#on the set of the ninth gate

[romanbymarta]

Roman Polanski and Johnny Depp on the set of "The Ninth Gate"

[along-the-silkroad]

Human-headed winged lion (lamassu), Assyrian, ca. 883–859 BCE. MET (ID: 32.143.2). From the ninth to the seventh century B.C., the kings of Assyria ruled over a vast empire centered in northern Iraq. The great Assyrian king Ashurnasirpal II (r. 883–859 B.C.), undertook a vast building program at Nimrud, ancient Kalhu. Until it became the capital city under Ashurnasirpal, Nimrud had been no more than a provincial town.

The new capital occupied an area of about nine hundred acres, around which Ashurnasirpal constructed a mudbrick wall that was 120 feet thick, 42 feet high, and five miles long. In the southwest corner of this enclosure was the acropolis, where the temples, palaces, and administrative offices of the empire were located. In 879 B.C. Ashurnasirpal held a festival for 69,574 people to celebrate the construction of the new capital, and the event was documented by an inscription that read: "the happy people of all the lands together with the people of Kalhu—for ten days I feasted, wined, bathed, and honored them and sent them back to their home in peace and joy."

The so-called Standard Inscription that ran across the surface of most of the reliefs described Ashurnasirpal's palace: "I built thereon [a palace with] halls of cedar, cypress, juniper, boxwood, teak, terebinth, and tamarisk [?] as my royal dwelling and for the enduring leisure life of my lordship." The inscription continues: "Beasts of the mountains and the seas, which I had fashioned out of white limestone and alabaster, I had set up in its gates. I made it [the palace] fittingly imposing." Among such stone beasts is the human-headed, winged lion pictured here. The horned cap attests to its divinity, and the belt signifies its power. The sculptor gave these guardian figures five legs so that they appear to be standing firmly when viewed from the front but striding forward when seen from the side. Lamassu protected and supported important doorways in Assyrian palaces. (MET)

[madridnoora]

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Forbidden - Surprise!

Ninth instalment of the forbidden au - lsu!joe x oc

Full AU masterlist here -> ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Forbidden

Summary: They all take a trip to Miami for Daisy's birthday but when she returns to LSU something unexpected is waiting for her.

⋆｡˚ word count: 8.4k

18+ Content. MDNI :). Mentions of drinking, drug use, smoking and sex. ⋆｡˚

When Cassie told Daisy to pack a weekend bag for warm weather and dragged her out her cozy dormitory bed at 7 am on Saturday morning, she wasn't sure what she should be preparing for.

The drive to the airport felt suspicious from the start. Cassie kept biting her lips, sunglasses hiding her eyes--Daisy knew her so well that she could tell she was hiding something, that anxiety was whispering on her neck. The radio blasted with a playlist that was so obviously Bella's, she was sitting in the backseat bopping her head like it wasn't ridiculously early.

'Where are we going?' Daisy had tried to ask many times, but the other two girls would just shake it off, holding in their secret like their life depended on it.

'You'll see' That was all they could offer her.

It made Daisy sit back in her seat, arms folded, a pounding heart. She couldn't explain it but something was making her nervous. She hadn't planned for this, not really. She was expecting New Orleans for a night, like last year, or a cake but not TSA. She hated her birthday, the symbol that she's getting older and losing her youth. She always cried, it was a day when she couldn't stop herself from reflecting on the things she could have done differently, how at every turn she could have done something greater with her life but she didn't. Birthday's stung.

Cassie parked the car, and the girls dragged their suitcases from the back. Strolling into the airport.

Inside was chaos - long security lines, the noise of squeaky suitcase wheels, stressed voices lapping in every direction. The air smelled like all airports did.

'Okay, we need to go to gate 32' Cassie told her, and Daisy looked at the boards above them. Miami. Of course it was Miami. Cassie was from Miami and over the summer they spent a few weeks there, Daisy almost felt stupid for not guessing it sooner. She spun on her feet to look at Cassie and Bella, who met her gaze with bright smiles.

'Surprise!'

Daisy rushed into them, wrapping her arms around the pair of shoulders. Jumping up and down in excitement. Miami was just what she needed, a few days away from everything with her girls. Away from Joe. Communication between them seemed to have gotten quiet since icing his injuries a few days ago. Sure, she had still been sleeping with him but never spending the night. It was like the early days of them all over again. Sex, then leave, sex, then leave. How was it we always take one step forward and then two steps back? Daisy couldn't stop asking herself that question, even though she knew that it was just as much Joe's fault as hers. She asked him to explain how he felt that night she called him, but he couldn't tell her and it had scared him off. She didn't even mean for it to be such a loaded question, it was just a thought of the intimate moment.

The girls made there way to the gate after checking in, all walking together in the matching baby blue sweat set that Cassie had forced them to wear. Daisy was so happy, so excited for her birthday for the first time in a long time.

but then she saw them. saw him.

and the plan for the weekend seemed to shatter right in front of her.

'Second surprise!' Cassie said excitedly, because she didn't understand the complexity between Joe and Daisy. She thought it was black and white, they’re exclusive so that means something more than it actually did. Daisy hadn't even told him about her birthday because she didn't care for him to celebrate her. But now, he was stood in front of her, shifting from foot to foot nervously and waiting to board the plane to her birthday party.

Daisy smiled at Cassie and said 'thanks', putting on a semi-convincing front that she didn't mind that the boys were here. If it was just Justin and Ja'marr she wouldn't have minded, but all three J's--that's a problem.

Too late to do anything about it now.

Daisy let out a deep breath, the best preparation she could make as she walked closer and closer to Joe. He watched her coming over. Joe had never been good at waiting. Not for test results, not for plays on the field and definitely not for girls he had a complicated relationship with. His breaths were short, his ribs still bruised and hurting but the pain was from noticing that Daisy didn't exactly look excited to see him. He'd been acting off with her the past three days and he knew that, but he couldn't stop himself. He was unsure how to act after she asked him what he felt.

He ran one hand through his hair while the other dangled by his side. A heavy backpack slung over his broad shoulders, a wrinkled boarding pass in his back pocket. His hoodie--the one she had been wearing a few days ago--was wrinkled and smelt of her, a comfortable embrace.

'Hey' was all she said as she finally met him.

'Hey' was all Joe could say back.

and just like that, everyone around them understood that maybe bringing the boys on this trip had been a bad idea. They began to understand that for every little thing Daisy and Joe let slip about their arrangement, there was a hundred things that were left unsaid. This will be the last time I plan a surprise trip, Cassie thought as she felt the awkwardness wrap around her like an uncomfortable hug.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-

The plane journey was average. Daisy wasn't sat near Joe, so that was a relief. The uber to the airbnb was average too. Joe and Daisy didn't speak much, only in short sentences.

When they arrived everyone other than Bella, who had been in charge of the booking, had been shocked. The place sat just off Ocean Drive, tucked behind a line of lazy palm trees which delicately swayed in the light breeze. The front door opened straight into a small sun soaked living room, where sand lived permanently between the floor boards and the air always smelt faintly of sea salt and sunscreen. Pale blue walls reflected the light pouring in from the wide windows, all of them open just enough for the ocean breeze to run through them.

The furniture was lived in and bohemian -- white linen cushions and a coffee table with scattered sea shells. The kitchen was narrow but charming, a slightly latin theme throughout. A bowl of bright lime's sitting on the countertop and a small message on the chalkboard.

'Happy birthday Daisy'

A sweet touch from the caring owners.

There were three bedrooms, two twins rooms and one double bed. Daisy couldn't help but wonder what tonight's sleeping arrangements would be because all three of the girls would happily just sleep in the double bed together.

Daisy continued moving around the house.

The beach stretched just beyond the backyard, all white sand and soft crashing blue waves. A string of lights looped along the edge of the balcony railing and a few lounge chairs faced ocean.

Daisy knew what she wanted to do first.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-

Joe wasn't expecting it, he lay on the couch while Justin and Ja'marr watched some television. A lighthearted discussion between all of them about what they thought the night would bring. He hadn't even heard the bedroom door unlock. Hadn't heard her light footsteps making there way to the fridge to grab out some fruit and a drink.

He had seen the way Justin and Ja'marr heads turned on a swivel. Joe sat up and peaked over the back of the couch cushions.

Then he looked back at Justin and Ja'marr with a shocked glare. Ja'marr was holding his nose to stop himself from laughing at Joe. A telepathic conversation happened between the three of them.

'what the fuck, stop staring'

'can't help it'

'what is she doing'

'by the looks of it, getting under your skin'

Joe rolled his eyes and looked at her once again. She bopped side to side to whatever song was playing in her wired headphones. She was chopping up some strawberries and placing them in a container, but he wasn't really focussing on the strawberries.

Daisy had come out of the bedroom in a small cream coloured bikini -- something simple and minimal but on her it looked so much more. The colour made her glowy skin look warmer, sun-kissed and soft in all the places he tried not too stare at. The strings tied into little bows at her hips swayed with her movements and her hair was just laying down in effortless beachy waves.

Maybe it was the sun, or the humidity, or the memory of her hands on his ribs which still danced on his skin like a ghost but seeing her in that kitchen was doing something to him.

He had seen her naked, so many times but this was different. The small triangles of material barely covering her and yet covered enough. Like the bikini was teasing him, triggering the flood of memories of what's beneath but not letting him touch. Her boobs looked perky in the top, and he hadn't even seen her turn around yet. He wasn't sure he wanted her too, not in front of his friends.

He didn't know how long he had been watching her, but it was enough for her to notice. Her sage eyes flickered up to his, just enough to catch him looking. Daisy didn't let her expression change.

'You want some strawberries, Joe?'

Yes. If strawberries are the pink of your lips then yes.

'I'm good' Joe tried to be nonchalant. Ja'marr let out a small laugh, still trying to hold in his bigger one. Joe looked away from Daisy to shoot Ja'marr a scolding glance.

Then he heard her move from the kitchen, so he had to look back.

She walked past the couch and toward to back door.

'I'm heading to the beach, you guys coming?'

She didn't even look at them as she said it. But they were looking at her. The bikini bottoms were cheeky, way too cheeky. Her perfectly sculpted ass only half covered.

'I'll come' Justin said and that made Joe annoyed. Just friends. He repeated it over and over but it wasn't doing much to calm him down.

'We'll all come. Ja'marr grab the football' Joe stood from the couch, grabbing his sunglasses from the table and following behind her. Closely. Close enough that the other boys couldn't see her ass in the tiny bikini.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-

Even in November -- the sun was warm and high in the clear blue skies. A hard heat bounced off the soft sand and clung to skin. Salsa music echoed from the speakers of other beachgoers and the little beach bar that was too far down the beach to really see.

Seagulls skimmed lower over the surf, some people squealed as waves nipped their ankles while others just lay on towels and soaked in the rays of the high UV index. The smell of a bbq floated through the air and dancing through nostrils.

Joe was shirtless, a backwards cap protecting his scalp and black Dior sunglasses protecting his eyes. Sweat licked at his skin as he threw the football lazily at Justin and Ja'marr. Laughter rang around in bursts between them, chased by the pulse of the tide coming in and out beside them. His bare feet sand beneath the sand and every time the boys would miss a pass a small cloud of fine sand would be kicked up around them.

He shifted his weight and readied his arms to throw to Justin who was down beach waiting, but then the ocean gave her back. She been out there swimming for a short while. Making the most of the blue waters while she had them.

She emerged from the water like a scene from baywatch. Like something from his dreams, walking slow like she wasn't ready to rejoin the world on the beach. The sea and sun glittered behind her.

The now wet cream bikini clung to her skin even more. Droplets of water ran down her toned torso, arms and legs--it was like the ocean was reluctant to let her go, clinging for her to come back. She ran her hand through her wet hair, slicking it back and it clung to her skin. Her hands adjusted the bikini top, pulling it down and making sure everything was in place. All attention directed to her bouncing chest.

Was the world crashing around everyone else, or was it just him? Joe thought.

Daisy looked up from the ocean floor. She met his eyes, because she knew he would be looking. That's why she chose this bikini. One of her smallest. Joe looked good, so good. In the backwards cap she always loved on him. Salt clung to her skin, her lips and her lashes but she didn't think that was the reason she felt dehydrated.

Joe's skin was already warming up from the sun, even if they had only been here on the beach for an hour or so. His muscles looked even more sculpted in the Miami light. The small droplets of sweat dripping down his back. It made heat rise over her body. Something magnetic pulling her out of the water and towards him.

He was smiling at her as she began a light jog over to him. His eyes unapologetically trailing her up and down, she knew that even past his sunglasses.

'Can I join in?' She asked him sweetly, looking up at him through fluttering eyelashes.

'Sure, throw it to Justin' Joe handed over the football, looking at the way she was slightly breathless, her chest rising and her dark her gripping to her shoulders. He let his eyes flickers down her body once again for only a second, she still noticed it though. She seemed to notice everything he did.

He took a step back, behind her, as she readied her throw. Her stance, the way she held the ball. She'd done this before, that was obvious. He didn't even need to correct her. She let the ball fly from her arm, it wasn't a powerful cannon but it was pretty good. Much better than he was expecting, and she somehow managed to find Justin down the beach albeit the catch was sloppy.

'Shit.' Ja'marr said. 'That was nice, texas'

She bowed jokingly, but Joe wasn't finding it very funny.

Justin threw the ball back to her and she caught it, letting out an oof sound as it hit her with a force she wasn't expecting. She stumbled back a little bit, until she hit the hardness of Joe's chest. He placed a hand on her waist to steady her, holding her just in front of him.

'Where'd you learn to ball like that' Ja'marr asked her from the side he was standing. Daisy shrugged her shoulders, not really wanting to give an answer out of fear that it crumble to few steps her and Joe had taken to get back on track since they arrived in Miami.

'C'mon, don't be shy now' Ja'marr teased.

'Lucas.' Daisy said, not looking at him. She felt Joe's grip on her waist tighten ever so slightly and his chest tense.

Joe already knew the answer to Ja'marr's question, he just didn't want to hear her say it out loud. He didn't want to hear that all the parts of his life that were usually sacred and special, she had shared with another. When she came to watch him play was she comparing him to Lucas? When she threw that football she was using the technique Lucas taught her, was she thinking about the first time she did it? Was she thinking about her and Lucas as teenagers under the Austin sun, his hands on her skin guiding her arms? That made Joe tense, made a jealousy bubbling under his skin. Nothing about him or his life was special to her, and maybe it all just felt like deja vu. Maybe, she couldn't even separate Joe from Lucan and she was only with him because he could provide her with that comfortable familiarity.

He let his hand drop from her waist.

'I'm gonna go swim for a bit, then head back to the house'

With that, he was gone. Not even sparing her a glance, instead running away from the feelings. He needed to cool down and the luke warm water of the atlantic ocean was able to do just that. He would be fine in a few hours, ready to celebrate at the club but for now he just needed to drift in the waves and be alone.

Daisy went back to the house.

She needed to nap or something, anything to just stop the feeling in her chest from overcoming her.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-

The dual sink bathroom of the airbnb was too small for the three girls and all their opinions, but that didn't stop them.

Laughter spilled out into the hallway, tangled with the smell of sweet jasmine perfume and coconut body lotion. The counter tops were an explosion of open compacts, lip gloss and makeup stained bags. Jewellery scattered around on the floor, as did old outfits they had decided not to wear.

This bathroom was a sanctuary. A space they were free to just be without the boys near by.

Daisy stood in front of the light up mirror, her tight dress already clinging to her skin. It was a short, leopard print number which fit the atmosphere of Miami perfectly. Her skin was warm from the sun she had caught before, glowing bronze where her collarbones caught the light. A faint tan line under the straps on her dress. Her hair had been straightened, laying sleekly down her back. Gone where the salt kissed waves she had been wearing all day.

Cassie perched on the toilet seat, leaning forward into the mirror of her eyeshadow palette and brushing bronzer across her cheeks. Her legs bouncing in time as Spanish music played from Bella's crusty speaker. She sang along in perfect fluency. She rarely spoke spanish, only when she was in Miami or with her mom's side of the family. They were Ruerto Rican. Not that Cassie had the dark Latina looks, but she did have the big brown eyes. She was wearing a sparkly light pink dress which made her look like a barbie doll.

