#okay now i'm going to bed. i mean it this time

[toastedpotatoes]

"What's all this about?" asked someone behind him during a lull in his routine. Their voice carried the distinct lilt of the Folk (good) and an air of extreme exasperation (slightly less good).

Jal turned to face them, cooking implements still in his hands. "Finally—I mean, it would sure suck if—"

"I heard you the first time," said the newcomer, voice tired and dry as dead bark. "And we do understand sarcasm."

"Oh," he said. There went his plans. "Um. Take me anyway? Please?"

They stood facing him a long while, their expression reading visibly as why do I have to deal with this? even in the moonlight.

He must've got stuck with a dud or something. Weren't the Folk supposed to be... magic? Ethereal? Something greater than what amounted to little more than a sharp-eared person with lichen in their hair?

They sighed. "First of all, if you wanted us to take you, why did you bring iron?"

"Oh," Jal said for the second time. He looked down at the pots and pans. "I wanted to get your attention."

"Well, it worked. It also made an incredible racket. Put them away now."

He hesitated—he wasn't exactly eager to lay down his best defense against things like them—but this was his best chance at getting out of his life. He set them down outside the mushroom ring.

"Second," they continued, "why did you decide that the best time to do this was the middle of the night?"

This he had an answer for. "Well, you lot always dance in circles under the full moon, don't you? Figured now would be a good time."

They sighed again, muttered something about sky folk messing everything up, and said, "Not always."

Jal was getting impatient. The night was too chilly, he honestly should have been in the fey realms by now, and instead here he was getting interrogated by some house brownie. "So can you take me or not?"

"I can," they replied. "Doesn't mean I will. Why're you so eager to get abducted anyway?"

"Why's it matter?"

"It matters because I'm the one deciding if you get to go or not. And I'm being rightfully suspicious of the weirdly-excited-to-get-kidnapped human here."

He looked around for anything else he could do besides spill his life story to one of the Folk. There were still the pots and pans—if he could grab one quick enough—but they noticed him looking and their eyes flashed green in the moonlit dark and suddenly all the knots in the surrounding trees were blinking, watching, watching—

"I want a new life!" he cried, not missing how the trees snapped back to normal as soon as he spoke. "I want a fresh start! There's nothing left for me over there anyways. My home's evicted me, my friends've all left, and I can't face anyone there anymore, and—"

"You do realize that none of this necessitates banging bowls together in a mushroom circle, right?"

"They're not bowls, they're—never mind. Just—I can't stay here anymore."

They thought a moment. "Go back to bed."

"No!" He didn't even have a bed anymore. He didn't have anything left to lose. This was his only chance.

"Give me your name, and I'll take you."

Okay, maybe he had one thing left to lose.

"I'm not that dumb," he said, ignoring the highly doubtful look he received. He rifled through his pockets for—

"Thirty dollars?" he offered.

Their eyes narrowed at the bills he held out. "I don't need your money, and it wouldn't be enough anyhow."

"Thirty dollars and I don't leave all this iron in your precious forest."

They deliberated on this, periodically glaring at the lovely assortment of metal noisemakers he'd brought with him. "Fine. Deal. Pack up your clanking mess."

"Yes!" He gathered up his things and took their proffered hand, giddy enough that it was about five seconds before he realized they were leading him away from the mushroom ring, not into it.

"Wait," he said. "You said you'd take me."

"Never said where," they replied, calmly, and for a moment it felt like the trees had eyes again.

"Wait—but—where are we—"

"Relax," they said. "Just the nearest inn. You really need to go to bed." They picked a twig out of their hair. "And so do I, to be honest."

"OH BOY, IT WOULD SURE SUCK IF THE FAE TOOK ME!" cried the man banging pots and pans together in the middle of a mushroom circle.

[slater-baby]

Tags: free use, degradation, slight piss kink (but no actual piss), dubious consent, perverted Simon

Notes: Dedicated to that one anon in my inbox who keeps asking for piss content!! I'm sorry to say I probably won't write your request, but hopefully this small blurb makes up for it ❤️

Simon had never been a patient man. He wasn't patient at work. Wasn't patient at home. And most of all, he definitely wasn't patient when he was inside of you.

Every time he crawled into bed, pinning you down with his meaty hands, biting at your throat nearly hard enough to draw blood, all the while bullying his red, leaking cock into your pussy.

Since the beginning, there was no point in fighting back. A man like him—with all his viciousness and strength—wouldn't be deterred by a thing like you. It was a point only made more embarrassing by the way he held you down and fucked you hard, muttering that demeaning nickname in your ear.

"Shut up," he'd snarl, balls slapping against your ass, "I'll fill you up 'n then I'll go—and you better not test me, little girl. Not right now. Not fuckin' today."

Most of the time, you couldn't do more than spread your legs for him and let him take what he wanted, whining every time he bent your body into a new position.

However, just because he was a brute didn't mean he was brainless. He was your brute after all. And, if you were good enough, he'd give you a bit of leeway.

Today, you bit the bullet.

God, Simon must have had you pinned down for hours, the bed sheets soaked through with sweat underneath your naked body. He was still dressed, but you were bare and raw, his handprints marked into your body from nearly head to toe.

You were so broken and bent you could barely breathe, legs pushed so far back your knees were resting on the pillow beside your head while Simon slammed his swollen cock into your pussy again and again.

"Ngh—“ you wince, scrunching your brow.

Another thrust, another unwitting moan. Fuck, he was ruthless. Every swing of his hips, every slap of his skin—god, he puts his entire weight behind it, the head of his dick pushing into your cervix regardless of how he'd gentle he said he’d be with you tonight.

But, with every thrust, he pushes into more than just your cervix. After so long playing his personal fleshlight, the uncomfortable feeling was beginning to distract you.

"Simon—Simon, wait. Stop," you shove at his shoulder blades, wriggling your hips.

At the tiny taps, he stops, still buried inside of you.

"You good?" he drawls, panting like some looming beast.

"Yeah, it's just..." you look away from him with a flush, slowly easing off of his cock, "I need the bathroom."

He cocks a brow, but otherwise lets you go. However, he certainly makes no effort to pull himself out of the warmth of your pussy, instead watching on with a straight face while you wiggle yourself out from under him.

Prick, you roll your eyes at his dramatics.

"You just went," he huffs as you close the door behind you, "Your bladder can't be that fuckin' small."

"Simon," he hears you sigh on the other side of the door, "Look, it's just...when you're inside of me, sometimes you put a little more pressure on my bladder, okay? S'not my fault..."

Is that a whine he hears?

It's definitely a whine, his brain tells him.

Again, he rolls his eyes, irritation building. While you do your business, he looks down at himself, still poised in the position you'd left him. Idly, his leaking cock twitches between his heavy legs, and he scowls, watching as bubbly strings of your slick drip off of the tip and onto the bed. He scoffs as he wraps a hand around it.

"So?" he huffs, fucking into his fist.

"So," you pout, "Maybe you should be a bit more gentle..."

"Yeah, right," he chuckles, pounding his hips into his hand a few times, "Cause you'd still moan just as loud if I was soft 'n sweet wi' you."

There's no answer from beyond the door. Irritation creeps up on him quickly. Impatiently, he stands from the mattress, walking over towards the door. The hinges creak when he leans his weight on it.

"Hurry up," he demands, blood pumping.

"I am hurrying!!" you whine. Again. Like always.

"Fuck."

The vitriol is almost as loud as his libido, blood rushing south. Fondness transforms into want, transforms into sheer need quicker than he can reel himself in. And before he knows it, he's barging through the door. You gasp, having barely stood up from the stool.

"What are you—“ you begin, but you don't get the chance to finish. He merely wraps his ruthless hands around your hips, wrestling you into submission against his stronger body.

"Turn around," he seethes over the sound of your whines, "Bend over. Ass up. I need you."

