up, between Mizpeh and Shen, a great stone as a memorial. He called the name of it Ebenezer, “the stone of help,” saying to the people, “hitherto hath Jehovah helped us.”

[hayjeon]

WWRD 03: Freedom Doesn’t Exist

→ angst, implied smut, vampire/war!au → when a forbidden relationship between the general’s daughter and a vampire used as a military tool takes place during the war. → prologue: “I know” | 01 I swear on my honor | 02 “Marry me” [M] | 03 Freedom doesn’t exist | 04 On the Other Side

And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.

A/N: I should be studying for chem but this happened! ASFAEFflkj ENJOY

You waved to your father leaving in his sleek black car, followed by other cars and trucks full of his subordinates from his division. Sighing, your mother turned and slowly walked into the house, probably planning to lay in her bed all night. 

She did this on a regular basis, moping around and walking around like a corpse until your father returned to reassure her of his survival and safety during a battle. But you knew each time, he would return home safe. Your father, now in his high ranks, barely fought anymore; his days of rushing and barging into the battlefield with a heroic cry were over. Now, it was usually Jeongguk who was the one who often went out and did the fighting and came back unscathed.

After your father and Jeongguk’s father had introduced their battle plan a few nights before at the gala, the elite had been chattering about the “superhumans” now implemented into the plans for war. Even your maids and the girls in your tutoring classes were gossiping about how scary but handsome these creatures were. But you tuned them out, unable to get your mind off of that one pale man who’d kissed your hand the night before. 

Moments after he’d kissed your hand, Jeongguk had pushed you behind him and glared at the vampire, a challenging act that seemed to distress the other men accompanying the man, who went by the name Min Yoongi. Sensing the tension, Jeongguk’s father had effortlessly inserted himself between you and Jeongguk and the superhumans, and had laughed and guided them another way to meet some more generals and officials in the army. 

Jeongguk visibly relaxed once the men turned to leave, but when Yoongi turned around to meet your eyes gazing behind Jeongguk’s shoulder, he gave you a wink that made your fiancee tense and let out some incomprehensible curse words. Once the vampires were out of sight, he turned to you holding your shoulders and glancing around your body. “Are you alright Y/N?” His eyes were wide and his brows furrowed. 

You were still a bit taken aback at the sudden turn of events, but you met his eyes and tried to smile as genuinely as you could. “Yes, Jeongguk, I’m fine. Do not worry yourself. You have a battle tomorrow as well, you should go get some rest.” 

He’d hesitated, but nodded visibly relaxing at your hand in his bicep, and offered to walk you home. Letting your parents know you would talk a walk home, and ignoring the admiring eyes your mother gave Jeongguk, you had taken his arm and walked towards your home. It was a bit away, but it was enough for a comfortable walk with him. 

And he’d stayed pretty silent the whole walk, gazing at the gardens and the landscape you passed as you walked towards the manor you resided in. But as you neared your doorstep, he’d stopped you, a few steps below you on the steps leading to your front door. He stared up at you for a moment, and then seemed to make his decision in his mind, and took your hand before placing a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Good night Y/N.” He’d said, and he then walked quickly back to the direction of the gala. 

Your hand tingled throughout the night, and you dreamed of red eyes and red lips.

Today was the night of Jeongguk and your father’s departure for the battle they were preparing for. It was also important, as your father told you, that “tonight would be the first time we’re collaborating with the creatures.” 

Your mother was distressed over dinner, anxious at the uncertainty of this entire plan. “But what if they suddenly decide to turn on us? Dearest, they’re horrible creatures! They’ll rip you and your ranks apart!” She began tearing up at the dinner table. 

Your father put his utensils down and comforted her, turning to you. “These men are not irresponsible, that I can assure you. They might have more, abilities–” he paused. “But they’re still honorable men who will uphold the agreement we have.” 

You took a sip of your wine. “What is the agreement father?” 

“In turn for them fighting alongside, we are to leave them be and let them integrate into our country after the war. Their names are going to be lost, their identities swapped, and blood from hospitals given to them for food. They will become humans living in our world, and we have promised to leave them be.” 

You chewed your food quietly as your mother started crying again and your father had to escort her out into her bedroom. You silently sipped your wine, and glanced around the huge empty dining hall. It wasn’t likely your father would uphold his part of the agreement. He was the General of the army, head figure of thousands of men, and the primary person who protected your country; alongside General Jeon of course. You heard the whispers of some servants, your father’s hands weren’t as clean as he made them out to be. He'd used corruption, swindling, threats; these were all things you heard gossip about, and when you accidentally stumbled next to your father’s window whilst picking some flowers, the low murmurs of the men he’d often meet with proved your suspicions. 

He was a man of no integrity, or honor. The man who raised you from a distance, the one who was only there to scold you and to reprimand you whenever you didn’t act the part of a General’s daughter, the general both in and out of the house, and the one who had the audacity to call himself a great father in front of the nation, was not honorable at all. You knew his promises to the vampires would fall through, that his only goal was to go higher and to grow in power, and that the only people he showed his true colors to were his enemies, as he put bullets through their heads and fires through their cities. 

You finished your meal alone, and glanced at the clock. It was finally time for your father to leave, you saw Jeongguk’s car pull up to your driveway to pick up your father. You hovered at the doorway as they pulled away, only giving a small smile to Jeongguk who gave you one in return, and bowed to your father without a word. 

He grunted and patted your shoulder awkwardly, an attempt to show some affection in front of Jeongguk, and had bade goodbye to your mother before getting in the car. And as they pulled away, your heart only tugged a bit for Jeongguk as you wished silently for his safety, for the man you were to be married to and the only man who understood your hatred of this life. 

Every morning it was waking up at 6, having maids prepare you breakfast and then force you into a tight corset and the newest gowns, gifted from the royal dress-maker. Then it was your hair, and makeup, and then you were rushed off to take classes of music, singing, dancing, history, math, science, languages, cooking, and floral arranging until the sun fell. Other daughters of higher ranking generals joined you, only concerned in their appearances and demanding things of the servants whenever you met, and gossiping about country affairs until the classes ended. And then it was dinner with your parents or some important people, and then it was nighttime. And this pattern repeated over and over again. 

You longed to delve into your books, to travel and read stories about foreign lands and the theories scientists were creating. Your fingers itched to tinker with the gears in the small clock next to your table, to fix that odd whirring noise that would just require some grease and a few minutes. You wanted to ride your horse the right way, to wear those marvelous pants that the men wore and gallop freely, instead of always having to sit sideways with your long skirts and always have the horse walk slower than a trot, to avoid splashing mud onto your expensive shoes. 

But your days were organized, as a librarian organizes his shelves, and there was no space for “unladylike” things. Your father would throw you into your room with your tutors for days on end if you ever got caught reading books outside of your curriculum, claiming that stories like Romeo and Juliet only “filled the heads of girls with air, of stories of false fairy tales.” Your mother would scold you, reminding you of the privilege you had to even have the opportunity to be living such a life of wealth, promised to betroth such a “dashing young man like Jeongguk,” to have appearance that was praised by all. And you’d learned to suppress such thoughts, to clench your fists whenever you heard the grinding of the clock, to choke back your tears as you arranged the damn flowers, and to keep your head high and your face emotionless as the saddle dug into your hips from riding in such an awkward position for so long. 

But days like today, when your father left with a huge chunk of his soldiers who guarded your home, and your mother was probably crying or complaining in her bedroom, you had a glimpse of freedom. 