Bella hovered near the bathroom door, focussing as she applied her false eyelashes. She's curled her hair tonight, she never usually did that. Her dress was short, black and lacy. Her golden hoops capturing the light every time she moved even slightly.

Cans of white claw littered the counter tops also, the perks of having Joe be over 21. He would be buying most of their drinks tonight, but the girls knew the places they would be able to get into with their fake ID's all too well.

Outside the bathroom window, the sky was dim -- pale and soft blues. It spilled through the blinds in a way that made everything seem cinematic, like a scene from a coming of age film. Daisy's last night being nineteen. At midnight, that would change and her teenage years were memories she could never relive.

Come midnight, came a new era for her. The roaring 20's. That's what Bella kept calling them.

A knock at the bathroom door made all their heads turn.

'WHAT' Bella grumbled over the music.

'How long you guys gonna take?' Justin asked, hesitantly, like he knew he was poking the bears caged within the bathroom walls.

'Thirty minutes' Bella told him.

'Then another thirty for pictures and more drinks' Cassie added.

They could almost hear Justin's eye roll.

'We're getting bored out here' He groans.

'Just go. We'll meet you there, and I want some alone time with the girls' Daisy told him through the closed door, and she meant it. She wanted to just be alone with her best friends, celebrate her birthday the way they usually did. Even last year, she banished Lucas from joining her--they were in a big fight as new rumours of him cheating had made there way to her ears.

Justin let out a sigh, like he was annoyed that she didn't want them here. Daisy for a moment felt guilty, but Justin was sighing for a completely different reason, one Daisy couldn't even begin to understand. He was angry at Joe. He always seemed to be these days. When he heard they were exclusive, he cursed the universe. In April, only four and a half months away, Joe would be drafted first pick to the Cincinnati Bengals, and he would leave college. He would leave Daisy. There was no exceptions to that, no way that it could be changed, it was the reality of the universe. Why would he have done something so irresponsible? Why would he set himself up to break her heart? Did he even care about her at all, or was he so selfish that he cared about his own happiness more? They didn't have a future together, not one that would ever work out in the next few years.

Did Joe plan on leaving his hectic football schedule to come and visit Daisy on LSU's campus every other week? Did he plan on lingering around the frat parties she and the girls would be attending? She had two years of college left. He had the NFL right in front of him. There paths were facing opposite directions and it was immature of them to believe that the outcome would be anything other than slow and painful heartbreak. But of course they weren't even thinking about that, both of them were far to stubborn to admit that this thing between them was more than sex, that it was heart racing, bone shattering feelings that they weren't used to having.

'No worries, we'll head'

and they did. The boys left the beach house and made there way to the club and the girls continued to get ready in their peaceful and protected sanctuary.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-

The uber rolled to a slow stop along the curb that seemed to buzz with static energy. The club appeared in front of them glowing like it was alive. It was chaotic but somehow organised. A crush of bodies in barely there outfits, heavy fake tan, blown out hair and heeled shoes stumbled on top of the concrete. Smoke curled around from the cigarettes and vaped that found themselves in young people's hands.

The club itself -- espíritu -- was modern but gritty, glass and steel was softened by the neon signs and the soft swaying of lush green palm trees all around. From inside, the heavy sound of Spanish reggae and edm music spilled out onto the streets and into the queue of people waiting for entry. The bass felt like a heartbeat between Daisy's feet, making her stomach flutter. She knew what kind of night this was going to be. When the boys left, the girls had over drank. The clock had hit midnight and Daisy hit the big 2 0. One too many cheers to her teenage years and now they were facing them consequences. Over excited and slightly slurring their words. She almost tripped out of the uber before she pulled herself together, brushing the fabric of the tight dress down her thighs and smoothing her hair from the nighttime breeze that caught itself between her brunette strands.

The moment the girls made it through the queue and into the jaws of the club, the air around them seemed to shift to something more sleazy. Heat crawled and clung to her like a second skin -- thick and immediate, the kind that radiated from the club walls and came from the dance floor in waves. The place smelled like sweet rum and sharp citrus, cologne and coconut, smoke and sex. A scent of the lives being lived in the building. The smell would linger on their clothes long after they left tonight.

Inside, the Spanish reggae hit even harder. Vibrating up from the floor into the girls heels, then to their spines infecting them with the unavoidable desire to move their hips. They had completely forgotten they were meant to be meeting the three J's here, they were such minor thoughts in their drunken minds. They just wanted to have fun, a girls night, it should have always just been a girls celebration and Cassie couldn't help but kick herself for inviting them.

The lights inside were low and hot, a sea of red and orange flashes with the occasional streak of violet. Smoke machines added to the ambience also, or maybe it was the steam of the packed bodies that rose in the atmosphere around them. Everything was cast in a kind of mystical light -- faces half lit, hands swinging in the air.

A DJ booth sat elevated at the very back of the room, but the speaker system made sure everyone could hear the songs.

Cassie and Bella melted into the crowd in front of Daisy as they dragged her in, laughing away with tossed back heads. Cassie hitting every rhythm of the songs and speaking sweet spanish lyrics. Bella and Daisy swayed their hips also. Safaera by Bad Bunny was the current song, a popular one. The dance floor was so hot, bodies pressed together, all shimmering in body glitter and heat. The beat caught all their waist and didn't want to let go. Bella twirled Daisy and held her hand as they danced closely together. Cassie was twirling on her own regard. From her movements it was clear she had missed Miami, no club in Louisiana could even come close to what was experienced inside the four walls of a Miami club. Maybe, the three of them missed this. In this moment, as just the three of them found themselves free of any other thoughts than a good time they were drawn back to summer. When Cassie and Daisy were freshly heartbroken and Bella was Bella. The three of them against everything. That was the best summer of their lives, and even in their young age they knew there wouldn't be a one to top it. The stories of summer would be told to their grandchildren.

They could live in them memories for tonight, just until the three star football players noticed them in the crowd and inevitable came over.

Joe, Justin and Ja'marr stood looking over the railing of the clubs more elevated area, each of them sipping on a pungent rum and coke. They had been waiting at least forty minutes for the girls to arrive and they were starting to give up hope. The idea of leaving the place and going somewhere else had been discussed, but they settled on the decision to stay out of fear the girls would never forgive them.

Joe sipped the last mouthful then placed the empty cup on a nearby table, wiping the liquor from the corners of his mouth. His eyes darted the crowd, trying to see her. He didn't even know what she was wearing, they had left before they came out the bathroom. He hadn't spoke to her since the afternoon on the beach when he overreacted to her muttering her ex boyfriends name and found himself trapped in the maze of his own insecurities. He'd fucked up. He knew it. He needed to apologise and clear the air for whatever the past couple days had been between them. Just as he was thinking Justin pulled him away.

'I see em' He outstretched his arm and pointed to some blurred figured in the thick of the crowded dance floor. Joe followed his friends arm and saw her, them. All three of them dancing away intensely with sloppy grins and sparkling eyes. Joe had never seen Daisy look so happy and carefree. He thought he had, but seeing her now, like this he knew he hadn't. He watched as her hands stretched above her head, one of them intertwined with Bella's and they bopped along to the thick pulsating bass of the music.

Joe couldn't help it, he knew he shouldn't but he had to capture the moment. He pulled out his phone and recorded them for a few seconds zooming in a little bit. He then sent it to Daisy, not that she would open it now but he hoped it would be nice for her to look at when she woke up in the morning. When he did so, he realised that it had been passed midnight and that it was officially her birthday, the one she hadn't told him about. That still made him feel like shit.

'Let's get them some drinks and join em'

The bar was packed but being a big name athlete had it's perks even in Miami, free drinks and first served was always a plus. The boys pushed there way through the crowd, some people parted for them like Joe was Moses. The floor was splashing with orange and violet lights, her hair was straight and loose, she was glowing like she had been carved out of the golden sun itself. She moved with a reckless softness, head moving from side to side and that smile drawn upon her sweet face.

Joe's breath caught.

Seeing her fully for the first time since the beach, in more clothes but somehow she's still having the same impact on him. Maybe it wasn't just her body he was enjoying these days, it was something deeper. The whole soul, every small part of her. No. Joe told himself. You can't. He can't. His hand gripped around the vodka cranberry in his hand, his palms sweating against the black plastic.

Leopard print looked divine on her tanned skin.

Daisy felt them coming, like some part of her body existed only to detect when Joe was near. Perhaps a magnet lodged itself in the crevices of her chest, deep under the skin. If it was a compass, Joe was North. She turned and saw him. He was wearing a baby blue polo shirt and some dark wash jeans, nike trainers on his feet like always. He had sunglasses on as well, even in the dark club. His hair was sloppy, like he had spent countless minutes running his big hands through it. Joe looked like a statue carved by the ancient greek civilisations, something you only ever saw in museums.

She couldn't blame the drink tonight, because even though she was drunk, she knew that if she was sober she would be thinking the same thing--Joe was the most handsome man she had ever laid her eyes upon. No one, nothing could compare. Not to him.

Joe watched as she found him through the crowd. Her smile flickered--not gone, not dimmed, just....something changed. Something shifted, her eyes darkened. Like the air between them snapped. He felt it and he knew she did too.

He walked towards her like it meant nothing, but it somehow meant everything. He wanted to say so much. You are dangerous. You look like a mistake I'd never regret making. You look like home, and heat, and whatever the hell has been missing from me my whole life.

But, he swallowed it.

'Happy birthday, Dais' was all he could muster as she stood in front of him. They were a sudden stillness in the crowd of moving bodies. He pushed the drink to her. She grabbed it. Their hands brushing with a tint of electricity, enough to make him wince. She downed the whole thing, throwing it to the ground with a crumple. Then she smiled.

'Thanks, Joey' She was intoxicated, more intoxicated than Joe was used to seeing.

He grabbed her waist and pulled her in so she was pressed against his chest. Then, he leaned into her ear while brushing a strand of hair back behind it.

'I'm sorry, for the beach, for the past few days. I don't know what I'm doing in this, with us' He struggled to articulate exactly what he was feeling, like his throat was gripping onto his words and refusing to let them fly free. Daisy understands. She never thought Joe was capable of saying sorry, she didn't think he had the emotional intelligence to comprehend that the small things he did, like leaving her on the beach, were enough to destroy her. It was also reassuring to know that he too felt the past few days between them had been so off and uncomfortable, like they were dangling in a rotten limbo neither of them knew how to escape.

'I don't know either' Daisy told him.

That was true. Daisy didn't have a single fucking clue what she was doing, all she knew was that Joe made her feel so alive. Like she was living rather than surviving. Her whole past relationship it felt like she was just making it day to day, how many days could she and Lucas survive without an argument, without a scandalous rumour--without hating each other. Joe never felt like that, she couldn't ever imagine hating him in any context that wasn't lo--No. Daisy told herself. You can't. She can't, can she?

Joe pulled back and looked at her. She was his mirror. Wide eyed with a stark realisation washing over her flushed face. His hand cradled her neck and he can't do it anymore. He can't resist. He kisses her with a furious passion, one that she reciprocates. They were like starved animals, needing the fix of flesh. Her hand run through his hair as the world around her disappears. The noise of the music numbs to a simple ringing in the background. Kissing him felt like screaming off a cliff. Kissing him felt like driving with the top down. Kissing him felt like freedom. Kissing him felt like breathing. Kissing him felt like everything, everywhere, all at once.

His hand cupped her ass in the short dress and that made her gasp, his tongue sliding in. Everything he couldn't bring himself to say was pouring out into their locked lips. She tasted like tequila and cranberry, that was his new favourite flavour.

When they pulled apart, the world still felt silent. She looked up at him, breathless, sage doe eyes so soft under the strobe lights. Her stained lips puffy and parted like she was trying to say something, but nothing came out. Just the quiet rise and fall of her breath, beating too fast to be anything close to casual.

The racing heart clattering against the cage of his ribs wasn't anything close to casual either.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-

The rest of the night was a blur of drinking and kissing and grinding. Joe couldn't keep away from her all night. His hands constantly on her waist. He held her in the uber back, her tired head laying lazily of his shoulder. When they got back, they took the double bed. Joe carrying her in and placing her gently on the fluffy duvet like he was scared he would break her. He pulled off her heels, and wiped off her makeup to the best of his ability as she wriggled underneath him, a fit of drunken giggles.

'It tickles joseph' she would say. Usually he hated when people called him that, but when the slipped through her drunken lips it sounded like it had been sent directly from heaven.

'Stay still' he laughed trying to make her stay in place as his open palmed her skin with the rough drag of a makeup wipe. So much force, but so little pay off. The makeup barely budged.

'You're doing it wrong' She complained.

'It's wiping, how is there a wrong way'

'Ask yourself' She huffed as she sat up and looked in the mirror on the wall seeing her makeup smudged rather than removed. She bit her lip to stop the smile. He was trying. Trying because he knew she hated the feeling off dry makeup on her skin in the morning. She looked around the room trying to avoid the heat of his gaze, because he was staring. He always stared, he never realised it though.

Something shiny caught her eye, hidden beside the white closet doors but still poking through. She rushed off the bed before Joe could stop her, pulling open the doors with a severe force. The glittery pink gift bag dropped to the floor and so did the two wrapped presents and the gift note.

'Dais-'

She ignored him with her drunken jaw ajar in shock. She bent over, still in the short leopard print dress Joe didn't want to take off her. Shaky hands placing themselves on the note.

'It's nothin--just--uh'

She read the note.

Dear Daisy.

One reminded me of you.

One is something you need.

Happy birthday, I hope it's a special one.

-- joey x

She read it over and over. Joe sat and watched, his foot tapping on the wooden floor as anticipation of her reaction got the better of his usually poised demeanour. She couldn't quite believe it, he had bought her gifts, presents...birthday presents. That felt heavy, and important. Serious and scary, she didn't know what to do.

'You can write?' She settled on a joke, she had never been the best as receiving presents, and she had never been given a note like this before. She felt both awkward and eternally grateful. Both warm and frozen.

'Ha. Ha.' Joe responded sarcastically. He was thankful she joked, he didn't know how to tackle a serious conversation. He wasn't even sure if he was going to give her the gifts, he thought about just keeping them hidden and smuggling them back to Louisiana. But, they found her. Fate had taken them from him and gifted them too her.

'Can I open them?'

'Yeah, the flat one first and then the circular one' He instructed.

Daisy picked up the flat package wrapped poorly in white starry paper. NEED written in bold letters on the front of it. Her fingers hesitated to open it, it wasn't weighty or anything-- in fact, it was light and airy. She gave it a quiet shake, no rattling answered back. She slid her nail underneath one of the half taped corners and peeled it back slowly, the sound of tearing low in the space between them. Once the first tear was done she relaxed and made another more frantic and less careless one. She was desperate to see what was inside. What did she need? Other than Joe, she had no clue.

The fourth tear revealed all.

A white LSU jersey with a number nine and Burrow written in purple across the back. She held it up blocking Joe's face and looked at it.

'You like it?' She could hear the smugness in his voice, like his anxiety had been replaced by his usual arrogance. She dropped the shirt from her hands and looked at him with bright eyes and a cocked head.

'I guess'

Joe chuckled rubbing his hand against his jaw, slightly nodding his head.

'You can wear it next game'

'What makes you think I'll be there'

'Because you like watching me play' Joe said. 'and I want you there, in that.'

'Hmm, I'll have to check my schedule. See if i'm free' Daisy pretended to be thinking about all the plans she didn't have.

'Uh huh, open the next one' Joe didn't entertain her. She would be there, he knew she would be under the disguise that it was for Justin and it being his last season of college ball. She would never admit it was because she wanted to be close to Joe.

Daisy picked up the next present. It was soft and squishy, abhorrently wrapped but it was the effort that mattered. REMINDER OF YOU scribbled on the front. That made her stomach flip. Joe had seen something and had instantly thought of her. Joe was thinking about her when she wasn't around, in the low points of his busy days. In the darkness of his bedroom at night when all that seeped through was the pale moonlight. In the moments when she lay beside him peacefully sleeping and radiating a comforting warm from her soft skin.

She pulled the wrapping paper apart. When she saw what was inside she let out a small gasp.

A fluffy grey jellycat bunny with floppy ears and a pink nose.

'Oh my god!' She clutched it to her chest hugging it and looking up to Joe in shock. This was how he saw her, a little bunny rabbit. Something so innocent and cuddly, that was how he thought about her. This gift was the most exposing thing Joe had ever done, a ticket to the inside of his mind, a small glimpse at the things he thought about her.

