#not sure where Ray's looking because his eye is obscured but I'll say he's looking at Emma because it's always true

[duckietine]

They can't stop LOOKING AT EACH OTHER

[realityhelixcreates]

By Talos, This Can't be Happening Chapter 14: Chorrol County Cruise

Swag is a man who loves his shopping.

@cardwrecks

?~?~?~?~?

To the west, and green. To the west and green. Starlight, dyed red, a luminescence hovering in his hands. A caged lizard in a ruined cave. A field watered with blood. Layers of paint obscuring the face of a loved one.

“Challenge.” a feminine voice, everywhere at once, inside. “You bring it on yourself.”

A shadow under the great oak outside the mages guild. Lightning striking a mountaintop. The path rolled out in rays like-

“Starlight...” he mumbled.

“Hm?” Helix mumbled back, not really awake, but merely responding to his voice.

“Nothin' babe. Go back to sleep.”

“Mm.”

Sometime later, he dragged himself out of bed, realizing she'd gotten up earlier than him. There was a basin of warm water and their soap in one corner of the room, waiting for him, a plate of fruit and what looked like a medieval muffin. There was also a full change of clothes. Swag held up the new garments-black with a very decorative silvery trim. Looked like they'd fit, though the trousers might be a bit short. It wouldn't matter if he tucked the hems into his boots. But would that look good? And where had these come from? He couldn't imagine they'd just been left lying around; they looked to be very high quality, like that incredible linen that had been wiped out of history by industrialization.

It did fit well, a little padded at the shoulders, but nothing blocky, and surprisingly breathable and flexible. And yes, the hems were a bit short, but not as noticeably as he'd predicted. He ate, got his hair at least partially tamed, and went in search of Helix.

She was just outside the bedroom, heating one of her alchemical mixtures in what he could only describe as a 'contraption', an elaborate alembic setup dripping hydrosol into a potpourri of salts and ash.

She had also come by a new set of clothing, a confection of green velvet and silk patterned like the leaves of the oak outside. In fact, it was quite similar to the getup Earana had been sporting, but Helix, in his opinion, wore it so much better.

God, that color looked so good on her.

He caught her staring back, and he knew that look. He held his hands up in front of him.

“Hey, I just got these on.” he joked, and she grinned.

“I've got to keep an eye on this anyway.” she said. “Maybe later.”

“Whattaya mean 'maybe'? I see you lookin'. Where'd these come from, anyway?”

“Oh, Anthragar thought we looked a bit ragged, I reckon. He pressed these on me as soon as I went upstairs. Might be custom, or might be he worried we'd make the guild look un-posh or some such. Our other clothes are off for a proper cleaning.”

“Better not damage them. That's my favorite vest.”

“You've got seven more just like it back home.”

“What can I say? I like to be on brand. And it's the only one I have here!”

“It'll be fine. Got any plans for the day?”

Figured I'd go visit the smith. Guy in Bruma recommended her for making a set of gauntlets. Prolly oughta sell off what we got that wasn't already coins.”

Oh right. Here.” She began to remove her ring.

“Uh...you know what? Keep hold of that. Might come in handy later. And I'll see if there isn't anything going on around town, any odd jobs or whatever. I'll keep myself occupied, don't worry. And I won't end up in jail again, so don't worry about that either.”

Because he knew she would.

He left the guild and had to dodge around the back to avoid being spotted by Earana, who was stalking around the great oak like a hunting animal.

The slums of Chorrol were...actually pretty nice from his perspective, basically the opposite of what they'd be in Gotham. Small, single story timber buildings, with space between them, and not a one condemned or falling down. Bright green grass everywhere, and fresh air.

Swag didn't know how much longer he could survive without microdosing on minerals with every breath. And the water not tasting of metal, surely that wasn't how nature had meant it. Where would he get his daily cadmium?

The street, still scrupulously clean, even here, curled around another large cathedral, which he walked straight past, and back into the main thoroughfare. A large statue dominated this end of town, a woman holding a fallen soldier in her arms. Close by, a cute little Rennfaire styled sign declared 'Northern Goods and Trade', a place he definitely wanted to check out.

Inside was another lizard in a dress. An actual dress this time, not a mage robe. Perhaps it could be assumed this one was female, the dress, the smaller size, and the somewhat higher pitched-though still rough-voice might lead to that conclusion. But otherwise, it wasn't that easy to tell. He couldn't help but wonder about the evolutionary story there, unless what Helix had told him was correct, and there was no evolution here.

She introduced herself as Seed-Neeus, because that was just how Argonian names were, apparently. She was also a shrewd businesslizard, and Swags haggling over the mediocre potions didn't go at all as well as he'd planned. He did get a good price for the pearl, the bronze ring, and the green gems-tourmalines, she informed him-though he kept one back for himself. The silver just went by weight, but it was worth quite a bit, and he chatted with her about local affairs, and the rest of Cyrodiil. He was from so very far away after all.

He got the feeling she was not impressed with his attempted compliments on her weird head fin things, but he was trying. He had no way to tell how old she was; maybe she'd just heard it all before. Or maybe he just wasn't her type, which, like, yeah.

But she did mention that a fellow named Guilbert Jemane had gotten some disturbing news, and was acting more erratic and drunken than usual, that there was some kind of trouble brewing on a farmstead just outside of town, and that there had been a large flush of newcomers to the city recently, including a small group from the nearby Weynon Priory; humble monks that were usually so self sufficient that they rarely ever visited.

He headed across the street towards the Fire and Steel, passing by a man arguing loudly with a gate guard that he'd never even been to Cheydinhal, but he was thinking of going just so he could lay a beatdown on some guy who was pretending to be him.

Inside the smiths shop, his eyes were first caught by a huge, olive green woman with short, spiky hair. She had large tusks and small eyes, but she barely looked at him. That must be an orc. Huh, not too bad. She was engaged in conversation with a jovial, dark skinned woman and an elf who was sporting the most gorgeous set of crystalline green armor.

Swag was instantly smitten. Where could he get a set of that? He would look like a god.