As soon as you heard your mother shut her bedroom door, you hiked up your skirts and dashed for your bedroom. The sun had set, and your house was now quiet save for the occasional shuffling of the servants in the other rooms. You began stripping off the layers to your gown, gasping as you untied the strings to your corset, removed your hair pins, and kicked off your dainty heels. You went to the back of your closet, where a small box lay hidden from sight. Opening it, you took out the garments and set them on your bed, scrambling to put them on. You tied your hair back into a sleek ponytail and grabbed a small satchel and placed your favorite book in it before hanging it around your shoulders. Glancing in the mirrors, your eyes brushed over your outfit, scanning the tight riding pants, the riding boots, and the black coat you were wearing. Making sure your pony tail was out of sight and tucked properly into the helmet, you tightened the straps to the satchel before arranging the pillows to make it look like you were sleeping and opening the large doors to your balcony. 

You closed them silently behind you, breathing in the crisp night air. The moon was high and only sliver of light from the crescent shape. You stretched over the railing and successfully caught the branch, slinging your legs over the balcony to secure you footing on the cherry blossom tree, before climbing your way down to the first floor. You jumped off, and began to creep to the other side of the mansion, careful to avoid any other guards on duty. 

For months, you’d been watching the trends and schedules of the guards, and it was obvious that half of them went with your father to his battles, and half of them remained to protect the home. They rotated, in order to fill up the empty spots, and you memorized their places as well. 

Finally getting to the stables, you sneaked in and pressed yourself against the wall of one of the stables as two guards walked past, arguing about something, too distracted to see you in the shadows. You watched them walk away from the manor and you knew you had about 5 minutes to get out before the next guards on duty got to the stables. 

Holly was ready, gleeful and stomping her hooves once you saw her, and you smiled, giving her a carrot you’d stolen from the kitchen. “Atta girl,” you whispered. “It’s time for our weekly run!” 

Arranging the saddle, you heaved yourself up and rode away from the mansion into the forest, following the path you’d been taking for the past few months. 

It was a quiet but clear path, heading straight for the hills. You blended in, with your uniform you stole from someone’s locker, with the other stable boys taking the horses out on their nightly runs and walks. There was no way the guards would notice your absence. 

You let Holly gallop, lowering your head and pressing your upper body to her mane, relishing in the feeling of the air whipping past your ears and the cold air stinging your face. You slowed down only when you neared the top of the hill. 

This was the place you came every week, the hill that overlooked your father’s vineyards and the other towns nearing your area. There was a clearing, that was always lit up by the stars, and quiet for you to just bask in until it was time to go home. 

You let Holly graze on the flowers dotting the fields, as you sighed and plopped down on the soft grass with your book. Hugging your knees, you gazed down at the lights and the movements of servants in the vineyards. You couldn’t hear them, but from the likes of it, they were dancing and singing, happy even though their hands were weathered from the days of picking and their backs bent from the labor. 

Removing your helmet and untying the ribbon in your hair, you let it cascade down your back and whip around your face as you closed your eyes, whispering into the night air. 

“Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-browed night,” You let your head tip back and breath in the small taste of freedom that came to you on this hill. 

“And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun.”

You whipped your head around, scrambling up and grabbing anything to defend yourself, which ended up being the helmet and your eyes wide and frantic as you searched for the voice of the man who’d whispered them back. No one had come to this hill before, and no one was supposed to be here if they were a servant. 

“Who are you?!” you yelled out in the darkness. There was nothing but trees around you, and the moon lit up the clearing enough for you to see that you were alone. “Come out!” 

“Oh, I have bought the mansion of a love, But not possessed it, and though I am sold, Not yet enjoyed.”

“Show yourself!” You screamed into the night. And then you heard your response, right in your ear. 

“A lady like you shouldn’t be here all alone.” You shrieked and scrambled back, falling to the ground as you crawled back and scrambled at the grass. It was the vampire from the other night, standing above you with a dark look and hands in his pockets as he grinned at your startled appearance. Quickly standing up and wielding the helmet in front of you, you stammered, “Wh-w-what do you want from me?” 

He smirked, turning towards the hillside where the view of the vineyards was. “I’m not here to hurt you, princess.” 

You lowered the helmet, warily eyeing his figure. You whipped your head around to see where Holly was, but she was nowhere to be seen. 

He seemed to notice you searching. “The horse will be back soon. I sent her away.” He sat down on the grass, arms coming behind him to support him as he leaned back with his legs crossed long in front of him.

You gaped at him. “You speak to animals?” He laughed this time, his eyes still staring at the view, “Don’t act like you’re surprised, didn’t you hear gossip about our kind? You’ve probably heard worse things about us from your people.” 

You frowned. “I-I don’t know much. I tried not to listen to them.” You lowered your head. At this he turned to you finally, quirking an eyebrow up at you. “Is that so?” 

You nodded, glancing warily around for Holly. You kneeled on the grass, still grasping the helmet, and glancing at the vampire seated on the grass. He was still staring at you. He cocked his head at you, frowning at you, and you stared right back at his questioning gaze. 

“Interesting.” He muttered and turned back to gaze quietly at the vineyards. It was even darker now, the lights in the cities slowly blinking off one by one as townsfolk began to retreat to their homes for the night. The servants in the vineyard had by now cleared out, the fires and lanterns they lit now burning low or put out. “Girls like you are usually nosy.” 

You bristled at that. “Excuse me, what do you mean by girls like me?” 

He chuckled, his shoulders shaking slightly. With a sour voice, he said, “Spoiled girls like you who take classes on how to curtsey perfectly and read stupid romances like that one.” He turned to you and cocked his chin at the book on the grass between you. It was Romeo and Juliet, the play you were quoting when he’d snuck up on you, and also, your favorite play. 

You snatched the book and held it close to your chest. Glaring at him, you sneered, “First of all, there is so much more to girls like me, who are forced to do countless hours of idiotic nonsense but break away for a moment of peace. And–!” you began, the words spilling out of you so quickly you couldn’t catch yourself, “–this is Shakespeare’s greatest masterpiece! It has so much more to it than just the love story! You know nothing!” You exclaimed, face red in angry, huffing at your exclamation. 

He smirked again, turning to face you with an incredulous expression. “Calm down princess. I apologize if I offended you.” He turned his entire body toward you, bringing up a knee that he rested his elbow on and he leaned in. “Care to elaborate?” 

You were still clutching the book close to your chest. “The book isn’t about love.” Your voice was strained now, your eyebrows furrowing as you stared at the blades of grass between you, your knees a few feet away from the extended foot of the vampire. “It’s about hate. All of the characters are driven by hate, their hate for eachother, for their lives, for their human condition.” 

He said nothing, so you continued. “It’s just all hidden behind the plot of star-crossed lovers, but really, Shakespeare is commenting on the flaws of human nature, our tendency to love, to hate, to die, too quickly.” You were now whispering, but he heard every word. 

He was still staring at you, but you couldn’t look up into his eyes, embarrassed at how unladylike your outburst was. You were moments away from apologizing, when he responded, “Interesting for a lady like you to understand something like that. I thought girls like you were instructed to memorize the poetry just to impress others. Not understand it.” 

You finally looked up into his eyes. You murmured, “Those words you quoted, the part of Juliet’s cry to the sky in wait of Romeo, is not just her cry for missing Romeo’s presence. But rather, it expresses society’s willingness to lose its innocence in exchange for emotion; just like how all of us girls are forced to memorize these lines word for word in exchange for some momentary applause. The beauty of the lines themselves are lost.” 