'It's just a bunny, nothin' crazy' Joe tried to play it off like it was something regular and mundane but it wasn't. He didn't really buy his ex girlfriend gifts, but with Daisy it was like he couldn't imagine not giving her something.

'I love it, thank you.' Daisy's eyes traced the bunny with adoration, almost as if it was something mystical, an object brought to her from the fantasyland in her mind.

'You're welcome, cub'

The nickname from halloween croaked out of his throat like a forgotten caress. It make a prickly heat rise through her already drunken flushed cheeks.

'I'll sleep with him every night'

'him?' Joe furrowed his brows and looked at the little grey ball of fluff in her hands. 'Should I be jealous?'

'You're always jealous' She teased back.

Joe just rolled his eyes and tutted.

'sleep time, Dais-'

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-

daisyymoore

turning 20 was special. - Miami, Florida

Liked by joey_b9, jjettas2 and 564 others

@.cassdaviess: i love you and i love miami

-> @.daisyymoore: miami forever and always

@.isabellaafreut: you're old now.

-> @.daisyymoore: don't

@.carsonford: i'm sad i missed this

-> @.daisyymoore: please come back to me

@.joey_b9: cute post

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22nd November 2019.

-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-

The hall was quiet in the late Monday night -- soft lights overhead, bulletin boards half covered with faded flyers, the subtle sound of someones playlist coming through the sticker covered doors. Joe and Daisy walked side by side, brushing shoulders as he rolled her suitcase behind him. His hoodie clung over her shoulders and her grey bunny was clung in her arm.

Last night they had come back from Miami and she had went straight to Joe's place, intertwining herself with his body and feeling him deep inside, pleasure filled moans escaping from her bitten lips. Then they did it again, all day in fact but she needed to come back to her dorm to get some studying done and he offered to walk with her. That was the first time he had offered to walk her back to her place from his own. She couldn't lie and say it didn't make her tender heart swell.

They turned a sharp corner towards her room, their steps perfectly in sync as they laughed about something Ja'marr had done in Miami. Some people who were straggling by in the halls noticed them and looked on with wide eyes. Joe Burrow was walking their halls with Daisy Moore. Joe Burrow was dating? He couldn't be dating, he's Joe Burrow. The pair of them paid it no attention, too caught up in their own little world and the high of Miami.

As they approached her door Daisy's brows furrowed as she noticed something off. Joe followed to where she was looking.

There in front of her door was an extravagant bouquet of flowers. Wrapped in navy blue tissue paper which was a stark contrast to the white, pink, purple and yellow flowers. Daisy looked at Joe confused, he shook his head silently letting her know they hadn't come from him. Daisy's first thought was her father, across the pond in London but he had sent her money and a phone call like always. Her mother didn't ever gift flowers, she believed they were a waste of money. Carson? Flowers would be a first from him and they wouldn't have come wrapped in navy blue.

Daisy's steps slowed while Joe's stopped. She bent down and picked up the folded note that peaked out through the leaves. Joe didn't move, his hands stayed deep in his hoodie pocket.

Daisy unfolded the card with delicate care, and though she didn't say anything, Joe watched her posture change. Her back twitching with tension and her face becoming more harsh and set. She didn't seem happy, she seemed almost sad. Was it empathy written across her face, that's what it seemed like.

From the first letter written on the card in deep harsh blue ink, Daisy knew who it was from.

Dukes.

I'm sorry i'm such a shitty person.

but know i always want you to be happy.

whoever you spent it with

I hope your birthday was everything you deserve and more.

love you always,

Lucas.

Her chest tightened like someone had wrapped tape around it.

He had been here, he had come. He had been at her doorstep and she was in Miami.

Her eyes danced over the slightly wilting flowers. A combination of lilies, orchids, tulips and a few daisies sprinkled in the gaps. All her favourites.

He must have come on Saturday. The edges were beginning brown and the stems were beginning to flop. A comical representation of their love, no longer fresh, dying but still something beautiful.

She picked them up and tuck a step back, folding the card and tucking it into the pocket of her sweatpants.

Joe watched her do this, he studied the way her hands gripped onto the stems of the bouquet too tightly and how each movement was no longer loose and relaxed but stiff.

'Who are they from?' He already knew, he just wanted to see if she would tell him.

'Lucas' She let out in a breathe, then she flipped her head over her shoulder and looked at him with worry filled eyes.

Joe gave her a tight lipped nod.

'What did the note say?'

'That he's sorry he's a bad person--' She seems to get choked up. 'an--and that he always wants me to be happy no matter who it's with'

Nice guy. Joe's sarcastic internal monologue spat as he tried to control the jealousy that simmered hotly.

'You going to call him?' He asked not really wanting to know the answer. His mind running on the conversation he had with Carson a couple weeks back. Daisy could go back to him, if she thought he had changed. She had loved him once, for so many years, she could do it again. Joe's insecurity yelled through him, so deep rooted in his bones but he refused to let himself run this time, not like he did on the beach. He would stay and listen.

Daisy's eyes looked back at the flowers.

Then at the door.

Then at Joe.

The green of her iris' was soft and stormy. A conflict playing out within them.

'No'

and just like that every muscle in Joe's body released.

He followed behind as Daisy unlocked her door, finger moving shakily against the worn brass handle. The soft glow of her fairy lights numbed the sharpness of the emotions between them. Stack of textbooks littered her small desk, her fluffy robe hung over the back of the chair, empty coffee cups lined the bedside table like a confession of her academic stress. She placed the flowers down on Cassie's more clear desk top--she was staying in Miami for a few extra day visiting her family.

Joe moved to lay on her floral bed sheets, he rarely stayed here. Cassie was always around so it was just easier to stay at the fraternity. He tried not to glare at the flowers too much but his eyes kept trailing back to them. Why now? Daisy was his girl, but people didn't know that, only their close circle of six and maybe a few other boys at the fraternity or on the team.

Daisy noticed him watching the wilting petals and gave him a tired smile. She didn't know how she would cope if Joe's ex had left him a bouquet and a note saying they will always love him on his doorstep but she imagined Joe was responding better than she would.

She appreciated that he wasn't getting angry or annoyed, that he wasn't running away because whether he liked it or not Lucas was always going to be a large chunk of her life. A part of her. Even if he didn't really know her anymore and she didn't know if she ever really knew the real him.

She paced over the where he was lying and squeezed in beside him in the single bed. Joe started playing with her hair as they lay in a peaceful silence. It wasn't awkward, more like suspended. Something was hanging between them by a loose thread and it seemed like it was about to fall.

'you asked me how i felt, that night I came and got you--'

Daisy's ears perked, and Joe hesitated.

'I was worried, scared even--that something might happen to you that I wouldn't be able to protect you from. My heart was beating so fuckin' fast I thought it was going to burst before I could get to you. It killed me to think about you in that bathroom stall, alone, unsafe. It killed me to think about you crying, to think about your fear. and when we got back I couldn't bring myself to drop you back here because I wanted you to feel safe and I feel safest with you so I just--I just thought that maybe you felt safest with me'

Joe couldn't say anymore because the lips of Daisy pressed firmly against his own. A slow but hard, tender kiss.

At long last, feelings were spoken.

Cracks were beginning to form in the walls around the facade of meaningless sex and no strings attached.

Cracks that could never be repaired.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jay Kuo for Think Big Picture:

We’re all still grieving the electoral loss and feeling queasy about the prospect of Trump returning to the White House in January. But in response to the giddy pronouncements from the GOP and the Trump campaign, some have already begun to think about an effective political resistance to Trump and Trumpism. 

Democrats need to make these plans knowing full well that Trump will be backed by a sycophantic GOP Congress and blank check-writing SCOTUS. And this time around, there won’t be any adults in the room, including White House counsel who during his first term would quietly shelve Trump’s most outrageous requests, or chiefs of staff like John Kelly who would struggle to moderate, educate and soften his most extreme positions. No, this time around Trump will be surrounded by people even further to the right of him. They will seek to implement the most dangerous and destructive of policies, many drawn from the Project 2025 blueprint. And they will encourage Trump to issue Executive Orders that could reshape American democracy, insert our armed forces deeply into civil affairs, hurtle our economy into an abyss, and upend the lives of millions of minorities.

This is a thought piece, an early stab (and work in progress) about how Democrats (and the lawyers who are aligned with them) can ready themselves to resist Trump. We’re in very new territory here, but the ideas are based on what we’ve learned about Trump from both his first term and the four years he’s been more or less idle when he wasn’t sitting in courtrooms or stumping on the campaign trail. They play into both his ego and the worst aspects of his character and leadership style. I hope you find this early exploration a good starting point for how the next four years could go if Democrats play their cards smartly, even if the strategy seems highly unorthodox. Note that I won’t be discussing what average citizens might consider doing. This, for now, is the beginning of a political and legal strategy. Others involved in grassroots organizing may have ideas for direct resistance by citizens, but that is for another discussion.

[...]

Hit ‘em with lawfare

One of the most effective weapons against Trump’s policies during his first term was the slew of lawsuits that his executive orders met when they were first announced. Remember the Muslim ban? That bounced up and down the courts for years before it could finally go into effect in a watered-down form. 

Lawyers from every non-profit walk of life should be readying civil complaints today, just as people like Russ Vought are already preparing horrific executive orders for Trump to sign. The minute Trump announces his Day One policy to deport millions of undocumented migrants, for example, lawyers everywhere should file suit. It shouldn’t just be one suit; it should be several. Tie up the White House lawyers and the Trump Justice Department with as many cognizable claims as they can think of. More than the sheer number, they should file these cases before judges in jurisdictions where the appellate courts will be more friendly, such as in the Ninth Circuit. This is the inverse of what MAGA and Christian Nationalist legal counsel have been doing now for years by picking a single court near Amarillo, Texas to ensure their cases are heard before radical judge Matthew Kacsmaryk.

Once those cases are filed, judges (and their clerks) should slow-walk them. Act like the nun in The Sound Of Music, opening the gate as slowly as she can so the Nazis are delayed. Then, after issuing temporary restraining orders, set the hearings out as far as possible. Have the lawyers demand extensions. File motions that could receive interlocutory appeals, to further gum things up. In short, drag things out as long as possible to prevent his policies from going into effect. Governors in blue border states could also get involved. California and Arizona both have Democratic governors, after all. And they also have Democratic state attorneys general. These states could move to intervene in suits or file them on their own, just as the red states have done to block Biden’s policies like student debt relief. Sure, this will eventually get up to the Supreme Court and get overturned, but the point is delay. Run out the clock, run out the clock, run out the clock. Trump only gets four years, two before the midterms. [...]

These are but a few broad-stroke ideas, but it’s time everyone who will be part of the resistance start thinking about how they can play a vital part in pushing back. Some of these tactics are admittedly unorthodox, others quite petty. Still others are variations on what has worked well before. Together, they could bog down or distract Trump and the White House just long enough for the midterms to give Democrats a chance to regain control of one or both chambers and really turn up the heat.

It may make many quite uncomfortable to consider deploying these kinds of strategies. They make Democrats into obstructionists, even political saboteurs, much as the GOP has been for the few cycles when Democrats have been in charge.  But here there is a difference, though it’s one MAGA Republicans will never acknowledge: When actual fascists have taken control of the government and are trying to destroy democracy, patriotic opponents must use every peaceful means at their disposal to prevent them. Indeed, it is a moral imperative, because millions of lives are on the line. We cannot act as if the world has not changed, and Democrats must grow far more accustomed to acting outside the box and getting creative in their approaches.

It’s time for Democrats to play rough by delaying and gumming up Donald Trump’s tyrannical proposals to run the clock down.

[asher-agere]

Moodboards?

So a few days ago I was regressed and. Ended up making mood boards? I don’t fully remember- But! BSD fans have some content as an apology for how much I’ll be neglecting the fandom for a bit :3

🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

⋆♱✮♱⋆

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

·:¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨:·

⋆⭒𓆟⋆｡˚𖦹𓆜✩⋆

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[First Moodboard ID: 9 images, left to right top row. White gloved hands freeing a dove, three playing cards each being a 6, white ruffled sleeves, a black and white corset, Nikolai Gogol, a bird flying from a cage, playing cards, black and white striped pants, a cinema title reading “It’s all an act” End ID]

[Second Moodboard ID: 9 images, left to right top row. A window letting light into a dark room, tarot cards, a jabot, a piece of paper with a drawing of a skull, Lovecraft, papers tied with a black ribbon and a black feather on top, a typewriter, a spiral staircase leading to a large window, a black gate. End ID]

[Third Moodboard ID: 9 images, left to right top row. Someone in a black coat with a wine glass behind a chessboard, a graveyard, books with a cross necklace on top, a cello, Fyodor playing the cello, the title page of Crime and Punishment, candles in a black candleholder, a black glove holding a cross necklace in front of a white shirt, a straitjacket. End ID]

[Fourth Moodboard ID: 9 images, left to right top row. The cover of an Edgar Allan Poe book, a library, the first page of The Raven, a raven, Edgar Allan Poe, a typewriter, a cushioned chair, leather books, Edgar Allan Poe’s complete collection. End ID]

[Fifth Moodboard ID: 9 images, left to right top row. A white hallway with paintings, a marble sculpture, a mansion, someone in a suit reading a book, Nathaniel Hawthorne, someone in a suit with a cross necklace, a staircase, dress shoes, glasses. End ID]

[Sixth Moodboard ID: 9 images, left to right top row. A black katana next to a rose, a pocketknife, a red kimono and sandals, a katana on red flowery fabric, Kyoto’s Izumi, tea in a porcelain teacup, a red kimono, pink bunny plushies, a katana with a white handle. End ID]

[Seventh Moodboard ID: 9 images, left to right top row. Glasses on papers, sweater vests in a closet, a brown sleeve rolled up to reveal a watch, brown checkered pants and shoes kicked up on a desk, Ranpo Edogawa, chocolate on paper, glasses next to a mirror, a brown newsboy cap, glasses on a book. End ID]

[Eight Moodboard ID: 9 images, left to right top row. A black jacket and black dress shoes, a dark graveyard, a rainy window, an outfit similar to Akutagawa’s, Ryunosuke Akutagawa, a hand throwing black powder, a jabot, a hand extended, candles on a black candleholder. End ID]

[Ninth Moodboard ID: 9 images, left to right top row. A straw hat, a bell for a cow, a bowl of ramen, hay bales, Kenji Miyazawa, a pitchfork in a hay bale, a field of wheat, a road sign, a CD player and CD case. End ID]

[Tenth Moodboard ID: 9 images, left to right top row. A katana, a tea set, plants, a circle doorway into a garden, Yukichi Fukuzawa, someone wearing a green kimono crossing their arms, bamboo, an archway surrounded by white blossoms, a katana hilt. End ID]

[DNI ID: A light purple box with a dark purple border. To the left is an image of Fyodor, to the right there’s a rat and a pair of decaying angels wings. Dark purple text reads “DNI if your blog isn’t child safe. I will block NSFW accounts”. End ID]

[book-of-forbidden-knowledge]

An Exhaustive Analysis of the Ninth Gate

(Update to this post.)

For those who don’t know, The Ninth Gate is a 1999 film by Roman Polanski starring Johnny Depp, based on a novel called The Club Dumas by Arturo Pérez-Reverte. It’s about a rare book collector and appraiser called Dean Corso who is hired to authenticate a mysterious grimoire called The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows. The client, Boris Balkan, is convinced that only one of the three surviving copies of the book is authentic, because his attempts to summon the Devil have been unsuccessful. Corso travels throughout Europe, comparing the cryptic woodcuts in the grimoire with those in the two other existing copies. But there’s a series of deaths and other unsettling events around the book, and he has a mysterious girl helping him. As you might expect, this is a spooky-Satanic-cult thriller, but it’s not your average spooky-Satanic-cult thriller.

Occultists love this film, because so much of real occultism consists of pouring over old books and trying to make sense of them, and also because The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows is the most realistic fictional grimoire. Almost everything about it feels extremely authentic — in particular, the set of nine woodcuts that are the key to the film’s mystery. They were drawn by Francisco Sole for the novel, but at first glance, I’d be fooled into thinking they were real seventeenth-century woodcuts. They also utilize plenty of real occult imagery, which gives the film a legitimately spiritual dimension. The woodcuts were so compelling, I immediately tried to figure them out for myself, just as Corso and Balkan do in the film. It’s hard to look at these spooky, arcane images and not go, “But what does it meaaaaan?”