Imagine rocking up to the mages guild in that.

“Welcome!” the smith called to him after the orc and elf, an adventuring pair, had left. “Welcome to the Fire and Steel! You're new in town too, aren't you? Well met! I'm Rasheda. Is there anything I can interest you in? At all?”

Her eyes swept up his form in approval. Swag grinned.

“Maybe, maybe. First of all, that green armor the elf fellow was wearing; was that yours?”

“The glass armor? No, I didn't make that. No one can make that. He found it in a ruin somewhere.”

“Glass?”

Rasheda laughed.

“Sounds bad, doesn't it? It's not actually made of glass, its some magical alloy the Ayleids came up with thousands of years ago. It just looks like glass. Tough as steel though, and less than half the weight! Imagine if we could someday figure it out! But for now, the only way to get any is to find it in one of the Ayleids ruins, or to get it off of someone else who did. If you do, bring it back here, I can make sure it fits you right. Remarkable stuff, it can be formed like steel too, reshaped for a better fit.”

“Only in the ruins, huh? Pretty rare then.”

“Yeah, but I see more of it than you might think. We get adventurers in pretty regularly, due to all the ruins in the Great Forest outside of town. The Ayleids were populous here, and there are quite a few mines and caves, and remnants from the Alessian Empire too. There's a lot out there to be reclaimed.”

“Any to the North of here?” Earana had said that the book she wanted was located in an Ayleid ruin.

“Yes, a few. And there's Sancre Tor as well. Huge place, three ruined towers. Most of the wall has fallen down, but I here its not uncommon for people to just disappear around there.”

“Uh...I might have seen it, yeah. Creepy place.”

“Well, that's the best I can give you when it comes to glass. Is there anything else?”

She was looking again, unabashed interest in her dark eyes.

“Yeah, actually. Two things. What would you recommend for someone who's never worn armor before? And also, the smith in Bruma recommended you for a pair of custom gauntlets. Was he on the level?”

“Bruma? Wait, you mean Fjotreid? He remembers me?”

“Had nothing but praise for your work. Said you could make a pair of gauntlets so fine, they might as well be my own skin. Sure like to see that.”

“He said that?” her huge smile flashed white, even as her cheeks darkened with flattered pleasure. “What a sweetheart! And he's not wrong, either. I can do that. Let me see your hands.”

He held them out, and she flipped them over, spread the fingers out, commenting cheekily about their length and shape.

“You seem like the sort who likes to be light on your feet.” she said, lapsing away from flirtatiousness and into the more serious part of her job. “Reinforced leather jerkin, something in the Khajiti style maybe. Quiet. Flexible. Blued steel for the gauntlets; you'd want a solid strike for those. Not the mitten type, I'm assuming, more like the elven glove type, right?”

“Sounds right.”

“I have some leather already mostly put together, I could get some measurements and alter something for you right now. The gauntlets have to be bespoke though. Everybody's hands are different, and most pugilists' aren't as graceful as yours.”

She quoted him two prices, the armor quite reasonable, but the gauntlets quite a bit outside his current price range. It made sense; all the little pieces, specially treated, carefully fitted.

He agreed to have measurements taken for the armor, and the frisky attitude returned, her hands lingering longer than strictly necessary, a little bit of shared innuendo.

“You know, I have a lot of free time today. Anything I can do around the place to maybe shave a few coins off those gauntlets?” he suggested.

Rasheda grinned wide.

“Well...” she drawled.

Then she locked the door.

Swag laughed.

?~?~?~?~?

[emperor-palpaminty]

Killing Time

Because nothing can kill a relationship like lies.

A modern AU where crosshair is a hitman and you're his loyal girlfriend who happens to be in the bodyguard business, but neither one of you know the other's careers

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, making oit and allusions to smut, also this is in no way accurate to real life and it's just dramatic, please don't hurt me lol

children you have full permission to run away and not come here, in fact please run away

Very few things phased you. The only things that brought you to your precipice of agitation was burning pasta, your phone charger not working, and showing up to your shift only to realize someone had been killing all your clients.

Who said keeping people alive was easy? No one, that was who, and if anyone said it they were wrong or had no experience working with others whatsoever. Making sure others lived to see their next day was deadly business, for the people that were trying to live, at least.

“Charles!” You barked, feet hitting the floor of the bull pen. “What the hell happened?” You slammed your files on your desk, face warm, head just about collapsing with pressure. Your fingers pressed to your temples, hoping that they would grip it, hold it together. “Burke was alive when I left last night.”

“Doesn't matter now." Your coworker dropped his sandwich onto his desk. "Burke is fucking dead now. As dead as a doorknob." He swallowed his bite. "Luckily, you weren't on shift when it happened, so you aren't gonna catch any fire for it."

"Shit, Charles, a man is dead." You collapsed in your chair, a gentle "oomph" escaping your mouth. Your lips pressed together in agitation and you moaned to yourself. "This is the third one in two months. Sure, I'll get a couple cold bodies, but-"

"But this is a lot." Charles sunk into his own chair, grabbing for his sandwich again.

You stared at him, disbelief coating your gaze. "One is a lot, Charles," You snarled, grabbing at the folder on your desk. "Any leads?"

"Oh, yeah. But they're all at Burke's mansion." Charles tossed the crust of his lunch into the trash can. "I can drive ya."

"No, I'll take my car," You grumbled. You swiped the keys from your desk and stood, stalking back towards the elevator, anger eating away at you.

If one more of your clients- YOUR own clients- got killed, you would have to start pulling full shifts again.

___

Your shoes, practical, did little more than tap against the marble floor as you ducked under the Police tape. You skimmed the scene, frowning, eyes gracing past a particularly nasty chunk of gore on the wall. "Shot from above," You mumbled, glancing at the shattered window.

The mansion was huge. You'd been coming here for nearly a year now to keep an eye on Burke, and it still shocked you when you saw the absolute volume of the home. How much house would one man need, exactly?