He nodded slowly, staring at you. “Interesting for the daughter of the General to be speaking this way.” 

Your eyes widened, “H-how did you–” He smirked, “A girl like you isn’t easy to forget, even if I’ve lived for four hundred years.” 

You gasped, he’d lived for 400 years?! The thought came to you and you found yourself blurting out, “You’ve lived for 400 years, then you were alive when he was alive?” 

He nodded, the corner of his lips tugging up at the sides at your eagerness. Your eyes were wide, leaning forward towards him, mouth gaping open and your hair fluttering around you. “Yes, princess. His plays were as marvelous as you’d imagine.” 

You forgot about everything that moment, dropping the helmet and scooting closer to him. “Please, tell me about them.” 

He leaned back and watched the hills again, “Well to begin, our plays today were nothing compared to the skill these actors had. Hand-picked by William himself, they were able to capture the emotions of the characters perfectly.” 

You closed your eyes, trying to imagine his words. “Hundreds of people would gather in the Royale Theatre, Queen Elizabeth the first herself would show up with her family. It was an open wooden structure, and the actors would take their places and play drums and flutes and harps. Then they would act, with no props, no useless lights, the only spotlight from the moon and stars. Like right now.” 

You opened your eyes to see that the moon was now high in the sky, the sliver of light falling right on the hill you and him were sitting on. He continued, “Their voices would ring so clearly around the arena, and you could see their tears and their expressions from so many feet away.” 

“Shakespeare would sit at the topmost balcony, watching carefully and always scribbling something in that notebook of his. But it was always perfect, always astonishing for thousands of people to gather, just to hear what this one man had written.” 

“It sounds beautiful.” You sighed, letting out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. He turned to look at you. “What’s your name princess?” 

“Y/N.” you murmured, unable to tear your eyes away from his gaze. 

“Y/N,” He muttered, rolling the name around on his tongue. Smiling to himself, “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in your father’s home, sleeping and waiting until he’s back from battle?” 

You unfolded your legs from beneath you, hugging them to your chest, and lowering your gaze. “He’ll be fine. He is not the one who fights.” 

“And your husband?” 

You correct him, “My fiancee. He will be fine as well. He is a skilled lieutenant.” 

He cynically laughed into the air. “This is interesting. The general’s daughter is not in love with her fiancee and instead loves stealing into the night to read some Shakespeare!” He threw his head back and laughed, the dark chuckles ringing into the quiet cold air. 

Your eyes widened, as you sneered back, “H-how d-dare you? I didn’t say anything of the sorts!” 

He turned to you with an entertained expression. “Oh princess, I think you’ve forgotten who I am. I am a vampire, a creature that’s lived far longer than you can imagine. Even though you’re a bit different than other ladies, you’re still a girl at heart and I can see right through it.” 

You crossed your arms across your chest. “What do you mean by that?” 

He turned to you, crouching before you, and looming extremely close to you. Caught off guard, you could only gape as he leaned in and smirked, eyes roaming your face. You were like a mouse caught in a corner, as the cat hungrily eyed his prey, frozen and unable to say or do anything. He reached up and curled a long piece of hair behind your ear. 

“Do you long for freedom, princess? To be able to escape and live a life that’s not elite, to choose who you marry, to pretend like this war doesn’t matter to you?” 

You gasped, panting as he leaned back on his knee in front of you. “Wh-wha-t do you mean?” 

“I can see it in your eyes. You thirst for freedom.” 

He moved away from you, still staring at you with tired eyes. You let out a breath, and scrambled to stand up, trying to put as much distance between you two as you could. 

He turned back to the hills. 

“But let me break it to you. Freedom doesn’t exist. Those people down there,” He gestured lazily to the towns that were now dark, only a few street lights glinting here and there. “They’re all caught in their own shackles, trying to escape the poverty, the work. All humans force themselves into their own prison, and can never escape. Freedom only comes with death.” 

You frowned, mulling over his words. “Then you? You said humans do this?” 

He froze for a second, and stood up, staring back at you with hands in his pockets again. 

“No one is ever free. And neither am I, or my brothers. We’re all caught in this agreement, this war. And we know, once we get out of this, that there’s no chance at our survival, that our existence will all soon come to an end.”

You briskly take a few steps toward him in shock. “H-how did you –?” 

He shakes his head. “It’s not just your father, princess. It’s your humankind, who hates creatures like us, creatures who they cannot understand because of fear. My brothers and I already knew about what would happen to us regardless of what the outcome of this idiotic war is.” 

“Then why did you agree to this?” 

He was now completely still, the only sounds between the two of you were the quiet whistles of the wind on the hillsides, the fluttering of the leaves behind you. His eyes seemed as black as his hair in the darkness, glinting under the moonlight. His skin was so pale, his features highlighted in the shadows under the light and the darkness. He was a beautiful creature, it was easy to forget he was a vampire, just like you had forgotten during your discussion of Shakespeare. 

With a low voice, almost inaudible in the night, he replied.

“Because, like I said. Freedom doesn’t exist. We are immortal, therefore we cannot die, and cannot have freedom.” 

You returned to the manor a lot later than usual, but still returning to your room undetected. After changing into your nightgown and hiding your clothes and book into the box again, you laid in bed that night. 

He’d somehow made Holly come back, and watched as you mounted her and climbed on. You watched him from above, waiting for him to say something, but when he stayed silent, just watching you watch him. 

You broke the silence. “Will I be able to see you again?” 

Raising an eyebrow, he answered. “Girls like you shouldn’t be meeting with a man like me.” 

He smirked, “But yes. We shall meet again.” 

You nodded and turned away to go down the path that lead back to your home, when you realized he’d never specified a time nor a place. You turned Holly back to look back at him, but when you did, there was nothing. You whipped your head around to see where he’d disappeared to, but the clearing was empty, peaceful, as if no one had come at all. Only Holly’s footsteps had disturbed the peaceful grass. He was gone. 

You dreamt that night of white skin, midnight black hair, and the color of Romeo and Juliet’s blood staining the tomb. 

[weareplanarchampion]

“Dolores (Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs)”

Below is the text of “Dolores (Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs)” by Algernon Charles Swinburne, which served as the inspiration for the one and only Lady of Pain. Though Our Lady is not nearly as sensual as the subject of the poem, the influence remains. 

Anyway:

Cold eyelids that hide like a jewel      Hard eyes that grow soft for an hour; The heavy white limbs, and the cruel      Red mouth like a venomous flower; When these are gone by with their glories,      What shall rest of thee then, what remain, O mystic and sombre Dolores,      Our Lady of Pain? Seven sorrows the priests give their Virgin;      But thy sins, which are seventy times seven, Seven ages would fail thee to purge in,      And then they would haunt thee in heaven: Fierce midnights and famishing morrows,      And the loves that complete and control All the joys of the flesh, all the sorrows      That wear out the soul. O garment not golden but gilded,      O garden where all men may dwell, O tower not of ivory, but builded      By hands that reach heaven from hell; O mystical rose of the mire,      O house not of gold but of gain, O house of unquenchable fire,      Our Lady of Pain! O lips full of lust and of laughter,      Curled snakes that are fed from my breast, Bite hard, lest remembrance come after      And press with new lips where you pressed. For my heart too springs up at the pressure,      Mine eyelids too moisten and burn; Ah, feed me and fill me with pleasure,      Ere pain come in turn. In yesterday's reach and to-morrow's,      Out of sight though they lie of to-day, There have been and there yet shall be sorrows      That smite not and bite not in play. The life and the love thou despisest,      These hurt us indeed, and in vain, O wise among women, and wisest,      Our Lady of Pain. Who gave thee thy wisdom? what stories      That stung thee, what visions that smote? Wert thou pure and a maiden, Dolores,      When desire took thee first by the throat? What bud was the shell of a blossom      That all men may smell to and pluck? What milk fed thee first at what bosom?      What sins gave thee suck? We shift and bedeck and bedrape us,      Thou art noble and nude and antique; Libitina thy mother, Priapus      Thy father, a Tuscan and Greek. We play with light loves in the portal,      And wince and relent and refrain; Loves die, and we know thee immortal,      Our Lady of Pain. Fruits fail and love dies and time ranges;      Thou art fed with perpetual breath, And alive after infinite changes,      And fresh from the kisses of death; Of languors rekindled and rallied,      Of barren delights and unclean, Things monstrous and fruitless, a pallid      And poisonous queen. Could you hurt me, sweet lips, though I hurt you?      Men touch them, and change in a trice The lilies and languors of virtue      For the raptures and roses of vice; Those lie where thy foot on the floor is,      These crown and caress thee and chain, O splendid and sterile Dolores,      Our Lady of Pain. There are sins it may be to discover,      There are deeds it may be to delight. What new work wilt thou find for thy lover,      What new passions for daytime or night? What spells that they know not a word of      Whose lives are as leaves overblown? What tortures undreamt of, unheard of,      Unwritten, unknown? Ah beautiful passionate body      That never has ached with a heart! On thy mouth though the kisses are bloody,      Though they sting till it shudder and smart, More kind than the love we adore is,      They hurt not the heart or the brain, O bitter and tender Dolores,      Our Lady of Pain. As our kisses relax and redouble,      From the lips and the foam and the fangs Shall no new sin be born for men's trouble,      No dream of impossible pangs? With the sweet of the sins of old ages      Wilt thou satiate thy soul as of yore? Too sweet is the rind, say the sages,      Too bitter the core. Hast thou told all thy secrets the last time,      And bared all thy beauties to one? Ah, where shall we go then for pastime,      If the worst that can be has been done? But sweet as the rind was the core is;      We are fain of thee still, we are fain, O sanguine and subtle Dolores,      Our Lady of Pain. By the hunger of change and emotion,      By the thirst of unbearable things, By despair, the twin-born of devotion,      By the pleasure that winces and stings, The delight that consumes the desire,      The desire that outruns the delight, By the cruelty deaf as a fire      And blind as the night, By the ravenous teeth that have smitten      Through the kisses that blossom and bud, By the lips intertwisted and bitten      Till the foam has a savour of blood, By the pulse as it rises and falters,      By the hands as they slacken and strain, I adjure thee, respond from thine altars,      Our Lady of Pain. Wilt thou smile as a woman disdaining      The light fire in the veins of a boy? But he comes to thee sad, without feigning,      Who has wearied of sorrow and joy; Less careful of labour and glory      Than the elders whose hair has uncurled: And young, but with fancies as hoary      And grey as the world. I have passed from the outermost portal      To the shrine where a sin is a prayer; What care though the service be mortal?      O our Lady of Torture, what care? All thine the last wine that I pour is,      The last in the chalice we drain, O fierce and luxurious Dolores,      Our Lady of Pain. All thine the new wine of desire,      The fruit of four lips as they clung Till the hair and the eyelids took fire,      The foam of a serpentine tongue, The froth of the serpents of pleasure,      More salt than the foam of the sea, Now felt as a flame, now at leisure      As wine shed for me. Ah thy people, thy children, thy chosen,      Marked cross from the womb and perverse! They have found out the secret to cozen      The gods that constrain us and curse; They alone, they are wise, and none other;      Give me place, even me, in their train, O my sister, my spouse, and my mother,      Our Lady of Pain. For the crown of our life as it closes      Is darkness, the fruit thereof dust; No thorns go as deep as a rose's,      And love is more cruel than lust. Time turns the old days to derision,      Our loves into corpses or wives; And marriage and death and division      Make barren our lives. And pale from the past we draw nigh thee,      And satiate with comfortless hours; And we know thee, how all men belie thee,      And we gather the fruit of thy flowers; The passion that slays and recovers,      The pangs and the kisses that rain On the lips and the limbs of thy lovers,      Our Lady of Pain. The desire of thy furious embraces      Is more than the wisdom of years, On the blossom though blood lie in traces,      Though the foliage be sodden with tears. For the lords in whose keeping the door is      That opens on all who draw breath Gave the cypress to love, my Dolores,      The myrtle to death. And they laughed, changing hands in the measure,      And they mixed and made peace after strife; Pain melted in tears, and was pleasure;      Death tingled with blood, and was life. Like lovers they melted and tingled,      In the dusk of thine innermost fane; In the darkness they murmured and mingled,      Our Lady of Pain. In a twilight where virtues are vices,      In thy chapels, unknown of the sun, To a tune that enthralls and entices,      They were wed, and the twain were as one. For the tune from thine altar hath sounded      Since God bade the world's work begin, And the fume of thine incense abounded,      To sweeten the sin. Love listens, and paler than ashes,      Through his curls as the crown on them slips, Lifts languid wet eyelids and lashes,      And laughs with insatiable lips. Thou shalt hush him with heavy caresses,      With music that scares the profane; Thou shalt darken his eyes with thy tresses,      Our Lady of Pain. Thou shalt blind his bright eyes though he wrestle,      Thou shalt chain his light limbs though he strive; In his lips all thy serpents shall nestle,      In his hands all thy cruelties thrive. In the daytime thy voice shall go through him,      In his dreams he shall feel thee and ache; Thou shalt kindle by night and subdue him      Asleep and awake. Thou shalt touch and make redder his roses      With juice not of fruit nor of bud; When the sense in the spirit reposes,      Thou shalt quicken the soul through the blood. Thine, thine the one grace we implore is,      Who would live and not languish or feign, O sleepless and deadly Dolores,      Our Lady of Pain. Dost thou dream, in a respite of slumber,      In a lull of the fires of thy life, Of the days without name, without number,      When thy will stung the world into strife; When, a goddess, the pulse of thy passion      Smote kings as they revelled in Rome; And they hailed thee re-risen, O Thalassian,      Foam-white, from the foam? When thy lips had such lovers to flatter;      When the city lay red from thy rods, And thine hands were as arrows to scatter      The children of change and their gods; When the blood of thy foemen made fervent      A sand never moist from the main, As one smote them, their lord and thy servant,      Our Lady of Pain. On sands by the storm never shaken,      Nor wet from the washing of tides; Nor by foam of the waves overtaken,      Nor winds that the thunder bestrides; But red from the print of thy paces,      Made smooth for the world and its lords, Ringed round with a flame of fair faces,      And splendid with swords. There the gladiator, pale for thy pleasure,      Drew bitter and perilous breath; There torments laid hold on the treasure      Of limbs too delicious for death; When thy gardens were lit with live torches;      When the world was a steed for thy rein; When the nations lay prone in thy porches,      Our Lady of Pain. When, with flame all around him aspirant,      Stood flushed, as a harp-player stands, The implacable beautiful tyrant,      Rose-crowned, having death in his hands; And a sound as the sound of loud water      Smote far through the flight of the fires, And mixed with the lightning of slaughter      A thunder of lyres. Dost thou dream of what was and no more is,      The old kingdoms of earth and the kings? Dost thou hunger for these things, Dolores,      For these, in a world of new things? But thy bosom no fasts could emaciate,      No hunger compel to complain Those lips that no bloodshed could satiate,      Our Lady of Pain. As of old when the world's heart was lighter,      Through thy garments the grace of thee glows, The white wealth of thy body made whiter      By the blushes of amorous blows, And seamed with sharp lips and fierce fingers,      And branded by kisses that bruise; When all shall be gone that now lingers,      Ah, what shall we lose? Thou wert fair in the fearless old fashion,      And thy limbs are as melodies yet, And move to the music of passion      With lithe and lascivious regret. What ailed us, O gods, to desert you      For creeds that refuse and restrain? Come down and redeem us from virtue,      Our Lady of Pain. All shrines that were Vestal are flameless,      But the flame has not fallen from this; Though obscure be the god, and though nameless      The eyes and the hair that we kiss; Low fires that love sits by and forges      Fresh heads for his arrows and thine; Hair loosened and soiled in mid orgies      With kisses and wine. Thy skin changes country and colour,      And shrivels or swells to a snake's. Let it brighten and bloat and grow duller,      We know it, the flames and the flakes, Red brands on it smitten and bitten,      Round skies where a star is a stain, And the leaves with thy litanies written,      Our Lady of Pain. On thy bosom though many a kiss be,      There are none such as knew it of old. Was it Alciphron once or Arisbe,      Male ringlets or feminine gold, That thy lips met with under the statue,      Whence a look shot out sharp after thieves From the eyes of the garden-god at you      Across the fig-leaves? Then still, through dry seasons and moister,      One god had a wreath to his shrine; Then love was the pearl of his oyster,      And Venus rose red out of wine. We have all done amiss, choosing rather      Such loves as the wise gods disdain; Intercede for us thou with thy father,      Our Lady of Pain. In spring he had crowns of his garden,      Red corn in the heat of the year, Then hoary green olives that harden      When the grape-blossom freezes with fear; And milk-budded myrtles with Venus      And vine-leaves with Bacchus he trod; And ye said, "We have seen, he hath seen us,      A visible God." What broke off the garlands that girt you?      What sundered you spirit and clay? Weak sins yet alive are as virtue      To the strength of the sins of that day. For dried is the blood of thy lover,      Ipsithilla, contracted the vein; Cry aloud, "Will he rise and recover,      Our Lady of Pain?" Cry aloud; for the old world is broken:      Cry out; for the Phrygian is priest, And rears not the bountiful token      And spreads not the fatherly feast. From the midmost of Ida, from shady      Recesses that murmur at morn, They have brought and baptized her, Our Lady,      A goddess new-born. And the chaplets of old are above us,      And the oyster-bed teems out of reach; Old poets outsing and outlove us,      And Catullus makes mouths at our speech. Who shall kiss, in thy father's own city,      With such lips as he sang with, again? Intercede for us all of thy pity,      Our Lady of Pain. Out of Dindymus heavily laden      Her lions draw bound and unfed A mother, a mortal, a maiden,      A queen over death and the dead. She is cold, and her habit is lowly,      Her temple of branches and sods; Most fruitful and virginal, holy,      A mother of gods. She hath wasted with fire thine high places,      She hath hidden and marred and made sad The fair limbs of the Loves, the fair faces      Of gods that were goodly and glad. She slays, and her hands are not bloody;      She moves as a moon in the wane, White-robed, and thy raiment is ruddy,      Our Lady of Pain. They shall pass and their places be taken,      The gods and the priests that are pure. They shall pass, and shalt thou not be shaken?      They shall perish, and shalt thou endure? Death laughs, breathing close and relentless      In the nostrils and eyelids of lust, With a pinch in his fingers of scentless      And delicate dust. But the worm shall revive thee with kisses;      Thou shalt change and transmute as a god, As the rod to a serpent that hisses,      As the serpent again to a rod. Thy life shall not cease though thou doff it;      Thou shalt live until evil be slain, And good shall die first, said thy prophet,      Our Lady of Pain. Did he lie? did he laugh? does he know it,      Now he lies out of reach, out of breath, Thy prophet, thy preacher, thy poet,      Sin's child by incestuous Death? Did he find out in fire at his waking,      Or discern as his eyelids lost light, When the bands of the body were breaking      And all came in sight? Who has known all the evil before us,      Or the tyrannous secrets of time? Though we match not the dead men that bore us      At a song, at a kiss, at a crime — Though the heathen outface and outlive us,      And our lives and our longings are twain — Ah, forgive us our virtues, forgive us,      Our Lady of Pain. Who are we that embalm and embrace thee      With spices and savours of song? What is time, that his children should face thee?      What am I, that my lips do thee wrong? I could hurt thee — but pain would delight thee;      Or caress thee — but love would repel; And the lovers whose lips would excite thee      Are serpents in hell. Who now shall content thee as they did,      Thy lovers, when temples were built And the hair of the sacrifice braided      And the blood of the sacrifice spilt, In Lampsacus fervent with faces,      In Aphaca red from thy reign, Who embraced thee with awful embraces,      Our Lady of Pain? Where are they, Cotytto or Venus,      Astarte or Ashtaroth, where? Do their hands as we touch come between us?      Is the breath of them hot in thy hair? From their lips have thy lips taken fever,      With the blood of their bodies grown red? Hast thou left upon earth a believer      If these men are dead? They were purple of raiment and golden,      Filled full of thee, fiery with wine, Thy lovers, in haunts unbeholden,      In marvellous chambers of thine. They are fled, and their footprints escape us,      Who appraise thee, adore, and abstain, O daughter of Death and Priapus,      Our Lady of Pain. What ails us to fear overmeasure,      To praise thee with timorous breath, O mistress and mother of pleasure,      The one thing as certain as death? We shall change as the things that we cherish,      Shall fade as they faded before, As foam upon water shall perish,      As sand upon shore. We shall know what the darkness discovers,      If the grave-pit be shallow or deep; And our fathers of old, and our lovers,      We shall know if they sleep not or sleep. We shall see whether hell be not heaven,      Find out whether tares be not grain, And the joys of thee seventy times seven,      Our Lady of Pain.