From this point on, I’m going to assume you’ve seen the film. I’m going to try and avoid spoilers for the book, though.

I would argue that the real solution to the engravings is spiritual growth or enlightenment, which is the goal of most occultists. Boris Balkan sort of understands this, which is why he has so much disdain for Telfer and her edgy coven of Hollywood-Satanist cosplayers. Telfer and her coven use The Nine Gates as a prop — they aren’t actually interested in deciphering Lucifer’s secrets. But Balkan also fails, because he’s after power, not enlightenment. In that sense, both Balkan and Telfer misunderstand Lucifer. They believe him to be the kind of Lucifer that you usually see in these kinds of movies, when he is actually a spirit who brings spiritual knowledge to humanity, like the serpent in the garden. If we assume that the Girl is Lucifer (which she explicitly is in the book), then she is more benevolent an influence than anything else. (Hell, Corso doesn’t even suffer any “temptation” consequences from having sex with her!) Corso wins in the end because he puts in the effort, and the Girl judges him worthy. Lucifer’s own versions of the engravings seem to emphasize that s/he is genuinely invested in helping his/her followers towards enlightenment.

Early in the film, Balkan says that the engravings form “a kind of satanic riddle” that will summon the Devil if the engravings are assembled correctly. They’re numbered one through nine. At the end of the film, when Balkan assembles the engravings in the “proper” order, this is his interpretation of the riddle:

To travel in silence, by a long and circuitous route, to brave the arrows of misfortune, and fear neither noose nor fire, to play the greatest of all games and win, foregoing no expense, is to mock the vicissitudes of fate and gain at last the key that will unlock the Ninth Gate.

Well. I can say definitively — as both an occultist, and as a scholar who’s looked at a lot of weird occult pictures in old books — that this is incorrect. And not just because the whole sequence is rearranged.

Last time, I interpreted the engravings in the order of Balkan’s sequence, but this time, I’m going to interpret them in their numbered order, because I personally think that that’s correct. That’s why the numbers are there.

The first engraving shows a knight traveling towards a castle, with his finger to his lips. In the AT version of the engraving, the castle has four towers, while in LCF’s version, it has three. Balkan’s interpretation is “To travel in silence,” and the caption is “Silence is golden.” That caption immediately reminded me of the common occult maxim, “To Know, to Will, to Dare, to Keep Silent,” which is directly referenced in the book. In the book, the caption is different: “Only one who has battled according to the rules will prevail.” But these two captions mean essentially the same thing. The narrator says, “The rule is to know and to keep silent. Even if there is foul play, without the rule, there is no game.” The significance of this maxim is that one should not “cast pearls before swine,” share occult secrets with people who won’t understand or respect them. “Silence is golden” doesn’t have the same occult ring to it as “to know and to keep silent,” but it is a simpler, if pithy, version for the sake of the film.

This the only engraving in which there is no obvious tarot imagery. There are four Knights in tarot, one for each suit — wands, swords, cups, and pentacles. But this knight doesn’t have a symbol of any of the suits, or anything else that would connect him to the tarot knights. The important difference is in the castle towers — three in LCF’s, four in AT’s. In traditional numerology, three is a number symbolizing perfection and creation, as in the Holy Trinity, while four is the number of the solid and material, which is sometimes unlucky. (Source: Richard Cavendish, The Black Arts). Sets of three are especially common in fairy tales and mythology — three siblings, three tasks, three encounters, three magical objects, three questions, three trials or tests, repeating an action three times with the third time being different or conclusive, etc. Lucifer’s castle at the end of the film also has three sets of towers.

In the tarot, the threes also represent the completion of the first stage of a venture — the Three of Wands represents a successful enterprise, the Three of Cups represents celebration and fulfillment, and the Three of Pentacles represents recognition for your achievements. All of them have something to do with attainment except for the Three of Swords, which represents loss, heartbreak, betrayal, etc. The fours aren’t bad, representing stability and structure — the Four of Wands is joyful and peaceful, the Four of Swords takes time to rest and recoup, the Four of Cups is bored and listless, and the Four of Pentacles receives material abundance. All of them are a bit more grounded and material. Four has a spiritual dimension through the four letters of the Tetragrammaton, and has a lot of occult significance through the four elements, four directions, four alchemic properties, etc. Agrippa says that it “makes up all knowledge.” But I think in this instance, the most obvious interpretation of this engraving is that your destination will be either material gain (AT) or spiritual advancement (LCF).

The second engraving, eighth in Balkan’s sequence, shows an old man with a dog, holding two keys in his hand. In AT’s version, the keys are in his right hand, and in LCF’s, they are in his left hand. Balkan’s interpretation is “gain at last the key,” and the caption is “Open that which is closed.”

This is an obvious tarot image. This is clearly The Hermit with his lantern. IX The Hermit represents withdrawing into solitude for contemplation and meditation, to gain spiritual wisdom and awareness. He’s the archetypical guru on a mountain, and he holds the keys to enlightenment. Keys represent access to information, and the ability to pass between worlds. “Open that which is closed” is pretty straightforward — unlock the gates, receive spiritual insight.

LCF’s version has the keys in the left hand instead of the right. The Latin word for “left” is sinistram, and the word “sinister” has its current meaning because left was considered unlucky or Satanic. Left-handed people were discriminated against for this reason, until as late as the mid-20th century. In Western occultism, Satanism is especially associated with the “Left-Hand Path,” which is an iconoclastic approach to magic that emphasizes self-deification. LHPers tend to reject tradition and dogma in favor of individualism. I think that the Right-Hand- and Left-Hand Paths are a bit of a false dichotomy (you use both your hands, don’t you?), but anything Satanic is usually considered part of the Left-Hand Path by default.

Also, that Hebrew symbol next to the Hermit is the one for the number nine. In numerology, nine is a magical number, being three times three. It represents completeness, spiritual achievement, and initiation. So, that’s self-explanatory. In tarot, tens are the ultimate state of completion, so the nines are the penultimate step — the Nine of Wands gives you the strength and willpower to overcome obstacles, the Nine of Cups represents success and contentment, and the Nine of Pentacles represents celebrating an accomplishment. (Once again, the Swords are the outlier, representing fear and despair.) Nines in general are good, the perfection of three multiplied by itself. (The Hermit is also the ninth card of the Major Arcana, if you noticed.)

(All of the engravings actually have Hebrew letters on them, at the top left, but I haven’t actually studied gematria or the significance of the Hebrew alphabet in modern tarot that much. Hebrew isn’t super relevant to my own practice. So I’m going to skip over that.)

All nine engravings have a door somewhere in them, because they’re the nine gates that one must pass through in order to be initiated. The door is the most obvious in this engraving. In the first engraving, you (the Initiate) decided to walk the path. Now, you have to make the choice of whether you’re going to continue on it — take the keys, unlock the door. Shit gets real past this point.

The third engraving depicts a traveler walking towards a bridge. In the clouds above him, there’s a Cupid-like figure with an arrow pointing down at him. Balkan’s interpretation is “to brave the arrows of misfortune,” and the caption is “The lost word keeps the secret.” AT’s version is pictured here; in LCF’s version, there are two arrows, the other one pointing upwards in the quiver.

This traveller looks much more like the traditional Tarot depiction of 0 The Fool than the jester in the fourth engraving. He has his little bindle over his shoulder, and is setting off on an adventure. The Fool is happy-go-lucky and doesn’t notice the danger he might be walking into. According to TV Tropes, “The Fool” trope in media describes a person who, despite their naivete, manages to avoid harm through their luck and innocence. So, the traveler will probably not be hit by the arrow, the same way Corso avoids the collapsing scaffolding. However, in alchemy, Cupid’s arrow represents the universal solvent that reduces all matter to primordial prima materia, the necessary first step of the alchemical process. The essence of love in the arrows represents their higher spiritual nature, so maybe the traveller will have to be hit to continue onward. Corso is hardly an innocent person, but he does walk blindly into solving the Nine Gates mystery, and he wins because he’s not expecting to get anything out of it beyond understanding of it.

The two arrows in the LCF version seem to reinforce the idea of there being two possible outcomes. The arrow pointing up and the other one pointing down could also reference the famous occult maxim, “As above, so below,” adding another spiritual dimension to it. Balkan’s interpretation of the engraving reminded me a lot of a certain famous soliloquy: “To be or not to be, that is the question: / Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer / The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, / Or to take arms against a sea of troubles / And by opposing end them.” In this scene, Hamlet is considering whether or not to take his own life. But when applied to this engraving, these lines seem to once again suggest the two possible outcomes — you can suffer and die, or move on towards your goal.

And then there’s the caption. “The lost word keeps the secret.” Well, it’s pretty obvious what that refers to — the ninth engraving, replaced with a forgery that changes the meaning of the entire thing. The missing engraving contains the secret. But that caption seems completely irrelevant to this engraving, except that the face of the archer doesn’t look remotely like a baby’s, as putti usually do —it looks like an old man’s, specifically, the Ceniza brothers’, who removed and replaced the missing engraving. That was a change made for the sake of the film; in the book version, the archer has a more traditionally angelic face. The book also provides a poem that is supposed to indicate the correct sequence of engravings, which ends with “And when the reflection in the mirror shows the way, / you will find the lost word / which brings light from darkness.” According to Baroness Ungern (Kessler in the film), “the lost word” is the Devil’s true name — the Satanic equivalent of the Tetragrammaton, which turns darkness into light. Finding such a secret necessitates taking some risks.

The fourth engraving, which is second in Balkan’s sequence, is of a jester standing at the entrance to a labyrinth. In LCF’s version the labyrinth’s exit is open, while in AT’s it is bricked up. Balkan interprets this as meaning “by long and circuitous route,” while the caption reads “Fate is not the same for all.” that seems fairly straightforward — Balkan and Corso have different fates. Corso is able to find his way out of the Labyrinth, but Balkan’s exit is bricked up. This is because he never properly experienced the journey the way Corso did, he just wanted the payoff and tried to take shortcuts.

The Labyrinth is a very old symbol, and it carries the dual symbolism of a death trap in which there is a Minotaur, and a path to spiritual enlightenment. It can represent the Underworld or the darkness of the subconscious mind, with the Minotaur being your Shadow. Either you are trapped in the Labyrinth and eaten by the monster, or you find your way back out into the light having gained some self-awareness. The jester is probably meant to represent The Fool again, the naive adventurer who travels over the threshold and into the realm of the subconscious and symbolic, i.e. the Labyrinth. You can be the Fool in the tarot sense, and set off on your spiritual journey, or you can be the fool in the traditional sense, and enter a death trap with no exit.

As for the dice in the foreground, this seems to reinforce the caption’s point about fate. But dice, like tarot cards, can be used as both a game and a divination tool — it is the assumption of the diviner that random chance is always meaningful. And indeed, the visible faces on each die add up to 6 — 666.

The fifth engraving, which is sixth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man counting coins while Death stands behind him with a pitchfork and hourglass. Balkan’s interpretation is “and win, foregoing no expense,” while the caption reads “In vain.”

Balkan is an idiot. Exactly like the man in the engraving, he is focused entirely on the money and power, and completely misses the literal shadow of Death standing behind him. How does one overlook the significance of that? There’s a big difference between “I won the game so now I get money” and “in vain”! Of course, this means that Balkan is too focused on material pursuits and misses that he is about to die. In AT’s version, the sand is at the top of the hourglass, while in LCF’s version, it is at the bottom — the man has run out of time. The expression “you can’t take it with you” comes to mind. Money and material goods don’t ultimately matter compared to spiritual growth. Fixation on them is ultimately pointless.

In tarot, XIII Death almost never represents physical death. Instead, it represents change, usually a change for the better. Death is about letting go of old things so that new things can come, stepping through a threshold into another life or state of being. This can be difficult or emotionally painful, but it is necessary and ultimately beneficial. If The Hanged Man is the chrysalis, then Death is the emerging butterfly (the Greek word psyche means both “soul” and “butterfly,” because butterflies represent the souls of the dead). Death is a required step towards enlightenment, and if you refuse to acknowledge this, it isn’t going to go well for you.

The checkerboard floor probably continues to reinforce the theme of duality. As for the pitchfork, maybe the reason Death has a peasant’s pitchfork instead of a scythe is because pitchforks are associated with Satan, or it could be a representation of peasants taking revenge on rich people. Or it could be a reference to American Gothic. I think it’s the first one.

The sixth engraving, fourth in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a man hanging upside-down by his ankle, and an arm with a flaming sword reaching out of a castle tower. Balkan’s interpretation of this is “and fear neither noose nor fire,” which proves he knows fuck all about tarot. No wonder he got the riddle wrong. This one is so blindingly obvious. The man isn’t hanging by his neck, he’s hanging by his foot. He’s the Hanged Man.

XII The Hanged Man is a strange and disturbing card at first glance, but it has become one of my favorites. The Hanged Man is almost never depicted hanging by his neck; he hangs by his foot, and has a serene expression, indicating that he wants to be there. He represents endurance of a period of tribulation, suffering, surrender, or introspection in order to obtain wisdom, enlightenment, self-awareness, and insight. Like the Hermit, he indicates a need to be passive in the service of introspection, but in a different sense: while the Hermit contemplates in solitude, the Hanged Man undergoes some kind of ordeal. He goes through a metamorphosis, just like the caterpillar that hangs upside-down in its chrysalis to become a butterfly. He’s a Christlike figure, evidenced by the halo around his head in the Rider-Waite-Smith deck, and the fact that he willingly suffers for a higher purpose. He even wears the same colors as Jesus in Da Vinci’s The Last Supper in the RWS deck, although I’m not sure if that’s on purpose or not. The Hanged Man in the RWS deck hangs by the right foot, but in LCF’s version of the engraving, he hangs by the left foot, maybe reiterating the Left-Hand-Path association.

The caption to the engraving is “I am enriched by death,” which is a million times more meaningful than Balkan’s interpretation. If you’re an occultist, that line is probably self-explanatory. Pretty much everything mystical involves that theme of (symbolically) dying and being resurrected. The alchemical process has three stages — nigredo, which is death, albedo, which is the ascension of the soul, and rubedo, which is returning to life in a “purified” body as a more spiritual being. The Hero’s Journey follows this same pattern — the hero entering the Underworld or the Labyrinth and facing trials that allow them to spiritually ascend and achieve apotheosis (or something close to it). It’s everywhere in books, movies, and video games. It is the initiation ritual. Most occultists figuratively go through it in one way or another. And in tarot, XII The Hanged Man is at the rough midpoint of the Fool’s journey through the Major Arcana, and immediately followed by XIII Death. It is a difficult step, but a prerequisite for spiritual advancement. “I am enriched by death.” You cannot be reborn as a new and better version of yourself without first having died.

(It is sort of odd that this engraving comes after the one representing Death, though. In a tarot deck, it directly precedes Death.)

I don’t have much to say about the flaming sword. It could be foreshadowing Balkan’s death (more on that later), or it could represent the flaming sword of the angel of Eden (i.e. guarding spiritual knowledge, which Satan famously offered to humans). It could also be a symbol of burning away the old self, which relates to the Hanged Man image. It’s also held in the left hand.

The seventh engraving, fifth in Balkan’s sequence, is of a king and a peasant playing a chess game. Two dogs are fighting in the background, and the moon can be seen through the window. In AT’s version, the board is black, and in LCF’s, the board is white. Balkan interprets it as “to play the greatest of all games,” and the caption is “The disciple surpasses the master.”

The tarot symbolism that I see here is that of XVIII The Moon, which has dogs baying at it in the Rider-Waite-Smith deck. The Moon represents the subconscious, imagination, and dreams, but also nightmares, madness, and illusion. The illusion here is probably the missing engraving being replaced by the forgery. The themes of the subconscious are again reinforced. Underneath the Moon, a black dog and a white dog fight each other, almost seeming to create a yin/yang shape — this brings the dark and the light into balance, the same way the Moon spends equal times dark and bright as it goes through its phases. The game is chess, which is played with black and white pieces, and the board is either black or white. The game seems to be a draw, making the peasant and the king equals, just as the dogs are unable to defeat each other. So, this engraving is all about reconciling dualities.