In your years as a bodyguard you'd watched out for a lot of people- spoiled celebrities, prideful and arrogant politicians, and a particularly interesting Chef who had an unusual desire to cook everything with some kind of caffeine in it. That was probably your favorite client.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice broke the mumble in the next room, probably of detectives or cops sweeping the house for evidence. "You shouldn't-"

"I was Burke's bodyguard." You tugged your badge out or your pocket, allowing the interrupting police officer to take it and examine it. “You can verify with my assistant, Charles. Make sure you tell him he’s my assistant and not the other way around, though, he can be a dick.”

The cop hesitated, then gave a slight nod. “Well, we’re still cleaning up the scene.” His hands offered your badge back, and you slid it into your back pocket, satisfaction deflating. “You can come by later after it’s clean. Ballistics is running comparisons right now.” He paused and glanced at the shattered window. “Looks like the shot came from the garage. It’s the only side with no motion sensors or alarms.” The cop’s brows raised in interest. “Know why?”

“No.” You said, calmly, turning towards the front door. “I assume I can go there?” You heard no objection as you stepped outside, tugging your sunglasses back on over your eyes. The sun was unforgiving and you gave an involuntary hiss as the bright rays hit your eyes just right to temporarily give your vision black spots. You blinked strongly and hurried towards the garage. 

In truth, Burke had alarms everywhere except the garage because he had so many people and cars coming and going. For any new technology the billionaire was releasing, the man had drugs and other forms of entertainment coming in and out, and it was all stuff that would probably bring him down. That nondisclosure form was still somewhere in the house in some obscure filing cabinet and you really, really, really didn’t feel like having a lawsuit lurking over your shoulders. Life was too good- well, everything outside of people you were being paid to keep alive was good. 

Death really killed the whole “survival” business.

You clamored your way to the roof of the garage, noting the ladder was the same one that the gardener used around the several acres Burke owned. The police had to have put it here- the gardener only came in the mornings.

So who the hell climbed up here without a ladder? Most people didn’t want to put in the effort to scale this freehand or wedge between the wall of the garage and the fence to shimmy up. That someone had to be either very determined to kill Burke, for personal motive or financial motive.

You brushed off you pants and glanced around, looking down at the surface of the roof. Nothing- not even a bullet casing- had been left behind. You frowned and raked a hand through your hair, skimming your scalp as you examined the roof, walking to the edge closest to the window.

You stared in, at the shattered glass, pondering. Burke was heading to bed when he'd been shot, you assumed, so the assassian would have had to know his routine. Your mind ran through possibilities again, but you could come up with none that were motivated personally enough or fit enough to climb without much assistance. You trailed along the surface, frowning, unable to find anything, but paused at a smudge of black paint, small, on the corner of the roof.

____

You turned your car down the street, exhaling softly as you pulled into your driveway.

99. That was what the marks said. Very subtle, meant nothing, unless it was a birth year or graduating class. The cops had come back, irritated, snapped a couple of pictures, and told you off about your wild theories of a fiscally motivated assassian. Apparently, you watched too many scret agent movies, or something like that.

You opened the door of the car and climbed out, frustration making you slam it shut. You inhaled the scent of the yard- clean, fresh cut, and perhaps it could help soothe your anger before you went inside.

After fumbling on your Keychain, you unlocked the door and hurried in, locking it behind you. "Cross?"

A savory aroma wafted from the kitchen, and your mouth watered. Your toes found their way out of your shoes and you hurried to the kitchen, pausing briefly at the doorway.

Cross's lanky figure was leaning over the skillet, stirring something, pale hands moving in expertise across the stove top. "Darling, you're late." He drawled.

You sighed, fully entering the kitchen. "Yeah. Sorry." You leaned up and wrapped your arms around his waist, face pressing against his back. You sighed. The day felt a little less bad now- filled with him. "Work kept me."

"How was work?"

You grunted. "A killer. An absolute killer." The irony was not lost on you, but it was lost to your boyfriend. He thought you were an editor for some book publishing company, because cover was the most important thing. You were one of those people trying to stay alive, after all.

Lies hurt, but it was one of the necessary ones. A little lie.

"Yikes." His hands drew plates to himself. "Mine wasn't much better. Got a few new clients, a few new cases." He sighed. "The Baliff forgot to submit evidence."

You mumbled against his shirt. "Law school really paid off, huh?"

"I'll say." He turned around, adjusting your arms, slowly taking your chin and leaning down to peck you. You always melted at his kisses, knees weak and brain numb, and he seemed to know it every time. You hummed, running your hands up his chest, the irritation for the day pooling to your midsection as your fingers gripped his shirt, your lips pulling in on his.

Cross tugged away gently, and you whined, fingers stubbornly clasped. "Wow, really frustrated today."

"Yes," You mumbled.

His lips pressed towards one of their corners in a half smile, and he picked your head. "Go shower. Then we can eat and I'll take care of you."

You hummed, fingers reluctantly releasing him, and you hurried away to the bathroom. You paused at the dresser, rummaging through, grabbing an especially large t-shirt and hipster underwear. Comfort was more important at the moment.

You climbed into the shower, turning the water to as hot as you could and scrubbing yourself off, humming in pleasure as the day came off you and went down the drain. The floral scent of the soap remained, the purple bad working diligently to rid you of your grime and frustration. Lavender really is a natural relaxant. You sighed and leaned back briefly on the tile, feeling every muscle in you ease at the same time.

After toweling off and getting dressed, your padded to the kitchen where Cross was pouring a your favorite wine. You sighed happily, accepting the glass as he skimmed your fresh-showered body. "Thanks."

"Of course." Cross picked up his own glass, taking a sip, eyes still diligently stripping you on their own. You shivered slightly, setting down your glass and looking up at him. "Dinner's ready," He mumbled, leaning in, pressing a hand to the counter of either side of you, leaving your back to the counter. "But I would much rather start with dessert."

You drew in a breath as he pressed his lips to your neck, drawing out a sigh with his teeth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, humming in agreement, and he scooped you up. Your groaned as he drew your legs around his lips, shifting, the agitating heat pooling back between your legs. "That's a good idea." You mumbled, whimpering as he bucked his hips slightly. "I just showered, though."