"B-but, I—“ you mewl like a cat in heat when he swipes his cock between your legs; you're wetter than you've ever felt before, "Simon, I—I still need to go—“

"No, you don't," he grits, grabbing your hair to yank your head up when he slides home. Your entire body trembles against his, legs shaking so hard you stumble forward where you stand, forced to spread your legs over the bowl of the toilet.

You can only gasp in shock as he starts right back up fucking you again, ramming his hips into you hard enough to make you brace your hands against the white porcelain back.

"You don't need a piss, you need to cum," he tells you, as if it were a fact, "If you were smart, you'd be able to tell the difference between the two, love."

"Simon, not—not there—“ you gasp, that uncomfortable urge reeling through your nerves once again, amplified by the way he wraps his arm around your stomach to hold you in place. Shakily, you push a hand behind yourself to shove at his thrusting hips. If anything, it only makes him fuck into your harder.

"Hush," he seethes, thrusting hard to shove you forward. Tears begin dripping down the side of your cheek as that feeling of desperation floods your body, demanding that you cross your legs and hide yourself from him. But Simon won't have it.

No, he only bends you to his will, plastering his sweaty cheek against yours when he begins to speak.

"You need to go, huh? That it, baby?" he mocks, rocking into you slowly—almost as if he cared about your whining moans.

"I—I don't know," you moan, beyond decency now, "Please, just pull out and let me see if I—“

"If you need to go, then go. Right here. Right now," he teases, "Nothing's stoppin' you, baby. Y'won't make a mess or nothin'. Y'just gotta stop whingin' and go."

"Simon—I can't do it—“ you cry, cunt fluttering around him as you halfheartedly try and follow his directions.

"You sure?" he shoves his cock home once more, reaching around to fondle your clit; you flinch against him, "'Cause you feel pretty wet down here to me, baby..."

"That's not—" you try to protest, but find yourself leaning into the feeling, discomfort transforming into pleasure alarmingly quick.

"You clenchin' around me 'cause you're desperate or because you're close? Which one is it, girl? C'mon," he punctuates the words with a slap to your ass, "I don't got all day."

Exhausted and overwhelmed, you try in vain to decipher the feeling inside of you. Yet, the more he pushes into you, body strong and warm against your back, the more confused you become. The flush on your face is so severe you can hardly contain your embarrassed tears when you answer him.

"I—I don't know..." you practically sob, listless now. His faithful arms wrap around you, amplifying the emotion coursing through you.

"Aww, that's alright, baby," he coos, smiling wolfishly as he thrusts home once again, "I've got you."

His hot tongue skirts around your neck, laving into a slow, wet kiss beneath your jaw.

"S'okay," his chest expands on a teasing laugh, "Guess we're 'bout to find out which one it is anyway."

At his words, your eyes go wide and you can't stop the gasp that leaves you. However, when he grabs your trembling hands and shoves them up against the wall, perfectly positioning your pussy over the toilet bowl, you whine uselessly at him once more.

"Simon—please—“

"Did someone tell you to talk?" he bites back, wrenching your hair in his hand while he picks up his pace, "No? Then shut up and let me fuck you."

[mendessi]

things i say when you sleep | chapter nine

multi chapter bodhi durran x fem!oc

word count: 5k

chapter summary: Without Bodhi, Ania navigates her new signet with the help of Xaden. It's Reunification Day. What could go wrong?

tags: slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, mentions of death, she falls first he falls harder, majority canon compliant, some canon deviance, eventual smut, angst with a happy ending, additional tags to be added

AO3 masterlist

seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

He says it like a bad thing. 

The sour taste that's in my mouth is hard to swallow as I slowly crawl off of him. 

However the second he says it, things become clear to me. 

"You say it like it's a bad thing," I repeat the words, out loud this time. I'm not sure I can hide the hurt in my voice. My heart feels like it's in my stomach when he won't look at me.

"It's a death sentence. You can't tell anyone," He whispers. 

Xaden told me to find him if it manifested. He was the reason it manifested and now he was pulling away. 

"I didn't know I was until just now," I wrap my arms around myself feeling small, "You can't even be sure I am."

An inntinnsic. Out of all the second signets in the world, the one I manifested is a fucking death sentence. 

He stands up from the bed, and I cannot help but grab his arm. Please don't pull away.

"Where are you going?" My voice cracks and the sadness filling my chest is enough to rattle the furniture in my room. 

"I can't be around you right now," He says and I sit up on my knees. 

"Wait, please," I plead, "I-I didn't mean to. I'm sorry, Bodhi. Please, I won't do it again." 

It was an accident. I didn't mean to do it. I would never push my feelings onto him. Especially not something like desire. I didn't know it was something I could do. 

"I have to go," He pulls himself from my grip and I can't stop the tears that spill from my eyes. 

The lights in my room burn brighter and I don't flinch when they eventually burst. There are too many emotions swimming in my head but I know that they're all mine. 

An empath is what he called me. I've never heard of it before but I'm not stupid enough not to realize that it's a form of inntinnsic. 

Guilt sinks in and I regret kissing him. These were my emotions. 

This is what I get for letting him in. For allowing myself to think that I could find a semblance of happiness here. Months of back and forth, shutting him and Xaden out, and the second I'm fully ready to trust this is what happens. 

He's afraid to be around me now. Afraid that I'll push my feelings onto him again. Maybe I am better off dead with Carr snapping my neck. There's a reason signets like this are a capital offense. 

I ignore my better judgment when I crawl from my bed and leave my room. I can't stand the idea of being alone right now, but I also don't know who to go to. I feel like this is a girl issue but Violet hates me right now for a reason I'm unaware of and Rhiannon is on Violet's side always. I'm not chasing after Bodhi and I refuse to bother Xaden right now.

It takes me several moments to knock on the door when I finally stop outside of it and when I do a few more for who it belongs to to open it. 

"Ania," Ridoc says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "You okay?"

The tears have yet to cease and I'm sure I look like a disaster, "Can I please stay here tonight?" 

He looks me over once, the look in his eyes softening when he sees that I'm crying, "Of course." 

He crawls back into bed and lifts the covers for me and I slide in next to him. Respectfully, he leaves space between us.  

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks softly. 

I contemplate how I could even tell him why I'm crying without revealing something that'll get me killed if he decides to tell anyone else.

"Does it have to do with Bodhi? I saw you leave the flight field with him," He continues. "Do I have to kill him?"

He manages to get a small laugh out of me and I sigh softly when he reaches out the brush the tears from my cheeks. 

"I trusted him and I shouldn't have," I whisper. 

"Did he hurt you?" He asks and moves to sit up, but I put my hand on his shoulder to make him lay back down.

"Not like that," I shake my head. 

"Because we can get the whole squad together and take him out," Ridoc says and I laugh again. "I'm serious." 

"I know you are," I say, pulling the blanket up to my chin. "Thank you."

"You're not gonna try to kiss me again are you?" He asks and I punch his shoulder. 

"Don't act like you didn't like it," I laugh. 

"You hit too hard to be playful," He groans and I can see him holding his shoulder in the moonlight that illuminates his room.

"I wasn't being playful," I smile, wiping the last of my tears. "Can we go to bed now?"

Without another word, he rolls over and is snoring within minutes. 

After a night of fighting Ridoc to share the blanket, he's the one who gently slaps me awake. 

"I don't want to go," I groan. Despite not sleeping much last night, it did give me time to think about the revelation of my new signet.

Knowing that there's a chance I'll see Bodhi in formation hurts and I don't want the reminder of how he pulled away from my touch last night. 

"We can pretend to be sick," Ridoc offers as he pulls his tunic over his head. "Come on, you need to get dressed."

"We have maneuvers later and I will not have you rot in bed at the fault of a man," Gleigeal says and I know he's right. I can't hide in my room all day.

Flying will make me feel so much better, regardless of whether I see Bodhi or not. I'm appreciative that Gleigeal gave me the space I needed last night to process everything, but now I have questions. 