There’s another layer to this. God is the “King of Kings,” so this could demonstrate a human becoming God’s equal. This is basically the goal of occultism — to become like God, in some form. Left-Hand Path’ers in particular seem to like the idea of becoming gods themselves, or even “surpassing” God. Since the book was created by Lucifer, this could tie in to Lucifer’s desire to become God’s equal that got him cast out of Heaven (but I’m not the biggest fan of that story, so I won’t go any further with that). To the occultist, man can participate in divinit, just as God can become a man — as above, so below. That’s also a form of reconciling the duality of human and divine.

The caption, “The disciple surpasses the master,” probably refers to this, but it could also refer to Corso surpassing Balkan and succeeding where Balkan failed. Any good teacher wants their students to have learned so well that they surpass them. God (or Lucifer) intends for his disciples to surpass him, but Balkan tries (and fails) to prevent Corso from surpassing him.

The eighth engraving, which is seventh in Balkan’s sequence, depicts a praying man about to be bludgeoned by a knight with a mace, with the Wheel of Fortune in the background. In LCF’s version, the knight with the mace has a halo. Balkan’s interpretation is “to mock the vicissitudes of fate” and the caption says “Virtue is defeated.”

This engraving is the most changed between its book and film version, so much so that it changes the meaning significantly. The figures in the engravings were altered for the film to make them look like the actors: this one depicts Balkan hitting Corso in the back of the head with a mace, which happens in the film. The halo around Balkan’s head in the LCF engraving makes very little sense, since Balkan obviously isn’t the hero here. Is this about villains defeating virtuous people? Corso isn’t exactly a virtuous person.

The book clarified this engraving for me. In the book, the engraving depicts a knight about to behead a lady:

Long story short, the book has a whole second plot revolving around a manuscript of The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas. The woman in this engraving is identified with Milady, one of the villains of The Three Musketeers. The knight has a halo in LCF’s version because his execution of her is righteous. He’s the protagonist whom we’re supposed to be rooting for, and she’s the villain whom we’re supposed to despise. As for the caption, virtue is defeated when the protagonists sacrifice their moral high ground in order to defeat the villains, which will inevitably require force, violence, or deception. All of that gets lost in the film’s version.

This is also an alchemical image of beheading, which represents dissolution, the “nigredo” or spiritual death. The praying person represents the matter of the Philosopher’s Stone, and the weapon represents “mercurial water,” the universal solvent that dissolves the matter into prima materia so it can be remade. This is the first major step in the alchemical process, which separates the soul from the body and paves the way for initiation and spiritual understanding. So, that reiterates the death/rebirth theme of the sixth engraving. In this context, the halo indicates that this stage is necessary for spiritual development.

The Wheel of Fortune in the background is a medieval motif that shows how the whims of fate are apparently random. Some get to be kings, others are serfs, and your fortunes can turn at any moment. Just when you think everything is great, someone hits you on the back of the head. In tarot, X The Wheel of Fortune means exactly what you would expect it to — a twist of fate, a change of fortune. Whether it’s for better or for worse depends on the context and the cards around it. Life is full of ups and downs, so enjoy what you’ve got while you have it, etc. Sometimes when it shows up, it can mean that you should trust in fate. Nothing about this card suggests mocking it.

And finally, we come to the ninth and final engraving. This depicts a woman who looks suspiciously like the Girl reading a book, ostensibly The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows, and riding a dragon with seven goatlike heads. There is a castle in the background, and the castle is a real place. There are three versions of the engraving — this one, which is signed by AT and has the castle as-is, a forged LCF engraving that shows the castle in flames, and the real one. Balkan’s interpretation is “that will unlock the Ninth Gate,” and the caption is “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.”

The woman is apparently an image of the “Whore of Babylon” from Revelations, who rides a seven-headed dragon. I’m not really sure what she’s supposed to represent, beyond being generally Satanic. Of course, Crowley recast her as a sex goddess; in Thelema, Babylon is the feminine version of the divine creative principle. The seven heads of her dragon are significant — seven is the number of secrets, mysteries, magic, introspection, and searching for inner truth, which have been running themes this whole time. Seven also signifies creation, completeness, and rest, since God created the world in seven days. In tarot, the sevens present a new challenge after the perfection of the sixes — the Seven of Wands brings new obstacles that require determination to overcome; the Seven of Cups represents imagination, dreams, and illusions, so back to The Moon again (and the illusion of the forgery); the Seven of Swords represents deception or a con artist (like the Ceniza twins, or maybe Balkan); and the Seven of Pentacles represents a threshold or a new opportunity, and reflecting on one’s achievements. That all aligns scarily well with the situation here.

The critical illusion is that the “LCF” engraving with the burning castle is a forgery. So, Balkan sets himself on fire for no reason other than egomania. This image is similar to XVI The Tower in Tarot:

The Tower is one of the scariest cards to get. If Death is a difficult but beneficial change, The Tower is a dramatic turn for the worse, complete destruction and devastation. It is struck by lightning and destroyed, going up in flames. I drew this card shortly before the pandemic hit. That was The Tower — destruction, upheaval, devastation, but with the promise of rebuilding. I also had to deal with a lot of emotional turmoil because of an unrelated thing that happened around the same time, and it shook me to my core. So, obviously the forged engraving leads to Balkan’s destruction.

The true ninth LCF engraving shows the sun shining from behind one of the castle’s towers:

Replacing The Tower with The Sun is a drastic difference. If The Tower is one of the worst cards to get, XIX The Sun is one of the best. The Sun is a good omen in every capacity. It represents everything that these engravings have been working towards — spiritual growth, fulfillment, success, enlightenment, revelation of secrets, good fortune, etc. It fits right in with Lucifer’s status as the Light Bringer, and it is the solution. (The true engraving is also very reminiscent of The Star, which directly follows The Tower, and represents hope and the light at the end of the tunnel.) The jagged rocks at the bottom of the castle in the other two versions are missing here, and the castle is more accessible, with a visible path. The woman gestures directly to it.

The rest of the scene is much more shadowed in the true version, which fits right in with the caption: “Now I know that from Darkness comes Light.” I, in my obsession with Shadow work, interpret this as confronting the dark parts of oneself and bringing them out into the light to become a whole person, and to grow spiritually. This goes back to the Labyrinth, needing to enter the dark Underworld or the realm of the subconscious in order to gain spiritual wisdom and finally achieve enlightenment. Everything in the engravings seems to point back to that — needing a period of introspection, reconciling of duality, obtaining safe passage through the various trials until you see The Sun, which is followed by Judgement (resurrection) and The World (fulfillment). The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows are like the seven gates of the Underworld that Inanna must pass through (and that eight-pointed star is a symbol of Inanna). Corso passes through the Ninth Gate, out of the Kingdom of Shadows and into the light.

Throughout all of this, the Devil acts as the facilitator of Corso’s initiation. As the Supreme Magus and the bearer of spiritual knowledge, she (he? it?) set this book out in to the world in the hopes that someone will complete the nine stages of their initiation and reach enlightenment. The power that Balkan seeks is like a side-effect of that enlightenment. When you achieve mastery, you do get power, but power was never the point. If you seek power first, you’re more likely to be led astray. Not that The Devil cares either way — I’m sure it’s all very amusing to her.

So now we’re left with one more piece of the riddle: the correct order of the engravings. This requires a bit more context from the book, which provides this poem as a clue to the correct sequence:

It is the animal with the tail in its mouth that encircles the labyrinth. where you will go through eight doors before the dragon which comes to the enigma of the word. Each door has two keys: one is air and the other matter, but both are the same thing. You will place matter on the serpent’s skin in the direction of the rising sun, and on its belly the seal of Saturn. You will break the seal nine times, And when the reflection in the mirror shows the way, you will find the lost word which brings light from darkness.

(This sounds so authentic, I went and checked to see if it was referencing a real alchemical text.)

Based on this, I’m guessing that the fourth engraving is supposed to be first: the Fool setting out on their journey through the Labyrinth, which is identified with the ouroboros, the serpent eating its own tail. The ouroboros represents prima materia, the innate interconnectedness of everything, and the cyclical nature of life and death. Next, “the enigma of the word” references the caption of the third engraving, braving whatever danger to discover forbidden knowledge. The mention of two keys refers to the second engraving: the two keys themselves, of air and matter, refer to the alchemical states of “fixed” (material) and “volatile” (spiritual). They are “the same thing” because, in alchemy, matter must be converted between fixed and volatile states over and over and over again, until it reaches a perfect balance of the two, which is the Philosopher’s Stone. Beyond that, I’m kind of at a loss. There aren’t any other obvious references to the engravings in the rest of the poem, and the remaining lines are much harder to interpret. Here’s my best guess: The “serpent’s skin” reflects the scale pattern above the door in the seventh engraving, where the chess players are carefully placing pieces. The “seal of Saturn” probably refers to the seventh engraving, since Saturn is associated with death and frugality. Breaking the seal nine times might refer to the eighth engraving, of the beheading, and the reflection in the mirror might refer to the sixth engraving, since the Hanged Man is all about introspection. The final line about bringing light from darkness of course refers to the ninth engraving.

But I’m guessing at this point. It seems these engravings still have secrets to reveal to me! Hey, at least I know more about it than the book’s equivalent of Balkan, who takes the poem extremely literally. It goes about as well for him as it does for film!Balkan. Maybe I'm reading too deep into it, but it sure is fun!

[dancingtotuyo]

8. a cry of my heart to see

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: Tragedy strikes Jackson

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: blood, medical care (probably bad I'm not a doctor tried to keep it brief and vague), Character Death, loss, grief, funeral, smut, P I V, cream pie, Oral sex (F receiving)

Notes: Shout out to my girl @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for the beta read!

If you have checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3273

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND IS INTENDED FOR READERS 18 YEARS AND OLDER. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT OR READ.

One Year Later 

He’s been out on patrol for days. They’re widening the perimeter and he’s on the initial team to do so. It’s nerve-wracking. You’re losing sleep. 

Maria tries to assure you they’re fine. No news is good news, but it falls on deaf ears. Her husband isn’t out there in unexplored areas. Joel is. Tommy tries to hide his worry. Despite both their assurances, you know they’re concerned. It’s risky.

For the most part, life goes on. Ellie has been staying in your guest room since Joel left. You thought she would look forward to having the house to herself, not that Joel doesn’t already spend the majority of nights at your house. You wonder if she fears the same thing you do. 

They’re supposed to be back in a week, but day 8 passes without sign of them. 

On the ninth day, one of the gate watchmen barrels into the clinic, causing you to knock over an entire bin of instruments you had just boiled. His eyes are wide, skin pale causing your stomach to drop. 

“What is it?”

“We just spotted them about a mile out. They’re down a rider. Another looks pretty banged up, can barely sit up in the saddle.” 

"Who?” You fight the urge to vomit. 

“We don’t know.”

“Go get Pooley.” The panic is setting in. You can’t do this. You can’t go into concerned girlfriend mode. Is that what you are? It doesn’t sound quite right. No, you need to be the medical professional you were taught to be. Calm, cool, collected like the professional you were on the UT Trauma team.

The man nods, rushing out of the clinic. You look around, pulling out everything you might need for easy access. You don’t know if he was mulled or shot or something else. This is hardly the first time something like this happened, but it’s the first time you haven’t been able to focus. 

It’s silly in hindsight, but you never worried quite like this over Gabe. He always promised to come back. He seemed so confident that he would that you’d bought into his confidence, and he always did until he didn’t. 

Once you’re convinced you’re set up enough to take care of the incoming injured, your feet carry you out toward the gate. It’s beautiful out today. The sun shines. Birds chirp and bees buzz. The kids play tag in the apple orchard, but it all feels like a bad dream like the world is moving in slow motion. There’s a ringing in your ears. 

The gate is just opening as the group draws closer. A small crowd has already formed, mostly the families of those sent out. You’re too far away to see out of the gate so you have to wait for them to file in. 

The first rider comes in. It’s not Joel. You can feel your grip on reality fading. You’re trying to stay. You have a job to do. Maria appears next to you as the second rider crosses in. She tugs you closer to the chaos, through the families waiting with bated breath. Two more. Not Joel. She brings you next to Dr. Pooley who waits ready to spring into action. People make room around you so you can tend to the injured as soon as they come in. 

Another pair cross into safety. John Lacy holds the reins of Adam Perkin’s horse as Adam hunches over in the saddle looking closer to death than life. John has them next to you within seconds, spewing the story of his injury to you and the doctor. You can’t pay attention, going on your tiptoes to catch sight of the last rider, but the horses block your view. The gate is closing now.

“Maria?” You look at her in desperation, pulled between the need to help and get status on Joel. 

She gives you a nod and dashes off to investigate further. 

Adam half rolls out of the saddle, in and out of consciousness before several strong sets of arms aid him to the ground. 

“Someone get the gurney!” A voice calls out as you fall to your knees beside the man. It’s your voice. Your body is taking over, but your brain is still elsewhere. The ringing in your ears grows louder. “Someone tell me what we’re looking at!” Your shaking hands rip the stained flannel and undershirt. They're already rags anyway. 

“Took a knife to the gut two days ago. Closed it up but it got infected and reopened on the way back,” John reports. 

“And you didn’t stop to close it back up?” You yell. 

“We had to drop the med bag.”

You groan in frustration. Dr. Pooley takes vital signs. Even in the haze you notice the signs that he’s over concentrating. His lips move to count Adams BPM and then he stops and starts over. 

“What do you have for me, Doc?” You’re desperate for help. Desperate for the old man to be able to do his job, but you see it in his face. He’s about to admit what you’ve assumed for months. 

“I don’t know,” he looks as lost as you feel right now, drowning in the panic of his own mortality. His own brain ceasing to work. You’ve seen the signs of dementia for months, and now the moment you need his help the most, he can’t think straight. You need his brain. You need to talk through this. 

“Gurney!” Someone yells, pushing toward you with the homemade gurney. It’s more of a litter you’d find in a medieval era movie, but it does the trick. 

They slam it to the ground, you don’t even have to let out the instructions before someone is counting and Adam is moved onto the stretcher. “Carefully!” You keep pressure on his wound, it’s definitely bleeding again. They must’ve missed something or it’s been bleeding internally all this time. Damnit! 

You’re almost to the clinic when you hear it, a life preserver in the raging ocean, Ellie’s voice. “JOEL!”

You turn to see her arms wrapped around his midsection, holding her as tight as she does to him. His eyes flicker to yours, and it’s like you snap back into your body with a thud, your mind crisp and clear. He smiles weakly your way and you can breathe again. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you. You’re pretty sure you’ve technically just performed a surgery you were in the room for once as a nurse 22 years ago. You probably missed most of the steps, but you know it was Adam’s only hope. Joyce Dobbins comes in with a poultice that’s supposed to help fight infection and “doctors him right up” as she likes to say. You don’t know enough to have an opinion. She’s the herbalist. 

You shower at the clinic, bones weary and eyelids drooping. Joyce knows enough to monitor him over night as does Rachel, Adam’s wife. 

You stumble home, the days events replaying on repeat in your head. The multiple times you thought you were going to lose Adam yet he somehow never faded. Lindsey’s never ending sobs from the backroom as she mourned Paul, you delivered their baby three years ago. Joel standing there giving you exactly what you needed so you could save a friend. 

Most of the time, it’s easy to ignore the dangers of the outside world while tucked within the walls of Jackson, your slice of normal in the world. Tonight is not one of them. 

You stumble up the porch stairs, anything but graceful as you cross the threshold. The house is quiet- no, peaceful. It’s an odd feeling compared to your raging mind. The house is clean, spotless. The orange glow of your living room lamp and the kitchen light warm you. Rumours spins in the corner, halfway through Songbird. You catch Joel in the kitchen wiping down the countertops. Your tea kettle whistles softly as he turns off the gas stove. 

“Joel…” your voice is hoarse. He spins around. He doesn’t smile, only walks toward you, pulling your limp frame into his as soon as he can. “I missed you,” you whisper. 

“I missed you too, Sweetheart.” His face burrows into the crook of your neck. 

“I thought…” you can’t finish the sentence without tears falling down your cheeks. He rocks you both softly. 

“Shhh, I know. I know.”