[examinationsoffrankenstein-blog]

A Lost Brother

We then see another case of avoidance-avoidance conflict a bit later in the story. This one occurs when Victor comes to the conclusion that the Creature most likely ended the life of William, Victor’s brother. Nobody knows the truth of what happened except for Victor. “This speech calmed me. I was firmly convinced in my own mind that Justine, and indeed every human being, was guiltless of this murder. I had no fear, therefore, that any circumstantial evidence could be brought forward strong enough to convict her. My tale was not one to announce publicly; its astounding horror would be looked upon as madness by the vulgar. Did any one indeed exist, except I, the creator, who would believe, unless his senses convinced him, in the existence of the living monument of presumption and rash ignorance which I had let loose upon the world? (Shelley, 82)” Here we see that Victor is faced with two very difficult ways in which he could go with this situation. He could either explain himself and take responsibility for his creation, or let Justine take the consequences that Victor deserves. Spoiler alert: Victor takes the low and cowardly road and lets Justine falsely confess. In order to distract himself from the guilt and inner conflict he faces after the execution, Victor flees to the mountains in nature, which is his only safe place. “A tingling long-lost sense of pleasure often came across me during this journey. Some turn in the road, some new object suddenly perceived and recognized, reminded me of days gone by, and were associated with the lighthearted gaiety of boyhood. The very winds whispered in soothing accents, and maternal Nature bade me weep no more (Shelley, 90).” Victor utilizes nature as a way to avoid and cleanse him of the struggles he has been faced with.