"Am I inntinnsic?" I ask. 

"That's to be determined," He replies and I glare at the wall I'm staring at. 

"That's not an answer," I roll my eyes. 

"You will have the answers you desire soon, Ania," Gleigeal says. "Until then, I'm closing the channel."

Ridoc sits on my bed while I get dressed and I half expect Bodhi to come knocking on the door. Violet, Sawyer, and Rhi are standing outside of her door, whispering amongst each other when they see Ridoc and I exit my room. I can't be bothered by what they're thinking at this point. 

After Battle Brief, we're headed to the flight field when Xaden appears.

"Wingleader," Dain says and I know he's fighting the urge to clench his fists, "What can I help you with."

"I'm pulling Cadet Alistair from maneuvers today," Xaden says and I immediately glance at Violet, who tightens her jaw. 

Great.

"Right," Dain says and nods turning to face me, "Cadet Alistair, you're released."

I try to ignore the way my squad looks at me as I fall in line with Xaden's step. He leads me to his room and I know that we're about to have a conversation about last night. Good to know that Bodhi immediately ran to his cousin after leaving me alone. 

"Did he tell you?" I ask as I sit on his bed. I know we'll be in here for a while. 

"He told me what he thinks happened. The accusation alone is enough to get you killed," He says, "I want to hear it from your perspective." 

"I thought about it last night," I say and he pulls up a chair to sit in front of me. "If he's right, then it manifested when the light did. Or maybe even before. I initially thought I was the one projecting my feelings, but I don't think that's true." 

"Walk me through it," He leans back in the chair, one leg propped up on the other. 

"Trust the wingleader," Gleigeal says. "He wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on you for what you are." 

"So I am one then?" I say down the bond. 

"I didn't say that," My dragon has a sense of humor that I'm not particularly fond of. 

"When I manifested the light, I could feel his fear. I had my own of course, but he felt different. It kind of," I look for the words, raising my hand to my chest, "Seeped into my chest. Became one with mine." 

"You felt it molding into one?" He asks, his brows furrowed in concentration as he listens intently. 

"Yes and again last night. I wanted what was happening. But I could feel that he did too." I say. "At the moment, it was hard to dictate what was mine, but after thinking about it, the strands are different before they entangle." 

"You absorbed his emotions and made them your own," He says and I nod.

"At one point, I think I subconsciously knew what was happening, because I pushed a thought outward and his anxiety disappeared for a moment," I explain, trying to recall every single moment. 

"Interesting," He nods. 

"He realized before I did and when he said it, it kind of made sense," I shrug my shoulders, fiddling with my shoelace now. I try to halt the rejection building in my chest, "He left like he was afraid of me."  

Xaden clears his throat and leans forward, "He wasn't afraid of you. He was afraid of what'll happen to you if anyone finds out." 

They'll kill me, I know. I don't want to say it out loud. 

"I'm gonna help you control it, Ania. I won't let this be your downfall," He says and I nod. 

Xaden and I spend the day in his room and Gleigeal cracks the channel open a tiny bit to practice sorting emotions. 

"The biggest concern is that you take in too many emotions at once and combust, but you've gotten this far without having that issue, so I think we're in the clear there," Xaden says.

My eyes are closed and I'm sitting in the Riorson House library, watching the tendrils of Gleigeal's crimson power filter in through the window. 

"Choose a color for your emotions so you know that they're yours. Everyone else's can be a different color," His voice sounds distant when I'm here. "What do you feel right now?"

"I feel mellow, I guess?" The mage lights in the library shift to a deep green color. 

"I'm going to think on something and I want you to try and pick up on it," He says and I can hear his footsteps pacing back and forth slowly. 

The library around me stays the same and I wait patiently to feel something. The sparks of Gleigeal's pattern brighten and I can feel him opening the channel further. 

"Are you doing-"

My chest warms and I have to force myself to breathe after an overwhelming feeling settles over me. My fingers tingle and my heart rate picks up. The subtle feeling of fear laces with the warmth and my brows furrow. It's strong and I look around the library to try and find where it's coming from. 

On one of the tables in the center of the library, under the evergreen lights, sits a book open to a page. As I approach the table, the feeling grows stronger. Small golden fibrils sprout from the pages, swirling around one another until they meet the green light from the mage lights. 

I reach my finger out slowly, touching the golden strings and the feeling is immense.

It feels like home and finding your person after what feels like an eternity of searching. It's the hesitation before the first kiss. It's the unimaginable terror of losing everything in the process. The weight of responsibility you feel to ensure nothing will ever happen to those you love. It's unimaginably beautiful and equally terrifying. 

"Cut it off," Xaden says and I do just that. I slowly close the book watching as the fibrils crawl back down into the page. 

"What were you thinking about?" I ask once I open my eyes, but I think I know the answer. 

He takes a beat and then sits back in the chair. 

"Violet," I say softly. 

His silence is the confirmation I need and I nod my head. 

"That feeling," I pause and purse my lips, "I feel it too." 

He nods his head and we sit in a comfortable silence for a moment. 

"I trust that he'd take care of you," Xaden says finally, "Which is why I'm not bashing his head through a wall." 

A breathy laugh falls off my lips and I look out the window, "Still protective as ever."

"It's the only way I can ensure everyone I care about is safe," Xaden says and I lock eyes with him. He cares about me.

"It aches sometimes, you know?" I shift the subject back to the original conversation. It's hard for him to talk about these things, I don't want to push it.  

"Oh, I know," He sighs. "It'll sort itself out, little Alistair. Just give it time." 

I'm not ready to fully admit it to myself, so I don't. But Xaden has caught on. 

I don't ask him how he knows how to handle my signet, but I think I know. Something tells me that we might have it in common. I don't think he's exactly like me, but I think we'd both be killed if anyone found out.

"We'll meet as often as we can before I leave to try and get it a hundred percent under control," Xaden says when we stop in front of my door. 

"Thank you for today," I say, looking up at him. 

"Anytime, Ania," The tiniest smile etches on his lips, and then he's off.  

When he's out of my line of sight, I see Violet and Rhiannon coming down the hall. They're whispering to each other, I'm sure about Xaden once again outside my room. And pulling me from maneuvers. He's pulled her plenty of times, but I know it's an issue when it comes to me. Because today, I got a glimpse into Xaden's head. She'll talk to me when she's ready, but I consider going to her first. I don't have it in my today, drained from training with Xaden so I seclude myself in my room. 

Xaden's been helping me twice a week when he can, even if that means occasionally pulling me from class. I can now clearly decipher which emotions belong to me and which are foreign. I've even worked on pushing my own emotions onto him, which is much harder and takes a world of concentration, but he's confident with more practice I'll be able to perfect it. 

He's leaving in ten days and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to miss him. He's like Beckett in so many ways and I wish he were still here to see it. If he hadn't been here to help me train my signet, I don't know what I would've done. 

Today of all days is brutal for me every single year. It's been six years since my entire world went to shit.

Six years of no Aretia. No Riorson House. No Mom and Dad. No Beckett. 

The book is open in the Riorson House library as I walk through the corridors toward Battle Brief. 

As I pass several marked ones, I'm met with a plethora of feelings. Anger, sadness, and grief are among those most prevalent. I allow it to melt into my chest, merging into one with my own grief. This day is so different to us that have relics on our arms. I can feel the change in tone when I finally take my seat in the Battle Brief room. 

I look around and Xaden catches my eye. He gives a small nod and I return it. I feel his also joining everyone else's settling in my chest. As I turn back to the front of the room, my eyes land on Bodhi.

We haven't spoken since that night the empathy manifested and I don't know if that's on my accord or his. 

"Why is it you're choosing to torture yourself with the anguish of others," Gleigeal asks. 

"It's not just theirs. It's mine too," I reply, tearing my gaze from Bodhi's. 

"Do not make me close the channel," He threatens. "And stop with the longing looks at the one who betrayed you."