He kisses your head softly and then your lips. As much as you want to fall into bed, he forces you to eat something, drink the tea he’s brewed for you. You can barely sit upright, but you eat and drink and finally, he guides you upstairs, tucks you into bed, and curls up behind you. You fall asleep before he starts whispering sweet reassurances in your ear. 

You pull yourself out of bed earlier than you should. You have to go check in on Adam at the clinic. No news is good news. Anytime you’re not dragged out of bed after a day like yesterday, it’s a good thing. 

He’s not conscious but his fever is lower than it was when you left and that eases your worries some. Rachel doesn’t leave his bedside. 

Lindsey is in the backroom as they re- wrap Paul’s body. They’ll bury him today. He’s already been dead for three days. You take Lindsey’s hand without a word, standing solemn next to her. 

A hot tear marks your cheek as you watch Maria and Joyce diligently work. You were never awarded this luxury, could never gaze upon Gabe’s face one last time. Didn’t get to say goodbye. 

He has a tombstone in the cemetery. You don’t visit it often. He’s not there, his ashes spread to the wind now, rolling over the earth like invisible tumbleweeds. He probably likes that better anyway. 

The funeral is short, but all of Jackson crowds around for the service, to bury their fallen friend. Joel holds you close, arm wrapped around your waist. You lean heavy against him, gaining all your support from his frame. Carter and Ellie sit on the ground in front of you. 

When it’s time to lower Paul into the ground, Joel makes sure you’re steady on your feet before joining the rest of the patrol group. Adam is still unconscious in the clinic. They lower his body to the ground with precision that is too practiced. You wonder if he’s thinking of her, how he had to leave her body behind. He calls out her name at night sometimes. You know he’s reliving the night Sarah died. 

Lindsey’s cries start to pick up again. You slide onto the bench beside her, squeezing her hand tightly. Grace sits opposite you and Elaine stands behind. You don’t know Lindsey that well, but she’s joined your ranks now. Other women who have lost spouses close in around the grieving woman, a moment of solidarity. It’s a group that’s too large for your liking, too many lives taken. 

Joel holds your hand on the walk home. You keep walking, taking your path earlier than normal. You don’t speak, too many memories in your mind, too many emotions flooding your heart. 

You stop in at the clinic. Adam is in and out of consciousness. Joyce is giving him something for the pain. 

You cut your walk short, just one lap tonight. There’s a note on the door. Carter is at Maria and Tommy’s for a sleepover. You sigh in relief, thankful to not have to worry about another human being tonight.

Joel helps you out of your shoes. He helps you upstairs. His hands move slowly over you, half roaming, half massaging your weary muscles. He follows your collarbone and shucks the cardigan from your shoulders, frees you from your jeans leaving you in nothing but a tank top. It’s one of the few times his eyes don’t immediately land on your exposed crotch. He can’t help but chuckle at your commitment to not wearing underwear. 

Fingers delve into your tight calves. You let out a soft moan as you fall back into the mattress, sheets cool against your skin. 

Your eyes close, relishing in the feeling of him. This is the first real chance you’ve had to spend together since he got back. There’s nothing inherently sensual to his movements and the way he touches you, but your body heats in response, craving the connection, the assurance. 

The air shifts as your breath hitches. His fingers crawl up your legs leaving tiny trails of fire as he presses a kiss to each of your calves. Desire begins to burn in your body, slow and hot. “Joel…” You moan, legs falling open. 

“I know, Sweetheart,” He feels it too, voice low and thick as his eyes darken. “I know.”

Your hands tangle in his curls as he takes his time covering your thighs in kisses, swiping his tongue over your skin from time to time. “I’m here,” he says again. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

There’s no rush to the finish line, neither of you have the energy for that tonight. It’s slow, languid like a hike up a steep cliff as his mouth slowly greets your slick cunt, his tongue runs through your folds at a steady pace over and over and over and over. He’s pulling you closer to the edge, taking his time until finally, you cry out arching into his mouth, spilling more of yourself onto his tongue. 

He pulls away, chin glistening in your soft bedroom light, proud smile on his lips. “That’s my girl.” 

You whimper in response, hands traveling up his forearms. His calloused palms roam over your thighs and hip, fingers drawing soft patterns across your skin. 

Leading with his lips, he makes his way up your sternum. Not a drop of urgency in his body, he eases up your tank top. It’s like he has all the time in the world. You wish for all the time in the world as long as you get to spend it with him. 

Finally, his lips meet yours. You taste yourself on his lips as he pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your hands wander his shoulder and neck, your fingers glide through his hair again. Nails rake down his back. At some point he shed his shirt and pants, leaving him bare against you. 

“Lay on your back,” you say.

He pulls back slowly, eyebrows raised. “What are you thinking about?”

“Having you on your back.”

He chuckles, warm arms wrapping around your middle as he rolls over. You brace yourself on your knees. His hard cock presses against your thigh. You run it through your folds. Joel lets out a soft moan as his eyes glaze with lust. “Fuck, Sweetheart. Let me in there.”

“Patience,” you chide, but have no intention of keeping him waiting for long. 

You nudge his dick against your clit, sending sparks through your veins until you center your opening over him. He holds your hips as you slowly sink onto him. You stretch around him, filling you so completely. Once you’ve taken him to the hilt, you sit there, eyes focused on each other exchanging soft pants. 

Your cunt clenches around him, pulling moans from both of you, but you don’t move, hands finding purchase against his soft stomach, thumb running through his dark happy trail. The two of you bask in the feeling of your skin against the other’s, desperate for the certainty that you’re alive and breathing, that the blur you’re living in is reality and you still have each other. 

He cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your teeth scrape against it. Then you lift up just a little bit, keeping him mostly inside you before you sink back down. You keep the slow pace as you ease up and down, increasing the distance a little more each time.

 Joel’s eyes never move from you, sometimes meeting yours and other times appreciating your naked form above him. His hand trails down your torso, finding the wet heat of your core. He finds your clit with the precision only granted by his familiarity with your body. He has you memorized, every single inch of you. 

You let out a sharp gasp when he touches you. He holds his thumb steady against you, letting your movements drag his thumb across your clit. You clench around him and he groans. Up and down, your hands perched on his hairy chest, nails biting into his pecs.

 As you draw nearer to the peak, Joel starts to meet you, hitting a different angle inside of you. You let out a long moan, head tipping backward. Then you reach the crest, cunt milking his cock, coming undone on top of him. 

Sweat beads along Joel's forehead as your dripping pussy flutters around him. He’s not far behind you, filling you with his spend. The feel of him inside you, coating you, causes another breathy moan to leave your lips. 

“Fuck, Sweetheart.” He pants, pulling you down beside him, sweaty skin flush against his. 

You smile softly at him, brushing the curl in front of his forehead back. He kisses your palm. You should feel guilty for enjoying Joel’s comforts, his warm skin against yours when Lindsey lays in an empty bed across the way, but all you feel is relief. You’re grateful to be spared heartache for once. 

Eventually, Joel rolls out of bed, returning with a warm washcloth to clean up the mess he left behind. You’ve pulled on his white tshirt. You don’t say a word, just stare at him in the lamp light. He’s beautiful, a gentle giant, and he’s yours. 

When he crawls back beside you, he looks at you like he reads every thought in your mind, kisses your forehead, and turns out the lamp. You turn on your side. He spoons you, arm thrown over your waist. 

His soft snores start to play in your ears. The crease in his forehead is nonexistent with sleep as you look over your shoulder. Then, it hits you. You’re happy here with him despite the last 48 hours. It feels wrong, like you cheated death. You just hope it doesn’t come back to collect double, but you’re so damn happy. Joel Miller has permeated every single fiber of your being. 

You’ve known this, but now, you accept it. Your muscles tense with it. It’s not enough to send you spiraling by any means, but you fought it for so long, you’re not sure how to proceed. You could tell him now, wake him up and finally let the words slip off your tongue. More tension gathers between your shoulders. 

Joel mumbles, tightening his grip around you as he pulls you flush against him. He kisses your shoulder. 

“Don’t start with that.” Sleep coats his voice. You wonder how he’s so in tune with you even in sleep he can feel the tension. 

“Don’t think it works like that.”

He hums, squeezing you again. His lips press between your shoulder blades, beard brushing against your skin sweeping the tension away, pulling the thoughts from your head. 

He chuckles as you sink into him. “You sure about that.”

You reach behind you. Your nails rake over his thigh, just above his knee until you find your target. You pluck one of his leg hairs with a practiced precision. 

“Ow! Not nice!”

You laugh, burrowing into your pillow. “Go to sleep, old man.”

“Goodnight, Sweetheart.” He kisses your cheek, holding you so close your brain can’t think of anything but his solid frame at your back. 

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter seventy two

close to home | chapter seventy two

plot: winter passes and the reader hits her ninth month of pregnancy

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 3,736 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd, childbirth A/N: thank you for reading lovelies. Any guesses on baby Dixon's name?

The blizzard kept you and twenty other people inside Aaron’s house for two nights. You made Judith and RJ pile into one sleeping bag, and then you slept beside them both nights—which the baby spent kicking you. You took it as a sign that she didn’t care for the cold weather either. 

You woke up the second morning to the sun shining through the windows and the digital clock on. You nearly wept at the sight of it, and the first thing you did was go out the front door. 

There was at least three feet of snow. But the sun was shining bright, and it was a bit warmer. And other members of the community were out, and already at work. 

The people you were with joined in soon, and streets were being shoveled while the kids were out to play. You, Rosita, and Gabriel walked along the community for any damage from the storm, but thankfully there wasn’t any. 

It was nearing lunch when you got word that the Kingdom escort party was close. So you gathered up Judith and RJ and walked with them to wait at the gate. 

Finally, they pulled open, and you couldn’t stop running toward Daryl when you saw him. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and his shawl was speckled in snow. 

“I missed you,” You smiled as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I was so worried about you.” 

“Nothin’ we couldn’ handle, baby girl.” Daryl said, kissing your forehead. “How was everythin’ here? Baby okay?”

“She’s good,” You said before kissing him. When you stepped back, he set his hands on your belly. 

“Kickin’ up a storm.” He said with a smile. 

You glanced behind him as you saw Carol approaching. You hadn’t seen her in months, not since the fair and everything after. Despite how broken she looked, she smiled when she saw you. 

“Daryl said you were getting big. I just didn’t expect this,” She said as she gave you a hug. 

You closed your eyes at her familiarness for a moment. “I didn’t expect you. I’m so happy to see you here.” You saw Lydia hesitating behind you, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. “How was the trip?”

“I’ll tell ya ‘bout it later,” Daryl wrapped an arm around you, and you looked back at Michonne, who nodded. You were sure you’d hear from her as well. 

***

Carol took the room across from RJ’s, and you gave Lydia your old one. She seemed distraught and nervous and wouldn’t look you in the eye. You weren’t sure what to say to the girl either, so you told her where to find you and that she was welcome to anything in the house. Then you let her be. 

Michonne was with the kids in the living room when you walked downstairs, and you could hear Daryl in the kitchen. The fireplace was going, and you smiled at the warmth. 

“I am so glad I’m off babysitting duty,” You carefully sat down on the chair and then wrapped your hands around your stomach. “Those little brats kept me busy the whole time you were away.” 

Both Judith and RJ told Michonne relentlessly that they were very well-behaved while she was gone, and you smiled as you watched Michonne tease them. Your heart aches in a beautiful way. 

You heard a freak in the floorboard and looked up at Lydia, who was standing on the steps. 

“You can come down. It’s warm by the fire.” You told her. She hesitated again but came down and sat in the other chair. 

After that, Daryl walked into the room and sat down on the arm of the chair you were in, handing you a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich. Your stomach grumbled just at the sight of it, and you quickly took a bite. 

“How bad was the Kingdom?” You asked through your food. 

“Bad,” Michonne propped her feet up on the coffee table. “Fire burnt through a lot of the buildings. But the people are good. They’ll be happy in Hilltop. And Hilltop could use the extra help.” 

You nodded slowly. It broke your heart you’d never see it again. If you’d known the last time you were there would be the last time, you would’ve stayed a bit longer. 

“Any letters from Maggie?” You asked. 

“Nothing.”

You shook your head. You sent a few letters in the beginning, ones she responded to. But you stopped when she stopped responding, and anger toward your cousin was a flame that didn’t settle. No matter how many years had passed. 

“I didn’t think so.” You finished the last bit of your sandwich as Judith and Michonne talked. You tugged on Daryl’s arm, and he looked back at you, running his hand on the back of your head. “I’m still hungry.” 

He snorted. “‘aight darlin’, I’ll make ya more.” 

***

Dog was whining for your attention as you stared out the window. It must be close to midnight, and the community was asleep. The full moon reflected off the snow, and you could see everything. It was a beautiful winter wonderland, and you sighed with content at the sight of it. 

You could see the footprints from the children playing earlier and the mostly shoveled streets. It looked so lived in. So safe. 

Dog nudged the underside of your belly, and you smiled as you petted his ears. After another moment passed, you turned to the bed and sat down. You were waiting for Daryl, who needed to get something before you could sleep. After a week without him next to you, you were more than ready to pass out in his arms. 

“Finally,” You muttered when the door opened and your husband entered. “What’s that?”

“It was supposed to be a birthday present, but I wasn’ able to get to Hilltop to get it,” Daryl said.

“My birthday was months ago,” You smiled at the cloth-wrapped item in his hands. “And you didn’t let me get you anything. That’s not very fair.”

“Ya did give me somethin’ if I remember correctly.” Daryl sat next to you, and you blushed as you remembered the morning of his birthday earlier this year. How you had woken him up. 

“That doesn’t count.”

Daryl ignored you and put the gift in your lap. You eyed him suspiciously before you unwrapped it. “Oh my God,” You mumbled under your breath as you pulled out the bow. 

It was heavy in your hand, and the metal glistened from the lamp. The grip handle was a sleek dark wood, while the upper and lower limbs were metal. They ended in sharp, serrated tips. Weapons built into a weapon. 

“This is beautiful…” You said, carefully spinning it in your hands. Still lying on the cloth was a black leather arrow quiver with thin pockets that held blades. You recognized the arrows immediately. They were made by Daryl. “How did you… who made this?”

“I owe Alden and Earl a few favors,” Daryl said, cheeks a bit red. “I know ya lost ya old one, and I know for a fact nothin’ is gonna keep ya behind these walls forever. Wanted ya to have somethin’ that’ll help ya get back home.”

You looked back down at the bow and shook your head. “You are a wonder, Dixon. You know that?”

“Ain’ nothin’, really.” 

You leaned over to him to shut him up with a quick but tender kiss. “It’s everything.”

The bed dipped as you stood up and tested the bow's weight. You were definitely going to need to train with it. The wooden one you were used to was much lighter, and you would need to get used to the blades at the ends of it. You’d have to have Michonne help you wield it like her katana. You brought the bow up and pulled the string, testing its strength. 

“Ya look real good with it.”

You laughed and lowered the weapon. “You think I look good with anything.”

“Or nothin’.”

You laughed again and carefully set the bow on the dresser. “I love it. I really, really love it.” You crawled over the bed to sit down on his lap. “I’m gonna have to figure out what to get you now since you got me something so amazing.”

Daryl shook his head and set a hand on your belly. “Ya givin’ me more than enough.”

You smiled and kissed his nose. “You say that now, but when there’s a screaming baby here in three months, and we haven’t slept in days, you might feel differently.” You lightly joked and leaned your forehead against his mouth. You closed your eyes as he pressed a few kisses against your skin and then leaned back to look at him. 

“I can’t believe how far we’ve come,” You said. “The prison feels so far away. A whole other life. I wish I could go back, just for a day. I miss them. So much.”

Daryl pushed your hair behind your ear. “I know, baby girl, me too.”

“Who would’ve thought we’d end up here.” You smiled sadly. 

“Ya happy ya didn’ kill me then?”

That made you laugh away the sadness that had crept into your heart, and you set your hands on either side of Daryl’s face. “Nah. I shoulda taken the shot.” 

Daryl gave you a look before tickling your sides, and your body jerked away from him. “Stop, stop! She’s on my bladder. You’re gonna make me pee.” You laughed loudly. 

“Kinky.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his wrists to keep him from further assaulting you. “You’re so funny, old man.” You set your hand against his cheek, fingers running over the bumps and facial hair. “You’ve changed so much since we first met.”

“So have ya,”

“Yeah, but you really have. You’ve become a man I admire so much. You’re beautiful, Daryl. Truly.”