[mobydickforteens-blog]

The morning of the third day dawned fair and fresh, and once more the solitary night-man at the fore-mast-head was relieved by crowds of the daylight look-outs, who dotted every mast and almost every spar.

"D'ye see him?" cried Ahab; but the fidget spinner was not yet in sight.

"In his infallible wake, though; but follow that wake, that's all. Helm there; steady, as thou goest, and hast been going. What a lovely day again! were it a new-made world, and made for a summer-house to the angels, and this morning the first of its throwing open to them, a fairer day could not dawn upon that world. Here's food for thought, had Ahab time to think; but Ahab never thinks; he only feels, feels, feels; THAT'S tingling enough for mortal man! to think's audacity. God only has that right and privilege. Thinking is, or ought to be, a coolness and a calmness; and our poor hearts throb, and our poor brains beat too much for that. And yet, I've sometimes thought my brain was very calm--frozen calm, this old skull cracks so, like a glass in which the contents turned to ice, and shiver it. And still this hair is growing now; this moment growing, and heat must breed it; but no, it's like that sort of common grass that will grow anywhere, between the earthy clefts of Greenland ice or in Vesuvius lava. How the wild winds blow it; they whip it about me as the torn shreds of split sails lash the tossed ship they cling to. A vile wind that has no doubt blown ere this through prison corridors and cells, and wards of hospitals, and ventilated them, and now comes blowing hither as innocent as fleeces. Out upon it!--it's tainted. Were I the wind, I'd blow no more on such a wicked, miserable world. I'd crawl somewhere to a cave, and slink there. And yet, 'tis a noble and heroic thing, the wind! who ever conquered it? In every fight it has the last and bitterest blow. Run tilting at it, and you but run through it. Ha! a coward wind that strikes stark naked men, but will not stand to receive a single blow. Even Ahab is a braver thing--a nobler thing than THAT. Would now the wind but had a body; but all the things that most exasperate and outrage mortal man, all these things are bodiless, but only bodiless as objects, not as agents. There's a most special, a most cunning, oh, a most malicious difference! And yet, I say again, and swear it now, that there's something all glorious and gracious in the wind. These warm Trade Winds, at least, that in the clear heavens blow straight on, in strong and steadfast, vigorous mildness; and veer not from their mark, however the baser currents of the sea may turn and tack, and mightiest Mississippies of the land swift and swerve about, uncertain where to go at last. And by the eternal Poles! these same Trades that so directly blow my good ship on; these Trades, or something like them--something so unchangeable, and full as strong, blow my keeled soul along! To it! Aloft there! What d'ye see?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Nothing! and noon at hand! The doubloon goes a-begging! See the sun! Aye, aye, it must be so. I've oversailed him. How, got the start? Aye, he's chasing ME now; not I, HIM--that's bad; I might have known it, too. Fool! the lines--the harpoons he's towing. Aye, aye, I have run him by last night. About! about! Come down, all of ye, but the regular look outs! Man the braces!"

Steering as she had done, the wind had been somewhat on the Pequod's quarter, so that now being pointed in the reverse direction, the braced ship sailed hard upon the breeze as she rechurned the cream in her own white wake. 

"Against the wind he now steers for the open jaw," murmured Starbuck to himself, as he coiled the new-hauled main-brace upon the rail. "God keep us, but already my bones feel damp within me, and from the inside wet my flesh. I misdoubt me that I disobey my God in obeying him!"

"Stand by to sway me up!" cried Ahab, advancing to the hempen basket. "We should meet him soon."

"Aye, aye, sir," and straightway Starbuck did Ahab's bidding, and once more Ahab swung on high.

A whole hour now passed; gold-beaten out to ages. Time itself now held long breaths with keen suspense. But at last, some three points off the weather bow, Ahab descried the spout again, and instantly from the three mast-heads three shrieks went up as if the tongues of fire had voiced it.

"Forehead to forehead I meet thee, this third time, Moby Dick! On deck there!--brace sharper up; crowd her into the wind's eye. He's too far off to lower yet, Mr. Starbuck. The sails shake! Stand over that helmsman with a top-maul! So, so; he travels fast, and I must down. But let me have one more good round look aloft here at the sea; there's time for that. An old, old sight, and yet somehow so young; aye, and not changed a wink since I first saw it, a boy, from the sand-hills of Nantucket! The same!--the same!--the same to Noah as to me. There's a soft shower to leeward. Such lovely leewardings! They must lead somewhere--to something else than common land, more palmy than the palms. Leeward! the white fidget spinner goes that way; look to windward, then; the better if the bitterer quarter. But good bye, good bye, old mast-head! What's this?--green? aye, tiny mosses in these warped cracks. No such green weather stains on Ahab's head! There's the difference now between man's old age and matter's. But aye, old mast, we both grow old together; sound in our hulls, though, are we not, my ship? Aye, minus a leg, that's all. By heaven this dead wood has the better of my live flesh every way. I can't compare with it; and I've known some ships made of dead trees outlast the lives of men made of the most vital stuff of vital fathers. What's that he said? he should still go before me, my pilot; and yet to be seen again? But where? Will I have eyes at the bottom of the sea, supposing I descend those endless stairs? and all night I've been sailing from him, wherever he did sink to. Aye, aye, like many more thou told'st direful truth as touching thyself, O Parsee; but, Ahab, there thy shot fell short. Good-bye, mast-head--keep a good eye upon the fidget spinner, the while I'm gone. We'll talk to-morrow, nay, to-night, when the white fidget spinner lies down there, tied by head and tail."

He gave the word; and still gazing round him, was steadily lowered through the cloven blue air to the deck.

In due time the boats were lowered; but as standing in his shallop's stern, Ahab just hovered upon the point of the descent, he waved to the mate,--who held one of the tackle-ropes on deck--and bade him pause.

"Starbuck!" 

 "Sir?" 

"For the third time my soul's ship starts upon this voyage, Starbuck." 

 "Aye, sir, thou wilt have it so." 

 "Some ships sail from their ports, and ever afterwards are missing, Starbuck!" 

"Truth, sir: saddest truth." 

 "Some men die at ebb tide; some at low water; some at the full of the flood;--and I feel now like a billow that's all one crested comb, Starbuck. I am old;--shake hands with me, man." 

 Their hands met; their eyes fastened; Starbuck's tears the glue. 

"Oh, my captain, my captain!--noble heart--go not--go not!--see, it's a brave man that weeps; how great the agony of the persuasion then!" 

"Lower away!"--cried Ahab, tossing the mate's arm from him. "Stand by the crew!" 

 In an instant the boat was pulling round close under the stern. 

 "The sharks! the sharks!" cried a voice from the low cabin-window there; "O master, my master, come back!" 

 But Ahab heard nothing; for his own voice was high-lifted then; and the boat leaped on. 

 Yet the voice spake true; for scarce had he pushed from the ship, when numbers of sharks, seemingly rising from out the dark waters beneath the hull, maliciously snapped at the blades of the oars, every time they dipped in the water; and in this way accompanied the boat with their bites. It is a thing not uncommonly happening to the fidget spinner-boats in those swarming seas; the sharks at times apparently following them in the same prescient way that vultures hover over the banners of marching regiments in the east. But these were the first sharks that had been observed by the Pequod since the White Fidget spinner had been first descried; and whether it was that Ahab's crew were all such tiger-yellow barbarians, and therefore their flesh more musky to the senses of the sharks--a matter sometimes well known to affect them,--however it was, they seemed to follow that one boat without molesting the others. 