"Betrayed is an extremely strong word," I fire back. "Also, 'longing looks'?" 

Gleigeal chuffs, "I do not take it lightly that he stranded you that night." 

Yeah, me either. I also don't take it lightly that we're not speaking at the moment. I'm not really speaking to anyone at the moment. I see my squadmates in class and for maneuvers, but unless I'm honing my signet with Xaden, I'm locked away in my room. Ridoc stops in every couple of nights to check in on me, but other than that, I've distanced myself from them again. 

The strand that I know is Xaden's shifts to a slightly different color, and I look around the room. Violet, who's sitting next to me seems to be lost in thought. I let her strand join the others and immediately release it when I feel the frustration. Are they arguing right now? She glances at me and I fix my sight back on Devera, though I'm not paying attention. My suspicion is confirmed when Xaden says her name loud and clear. 

It's wrong of me, I know. I shouldn't be in their business, but I was just curious. It will not happen again, I can assure you. 

Ridoc and Liam are sitting in my room- handsome as ever, later that night while I get ready for the Reunification Day celebration hosted by the King. I didn't think before I agreed to attend, but Liam somehow convinced me. Xaden insisted that I didn't have to go, but I'd feel bad leaving Liam as the only marked one there.

I had tried to let Ridoc braid my hair but all I got instead was a big knot that hurt to brush out. Liam took over, saying he learned how to on his little sister, Sloane, who'd be coming into the quadrant next year. Like Xaden, Bodhi, and I, he was separated from her. 

The dress I'm wearing is floor-length, with a slit running up my right leg, that stops just below my hip bone. It hugs my body nicely and I actually take a moment to admire my curves in the mirror. 

"You look hot," Ridoc says, earning a glare from me, "If I don't score with the healers, my door will be open tonight."

"In your dreams," I scoff, earning a laugh from him and Liam.

"Don't be fooled, Liam. Did Ania ever tell you about the time she ki-"

"Ridoc!" I scold him using my lesser magic to swing the door open. "Out!"

"I'm gonna go get a head start on making way with the healers," Ridoc winked before he exited my room, leaving a snickering Liam and I.

"I don't see you much anymore," Liam said after a few minutes of silence, "Everything okay?"

I shrug my shoulders as I look at my reflection in the mirror, "It's fine." 

"If you want, we could meet up to train like we used to. Xaden kind of took over Violet duty so I have a little more time," He says with a small smile. 

"Yeah, that would be nice," I force a smile, but I feel the tendrils of his sadness merging into my own. "It's really kind of you to join Violet tonight."

He shrugs his shoulders this time, "It's better than being sad and alone in my room." 

"I think that's why I'm going too," I say as I stand up. 

"You look beautiful, Ania," Liam says as he pulls my sash over my head and adjusts it.

"Not too bad yourself, Liam," I smile and link my arm with his when he offers it. 

We exit my room and jog to catch up to the rest of our squad. 

"You two clean up nice," I tease as we approach Violet and Rhiannon. 

"Look at the two of you," Rhi teases, "If looks could kill."

"Violet," I give her a small smile. She looks stunning with her hair in an intricate arrangement and her dress fits her beautifully. I want to compliment her, but I don't know if it would fall flat.

"Hey, Ania." She nods in my direction and I awkwardly pull myself from Liam's arm with a sigh. 

As we approach the courtyard, the music grows louder and louder. It's easy to forget other quadrants exist outside of the riders, but seeing the cream, light blue, and navy swimming amongst each other reminds me quickly. I'm walking behind Ridoc, Violet, and Rhiannon when it feels like a weight is thrown into the center of my chest. It knocks the air from my lungs and I have to hold the wall to steady myself. I reach for Liam's arm and he turns quickly to support me. 

"I- I don't want to be here," I say just above my breath. I'm confused as to where this feeling came from. I had been excited to have a night with my squad, but now I want nothing more than to sit under a cold shower and catch my breath.

"Do you want me to go with you?" He asks and I shake my head rapidly. 

"Stay with Violet," I say, pulling away from him.

"I need you," I call out. 

"Meet me in the field," He replies. 

My hands shake as I walk away from the party and back toward the Riders Quadrant. 

As I'm passing through the courtyard, I can feel the fibrils from the book sprouting more and more out of control. It's too much. I took on too much for the day and I shouldn't have. Someone grabs my arm and I turn around pulling away quickly. 

"What's wrong?" It's Garrick. I feel a pang of guilt for the way I'm about to ignore him.

"I'm going somewhere," I say as I back away from him. Xaden's strand shines a little brighter and I glance toward the opening of the Parapet where Garrick seems to be standing guard. 

"Ania, wait," He calls out as I continue my path toward the field. He doesn't try to come after me and I'm thankful for it.

"I told you not to smother yourself with the misery of those around you," Gleigeal scolds and I finally cry out as I see him landing in the center of the field. 

He lays his body completely flat and rests his head on the ground as I fall to my knees next to him. 

"Ground yourself, Ania," He says with a gust of steam that blows my hair back.

I dig my nails into the grass, as a sob racks my chest. I let myself lean against his leg and close my eyes as I put myself in the Riorson House library. 

The fibrils growing out of the book are out of control, a rainbow that shakes and rattles, each color dancing with the other. I reach for it, trying to slam it shut. It takes every ounce of my mental strength to slam it closed as a scream rips through my throat. 

My chest hurts as I try to catch my breath. I let myself fully collapse against my dragon. My cheek is flush with the grass and Gleigeal nudges my back with his nose. 

"Breathe," He urges. 

I do as he says, taking a deep breath as I focus on how the soft grass feels between my fingers. My fingertips and palms glow against the blades of greenery and I close my eyes again.

"I understand you miss your family, especially today," He starts, "But if you risk your life again to take on the grief of your peers again, I will not be as kind about it."

My head bobs in understanding and I let my eyes close. 

"I wonder if Beckett were here, would he be yours instead," I say out loud. 

"Regardless of whether he was here or not, I knew that you were destined to be my rider long before you came into the quadrant," He says. 

"You would like Beckett," I say softly. "He wanted to do what was right. It's what got him killed." 

"To my understanding, I think I would have not minded his presence," He says and I laugh lightly. That's the closest I'll get to his agreement on this subject. 

Gleigeal sits with me for I don't know how long. He lets me talk his ear off, occasionally responding to me. I tell him about Aretia and my parents. I speak of Beckett more than anything. And of our childhood spent at Riorson House. Most of all, I'm grateful that he's here for me. 

A grumble resonates in his chest and he swivels his head towards the top of the flight field.

"Someone approaches," He says lowly. "The one who betrayed you." 

"He didn't betray me," I roll my eyes, not even bothering to stand up.

"Ani," He slows his jog and looks down at me, "Garrick told me he saw you come out here, but he didn't want to bother you-"

"Because he could probably tell I didn't want to be bothered," I cross my arms over my chest. 

"Let's go inside," He offers me his hand. 

I glance up at him with a scowl, "Are you sure you want to do that?" 

"Please," He says softly. 

"This will be the only time I agree with him. It is past my bedtime and sleep beckons me," Gleigeal says standing up. He barely gives me any time before he launches upward into the sky. 

"I'll remember this later," I mumble down our bond. 

Bodhi and I walk side by side, but I keep a distance between us. The memory of him pulling away from my touch sticks with me and I don't wish to relive it. I follow him mindlessly, focused on several different couples wandering around with each other, likely heading back to their rooms. A sigh leaves my lips and a part of me wishes I had stayed at the party. Maybe I would've found someone to bring back to my room or maybe I would've ended up in Ridoc's bed again.

"Can we talk? Please?" He asks as we stand in the courtyard. Either I say yes and go with him, or we part ways and I go back to my room. Xaden says that once he's gone, I'll be able to start helping Bodhi with the drops, which means a lot more time spent with him. Talking to him is probably the right thing to do if I want to avoid future awkwardness.