"Then we can take another one," He hissed, lips covering yours. "You're so damn intoxicating."

You mumbled something against his lips, unable to get a coherent response out as he dropped you on the bed. You bounced briefly, giggling, and he yanked off his shirt and joined you, climbing over you and hovering. "Come here, sweetheart," His finger traced over your shirt between your breasts, running down to the hem. "Let's end the day on a good note."

You whimpered, neck straining as you leaned up for his kiss, and you felt Cross snarl against you, tugging your surrendered form up closer to him. Your body relaxed again, neck loosening and head back against the pillow as he tugged your own shirt up, eyes gleaming with a primal eagerness that made you swoon, ready to work out the agitation for the day you both had.

[lazarettta]

Misthios VII

Pairing (Mother Miranda x Spartan!Reader)

Rating (M)

Word Count (4.6k)

Warning (probably language right now)

You and Miranda are finally moving on to having that long chat that's separated you both for centuries.

The Queen's eyes fluttered open, finally waking with the morning rays of the sun peaking over the mountain. Her balcony doors were wide open to let the cool night breeze into her personal chambers while the two fireplaces burned well into the night. It was a combination of warm and cool that her majesty enjoyed greatly as it helped her with sleep.

Of course, sharing her bed with you also aided with her troubles with sleep for the past few months since your arrival to the region. Wonderful in all the ways she could never have imagined; a warrior and a lover, the two things that made her life easier—and the lives of her enemies that much worse.

It had been well past dinner time when you returned to the castle along with the squadron of soldiers you'd gone with including a Captain of the military who was leading the raid. Part of your armor had been slashed and torn, stained with blood and whatever else you encountered outside of the castle walls.

But when Miranda stood in the doorway of her private bath watching as you stripped of your amour—she witnessed no open wounds for her to tend to or fret over, but blood stained your skin anyway. Even though she knew that she should have the moment she noticed: Miranda never questioned why you'd always have a new scar every other day or why your shirts had the evidence of a stab wound taking place right above your hip, including a blood stain, but all you could do was smile when asked about it.

“ Is everything alright, your majesty?”

Miranda blinked, her mind coming back to reality now finding herself sitting up in her bed currently being blinded by the morning sun. The Queen sighed heavily, looking down at your sleeping form—as always you were on your back with one arm tucked beneath one of the pillows behind your head and the other was being used as Miranda's pillow for most of the night. As always.

Like herself, you were bare as the day you were born...your entire torso shamelessly revealed for her roaming insatiable eyes...and she smirked when a particularly cool breeze swept through the room. She watched the goosebumps rise under your exposed skin, including your nipples making Miranda hum softly.

“ Y-your majesty?”

Miranda, suddenly remembering just what, or rather who, had bothered her before and looked towards the girl, pleased when she saw that her eyes were on the floor.

“ Everything is more than alright, girl, however you may leave... I'll be out shortly.”

A hand curling around her waist brought Miranda's gaze from the closing double doors where the meek girl disappeared through and back to you. Your eyes were still closed but you were starting to wake up, stretching like a feline and again Miranda's eyes were drawn to your chest.

“ Carved by the Gods,” she mumbled, the tips of her nails tracing your firm abdomen with no particular pattern, simply enjoying the light marks she was leaving behind around your belly button, knowing how much you enjoyed when she did that as well.

You saw the thoughtful look on Miranda's face when you opened your eyes but you couldn't stop the giant yawn from escaping, “Morning,”

Miranda smiled down at you, enjoying the way the sun made your skin glow but you weren't fooled by that smile—you were used to Miranda's smiles and this was one of her worries. The sort of smile where she wanted to reassure you while scolding you at the same time. You pulled away slightly, and sat up a bit so you could give her your full attention. When the monarch remained silent, simply staring at you, all you could do was raise an eyebrow...waiting.

Miranda scoffed at the action, shaking her head, “It's ironic isn't it, how we the others tales...but we do not truly know each other, do we?”

You shrugged, smirking at her—refusing to hint at the nerves beginning to crawl up your spine, “Pretty sure we know each other inside and out, your highness.”

Miranda gave you a look, clearly unimpressed, “Yes, beneath that charm and nonchalance...is something quite fascinating, isn't there? And...it seems that your truth only comes to light during battle.”

“ Pardon?” you sat up a little more now, eyebrows furrowed—unsure where Miranda was going with this but you no doubt that it probably wasn't going to be good for you. Especially since you're naked and vulnerable but not defenseless.

“ Captain Ake came to me last night after I left you to your bath, he seemed quite concerned with something...and quite frankly, I'm curious myself.” Miranda's hand had stopped tracing patterns on your stomach, but her hand still lingered...and the moment her index finger traced over the raised skin right next to your belly button, the brand new one, you knew you fucked up.

“ About what?” You mumbled not daring to look down at her hand, and her eyes burned into yours—playing dumb would only get you so far—probably the dungeons if you were lucky. You knew exactly what Ake was concerned with though you weren't sure if he actually saw you take a sword through your gut as it was so dark and everything happened within a blink or two.

“ What I am going to say next may sound crazy, however, Captain Ake is one of my most loyal subject in this castle, and quite sane...he claims to have witnessed you being impaled,” Miranda exhaled slowly, “By the enemy...and somehow managed to walk away from it, unharmed. Would you mind telling me what happened, my dear?”

You stared at her for a second, “And...you believed him? Could I have really been stabbed by a sword and do what I did last night? Do you know how insane you sound?”

“ Watch your tongue! You're still addressing your Queen, warrior.”

“ I'm sorry, but you seriously don't believe that shit do you?”

“ I've been noticing a few things myself, (Y/n)...and I would really like some answers myself.”

“ Right. I'll take that as my signal to leave, your majesty. Thanks for letting me sleep here last night.”