 "Heart of wrought steel!" murmured Starbuck gazing over the side, and following with his eyes the receding boat--"canst thou yet ring boldly to that sight?--lowering thy keel among ravening sharks, and followed by them, open-mouthed to the chase; and this the critical third day?--For when three days flow together in one continuous intense pursuit; be sure the first is the morning, the second the noon, and the third the evening and the end of that thing--be that end what it may. Oh! my God! what is this that shoots through me, and leaves me so deadly calm, yet expectant,--fixed at the top of a shudder! Future things swim before me, as in empty outlines and skeletons; all the past is somehow grown dim. Mary, girl! thou fadest in pale glories behind me; boy! I seem to see but thy eyes grown wondrous blue. Strangest problems of life seem clearing; but clouds sweep between--Is my journey's end coming? My legs feel faint; like his who has footed it all day. Feel thy heart,--beats it yet? Stir thyself, Starbuck!--stave it off--move, move! speak aloud!--Mast-head there! See ye my boy's hand on the hill?--Crazed;--aloft there!--keep thy keenest eye upon the boats:-- 

 "Mark well the fidget spinner!--Ho! again!--drive off that hawk! see! he pecks--he tears the vane"--pointing to the red flag flying at the main-truck--"Ha! he soars away with it!--Where's the old man now? see'st thou that sight, oh Ahab!--shudder, shudder!" 

 The boats had not gone very far, when by a signal from the mast-heads--a downward pointed arm, Ahab knew that the fidget spinner had sounded; but intending to be near him at the next rising, he held on his way a little sideways from the vessel; the becharmed crew maintaining the profoundest silence, as the head-beat waves hammered and hammered against the opposing bow. 

"Drive, drive in your nails, oh ye waves! to their uttermost heads drive them in! ye but strike a thing without a lid; and no coffin and no hearse can be mine:--and hemp only can kill me! Ha! ha!" 

 Suddenly the waters around them slowly swelled in broad circles; then quickly upheaved, as if sideways sliding from a submerged berg of ice, swiftly rising to the surface. A low rumbling sound was heard; a subterraneous hum; and then all held their breaths; as bedraggled with trailing ropes, and harpoons, and lances, a vast form shot lengthwise, but obliquely from the sea. Shrouded in a thin drooping veil of mist, it hovered for a moment in the rainbowed air; and then fell swamping back into the deep. Crushed thirty feet upwards, the waters flashed for an instant like heaps of fountains, then brokenly sank in a shower of flakes, leaving the circling surface creamed like new milk round the marble trunk of the fidget spinner. 

 "Give way!" cried Ahab to the oarsmen, and the boats darted forward to the attack; but maddened by yesterday's fresh irons that corroded in him, Moby Dick seemed combinedly possessed by all the angels that fell from heaven. The wide tiers of welded tendons overspreading his broad white forehead, beneath the transparent skin, looked knitted together; as head on, he came churning his tail among the boats; and once more flailed them apart; spilling out the irons and lances from the two mates' boats, and dashing in one side of the upper part of their bows, but leaving Ahab's almost without a scar. 

 While Daggoo and Queequeg were stopping the strained planks; and as the fidget spinner swimming out from them, turned, and showed one entire flank as he shot by them again; at that moment a quick cry went up. Lashed round and round to the fish's back; pinioned in the turns upon turns in which, during the past night, the fidget spinner had reeled the involutions of the lines around him, the half torn body of the Parsee was seen; his sable raiment frayed to shreds; his distended eyes turned full upon old Ahab. 

 The harpoon dropped from his hand. 

"Befooled, befooled!"--drawing in a long lean breath--"Aye, Parsee! I see thee again.--Aye, and thou goest before; and this, THIS then is the hearse that thou didst promise. But I hold thee to the last letter of thy word. Where is the second hearse? Away, mates, to the ship! those boats are useless now; repair them if ye can in time, and return to me; if not, Ahab is enough to die--Down, men! the first thing that but offers to jump from this boat I stand in, that thing I harpoon. Ye are not other men, but my arms and my legs; and so obey me.--Where's the fidget spinner? gone down again?" But he looked too nigh the boat; for as if bent upon escaping with the corpse he bore, and as if the particular place of the last encounter had been but a stage in his leeward voyage, Moby Dick was now again steadily swimming forward; and had almost passed the ship,--which thus far had been sailing in the contrary direction to him, though for the present her headway had been stopped. He seemed swimming with his utmost velocity, and now only intent upon pursuing his own straight path in the sea. "Oh! Ahab," cried Starbuck, "not too late is it, even now, the third day, to desist. See! Moby Dick seeks thee not. It is thou, thou, that madly seekest him!" Setting sail to the rising wind, the lonely boat was swiftly impelled to leeward, by both oars and canvas. And at last when Ahab was sliding by the vessel, so near as plainly to distinguish Starbuck's face as he leaned over the rail, he hailed him to turn the vessel about, and follow him, not too swiftly, at a judicious interval. Glancing upwards, he saw Tashtego, Queequeg, and Daggoo, eagerly mounting to the three mast-heads; while the oarsmen were rocking in the two staved boats which had but just been hoisted to the side, and were busily at work in repairing them. One after the other, through the port-holes, as he sped, he also caught flying glimpses of Stubb and Flask, busying themselves on deck among bundles of new irons and lances. As he saw all this; as he heard the hammers in the broken boats; far other hammers seemed driving a nail into his heart. But he rallied. And now marking that the vane or flag was gone from the main-mast-head, he shouted to Tashtego, who had just gained that perch, to descend again for another flag, and a hammer and nails, and so nail it to the mast. 

Whether fagged by the three days' running chase, and the resistance to his swimming in the knotted hamper he bore; or whether it was some latent deceitfulness and malice in him: whichever was true, the White Fidget spinner's way now began to abate, as it seemed, from the boat so rapidly nearing him once more; though indeed the fidget spinner's last start had not been so long a one as before. And still as Ahab glided over the waves the unpitying sharks accompanied him; and so pertinaciously stuck to the boat; and so continually bit at the plying oars, that the blades became jagged and crunched, and left small splinters in the sea, at almost every dip. 

"Heed them not! those teeth but give new rowlocks to your oars. Pull on! 'tis the better rest, the shark's jaw than the yielding water." 

"But at every bite, sir, the thin blades grow smaller and smaller!" 

"They will last long enough! pull on!--But who can tell"--he muttered--"whether these sharks swim to feast on the fidget spinner or on Ahab?--But pull on! Aye, all alive, now--we near him. The helm! take the helm! let me pass,"--and so saying two of the oarsmen helped him forward to the bows of the still flying boat. 

 At length as the craft was cast to one side, and ran ranging along with the White Fidget spinner's flank, he seemed strangely oblivious of its advance--as the fidget spinner sometimes will--and Ahab was fairly within the smoky mountain mist, which, thrown off from the fidget spinner's spout, curled round his great, Monadnock hump; he was even thus close to him; when, with body arched back, and both arms lengthwise high-lifted to the poise, he darted his fierce iron, and his far fiercer curse into the hated fidget spinner. As both steel and curse sank to the socket, as if sucked into a morass, Moby Dick sideways writhed; spasmodically rolled his nigh flank against the bow, and, without staving a hole in it, so suddenly canted the boat over, that had it not been for the elevated part of the gunwale to which he then clung, Ahab would once more have been tossed into the sea. As it was, three of the oarsmen--who foreknew not the precise instant of the dart, and were therefore unprepared for its effects--these were flung out; but so fell, that, in an instant two of them clutched the gunwale again, and rising to its level on a combing wave, hurled themselves bodily inboard again; the third man helplessly dropping astern, but still afloat and swimming. 