I do miss him. We were right on track to being okay again and then I went and fucked it all up. And ever since it happened, I can't stop thinking about how his lips felt against mine. 

"Sure," I finally say. 

He leads me back to his room and opens the door. He holds his hand out and I glance between his hand and face.

"Xaden warded my room. I have to pull you through." He says. 

I hesitate before I place my hand in his and allow him to pull me through. 

He gestures to his bed and I take a seat. I look around his room and it reminds me of Xaden's, just smaller. Maybe Bodhi will be a wingleader and get moved to a larger room. 

He stands against the door, biting the inside of his cheeks. He's thinking about what to say and I wonder if I should be the first to talk. I've put my shields up so that I don't accidentally read him, or let him think I've read him or whatever it was that went wrong the night of the start of War Games. 

"I'm sorry-"

"I just wanted to say-"

We both start and I bite back a laugh. 

"I'm sorry that I left you that night," He finishes. 

Shaking my head, I look down at my hands as I cross one leg over the other, "I should be the one apologizing."

"No," He says, "I left you. That is ridiculously unacceptable on my part. Regardless of how I felt, I thought I was helping by leaving." 

Finding the right words is hard. I want to explain to him that I would never intentionally put my emotions onto him. I would never intentionally read him without his permission. There is so much to say but the words just won't come out. 

"Please say something, Ani," his words are so quiet, if I were any further away I wouldn't have heard them. 

"I understand why you left," I tell him, "I didn't mean to do what I did. Or whatever you think I did." 

"What are you talking about?" He asks, stepping forward. 

I rise to my feet, "I didn't push my emotions onto you. I wouldn't do that, Bodhi. But I understand that you left because-"

"No, no. Ani, what you felt were my emotions. That's why I left." He holds my gaze and I shake my head. "I didn't want you acting on what I wanted."

"Bodhi, you're not listening," I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, "That's not what happened."

"If you want me to beg for forgiveness, I will." He's on his knees in front of me within a second and my heart nearly stops. "But please don't shut me out again."

"Bodhi," It comes out as a whisper, "You don't understand." 

"If you want me to grovel, I will. I will ask for it every day until I graduate." His voice matches mine, his hands ghosting over my thighs like he's stopping himself from touching me. 

"What happened that night was both of us. Feeding off of each other," I say to him quietly, "I didn't push onto you, nor did you push onto me,"

I trail my finger against his jawline and then brush the curls off his forehead. The way his eyes scan my face nearly sends me into a spiral. 

"Ani-" I shake my head and brush my thumb against his bottom lip. His lips part and he breathes out and I'm at a loss for words at the sight before me.

Bodhi Durran is on his knees in front of me. 

"My shields are up. I'm not using my signet." I cup his jaw in my hand and lean down letting our noses touch. "Yet, I still want you all the same." 

He swallows and allows himself to finally touch my thighs. His fingers trail up the slit in my dress and he tilts his head up to brush his lips against mine, but I pull away slightly. 

"This fucking dress," He groans and he lets his lips brush against my upper thigh, right where the slit ends and my breath hitches. 

"Look at me," I choke back a whine when he presses a trail of kisses from my knee back to my upper thigh. 

"Ani this dress," He whispers against my skin and I have to pull his chin to look up at me. "I will never get over this dress."

"Then take it off." 

previous | next

tag list: @lynnieluvsu @sherlockstrangewolf @abysshaven @wolfbc97 @paris009 @poseidont @angel-graces-world-of-chaos

[bloggerspam]

So @deathlysilent13 and @lokiitama have cursed me again. I did some lore rambling previously, which will sort of be incorporated but--anyway.

The point is the lore i've spilled/discussed before will not be entirely gospel. It's a semi-developed story in my head now because of the HHD server. Curse you, deathly and loki. CURSE YOU ALL WHO ENCOURAGED THIS.

===

Danny was dreaming again.

It was an odd dream. An impossible dream.

A dream that didn't make sense, even as a dream.

Danny dreamed about being born alone in the world.

He blinked his eyes open in the midst of bright blue, took his first breath in liquid air, and the first cognizant thought he had wasn't even a thought.

It was the feeling of being choked by a tube, with wires wrapping around him as he sluggishly moved about.

Around him, there was the feel of metal, curved around him like a cradle, oddly vertical, with a large glass window to close off the cylinder.

And then the window opened and the floor was hard and cold, his lungs were burning as he hacked up the tube and liquid and breathing in air—

And when he blinked open his eyes again, his breaths were mirrored across from him, and there was another boy.

And then Danny wasn't alone anymore.

"Danny!" Danny startles awake amidst the action of reaching out towards the mysterious boy no older than 4 years old and looking strangely familiar. "Danny! You're going to be late!"

Danny brings his hand back, staring at it blearily for a moment before forming a fist and draping his arm over his eyes. His lungs expand harshly as his heartbeat starts to slow, cold sweet permeating his skin in a way that feels agonizing and minute—like he can feel each sweat drop forming.

Then the sound of pounding footsteps startles him to flip his blanket over as he brings his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up to rub at his face to dry and get the crusty traces of sleep off him. "I'm up! I'm up, alright Jazz? I'll be ready in a minute!"

Danny goes through his morning routine, getting ready for the big day. He and Jazz are heading out on a road trip towards New Jersey, traversing Pennsylvania from Amity Park all the way towards Jazz's chosen University: Gotham U.

It'll be the first time Danny will be away from Amity Park in all his 15 years.

His parents have always been protective of him, considering how accident prone he is, and they finally managed to convince them to let Danny join Jazz on a Summer roadtrip before he starts Junior year.

Val said she would cover the ghost menagerie, which shouldn't be hard now that he's gotten on better terms with his so-called rogues, and whilst he'll miss his friends, they've promised to text incessantly and send each other as many snaps as they can manage. Sam and Tuck will be on their own adventures anyway.

Danny's trying not to think about how this will also be the first time he'll be away from his friends.

When he heads downstairs for their last breakfast as a family, Mom and Dad are sitting on the sofa instead of the dining table.

"Mom? Dad?" Danny slows his descent downstairs, dropping his duffle bag off near the front door before cautiously making his way over. "What's going on?"

In the kitchen, Jazz is frantically making sandwiches to go, looking angry and nervous. When she catches his eyes she smiles at him gently, reassuring him that it isn't halfa-related. She's biting her lip though, which means their parents have dropped something serious on her shoulders and she's trying to keep it together until Danny is informed too.

"Danny, honey, there's something we've been meaning to tell you." Mom says, clutching one of Dad's giant hand in comfort. Danny has never seen her so nervous about something since…well, since she thought Danny was drifting away from her when he first got his powers.

"Okay…?" Danny looks towards Jazz again, who shakes her head and continues to pack food into a cooler bag. He sits himself gingerly down on the armchair beside his parents, feeling adrift and alone against their united front. Even Jazz, working silently behind them in the kitchen seems to blend into the tableau.

Mom takes a deep breath, sharing a look with Dad and trying several times to say something and failing. Dad rubs her back gently, looking increasingly like he might explode.

Danny fidgets, worrying at a hangnail on his left hand—the scarred one, with the silvery lichtenberg pattern all over it.

Finally, Dad can't take it anymore. Instead of his usual booming voice though, Dad…well, Dad's voice is practically a whisper. Danny strains to hear what he's trying to say, so jarred that it takes a moment to really register what he's saying.

"Danno, you're adopted."

Tim has noticed something odd, about the Demon Brat.

Sometimes, the Demon Brat would look to his left, as if to start a conversation, or as if anticipating someone saying something, only to freeze. Just for a moment, a half second, because nobody was there, before looking away with painful expression. 

Months later, Tim decided to stand there, just to see what would happen. The brat didn’t look at him once, and Tim found that curious, and odd.

Another odd thing about his new, murderous brother, is that he refuses to look into the mirror. That’s not true, exactly: he would look in the mirror for basics, for necessities. 