Miranda's eyes narrowed slightly, reaching out to grab your wrist to prevent you from running from her, “(Y/n), do not run from me...I'm only trying to understand! You can trust me, this I promise you, I'm not going to hurt you.”

You wanted to believe her, but you had to learn the hard way that trust was nothing but a word—a word that can be broken over and over. You were too stupid to learn in the past but you weren't about to do the same thing now. Pushing the covers aside you threw some mundane excuse over your shoulder but before you could actually get to the edge of the bed, you were pulled back and pushed back into your previous position. It didn't actually hurt but it wasn't gentle either but you were pretty sure that it was Miranda that moved you, but you hadn't actually felt or seen her move a muscle.

“ W...how? Miranda?!”

Miranda smiled shyly at your bewildered expression—a very rare expression from the Queen but like yourself, she was feeling quite vulnerable, “You're not alone, (Y/n)...and neither am I.”

“ Neither....are you?” Miranda chuckled at your expression and your inability to put two and two together. When you tried to sit back up, Miranda's shy smile morphed into something more amused and predatory because you realized that you couldn't move—and Miranda still hadn't moved an inch.

“ Ah, now do I have your full attention?”

The closer you got to Miranda's home the more treacherous the path became and you'd lost sight of the woman flying low above the trees ten minutes ago—or what you thought to be ten minutes, you weren't sure. Your eyes were glued to the ground, keeping a firm but relaxed grip on the reign of your stallion, Bruce, whispering gently to him. Alcina called him a gentle giant and she wasn't exaggerating. The path was narrow and very unkempt but you wouldn't expect Miranda to make things easy, especially access to her private home.

There was a point that you weren't even sure you and Bruce were actually going to make it across but there was no way you could've turned the massive horse around either, forward was the only way and you weren't ashamed to admit that your heart was pounding hard enough to crack bones. The moment you cleared the trees, Miranda's home finally came into view—and you were not disappointed. It was a simple two story cabin practically etched into the mountain and you wanted to know how the hell she managed to get this place on the sliver of rock.

You'd brought Bruce to a stop just as Miranda appeared and landed gracefully on her porch even with her heels on (you caught a glimpse of them earlier when she started flying). From her porch alone, Miranda had a perfect view of everything . The village, the manor sitting on the waterfall, the factory and of course the castle. There was a light blanket of fog obscuring most of the view, but it was still breathtaking all the same.

You dismounted Bruce easily, gently guiding him to the post next to Miranda's porch. You fed him a few sugar cubes, gingerly untangling part of his dark mane and pulling free a few twigs and leaves.

“Further up the path I have there's a stable for him, we can take him later.”

You turned to look at Miranda, finding her standing in the door looking at you, her expression unreadable and you were too tired to try and decipher it. You double checked the post before steeling your nerves and joining her on her porch, it was roomier than it actually looked and you spotted a hammock on the other corner—not the usual netted sort, it looked like a quilt and quite comfortable too.

You followed Miranda inside, shutting out the cold—the interior of Miranda's home had you stock still at the front door with your hand still on the door knob. The space was open, having the living room and the eating area open with no barrier, and you could easily see the kitchen from where you stood. It was...cozy and warm.

“Surprised?” Miranda's voice brought your eyes to where she was, now half way up the stairs behind the kitchen wall, she wore a soft smile, the front of her robes already opened (you didn't even realize the fucking thing even had a zipper), revealing the slacks and blouse she wore underneath, “Did you expect me to live in a cave?”

“I expected you to at least have a TV.”

Miranda smirked but it didn't reach her eyes, “Are you going to stand there bitching about the lack of media corruption or do you want that shower?”

Your hand finally relaxed off of the door knob, the light throbbing resulting in just how hard you were holding the poor thing. You kicked off your boots at the door—they were covered in mud, snow and probably horse shit at some point, they were filthy. And the last thing you wanted to do was dirty up Miranda's wood floors.

She waited until you were on the stairs to continue up herself while slipping her robe from her shoulders and casually throwing it over her arm as if it were just a towel. “There are only three rooms on this floor. My own, the guest room and the bathroom.”

You raised an eyebrow, “One bathroom?”

“I don't exactly keep guests, dear.”

“So then why the extra bedroom?” you were being a shit, you knew it, but you couldn't help it—Miranda made it easy for you to tease her sometimes (all the time). You wanted to be more bothered over how easy it was for you to fall back into old habits with this woman.

“The longer you stand there being an idiot, the colder your water gets.”

You raised your hands slightly, moving past her towards the door she pointed to, flipping on the light—it was roomier than you expected it to be, dark and a bit modern but Miranda somehow still managed to keep it grand and medieval. The floor was made of stone, there was a grand shower with a curved glass door and next to it was a bear claw of a tub, melded into the floor like it was a hot spring. Across the floor was a single sink and a mirror, and next to it a door where you assumed you'd find the towels and toiletries. Just past the tub, was the toilet though there was a half wall there to offer some privacy and you spotted your backpack sitting on top of it neatly and that finally gave you pause.

“Figured you didn't want to walk around naked or wearing any of my clothes.”

You hadn't even noticed that you had actually walked into the bathroom, admiring it's simple yet beautiful décor or that Miranda followed you in until the shower sprung to life next to you.

She smiled at you apologetically, not having meant to startle you—but seeing you so easily bothered helped put her at ease. Miranda was good at hiding it, but she was quite nervous. Having you so near and so far from her at the same time in the comfort of her own home, her sanctuary—none of the other Lord's knew where she lived, they probably thought she lived in a cave or a nest or something. You were Miranda's first house guest since she arrived in this village.

She closed the shower door, watching you open your backpack—checking through it, and she couldn't stop the small smile from forming after you smirked, realizing that you were still without your weapons. But you didn't make a comment on it, instead beginning to pull out the things that you needed—until you realized that she was still in the room as well.

You raised an eyebrow at Miranda, and her smile only grew but the blonde simply shrugged her wings and tucked her wings tighter to her back as she exited the room, “I'll be downstairs when you're finished...”