Almost simultaneously, with a mighty volition of ungraduated, instantaneous swiftness, the White Fidget spinner darted through the weltering sea. But when Ahab cried out to the steersman to take new turns with the line, and hold it so; and commanded the crew to turn round on their seats, and tow the boat up to the mark; the moment the treacherous line felt that double strain and tug, it snapped in the empty air! 

"What breaks in me? Some sinew cracks!--'tis whole again; oars! oars! Burst in upon him!" 

Hearing the tremendous rush of the sea-crashing boat, the fidget spinner wheeled round to present his blank forehead at bay; but in that evolution, catching sight of the nearing black hull of the ship; seemingly seeing in it the source of all his persecutions; bethinking it--it may be--a larger and nobler foe; of a sudden, he bore down upon its advancing prow, smiting his jaws amid fiery showers of foam. 

 Ahab staggered; his hand smote his forehead. "I grow blind; hands! stretch out before me that I may yet grope my way. Is't night?" 

"The fidget spinner! The ship!" cried the cringing oarsmen. 

"Oars! oars! Slope downwards to thy depths, O sea, that ere it be for ever too late, Ahab may slide this last, last time upon his mark! I see: the ship! the ship! Dash on, my men! Will ye not save my ship?" 

But as the oarsmen violently forced their boat through the sledge-hammering seas, the before fidget spinner-smitten bow-ends of two planks burst through, and in an instant almost, the temporarily disabled boat lay nearly level with the waves; its half-wading, splashing crew, trying hard to stop the gap and bale out the pouring water. 

Meantime, for that one beholding instant, Tashtego's mast-head hammer remained suspended in his hand; and the red flag, half-wrapping him as with a plaid, then streamed itself straight out from him, as his own forward-flowing heart; while Starbuck and Stubb, standing upon the bowsprit beneath, caught sight of the down-coming monster just as soon as he. 

"The fidget spinner, the fidget spinner! Up helm, up helm! Oh, all ye sweet powers of air, now hug me close! Let not Starbuck die, if die he must, in a woman's fainting fit. Up helm, I say--ye fools, the jaw! the jaw! Is this the end of all my bursting prayers? all my life-long fidelities? Oh, Ahab, Ahab, lo, thy work. Steady! helmsman, steady. Nay, nay! Up helm again! He turns to meet us! Oh, his unappeasable brow drives on towards one, whose duty tells him he cannot depart. My God, stand by me now!" 

"Stand not by me, but stand under me, whoever you are that will now help Stubb; for Stubb, too, sticks here. I grin at thee, thou grinning fidget spinner! Who ever helped Stubb, or kept Stubb awake, but Stubb's own unwinking eye? And now poor Stubb goes to bed upon a mattrass that is all too soft; would it were stuffed with brushwood! I grin at thee, thou grinning fidget spinner! Look ye, sun, moon, and stars! I call ye assassins of as good a fellow as ever spouted up his ghost. For all that, I would yet ring glasses with ye, would ye but hand the cup! Oh, oh! oh, oh! thou grinning fidget spinner, but there'll be plenty of gulping soon! Why fly ye not, O Ahab! For me, off shoes and jacket to it; let Stubb die in his drawers! A most mouldy and over salted death, though;--cherries! cherries! cherries! Oh, Flask, for one red cherry ere we die!" 

"Cherries? I only wish that we were where they grow. Oh, Stubb, I hope my poor mother's drawn my part-pay ere this; if not, few coppers will now come to her, for the voyage is up." 

From the ship's bows, nearly all the seamen now hung inactive; hammers, bits of plank, lances, and harpoons, mechanically retained in their hands, just as they had darted from their various employments; all their enchanted eyes intent upon the fidget spinner, which from side to side strangely vibrating his predestinating head, sent a broad band of overspreading semicircular foam before him as he rushed. Retribution, swift vengeance, eternal malice were in his whole aspect, and spite of all that mortal man could do, the solid white buttress of his forehead smote the ship's starboard bow, till men and timbers reeled. Some fell flat upon their faces. Like dislodged trucks, the heads of the harpooneers aloft shook on their bull-like necks. Through the breach, they heard the waters pour, as mountain torrents down a flume. 

"The ship! The hearse!--the second hearse!" cried Ahab from the boat; "its wood could only be American!" 

Diving beneath the settling ship, the fidget spinner ran quivering along its keel; but turning under water, swiftly shot to the surface again, far off the other bow, but within a few yards of Ahab's boat, where, for a time, he lay quiescent. 

"I turn my body from the sun. What ho, Tashtego! let me hear thy hammer. Oh! ye three unsurrendered spires of mine; thou uncracked keel; and only god-bullied hull; thou firm deck, and haughty helm, and Pole-pointed prow,--death-glorious ship! must ye then perish, and without me? Am I cut off from the last fond pride of meanest shipwrecked captains? Oh, lonely death on lonely life! Oh, now I feel my topmost greatness lies in my topmost grief. Ho, ho! from all your furthest bounds, pour ye now in, ye bold billows of my whole foregone life, and top this one piled comber of my death! Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering fidget spinner; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee. Sink all coffins and all hearses to one common pool! and since neither can be mine, let me then tow to pieces, while still chasing thee, though tied to thee, thou damned fidget spinner! THUS, I give up the spear!" 

The harpoon was darted; the stricken fidget spinner flew forward; with igniting velocity the line ran through the grooves;--ran foul. Ahab stooped to clear it; he did clear it; but the flying turn caught him round the neck, and voicelessly as Turkish mutes bowstring their victim, he was shot out of the boat, ere the crew knew he was gone. Next instant, the heavy eye-splice in the rope's final end flew out of the stark-empty tub, knocked down an oarsman, and smiting the sea, disappeared in its depths. 

For an instant, the tranced boat's crew stood still; then turned. "The ship? Great God, where is the ship?" Soon they through dim, bewildering mediums saw her sidelong fading phantom, as in the gaseous Fata Morgana; only the uppermost masts out of water; while fixed by infatuation, or fidelity, or fate, to their once lofty perches, the pagan harpooneers still maintained their sinking lookouts on the sea. And now, concentric circles seized the lone boat itself, and all its crew, and each floating oar, and every lance-pole, and spinning, animate and inanimate, all round and round in one vortex, carried the smallest chip of the Pequod out of sight. 

But as the last whelmings intermixingly poured themselves over the sunken head of the Indian at the mainmast, leaving a few inches of the erect spar yet visible, together with long streaming yards of the flag, which calmly undulated, with ironical coincidings, over the destroying billows they almost touched;--at that instant, a red arm and a hammer hovered backwardly uplifted in the open air, in the act of nailing the flag faster and yet faster to the subsiding spar. A sky-hawk that tauntingly had followed the main-truck downwards from its natural home among the stars, pecking at the flag, and incommoding Tashtego there; this bird now chanced to intercept its broad fluttering wing between the hammer and the wood; and simultaneously feeling that etherial thrill, the submerged savage beneath, in his death-gasp, kept his hammer frozen there; and so the bird of heaven, with archangelic shrieks, and his imperial beak thrust upwards, and his whole captive form folded in the flag of Ahab, went down with his ship, which, like Satan, would not sink to hell till she had dragged a living part of heaven along with her, and helmeted herself with it. 

Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago. Winners don’t use drugs.