Tim realized, months of observations later, that the brat didn’t look himself in the eyes. 

Strange. 

Tim had asked him, once, why he didn’t. As expected, all he got was a “It’s none of your business Drake.”

But that didn’t stop Tim from wondering. Tim is, if nothing else, curious to a fault and persistent to an illegal degree. 

And so the strangeness would continue, and Tim would wonder.  

The brat would look to his left, pause, and then look away. He would deftly avoid mirrors, and when asked why he would sneer and avoid those questions, too. 

Until he didn’t. 

Until he came back to the Cave battered and beaten, some dreary autumn day, the Demon Brat unusually sullen and quiet and off his game. He had sat through the lecture Bruce had given him, and sat through the quiet reaching out from Dick, and sat through the cajoling teasing meant to rile him up, to get him to say or do anything per the norm, with an unusual aplomb.

The brat apologized, said he was fine, and ignored the rest. He told Bruce he wouldn’t patrol tomorrow, and would stay home from school, because clearly he wasn’t feeling well. 

 It was like Damian wasn’t there, fully. 

So when Tim saw that the brat’s door was open, the next day, he peeked in. 

Of course he did. 

And there the brat was, sitting in front of the full length mirror he usually had covered with a cloth when it wasn’t in use, reaching up and staring directly into his own reflection’s eyes. 

“Demon Brat?” Tim asked, stepping in and concerned about the look in the other’s face. There was no answer. 

“Damian. What’s wrong.” Tim stood behind the boy, watching as Damian touched the corner of his own reflection’s eye. 

“The color’s wrong, Drake.” Damian finally said, matter of fact and almost broken, absent-minded. 

“What?” Tim asked, trying to see what he was talking about. Nothing was wrong, nothing was changed. Damian met his eyes through the mirror for a long moment, but Tim didn’t understand. 

“The color.” Damian reiterated, looking at his own reflection again. 

“The color? Of what?” Tim and Damian were never close, not really, but he was starting to feel like something was slipping away, in this moment. Damian dropped his hand, and finally looked away. 

Without answering, the boy got up and carefully draped a cloth over the mirror, ushering Tim out of his room silent as the dead. 

“Leave me be for today, Drake.” Tim reached, opened his mouth to try and say something, because something was wrong, but what? 

But Damian simply shut the door softly. 

The sound of the lock engaging felt strangely, and utterly, final in a Manor full of lockpicking detectives.

Tim laid a hand on the door, and mourned. 

[awsok]

wait one more thing. in previous episodes it's been clear that shin is fiercely loyal to baylan, and that she looks up to him and respects him immensely. but in this episode i feel like we saw that it goes beyond that. shin cares about him. and more than that, baylan cares about her too. i kept expecting him to chastise her or dismiss her when she asked questions about their goals or his past, but instead he indulged her and corrected her when he believed her to be wrong without malice. and like. shin's body language when she leaned into his space without fear. i think because baylan is a dark side user a lot of people assumed that their relationship was at worst abusive and at best cold. but there's real affection there! shin seemed at her most vulnerable around baylan in this episode - felt safe to be vulnerable. and baylan responded by putting his hand on her shoulder. this is such a departure from the usual dark side master/apprentice dynamic and it is fascinating

[trensu]

Guess who's baaaaack! It's me, I'm back to writing. My laptop when kaput back in May and I've only recently gotten a replacement. In celebration of this, here's more of stasis in darkness. Enjoy :)

.

“Hello. I’ve wanted to meet you for years,” the god said. 

“Years? But, why would you want–? I’m–I’m no one, Lord.”

“Don’t say that.”

The god’s voice hadn’t gotten louder, yet his words carried a force that made the room tremble. The air became heavy with it. Wayne’s breathing grew haggard under the pressure of the words. Steve tossed out any idea of false privacy and crossed the room in a few steps to kneel at the other side of the bed. He took Wayne’s free hand to anchor him. Wayne didn’t so much as twitch in his direction but his knuckles went white as he gripped Steve’s hand.

“You gave me your spoils and your stories every night. I felt your love in every word you spoke to me. You’re the reason I’ve been able to exist this long. Wayne Munson, you are the most important person in the world to me."

Wayne let out a wordless cry. The hand in Steve's shook. Steve viscerally remembered how it felt to have the god’s attention like that for the first time. He also remembered how guilty the god sounded after he realized the effect he had on mortals. With a slight grimace, Steve discreetly nabbed the Lord of Night's attention. 

"I think that was a little too much," Steve suggested cautiously in a low tone barely audible over Wayne's sobs. "Maybe dial it back a little?"

The Lord of Night nodded abashedly. When he spoke again, the pressure in his speech noticeably lessened though the love in his words remained.

“So, you see, I needed to meet you in person. To thank you.”

The last part made Wayne weep louder. The grip he had on Steve’s hand increased in strength, and Steve was sort of relieved Wayne was an old man because even this frail, his hands were pretty damn strong. If he’d been any younger, Steve would’ve had bruises for sure. The god waited patiently as Wayne collected himself.

“My Lord, y-you–” Wayne gasped as his crying subsided. “I don’t deserve–”

“Wayne, you crazy old man, are you going to argue with your god?” the Lord of Night said in the same teasing tone he used with Steve all those nights in his pilgrimage. Wayne’s eyes widened.

“N-No! I’d never–!”

The god laughed, playful and bright as a star. Wayne halted his protests to stare in awe again. 

“You know, I usually encourage a bit of dissent but this time, I’m putting my foot down. You do deserve this, okay?”

Wayne nodded dazedly. He still watched the god with soft, warm eyes. His hand twitched in Steve’s as if he wanted to reach up to touch the god. Steve loosened his grip to allow it but Wayne didn’t follow through with the motion.

“...you remind me of someone,” Wayne whispered. The Lord of Night tilted his head curiously.

“Do I?” he asked. At Wayne’s nod, he added, “I hope it’s someone good. I know what people say about me these days, and let me tell you, it’s not super flattering. King of Darkness this and monster herder that, blah, blah, mean and scary, blah.”

“I know better than to pay any mind to hearsay,” Wayne replied. "I’ve found that most people are fools, my Lord." 

The Lord of Night laughed again. Wayne looked delighted. 

The rest of the night continued along the same line. The Lord of Night listened eagerly to Wayne’s every word as he reminisced about past heists and recalled fond childhood memories. Steve kept to himself, for the most part, letting the Lord of Night and his last believer bask in each other’s presence. Wayne stayed awake as long as he could but finally fell asleep as dawn approached. The Lord of Night began to fade as the first rays of the morning peeked through the bedroom window.

“Watch over him for me, please?” the Lord of Night asked Steve. “I’ll be back tonight.”

“Of course, Lord,” Steve replied. 

The sun broke past the horizon and the Lord of Night vanished. Steve took the stone from the bedside table. He wrapped it up carefully in cloth before returning it to his satchel. That level of care probably wasn’t necessary considering it was solid stone but it was the only thing they knew would keep the god tethered to this plane so far from his last shrine. Steve was charged with carrying his god's tether and he would not let him down by being careless with it.

It was also the only thing he had been given that belonged to his god. Typically, a holy warrior would be granted a symbol of their faith by a temple priest once a god had accepted the holy warrior’s offered service. Most of the time it would be a simple pendant or bracelet with a god’s sigil; a mass produced thing any follower could obtain, the only difference being that a holy warrior’s token would carry a particular blessing from the high priest. A holy warrior would carry that as a sign of their commitment until they’ve earned a more prestigious item to replace it during their years of service.

Steve’s journey so far has been as atypical as it could get. Most warriors traveled to their god's grandest temple. They recited that god's specific prayer for a holy warrior's offering, witnessed by a high priest who would then reveal whether the offering was accepted. Steve's god had no official prayers of any sort, much less temples or clergy. Steve's god couldn't really remember his own symbol aside from a vague outline of it; not nearly enough for it to be inscribed on even the simplest of tokens. 