He kissed the palm of your hand. “I think ya sleep deprived.”

You smiled and kissed his nose again before lying next to him. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean what I said isn’t true.”

***

By month nine of your pregnancy, you were on overdrive. Daryl couldn’t keep up with your emotions. One moment, you were crying; the other, you were yelling at him because he wore his boots inside the bedroom, and then you were crying again and telling him you were sorry. And then you asked why he wasn’t sorry, and it started all over again. 

Every emotion made his head spin.

And that didn’t include how you made your problems, Daryl problems. If you were uncomfortable, it was his fault. If you were too hot, it was his fault. Everything was his fault because he got you pregnant and wasn’t carrying around a baby. And that was when the hormones kicked in and you begged him not to be mad at you, and it circled around again. 

He just kept telling himself one more month. One more month, and then the baby would be here, and you’d be normal again. At least, that was what he hoped. 

Still, he wouldn’t change anything. He didn’t care if he had to wake up at four in the morning to help you out of bed so you could use the bathroom, or if you needed water or food, or if your feet hurt and your ankles were swollen. He didn’t care about any of it. Because it was you, and he loved you. And he wanted to be there for you in every single way. 

What he didn’t care for was the nesting. You’d made him and Aaron rearrange the baby’s room six times. You folded and refolded cloth diapers and clothes donated by everyone in the community. And when Rosita was over, forget about it. The two of you were dangerous together. Nothing stays the same if you and Rosita share an opinion about where a damn baby book should go. 

Michonne reassured Daryl every day that this was normal. That you were processing the emotions, and your body was getting ready to deliver. So he held on to that. Even if the eighth time you asked him to move the crib made him want to pull out all his hair. 

She’s carrying my baby, she’s carrying my baby. He repeated it like a mantra to get him through the days. 

And then it was your estimated due date. And he hung around all day with you, doing any and everything you asked for, no matter how big or small it was. But then the day passed, and then the next, and a few more. 

He was getting nervous despite the morning ultrasounds that told him that the baby was fine and that she was taking her time. Just like her damn mother, Daryl had thought. He knew he was getting impatient. But each day made him more and more worried. 

“That’s it. Your pacing is driving me crazy.” You said one morning, a week past your due date. “Go hang out with Aaron for a few hours. I need some peace and quiet.” 

“Ya a week late,” Daryl said with a bit of anger in his voice. “‘M gettin’ worried. What if ya need a c-section?”

“Then Siddiq and Dante will handle it. Please, honey, I just need to be alone for a little while.”

Daryl rubbed his chin and sighed. “Okay, okay.” He walked over to you and kissed your forehead. 

“I love you. Just relax and have some fun, okay? I’m just gonna take a nap.” 

“Ya need anythin’ before I go?”

“No, no. Get out. Before I skin you. alive” 

Daryl shook his head with a slight smile and finally left you to have some peace and quiet. And he needed a break from worrying about you every second, too. So he walked to Aaron’s house, appreciating the mild late March weather. 

When Aaron opened the door, he laughed. “She kick you out again?”

***

Daryl was finally relaxed when he heard Dog barking down the street. Both he and Aaron were immediately on their feet and flying out the door. Dog was on the porch, barking and running back and forth, and Daryl took the steps two at a time. 

“My water broke,” He heard your voice as he rounded the corner, where a very pregnant Rosita was trying to help you off the chair. “The chair is fucking ruined.” 

Rosita looked up with a thankful look on her face as Daryl approached, helping you stand. “Ya okay?”

“She’s coming,” You said, wincing as you tried to take a step. 

Aaron came around to your other side and helped you. “We gotta get to the infirmary.”

You groaned in pain, and Daryl felt your weight shift. “Oh my God, she’s coming.”

Daryl and Aaron shared a look before helping you out of the house. Dog was barking like crazy, and in the distance, he could see Michonne running down the street toward you guys. 

“Is it time?” She rushed out when she caught up. 

“Yeah, it’s time,” You nearly screamed. 

Getting to the infirmary took more time than Daryl wanted, but soon, Siddiq and Dante rushed out the doors and yelled where to put you. 

“This is her second labor, and her water broke,” He heard Siddiq say quietly to Dante. “The baby is going to come quickly. Are you ready for this?” He asked the newcomer. 

Daryl felt like he was going to be sick. 

“Daryl, get over here now!” Rosita yelled. 

Her voice snapped him into action, and he walked over to you on the bed. “Hey pretty girl, ya doin’ okay?”

You shook your head and reached for his hand. “The contractions are fast. They came out of nowhere. Oh my--.” You yelled in pain, squeezing his hand hard. 

“Siddiq, get over here now!” Rosita yelled. Daryl watched as she moved quickly, pulling off your sweatpants and putting a blanket over your bare legs. He felt like he couldn’t keep up. Everything around him was happening so quickly, and he felt frozen. 

Daryl wasn’t sure how word spread so quickly that you were in labor because soon, your family started showing up. First, it was Eugene, then Gabriel, and Carol. Judith brought RJ, and he barely had time to think about how the word reached the school. The room got crowded within minutes, all while Daryl had no voice. 

“Okay, okay,” Siddiq yelled. “There are too many people in this room. (Y/N), you gotta tell me who you want in here.”

“I want Daryl to deliver the baby.” 

Your words snapped him into reality, and he realized where he was and why. 

“What?” Daryl asked you. “I don’... I can’...”

“Listen to me, Daryl Dixon,” You yelled, fisting his shirt in your hand. “You did this to me, you son of a bitch, now you’re gonna deliver our daughter. Siddiq will be there with you, but I want you down there. Now. And I don’t wanna hear any of your shit.”

Daryl breathed out in panic and walked over to Siddiq, who instructed him to wash his hands. While doing so, he heard you ask Rosita and Michonne to stay, and Dante had everyone else wait outside the room. 

“Alright, this baby is coming quickly. From the morning ultrasound, everything should be fine for a clean birth. We’ll check and see how dilated she is and if she can push.” Siddiq explained to Daryl. He had the archer sit down in a chair as he helped you prop up your legs and fold the blanket back. 

“Why is she bleedin’?” Daryl asked. 

“It’s normal. I’ve been reading everything I can about childbirth.” Siddiq said. 

Daryl looked up at you. You had Rosita and Michonne’s hands, and they encouraged you. His stomach dropped at the look of pain on your face, the sweat that had your hair damp. His hands started shaking, and he felt like he was going to be sick. 

“Okay, it’s almost time to start pushing. Jesus, she’s coming fast.”

***

“It hurts,” You cried, staring up at Michonne. 

“I know, I know.” Your friend soothed you. “It’s going to hurt. It will hurt so bad, but you’re doing so well. You’re doing so good, honey.”

You sobbed as another contraction hit you. It wasn’t just like period cramps anymore. These were full-body contractions that had you sweating and shaking. 

“Is it time?” Rosita yelled over your cries. 

“Almost.”

“I can’t do this,” You cried. “I can’t do this, it’s been two hours.”

“You can and you will,” Rosita said, turning back to you. “Don’t you whimp out on me now, bitch.” 

You nodded and glanced at Daryl, who listened to everything Siddiq said. His face was probably paler than yours, and you could see the anxiety coming out of his ears like steam. Your eyes met, and he looked at you momentarily before placing his hand over his heart. 

You sobbed, your head hitting the pillow as another contraction hit. “I have to push. I have to push.”

“Not yet (Y/N), you’re going to tire yourself out,” Siddiq said. “She’s about nine centimeters. You’re almost there.”

“Oh, just kill me now,” You cried.

Michonne and Rosita gripped your hands tightly as you shifted, trying to get more comfortable. You weren’t sure how many more contractions passed until you heard Siddiq yell out, “I can see her head. Okay, (Y/N), you need to start pushing. Daryl, you’re going to need to…” His words were lost on you.

You grimaced, squeezed Rosita and Michonne’s hand, and took a deep breath. “I can do this. I can do this.”

“Come on, babe,” Rosita said. 

The sound of your screams bounced off the walls as you pushed as hard as you could. Everything was on fire, and your legs were numb. But you pushed and fought the pain harder than you ever did with anything else. Each swipe of a blade, bullet, and stab wound was nothing compared to this. It was nothing compared to how hard you fought right now. 

“Keep the head up, just like that, I got the shoulders.”

Rosita cursed under her breath when you squeezed her hand especially hard. 

“Daryl, as soon as the shoulders are out you’re gonna pull the baby gently, okay? Alright and… pull.”

You screamed in pain, and your vision blurred. But then you heard the sound of a baby crying, and something inside you stirred. 

“My baby,” You said weakly. “Let me hold her, give me my baby…” You could hear how weak your voice was. 

“Hold on, baby girl,” Daryl said, cradling the baby. 

“Here dad, you get to clip the cord.” Dante said, handing your husband a pair of surgery scissors. 

Your heart melted as you watched Daryl do so, and then he walked over with the crying baby. Your cheeks were soaked, and your body was in a pain you’d never experienced before without an epidural. 

But when your husband passed you your crying baby, and you held her in your arms, everything was perfect. 

“My baby…” You breathed out, holding her against your skin. You didn’t care your blood was all over her or that she was covered in gunk from the womb. She was here. Safe. Alive. 

Daryl knelt beside you, and you looked at him, smiling through your tears. “We did it.” You cried. 

“I’m so proud of ya,” Daryl choked out, his eyes bouncing back and forth. 

You looked back at your baby and her red face. She was screaming her head off so loud you thought you’d go deaf. But it was music to your ears. She was alive. 

“She’s perfect,” You said to Daryl. He pressed a kiss on your shoulder. 

You gently kissed the baby’s head as Daryl’s hand covered yours under the baby’s back. 

“(Y/N), we gotta get the afterbirth delivered sooner than later. Dante’s gonna take her and get her cleaned up, okay?” 

You looked at the man and then at Daryl. “Go with her,” You said. You gently passed the baby to your husband and got ready to finish the delivery. 

[thepaleys]

The Paleys Return to Russia

In January 1912, Grand Duke Paul returned to favor with Emperor Nicholas II. After more than a decade of exile, the latter, on the eve of the celebrations of the tercentenary of the Romanov dynasty, finally decided to forgive the disobedience of his uncle, the only surviving brother of his father, Alexander III. To legitimize this decision, he named him, by imperial ukase, honorary leader of the seventy-ninth Kourinsky infantry regiment.

Quite naturally, from then on, the Grand Duke wished to leave France in order to return definitively to Russia with his family. During the same year, he went to Tsarskoye-Sélo – where the Tsar and his family resided –, in order to have a palace built there. Inspired by his home in Boulogne-sur-Seine, it was built and decorated by workers who came especially from France and was not yet completed when the family moved in May 1914.

The furniture arrived by train from their Parisian home, the paintings, the display cases, all the objects bought during trips to Italy, Germany...

For Natalie, then almost nine years old and who, until that moment had only left Boulogne to travel to Bavaria, to Biarritz - they spent several weeks each year in their Villa Coquette - or to spa towns like Vichy, such a journey was a real adventure. Of all her familiar entourage, only Miss Theureau and Miss White accompanied Natalie to her new life. Nothing could have prepared her to face this country, both archaic and wonderfully civilized.

"One morning, we were horrified to see, along the Volga, a group of peasant women, strapped like prisoners, trying to haul a barge with great difficulty; the next day, when we returned from a sleigh ride in a countryside dazzling with whiteness, a servant rushed to dust the snow from our clothes with a brush reserved for this only use. That was his only function," recalled Irina Paley.

We can easily imagine her amazement upon discovering Saint Petersburg, where Natalie stayed for a while in her father's palace at the English Embankment, while the family waited to move to Tsarskoye-Sélo. (...) When she arrived in Tsarskoye Selo - the railway linking the Tsar's village to Saint Petersburg, completed in 1837, was the first to be built in Russia - the memory of Pushkin was still ever present (...)

The residence of Grand Duke Paul was surrounded by a French garden and a black wrought iron gate where the letter P. in Cyrillic was inlaid in a series of gilded bronze medallions surmounted by an imperial crown. Lanterns decorated with acanthus leaves were lit - the town had been the first in all of Europe to receive electricity - from dusk and provided an iridescent light on the snow in winter.

A series of salons - the Countess of Hohenfelsen organized the lives of her family from the pink salon for which she had brought all his favorite objects - a ballroom which was never used, a ceremonial dining room - pieces of silverware sparkled in the windows and crystals from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries shone and of course a spacious library... such was the new setting in which Natalie now moved.

The return to Russia was an opportunity for her to discover a large, almost unknown family: her maternal grandmother, Olga Vassilievna Meszaros, whom everyone called Babaka, her half-sisters Marianne and Olga, as well as their brother Alexandre, without forgetting her cousins the Grand Duchesses Olga, Tatiana, Marie and Anastasia, daughters of Emperor Nicholas II. (...)

They met at church or on walks, either in the gardens of the Alexander Palace, which formerly sheltered elk and wild boars intended for hunting parties organized to entertain the court, or in the park of the Grand Palace, where a delightful Chinese Theater red and gold, a whim of Catherine II, rose among the pines.

During the first weeks, life resumed its normal course. Every Sunday, Natalie and her parents attended mass as always, most often at the Féodorovski Sobor, where the sovereigns also went. The little girl met her godfather there, Grand Duke Nicholas Mikhailovich, and many of their acquaintances.

"Natalie Paley: princesse en exil" - Jean Noel Liaut

[edmufics]

S5 Theory Part Three

SO

Here are my theories with all the info I have from The Dark Tower universe.

Disclaimer: Im not saying any of these are right, likely to happen, or that I necessarily even want them to happen. I just think that btwn learning ab TDT and rewatching stranger things, these are fun theories to consider!

*SPOILERS FOR SEASON 1-4 AHEAD*

*MENTIONS OF S5 BTS CONTENT AHEAD* I think S5 will come out on July 15th, 2025—the ninth anniversary! It will take place over the course of several months rather than a week or two like we have seen in the past. I think it will start in late summer, back-to-school time. I think we will see a lot more of Mr. Clark this season, and he will fill some of the scientist roles (along with new casting) we will be missing after S4's deaths. We will see a lot more flashbacks this season, either due to trying to keep Vecna out with positive memories or just reminiscing. Vecna will return to Hawkins lab at some point. Possibly a significant battle or it will be his lair. Vecna takes Holly, but I'm not sure he kills her (Like an 80% chance he does tho) I think with the increased army presence, we may see the kids lose the ability to see or visit Max (since she is a Venca victim). Nancy has a candy stripper/nurse outfit this season because they are trying to sneak in to see/save her in some way. I'm at about 60% on the chance of Kalli coming back. If she does, it will either help El train or help El defeat Vecna. Nancy detective journalist era, but she isn't going to leave for college. She would never just dip like that. Stobin or Nancy work at the radio station set we've seen. Hopper will either be stuck in hiding with El or in the army, but only as a means of gathering intel.

I think that people were not far off on the Kas theory. I think there will be a character that represents Kas, but it'll be Will. In S4 they talk about how Vecna doesn't kill his victims, he absorbs their abilities/souls. We also see that El can revive the dead (Max) in some way. That skill isn't practiced on her part, and we know Vecna is stronger than she is. I think Vecna kills Will and then revives him using memories like El did to Max, but only uses his darkest memories. These memories turn him against his friends, at which point he becomes Kas. Mike will be the key to getting Will back (since Mike is the heart). Mike will have to confront his romantic or platonic feelings for Will while reminding him of their good memories. This will lead to Will delivering the final blow to Vecna (like Kas) when he remembers.

I also think the idea of "Twinners" from The Talisman will come into play, but not quite in the same way. Instead of them all having Upside Down twins, I think Vecna will reanimate the corpses of his victims (since we've seen that the bodies are still in the Upside Down) and use these reanimated corpses to torture the MCs. Especially bc we know that it's all a hive mind so anyone killed by a part of Vecna's hive mind was technically killed by Vecna (depending on if thats how they wanna spin it). Specifically, I think Dustin will be either Vecna'd (but not killed) or have to see Eddie's reanimated corpse (fitting in with strange similarities between Eddie and Metallica's Eddie). Barb will return to torture Nancy, Bob returning for Joyce, etc.