“Miranda—”

She paused and you froze, fuck, why did you do that? You hadn't meant to call out to her, but your mouth was faster than your brain sometimes and now she was looking at you expectantly and all you could do was stare at her like a jackass. There was so much, too much, that you wanted to say but where could you even start? Why were you getting this courage in the fucking bathroom of all places?

“Downstairs.” She reminded you gently when the silence stretched too long—you had panicked and she saw that, and instead of jumping on you like the predator you knew that she was fully capable of being—she left you alone to your thoughts and the hot water steaming the room, calling your name. It was a welcome distraction even if it wouldn't be a forever one.

“Being immortal really is overrated.”

Miranda didn't go downstairs immediately, instead making a beeline for her bedroom and closed the door behind her but left it ajar enough for her to still hear you in the bathroom. Miranda carefully hung up her 'Mother Miranda' robe and began stripping out of the clothes she's been wearing for the past two days along with her rings; finally taking off the crown of Mother and just becoming Miranda with every stitch of clothing she removed from her flawless skin.

Standing naked in front of her full-length mirror, Miranda whispered a delicate but very familiar spell she's known since she was a small child and she winced quietly as her wings folded back into her body for the next six or seven hours. The spell wasn't forever but Miranda often used it when she was home to avoid breaking her things as she often did if she let her wings remain as they were, they often got restless if she stayed home and still too long so she just opted for putting them away to save herself the trouble. And money.

When the last two smaller ones on her lower back finally retreated into her skin, Miranda rolled her shoulders to pop out the kinks. She got dressed in a pair of washed out pants and a v-neck shirt, and at the last minute Miranda threw on her dark wool cardigan before heading back downstairs but not before pausing outside of the bathroom door. She heard you humming over the shower and though she didn't recognize the song, it still made her smile.

Suddenly feeling like a creeper, Miranda moved away from the door and went downstairs to start on the coffee she was craving earlier. She got her fireplace going but that all took less than ten minutes and now she found herself back in her kitchen, pulling ingredients from her refrigerator to give her something to do besides fret.

“ You shouldn't be so comfortable with your champion, in public.” Fritjof complained for the thousandth time in her ear—he was one of her primary advisors, having been employed by her late husband, the former King. He was always a bit of an annoyance, but he often proved himself useful and unwittingly saved his own life time to time from Miranda's ire.

“ I was only congratulating her on another victorious raid on a neighboring kingdom that thought it wise to steal from us, or have you forgotten that little fact, Fritjof?”

He frowned, not liking her tone but he quickly corrected his features knowing that they were still in the halls on their way to the Queen's study, but there were still eyes on them, “I...yes, but it sends the wrong message when you send a blood wolf to handle this kingdoms affairs instead of your loyal officers! You make us all look weak!”

Miranda stopped walking, and whirled around on Fritjof, her coat wrapping around her leather clad legs as she did so, and the frail man jumped back a step, knowing that he overstepped a line severely, “A-apologies—”

“ You will apologize with your tongue!” Miranda hissed, “Though I'm sure (Y/n) would rather have your head for all the times you've questioned her loyalty to this kingdom! We're coming up on eight years, Fritjof, and (Y/n) has helped this kingdom prosper more than you ever could've in your twenty years with my late husband.” Miranda sneered dangerously, edging closer to him and the terrified man could only back up into the table, knocking over a vase but Miranda paid it no mind, “One more word about this and I will have you removed. Permanently.”

Fritjof swallowed harshly, beads of sweat forming at his hairline and rolling down his face, and Miranda's sneer deepened in disgust, “Please, your highness, I'm only looking out for the future of the kingdom! It—it needs an heir and a King! The other kingdoms will never recognize your power without either—” his words were cut off when Miranda struck him down, a single line of blood staining a portrait on the wall behind him. Miranda struck faster than he could react and Fritjof cried out in pain, alerting the guards who came running but stopped when they saw their Sovereign standing over the slimy advisor holding part of his face, blood starting to seep through his fingers.

“ For every brilliant woman, there's always a stupid man thing to be found.” Miranda stepped over his pathetic body and continued on her way, rolling her shoulders back when her back began to twinge in response to her high and irritated emotions, and she needed release. “Get him out of my sight and find my champion; send her to me when you do.”

“ Yes, my Queen.” They both replied, one of them roughly hauling Fritjof to his feet and pushing him forward, but not before the man could cast one last glance at Miranda's retreating back until he was shoved forward. “Move!”

The cabin was filled with the aroma of sweet bread and coffee and your stomach was growling something vicious halfway down the stairs after you put your back in the guest room. Miranda had her back to you and you took the moment to stop at the bottom of the stairs to just observe her. The very first thing you noticed was that her wings were gone and she was more relaxed—it probably had a lot to do with her being in her own home, and it was starting to make more sense why she wanted to be in the comfort of her own home for this conversation. Though her argument for privacy was valid as well.

Your eyes flickered around the open space, spotting something tucked in the corner of the living room and scoffed without meaning to and alerting Miranda of your presence, if she wasn't already. She turned from her task of fixing you both something to eat to watch you walk across the room to where the object of your interest lay with a carefully crafted expression.

“Didn't take you for owning a rifle.”

“It's ten years old, I believe.” Miranda hummed quietly, dusting off her hands before taking down a couple of plates from the cabinet above the stove. You looked at her when she didn't elaborate, really curious now.

“It's in pretty good condition, really beautiful...where did you get it?” you checked the clip and saw that there were exactly ten rounds in there. When Miranda didn't answer you immediately, you found her watching you.

“It's not mine.” Miranda set the plates at the small eating table that could easily seat two other people, “I took it from a witch hunter as he was so kind to come all this way to visit. He tried to kill me in my sleep like a coward. He intrudes upon my home and couldn't be bothered to give me an honorable death. The audacity of men certainly hasn't changed over the years.”

Her tone was not lost on you and you knew that the witch hunter was long dead. You traced the steel design grip, impressed at the detail—and distracted.

“Oh, so now you hate men?” Ah... and once again your mouth was faster than your brain could process, and just like that her eyes were on your back—you felt it.