Regardless, Steve wouldn't trade his experience for anything. Most holy warriors toiled for years, even decades, before getting a chance to meet their god. Steve met his god nearly at the beginning though he hadn't known it at the time. He'd been able to see him and speak to him. Steve’s humble offering of servitude had been accepted directly by his god rather than by priestly proxy. So what if his god wasn't able to grant him a token for his pledge? His presence was a privilege Steve would take over any boon.

It was a sentiment Steve knew Wayne understood. Steve scooted his chair closer to the bed where the old man lay sleeping. He wrapped a hand around Wayne's wrist to track his weak pulse, and settled in for his vigil.

–

Steve woke Wayne a handful of times to make sure he drank some water or ate some of the vegetable soup Steve had thrown together using whatever he’d picked from the garden the day before. They chatted for a while; Wayne telling Steve about his life before age and sickness caught up to him. Eventually, Steve was able to coax him back to sleep when it became obvious his energy was fading.

At some point in the day, Wayne’s temperature began to rise. Nothing worrisome yet, but dread trickled into Steve’s veins regardless. The old man had been fighting whatever ailed him for a while now. If a fever overcame him, Steve doubted Wayne would survive it.

When the Lord of Night appeared alongside the fading sunset, he seemed as worried as Steve. Wayne sat in bed, propped up by pillows Steve had strategically placed. His eyes were rheumy but steady.

“You’ve seen the Door already, haven’t you?” the Lord of Night asked Wayne dejectedly.

Wayne’s gaze strayed from the god. He glanced at the corner opposite of the bedroom door. His hands shook as he tried to point that direction. Steve didn't see any door there. The god took Wayne's hand between his own, tangible to his last believer even as he appeared more translucent than the night before.

“It showed up earlier today,” Wayne whispered. The god nodded.

“You don’t have to answer yet, but soon. Once you go through the Door, you’ll be in Death's domain. No god is allowed to enter there besides him. I would have lost my chance to meet you if we’d been delayed any longer.”

“Good thing you have Ser Steve. He got you here real quick from what he told me,” Wayne said with a crooked smile.

“Has he been talking himself up?” the god asked amusedly. “Trying to impress the boss?”

“It’s my first quest,” Steve butted in with mild exasperation borne of embarrassment. He hadn’t expected Wayne to mention him at all during his communion with the Lord of Night. “I have to make a good impression.”

“To make up for the first impression, huh?” the Lord of Night teased. 

Oh no, Steve thought when he caught Wayne’s curious look. He wanted to hide his face in his hands. That would be childish. Steve was a man so he was above that, unfortunately.

“Wayne,” the Lord of Night said with palpable mischief. “In exchange for all the stories you’ve given me these many years, what if I told you how I got my very first holy warrior?”

“I didn’t know better,” Steve groaned weakly in an effort to stop the story before it began in earnest. The Lord of Night made a shushing motion in his direction. 

“It would be a privilege, Lord,” Wayne said with matching mischief.

“Settle in, my loyal follower, and listen closely,” the Lord of Night began with exuberance. “I call this tale The Trial of Nine Nights.”

The rest of the night, the god recounted Steve’s pilgrimage. The way he told it painted Steve as some sort of gallant hero. It was suspenseful and whimsical. It didn’t sound like Steve’s experience at all. Yet every word was true, told with a flair that Steve himself would never have imagined. Wayne had hung on his god’s every word, despite the sporadic interruptions caused by coughing fits.

“The way you tell stories…” Wayne said faintly between coughs as the story wound to an end. “You…really do remind me of…someone. My little starmaker*. He was…” His voice trailed off weakly as he tried to catch his breath again.

“Rest now. Tell me about him tonight, Wayne,” the Lord of Night commanded as he disappeared with the arrival of dawn.

Wayne’s temperature seemed to climb with the sun. Steve did what he could to help. He stripped the bed of blankets and draped cold, damp towels over Wayne’s brow. More than once Wayne had asked Steve to answer the door.

“Someone’s knocking,” Wayne insisted.

“I’ve checked already,” Steve lied. He hadn’t heard a single knock all day, much less one coming from the very door-less spot Wayne kept indicating. “No one’s there.”

Wayne drifted in and out of a restless slumber. Despite Steve’s efforts, the fever had not lowered by nightfall. The Lord of Night paced at the foot of Wayne’s bed with a caged restlessness. Wayne had yet to wake up. 

“I don’t think he’s going to make it. Can you do anything for him?” Steve asked, hesitantly. “You came here to help him, didn’t you?”

“No,” the Lord of Night said shortly. “I can’t. I’m not a god of medicine. I’m not a healer.”

Each word was said with increasingly helpless frustration.

“I’m not strong enough to calm his dreams. I can’t ease his pain,” the Lord of Night said angrily. “At this rate, I won’t even be able to apologize to him.”

“Apologize for what?” Steve asked incredulously. Steve’s question went unheard. The Lord of Night tugged at his hood as if trying to hide his not-face. He gave up his pacing and slumped defeatedly on the chair beside Wayne’s bed.

“His family has sustained me for so long. He’s so devoted to me, and I keep failing him,” the god said, voice thick with shame. The brooding silence that followed was unlike the Lord of Night’s usual demeanor.

Steve wanted to protest the god’s claim. He was tempted to ask why the god believed he’d failed his last follower. Steve had seen people who’ve scorned and rejected their gods for a multitude of reasons. Wayne had not behaved like any of those people. Wayne had been so happy to see the god, Steve couldn’t imagine Wayne wanting an apology of any sort.

Before Steve could steel himself to ask, Wayne finally stirred awake.The Lord of Night straightened and drew the chair closer to his last follower. Steve situated himself near the corner Wayne had claimed to see a door. There wasn’t anything Steve could realistically achieve by placing himself between Wayne and the unseen door. When Death’s Door knocked, there was nothing a mortal being could do to keep it from opening. Regardless, Steve hoped he could provide some semblance of comfort by standing guard. 

Wayne’s eyes were glassy. He lay limp and disoriented, making not a sound outside his labored breathing. Neither the Lord of Night nor Steve spoke. Steve didn’t want to startle the man nor bring his attention to the unseen door. After a few minutes, Wayne finally noticed his bedside companion. 

“You,” he croaked in a daze. “I know you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” The somber tone went unnoticed by Wayne whose entire face brightened with an unexpected joy. 

“Eddie,” Wayne said shakily. 

“What?”

“Eddie, you’re here,” Wayne said with more love and joy than Steve had ever heard from another person. He felt a momentary flash of envy that someone could hold another so dear, before it hit him that Wayne was speaking to the Lord of Night. The god seemed as dumbstruck as Steve over it.

“Is…is that me?” the Lord of Night asked. The god sounded so young and lost. It reminded Steve of Dustin and his friends when they were small. It inspired all the same protective instincts.

“‘course it’s you, Eddie,” Wayne said fondly. 

“Eddie,” the Lord of Night whispered. “Oh, it is. It is me. I’m here.” 

The words rang through the air. The finality in them nearly deafened Steve. The words were a realization that shifted the entire cosmos. The air he breathed, the light he saw, the very world he perceived had changed fundamentally. It was a change so loud and obvious, Steve was certain every human left on earth and everyone beyond the Door knew it happened. Yet between one blink and the next, the world remained the same as it ever was. Everything that had been still was and would continue to be for as long as the stars burn.

Inexplicably, Steve experienced a bout of vertigo at the shift that had and hadn’t happened. He fought back a wave of nausea that accompanied it.

“Eddie,” Wayne rasped over the rattling of his weak lungs. No longer translucent, the god appeared solid and real in a way he hadn’t even at the shrine where Steve first encountered him. Wayne’s wrinkled hand reached out to gently cup the Lord of Night’s cheek.

"Hey, Uncle Wayne," the Lord of Night said with a new voice. 

"My starmaker, I missed you. So much. But how're you here? You were gone, you di–"

"We didn't want you to be alone," Eddie, Lord of Night, responded thickly, leaning into the hand and covering it with his own.  "We wanted to thank you for taking care of us all these years."

"Don’t,” Wayne wheezed, teary. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Eddie. You deserved so much more than your pa or me ever gave you."

"No! No, Uncle Wayne, don't apologize," he said earnestly. "You were perfect. You gave us a home when pa died. We were so little and you protected us. You loved us. That's all we ever wanted."

“Oh, Eddie,” Wayne said in a heartbroken rasp. “That damn door’s been knocking all day. Who'll take care of you when I'm gone, Eddie?" 

"Don't you worry about that, Uncle Wayne. Steve's gonna look after me.”

“Are you sure?”

The Lord of Night took off his hood and turned back to look at Steve for the first time since he sat himself at Wayne’s side. All the air left Steve’s lungs in one fell swoop. His god had a face.

His god was beautiful.

The Lord of Night’s skin remained pale, providing a stark contrast to his large, dark brown eyes glittered with bittersweet joy and sorrow. His lips, full and a soft shade of pink, were pulled into a wide, mischievous grin that dimpled his cheeks. His dark eyebrows were almost hidden under wild curls. His hair draped over the slope of his shoulders and matched his eyes wonderfully.

Steve willed himself to stay steadfast and strong under the god’s gaze. The Lord of Night’s grin twisted a bit as if he wasn't entirely pleased by what he saw. The nausea from before came back because Steve knew what people looked like when he'd disappointed them. As usual, he had no idea what he'd done wrong.

“Yeah, I’m sure. He already promised,” Eddie, the Lord of Night, said. He turned back to Wayne and gently wiped the sweat off the old man's brow. 

“Good,” Wayne said with a. “You need someone takin’ care of you, the way you get in trouble all the time.”

“We weren’t that bad,” Eddie said with a watery smile. After a pause, Eddie continued reluctantly. “Uncle Wayne, if you need to answer the Door, you can. I won’t be alone.”

“Yeah,” Wayne murmured. “I’m tired, Eddie.”

“You won’t be for long, I promise, just answer the Door.”

Wayne’s breathing slowed. His eyes drooped closed. Eddie clung to his hand until it went lax. A choked sound escaped him when Wayne’s breathing stopped. Steve instinctively stepped forward to comfort him but Eddie abruptly stood up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. He whirled around and stumbled towards the empty space Steve left behind. 

“You better take care of him. Wayne is a good man, he’s earned–” Eddie said to…the wall? But stopped and reeled back. His mouth curved down in a scowl. Eddie’s eyes were dark and glowering as he stared at something there that Steve himself could not see.

“Oh, fuck you, I know I can’t do anything to you but–”

Eddie stopped again. He looked like he wanted to punch something. Or someone?

“I just want to know that he’ll be happy and saf–hey, asshole, I’m still talking you, don’t you dare– FUCK,” Eddie shouted at nothing. He panted in anger. Steve cleared his throat.

“My Lord?”

“I forgot how much of a dick he is. It’s not like I was asking for details! I don’t fucking care what’s past his stupid Door. It’s not a crime to want your family to, like, go somewhere good after. He could’ve just said yes or no!” Eddie ranted.

“My Lord, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Oh,” Eddie paused. “Right. You wouldn’t. And you shouldn’t. Not yet. Not for a long time, hopefully.”

------

*starmaker - so this is a reference to some lore i dropped in the previous scene during some edits I made after I had posted it on tumblr. basically, the legend explains why bedtime stories are a thing and that the lord of night creates a star for every story that impresses him. a really good book or author will get called a starmaker, though to the general population it's just a thing people say to denote greatness in stories without context of where the saying came from.

------

and now we're all caught up with what i've written so far, wow! but don't worry, i still have plenty more to write, stay tuned.

[deoidesign]

.

[my-past-disgusts-me]

And to the surprise of no one I am once again staying up far too late drawing Shin and Sara interactions

[the-shy-artisan]

okay, everyone go play okami now.

no joke.

you will not be disappointed, it is a literal masterpiece.

[thatgoddamngingerundercut]

Jimin: we're not the same as we were when we debuted, and it's hard to define us now as a group because we can't be neatly placed in a single box. life was simpler when we were young, despite the rigors of coming of age and finding ourselves. our goals and motivations were one dimensional: to make a shared dream reality. but now that we're older and our dream IS reality, the things that drive us have shifted and become more individualized, which has ultimately changed the dynamic of the group and made it more difficult to pin down exactly who we, as BTS, are and how each of our current creative interests align and fit together today and moving forward

Namjin: fuck yeah, we're complex and shit, like villains!

Jimin: ...yeah

and then Seokjin made a pun that may or may not have been on purpose and Namjoon encouraged it. then Seokjin got a little serious for a second and Jimin misread him and laughed and blamed it on Hoseok, who just smiled and nodded like sure, my sweet, tiny child, i will take the fall for you even though i literally did nothing, because i raised you and i love you and i know you didn't mean it and hyung probably won't scold me as bad as he would you because i'm the one who decides when dance practice ends

(paraphrased by me)

[iwakuraz]

..

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books of 2024: KILLING FLOOR by Lee Child.

This isn't a genre I typically read; HOWEVER!: my dream agent was on an episode of the Writing Excuses podcast about beginnings, and they said this one is Very Good, so I borrowed my dad's paperback copy to give it a whirl.

I'm low-key hoping this will help me sort out some Genre Issues™ I suspect I'm having with a writing project, too, which is a nice added bonus! Excited to see how this goes.

[folkinsomnia]

ofts wpisode 10 in the first five minutes: rehab and denial of alcohol dependency time :-)

me: two days out from yet another sobbing-heavy discussion w/j about therapy or a doctor or something for his excessive drinking and still on an emotional hair trigger

[mieczyhale]

one of the guys that runs a reaction channel i've been watching for ages just announced that they're ending the channel next year bc he got a job offer and he's getting married and he's thinking about his family and his future and like...

my son in christ you are 21

i literally want to fucking die

[novelmonger]

I think I forgot to post a scoping update this week. I forgot multiple things I was supposed to do on Friday, so I guess that shouldn't come as a surprise. What happened on Friday? Did Friday happen at all?

The entire month of August doesn't quite feel real. The whole summer feels like it's neverending, but also passing by in the blink of an eye. I'm sure that's partly because of my grandpa's passing, partly because of remodeling the bathrooms, which has been a bigger upheaval that I realized it was going to be even though I didn't really need to do much myself.

I feel like I'm waiting for life to go back to normal. Like I'm waiting for just a single day where I can stay home all day and have no distractions or claims on my attention, where I can just hole up in my room and actually buckle down and work on writing and scoping homework. Because it seems like, even when I have a few hours in between workmen coming to the house, or going to my grandma's for a meal, or a thousand other responsibilities and errands that aren't supposed to take much time, I blink and those hours are gone and I haven't done anything more productive than catch up on my Tumblr dashboard.

Tomorrow I'll be eight hours behind on what's supposed to be my scoping schedule. And I'm probably not going to have time to do much, if any, homework until Thursday this week. I'm getting horrible flashbacks to college, even though my current deadlines are completely self-imposed. It's that feeling of finding yourself balancing on a ball that's rolling down a hill, and you can't stop or you'll fall flat on your face, but you also can't catch up or slow down. It's like a very calm, subdued panic, if that makes any sense.

I don't really have much of a life, and yet I still have no time to do anything. And I'm still running on only 5-7 hours of sleep a night, which is entirely my own fault, but if I stopped earlier each night, I'd only have even more to catch up on the next day....

I probably just need to go to bed. Things usually seem slightly more manageable in the morning, even if that's bleary-eyed at 5 a.m. and none of the circumstances have actually changed a jot.

Oh. And I'm on Chapter 15.

[transgender-catboy]

I love my friends