“I've always hated men, (Y/n). I...” she sighed harshly, her eyes turning into a glare, “Stop doing that, you don't have the entire story so if you're done being an ass and running from this conversation—I would really like to clear the air between us so we can move on from this.”

“You mean your truth that you want me to hear so badly?” You chuckled though it lacked any amusement. You set the rifle down, finally giving her your full attention then sighed heavily—a sudden exhaustion falling over you, “Would it really matter at this point, Miranda? It happened centuries ago...we both moved on, why do you want to drudge this back up?”

“Why don't you?” Miranda moved around the table, the coffee and snack forgotten in the moment, but she didn't try to approach you, “I'm not the only one who was in the wrong, (Y/n).”

“Do you think I cared about your status when I found out the woman I loved married a man behind my back and didn't even fucking tell me! I had to find out in the middle of that stupid ball you wanted to throw so bad after we invaded those rebellion villages. I gave you everything and you betrayed me . I crossed lines for you, Miranda. I thought that would warrant enough decency to be honest with me. I-”

You stopped, your face was hot and you exhaled heavily—doing your best not to sniffle, you hated that you were the type to fucking cry when your emotions bubbled to the surface too fast. Especially when the topic is something you've buried long deep in the dark corners of your mind with no hope for daylight again. You just never thought you'd bump into your past like this. And it's been years since you've had to deal with anything on a personal level after your last child passed away fifty years ago at the tender age of eighty-six.

Miranda saw the emotions playing across your face with a frown but otherwise her own emotions were carefully hidden, she was always better at that than you were, and inched closer, “(Y/n)...”

“We've both obviously lived with this hurt and came out fine,” you cut her off, not looking at her but instead at your bare toes with your hands back in your pockets, “What's closure gonna do besides bring up old hurt?”

“No, that's not it at all, I just...” Miranda coughed lightly and cleared her throat,—your question was valid as she's asked herself this many times before, asking herself why she didn't just let you go in the forest—she could've let you go and saved you both from this reopened wound. But she didn't because she couldn't and Miranda wouldn't apologize for it. Because she's always been a selfish woman, and one of her most selfish needs—even when she first laid eyes on you—she knew that you were hers. That never changed, time could never take that away from her.

“This life is long and lonely, (Y/n)...and I've made many mistakes, most I will never have a chance to atone for...and when I saw you,” Miranda looked into your eyes and bit her bottom lip, you weren't even looking at her anymore, “I've lost so much in this life, and I refused to lose you a second time. The first time I was...I was corrupted with greed and power, but I was stupid and it cost me everything too, (Y/n).”

You looked up, surprised by her words, “He took your kingdom from you, didn't he?”

“ You!” Miranda moved closer, though you hardly noticed because you were focused on her eyes that were duller than they were down in the village but just as clear, bright and brimming with tears, “He took you from me. He took us away from each other, (Y/n). I'm not innocent in it either, I...I could've done something about it, but I didn't and it was the biggest mistake I could've made in my entire existence. And I think about it more than I care to admit, I think about you...wondering what sort of life we could've shared together had I made better choices. I'm...I'm sorry, (Y/n).”

Miranda was close enough to touch you now, and this time she didn't hesitate nor did you pull away when both of her hands cupped your cheeks, making you shiver. “Miranda...”

Miranda's hands tightened on your face, obviously thinking you were about to argue again but you were tired of arguing with her, over this...before she could speak, you took Miranda by surprise and pulled her into a tight embrace, both of your arms around her waist and you caught her when her entire body sagged in your arms. You had no idea what was going to happen after this, but that little piece of you that longed for the closure you never got...began to grow.

“I'll stay.”

[aboundlesswombofcultivations]

t h u r s d a y    n i g h t    (w h e n    d r e a m s    c o m e    t r u e)

--- L E V   R U B I N S H T E I N

--translation of Lev Rubinshtein by Philip Metres and Tanya Tulchinsky

1

All night I was dreaming of the frontier regions of existence. Waking up, I could remember only something between water and dry land, silence and speech, sleep and waking and managed to think: "Here it is, the aesthetic of uncertainty. Here it is again..."

2

I dreamt as if someone long gone and, it seemed, completely forgotten, suddenly appeared and looked at me so attentively that I woke, my heart pounding...

3

I dreamt that I had to get up and look if she were sleeping. I woke up, and could not remember for a long time who I was thinking of. Then I remembered...

4

I dreamt that I had to hide in my shell for awhile, and then, as they say, we'll see. I woke up and thought "Well, I don't know, I don't know..."

5

I dreamt that happiness truly knew no bounds. Waking up, I thought "Well, I'll be damned..."

6

I dreamt that you only have a chance four times in life. Waking, I thought that there was surely something to this...

7

I was dreaming that the most important thing was to find the most adequate form of sympathy for each other. Then I woke up...

8

I was dreaming that the idea of a clear page is a short circuit to any consistent aesthetic experience. Then I woke up...

9

I was dreaming that one could proceed from the fact that our sense of self is a sense of self of self-created personages, existing in their own time and space. And that the starting point of such sense of self, as a matter of fact, draws us together. Then I woke up...

10

I dreamt two whole arguments in my support, but of course I could not remember them...

11

I dreamt a third argument as well. But it also remained there in the dream...

12

I dreamt of the long-awaited coming of a hero. His appearance was often gloomy, but his constant readiness to be happy was indubitable. He was impressive in his open and keen relation to reality. Waking up, I thought that there was nothing to add to this.

13

I dreamt the rare flitters of fading hopes. Neither bright, nor warm, they silently smoldered down in the windless deeps of the consciousness.

I was so used to them, my tired brain almost failed to acknowledge them, my head would no longer lift at their sight, my nostrils would no longer inflate, my pulse would no longer quicken. It seemed that nothing could break my despondent calm. It seemed that nothing forbode any change...

14

I dreamt of an ancient park with trees immersed in thought. Along its shaded alley, a lonely figure moved towards me. I noticed it from far off and almost immediately guessed who it was. But you've probably guessed as well...

15

I dreamt that they were obviously not alone there. Someone prowled in the night without a sound, like a thief. "Quiet-whispered Heinrich with his lips pursed-you didn't hear anything?" Both listened. Silence ensued again. It was as if lightning sudde nly sliced through the dark...

16

I dreamt of creaking floorboards and balding rugs of a small boarding house on the shore of Lake Bodenskoe. The weather during these days was rainy and unpleasant. The mistress of the boarding house was a good-natured and flabby woman about fifty years old. The table usually sat about ten or twelve guests. They were of different nationalities, habits, and interests. There was nothing to talk about, and lunch was stale. Boredom and despair reigned at the table.

Still, one of the guests did grab my attention. He was a young, sickly-looking Italian, always silent, who would only rarely cast around an obscure glance, as if something known only to him had momentarily awakened him from his usual stupor...

17

I dreamt of a massive gray Ministry of Navigation building. It was located just a couple steps from my old apartment. And my windows looked right out onto the same despondent square. And along my windows each morning and each night strode the faceless chain of clerks. If I could have thought then...

18

I dreamt of little Kolya's face, happy for no reason, and the concentrated faces of his family, and the impatient face of the driver, and all the other faces-relatives, acquaintances, those barely known, and those not known at all. All of them diffused in the dim consciousness of Konstantin, merged into one quickly revolving spot, and he fell, as if cut down, to the wet asphalt of an empty train platform that morning.

19

I dreamt the situation was such that if a clear and quivering voice suddenly appeared amid the inarticulate din of the crowd, it, too, would be lost in the gnashing. Those who would manage to hear it would only exchange looks, nod knowingly to each other, and that would perhaps be the end, if not for the

20

I dreamt that we all had to live by touch: here a loophole, here a fence, there a solid wall. And our life passes, from decision to doubt, from a nod to an interjection, from dream to toil...

21

I dreamt a light went out somewhere in the middle. And the voice crying out in the wilderness could no longer be heard. The warmth had dispersed, never to return. Only glass glancing at glass, fleeting, inarticulate...

22

I dreamt of a caustic smoke and my own death mask. What will we give as a momento? What will we grab at the last moment? Paradise is not for us, so we don't walk in pairs. It's so basic it's not worth explaining...

23

I dreamt my heart's pulled out from its sheath each night. What do we know? What can we do? Whoever knows, be silent...

24

I dreamt of the emptiness of the sky. We both felt lost in it. You said: "The swallow over there will remember us until we die..."

25

I dreamt we were saying goodbye on the bridge. We are tired, we'll take a rest... All nature's actions happen for a reason. No one will be delighted to receive us. Neither of us knows what will happen tomorrow, or the day after. Our final meeting. We are saying goodbye to each other on the bridge...

26

I dreamt he was buried in a grave, out of his mind. With a long flame the candle burned recklessly...

27

I dreamt he lay down on the sand forever. Who could understand the earthly bustle, if not him? That nothing is what it seems... That what's said is beyond us. And here above the earth our dear comrade soars... We'll also go the way water wouldn't flow. Where brains fall off, and shrieks, and pitch dark. We'll go as well--it's time, it's time for us to leave this home. We wanted to live, and this is what it's come to...

28

I dreamt at dawn of my balcony all twined with snow, overflowing with something crimson, and my stallion's nape marked with murderous fangs, the vengeful glare of wolves-- luminous fish sparkling, then disappearing--as they head for the woods.

Over my shoulder I heard my rifle's parting cry, a crazed laugh of a fallen animal's shriek.

My dying horse, a white steam through a wide-open door, an unending blizzard, a ski trail overgrown with snow...

29

I dreamt my scarcely breathing ship was sinking, while in the storming space I was engaged in a miraculous prayer...

30

I was dreaming of nothing much-- just numbness and endurance. Let's hide our beaks in our plumage at this crossroads of winds. We know how much this is worth, and that too. But who'll be in charge of our stage, when we take up the pilgrim's staff and bag? And how do we proceed in such mist, not for an hour, not for a day, but for a thousand years-- our contempt stuck in our pocket, tet a tet with the cold wind?

31

I dreamt as if they were running--my remaining days, looming ahead, while I was left behind. The quiver of six transparent wings revealed myself to me, and I woke up...

32

I was dreaming he was right here, sitting on my bed. He was here, clear as day, and yet he wasn't here. Who knows better than him that all has changed, and there's no place for hope or an unbiased mind.

The quiver of six transparent wings revealed myself to me, and I woke up...

33

I was dreaming at dawn of a half-demon, half-corpse staring with its many eyes out of a gilded frame. He said: "Don't wait in vain--a miracle won't happen. If you have a place to run to, then get out of here." He said: "Follow me, I'll show you the way." With a heavy head I woke up...

34

I was dreaming of a balance of paper, a memory gone to sleep. Lulled by the song of dripping moisture I let slip another spring. My tongue was nursing the stingy definition of life's meaning. But then long ray fell on my blanket, and I woke up...

35

I was dreaming that dreams bring relief, yet take something from you forever. And then I woke up...

36

I dreamt of a phrase: "my Deep Throat muse."

After I woke up, I lay with my eyes open for a long time...

37

I dreamt that retelling dreams you don't remember is a kind of occupation.

Waking up, I thought, "why not?"

38

I dreamt that I didn't care who cried because of which onion. Waking up, I thought, "I don't care."

39

I dreamt that if "today's Thursday" is said on Thursday, then it means that today is Thursday. If "today's Thursday" is said on Friday, then it's either or lie or a mistake, or something else.

Waking up, I thought that, really, what is said is as important as when it is said...

40

I dreamt as if we were sitting here and doing the same thing that we're doing now. Waking up, I thought that there really was nothing unusual about this...

41

I dreamt an uncountable number of various possibilities.

Waking up, I tried for a long time to remember something, anything...

42

On the very brink between dream and waking, I dreamt what whatever exists, does indeed exist.

Waking up, I thought: "That's how it should be..."