In the Talisman universe, there is a plot where the person who opens the gate banishes himself to an alternate universe and closes the gate forever, forcing himself to leave behind everyone he loves. I think this is how El's story will end. She won't die but instead will have to stay in the Upside Down forever. In the end, we will see a crying Mike looking up and noticing the light above him glowing brightly, showing how he and El may continue communicating.

Characters I think could die:

Vicki (they loooove giving us a new character to fall in love with so they can brutally kill them that same season)

Steve (sacrificing himself for the Dustin, Robin, or Johnathan.) Holly (Maybe, it just seems too easy) Dr. Owens Vecna (Duh) Either Lucas or Max (I think Max may come back only to lose Lucas) Murray Ted Wheeler Wayne Munson (following Eddie's reanimated corpse into the upside down; I think that's how they reveal that Vecna reanimated the bodies)

Characters that I think are 100% going to survive: Mike Dustin (will try to be a hero like Eddie, but Steve will sacrifice himself to save Dustin (I think at the church)) Will Joyce Karen Wheeler

Anyone else, I'm not sure they are safe, but I also don't think they are going to die.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk!

[romanbymarta]

Roman Polanski and Emmanuelle Seigner on the set of "The Ninth Gate"

[chimaerakirin]

SOULSEKAI

It's the end of the world as they know it, and Shigaraki Tomura feels fine. February 26, 6 AM. This is not what he was planning to do today, but he can work with it. Frankly, this might be even better. This is not at all what Midoriya Izuku was planning to do today, and it's a disaster. He's going to miss the UA Entrance Exam! Where are his shoes, and who's this voice in his head calling him Ninth?

Rated M for violence (Soulslike-appropriate) and Language (also Soulslike-appropriate). Later chapters may go up to E, because I will not allow Tomura to be maidenless.

<- First - SECOND - Third ->

The First Cairn

Tomura walks for maybe an hour before finding anything beyond a few more dead bodies. One of those has the Glyph that goes into his knife, or at least one that can. A coin thing that looks an awful lot like plastic resin but doesn't sound like it when tapped with a nail, translucent with a Tron blue symbol suspended in it, the symbol uses sweeping lines and sharp curls to form a stylized man either sidestepping or running. Or at least he thinks that's what it is. Either way, his knife now has the Quickstep active ability, which eats 4 FP and 8 STA to dash better than sprinting, on DEX scaling. He's not sure whether that scaling increases speed or distance, but he'll find out.

Then he gets to the mouth of the canyon and finds the rock pile. Or maybe a rock stack. Either way, it's a little taller than he is and too big around to hug if he wanted to try, but not by much. And there's a tattered strip of cloth trapped under the top rock like a banner. Well, if that's not important…

The instant he touches it, it lights up, more Tron blue swirling around it then lasering up into the sky with a flash before fading to a beam with a sort of flashlight-in-fog level of brightness. Emphasis on fog, there's little wisps of cloud around it.

[Defiler's End Cairn unlocked], the system announces. In the corner of his vision, his HP and FP bars instantly refill.

"Cairn menu," he tries.

First, there's [Set Sanctuary], which doesn't explain shit. [Fast Travel] is grayed out. Fair enough, there's nowhere to go. [Map] is available underneath it, but it's all black except for the canyon and the narrow cone he can see from here. Under that, there's something that isn't grayed out so much as completely blocked, text unreadable. Next there's [Cache], which is apparently his overflow or deathproof inventory. Then there's [Motes Of Life], which requires something he hasn't found yet but has a grayed out option to [Restore] whatever it is. Finally there's [Invoke Stele], which explains about as much as the Sanctuary thing. There's nothing about leveling up though. Guess that really does require a Fire Keeper.

He closes the menu, then climbs the cairn for a better view. There's an old castle in the distance, a bit crumbly looking, with smoke rising. Guess that's his next stop. He jumps down and starts walking again.

The castle is smaller than it looks, and closer too. He's there in only a few minutes, and he can see that the outer walls have come down in one corner. It's partially made up with log palisades, but there's no gate, just some sharpened stake fencing with an unlit campfire outside. He can see a couple of people patrolling the stone portion of the walls, but that's it, and they haven't noticed him yet, so he's able to get up to the base of the wall and edge around it. He can't get through without being seen though, not from this side, so he skirts around in search of the main gate.

That's a proper portcullis, and it's closed, but it's not watched, it's not spiked, and there's some convenient damage to the stonework around the upper arch. A tricky climb, to the gatehouse window, but not impossible. It only takes a minute, and that only because he has to test the cracks in the stone. The real problem is that the gatehouse window is just narrow enough that he has to take off his hoodie and baldric, turn sideways, and endure the scraping that takes off five HP and three Durability on his shirt. Which requires climbing back to the ground first, because he can't actually use the Equip menu while clinging to the wall any more than he can strip manually, the interface just grays out.

But he does get in, and discovers why the residents are bothering to guard a hole in the wall instead of an actual gate. The portcullis chain is severed, the windlass smashed, and the door barricaded from the inside. The gatekeeper is still at his post, a pile of bones in rusted chainmail and the shreds of a tabard that probably used to be white. There's nothing worth salvaging in his gear, and the weapons in the rack on the wall are trash, but there are a few scrolls that trigger his inventory's Knowledge tab when he picks them up — collection pop-ups tell him where something went when it disappears from his hand, which is helpful — and a small crate of round clay jars sealed with wax, a cord sticking through the seal.

He has to muffle his giggling. Oh fuck yeah. He found the firebombs. Yup. There's like, eight of them. He moves the Lightstones into whatever tab they normally stack in, and immediately replaces them with the firebombs. As far as he can tell, all those rocks do is glow, but these explode and burn. He kind of half-asses the rest of the search, because what could be better than firebombs this early in the game, and takes the ladder up to the battlements on top of the gatehouse with a cheerful "thanks!" to the bones of the gatekeeper. The hatch is locked from the inside, but he got the key off the table, and then he's in the keep.

There's not much up here. A pair of ballistas, sure, but he can't equip that and there's nothing to fire them at. Giant cauldron over a brazier full of rotted wood, placed where it can be easily tipped over a slot in the wall, but it's empty. There is, however, a spyglass sitting on a table next to the ballista bolts. He can see the Cairn from here, easy to find with the pillar of light — how have these guys not noticed the blue fucking batsignal, by the way? He can see the NPCs down in the courtyard, enough to count them. Enough to count their pores, the one on the near side of the wall patrol. Ugly fuckers, he knows he's nothing special to look at but these guys got beat with the ugly stick and asked for more. Not undead though. They're mostly dressed in a mix of leathers and plain padded armor, but one of them has obviously better gear, a matched set, and he mentally marks that one before moving on. There's movement in a couple of the lower windows, more bandits probably. Couple of staggering drunks, brief views of heavy-ass wooden furniture, empty hallways, freckle-faced kid—

Wait.

What?

He refocuses on that window. Yep. That's a kid. Like, a middle-schooler at best. That can't be one of the bandits, he's too clean. The kid stares back, wide-eyed, then skitters back from the window and, with a brief expression of incredulity, puts his heels together and raises his arms at an angle, like he's holding up a large sign or a giant beach ball.

Or like he's praising the sun.

"What the fuck…?"

The kid is slowly turning redder, like he can't believe he's doing this. Tomura kind of can't believe it either, but if the kid is doing what Tomura thinks he is, intentionally… He glances back down at the bandits, then at the Cairn in the distance. Then he sighs, hops up onto the battlement ledge, and does the Prayer emote. When he looks back up, the kid is relaxed, if still steaming slightly. Tomura points to him, and gets a clumsy mix of Call Over and Beckon followed by Point Downward in return.

All right then. Tomura nods, sticks the spyglass in his belt's bonus Quickslot, and scans the courtyard again. There, opposite from the side of the gatehouse that he came in through, the stables. He drops over the side of the tower, then off the wall on the stable roof. Clay tiles crunch slightly under his weight, and he drops flat for a moment. One, two, three bandits in this section. He'll have to take them quietly if he doesn't want to fight all of them.

That one first. He comes the closest. Goes all the way into the stable in fact. Tomura hears him mutter something about a stash as he slithers off the edge of the roof, creeps up behind him, then clamps a hand over his mouth and slits his throat. The health bar drains almost as fast as it appears, no damage number appearing, and there's a brief stream of sharp-edged sparks as his Mote counter ticks up to 80. He lays the body on the ground, then checks the position of the other two enemies and skitters over to the next. Eighty more motes, stuffed behind a few barrels for now. Then the third, which has to be dragged all the way back to the stables to be hidden. From there, he can search their pockets. A few more Bone Darts, but that's it. Then he moves to the door.

There's nowhere to hide inside, not really. Big entry hall, military base, not a lot of furniture. But he can stick to the shadows long enough to ambush another bandit. He briefly wishes for a cardboard box, then shakes it off and moves on again. There are two more on this floor, and four on the next. Then he runs into one going up the stairs, because it's a proper defensive design that ascends clockwise. Unfortunately for them he's left handed and has all the elbow room in the world. His knife goes into the NPC's gut, taking off about two thirds of his health bar, and there's a wheezy shout before he can get in another stab.

Shit, that'll bring them running.

All four of them. Well shit. They're spaced pretty well, so he gets the first with Quickstep and a stab to the chest. Pretty sure that's the heart, the way he goes down, but it's just enough time getting the knife back out that he can't chain-kill the next two, which means they start talking. It's not Japanese, but he can understand them somehow.

The usual stuff, 'how'd you get in here,' 'show me your blood,' 'your motes are mine, and so's the rest of you'...

Wait, what?

"That's a bloke, you half-wit!" one of them tells that third one.

"So? He's pretty enough! Not like the raid parties ever bring any wenches back, and I never get picked to go. Neither do you!"

Ew.

"You have a point…"

Oh fuck no. Tomura blitzes them, stabbing three bone darts into one's neck and slapping him with Deteriorate, then slashes the primary pervert's femoral artery, and Quicksteps again to reach the last one. As the final body falls, he checks his Motes. 1200, all of them were worth the same.

Then there's a retching sound and a splatter, and he turns around to see the kid from the window, hunched over and panting.

"Never seen dead people before?" Tomura asks, wiping his knife and checking for loot. More Lightstones, a pack of crossbow bolts… Weird, he doesn't even have anything to shoot them with.

"Nnnot like that," the kid warbles. Japanese. "You… you killed them."

If this kid can't handle that, there won't be much Jolly Cooperation here. "Well I wasn't going to sit there and let them kill me. Could you understand what they were saying?"

The kid nods, swallowing hard.

"I'm nobody's fucktoy, not alive and definitely not dead." He moves to check the other bodies.

"D-dead?!"

"How do you think you get Motes, brat? They're not yen, they're XP. I thought you knew the genre."

"I-I don't, but, um, Yoichi said, if you'd recognize a Sunbro, you'd be good to party up with? Wh-whatever that means…"

"Who the fuck is Yoichi?" That name sounds very vaguely familiar.

The kid looks like he might faint. "I don't even know! He was just there when I got here, in my head somehow! Like I'm haunted! …What do you mean you're technically a Quirk?!"

"Shut up," Tomura hisses. "Don't you know what stealth is?"

The kid claps a hand over his mouth. "Sorry! …Um, he says to tell you… I have sixteen INT, twenty DVN, and a book of basic Miracles. Well, they're called Prayers… We uh, we haven't figured out how to use them yet though… Do you know what Bonfires look like around here? Or what a Stele is?"

"Bonfire's a Cairn, a big stack of rocks thataway." Tomura finishes looting, then stands up and points. "You can use a Stele there, but I haven't seen one on its own. What level are you?"

"Six… Is that low?"

"Starting levels in FromSoft canon go from one to ten depending on what class you pick. I'm at nine. What's your name, brat?"

"Oh, um, Izuku. Midoriya Izuku." The kid bows, practically a full 90 degrees.

"…Shigaraki Tomura."

The kid, Midoriya, blinks. "Um… Do you write that like the town near Lake Biwa? Or is it, death-grip-tree?"

Tomura narrows his eyes. "Why?"

"Yo-Yoichi says he uses the latter. His family name is Shigaraki too. I— Huh? Oh. Okay, but— Okay…? He wants to know if you've seen a boss around here."

How does this Yoichi have Sensei's name? He files that away for later. "Maybe. One guy's head and shoulders taller than the rest. Looks like his armor is better than everyone else's too. I want it. Problem is, there's twenty guys running around with him, not counting the two on the walls or anyone outside, and I can't Metal Gear all of them."

"Yoichi says, he's sorry we couldn't find a cardboard box in the Quartermaster's office…"

Tomura snorts. Yoichi knows what the fuck he's talking about, at least. He moves through the door that Midoriya appeared in, dragging the kid with him. "Come on, out of the hall. And I'm pretty sure I found the local equivalent of an Estus Flask earlier, but it's broken. What did you find in there?"

"Well, there was the, the [Empyrean Acolyte's Breviary], it's called? Yoichi says a breviary is kind of a book for daily prayers, and the description says it has three spells. Lesser Restoration, Lesser Cleanse, and Abjure."

Tomura nods slowly. "Probably a Heal, a debuff cleaner, and… some kind of defensive thing. Probably not a de-summon, too early in the game for that. What else?"

"A box of Lightstones — they're little rocks about as bright as a candle, the office doesn't have a window so I could test them. A torch, there's more in there by the way, a [Kindling Kit], a [Provisioner's Tools] and some [Rations], some repair kits, a couple of crafting manuals and some supplies, and… oh right, a map." Midoriya twitches after the last word, then swats the air.

"Wait, a map? Let me see that." After a moment, a roll of paper — no, that's vellum — appears in Midoriya's hand, and he holds it out to Tomura. The instant it touches Tomura's hand, his Knowledge tab pings, and he verbally calls up the map with a wide grin. It's not a world map, that's for sure, just a local one, but since it includes the canyon, he has a decent idea of the scale, and it covers at least a few days hiking in any direction. The fast travel point, an icon of stacked squares with one on top, two pairs, and three on the bottom, is lit up blue, just like the real one. "Okay, the symbol with the eight stacked boxes — can you still see the map in your HUD? — this symbol here, that's a Cairn. This one is called Defiler's End. I spawned at the end of the canyon, which is… about five kilometers, give or take. I was walking for about an hour."

"De-defiler's End? That's… an ominous name…" Midoirya pauses. "Oh. Yoichi says, not really? Was the canyon a dead end?"

"Yeah. Sheer cliff, probably ten meters up."

"He says someone probably lost an army in there. Wait, what? O-oh. A marching formation is files wide and ranks deep, and a defile is a terrain chokepoint that forces fewer files."

Tomura smirks. "So someone marched in, the retreat was blocked, and it was fish in a barrel. I assumed it was just the bandits' gank alley. Six dead guys, not a lot of loot. I hit the fucking jackpot in the gatehouse though."

"R-really? What'd you find?"

Tomura holds up one of the firebombs. "Box of these."

Midoriya squints at it for a minute, then claps his hands over his ears, wincing. "Please stop squealing! What even is that?"

"It's the starting item you pick when you want to cheese the shit out of the first boss," Tomura deadpans.

Midoriya goes slack and blinks at him quizzically. "…You two said that at the exact same time." Another pause. "Do I get context for this? …Fine. He asks, Priscilla, Doll, Anri, Ranni, or Other?"

"Why?"

"...Fu," Midoriya relays uncertainly.

Fu? Oh. Yoichi is a smartass. "Melina. She's the only one that fights with you except Anri and that's a political arrangement."

"He says your heart is true." Midoriya blinks again. "Oh. Oh. Now I feel like I need a rolled up newspaper and a spray bottle. Can we focus, please? We have twenty-two bandits and a boss, right?"

"Which need to be killed, yes." Midoriya flinches, and Tomura narrows his eyes. "Look, brat. If you're gonna have a moral crisis, I may as well ditch you here, heals or no heals. There are no innocents here. These are rape-pillage-and-burn bandits, I'd bet my Cassowary Deck there's another group of them somewhere down the road that will eat their victims on top of fucking and killing them, listed order optional. If there are any technically legitimate authorities left, they're either insane in one way or another, or else actively trying to speed up the apocalypse because the phoenix rises from the ashes, not the fire. It's usually the protagonist's job to help them with that, by the way, Ranni For Prime Minister and shit, and rule of isekai means we're probably protagonists here. And if everything was running smoothly, a starving street kid arrested for stealing an apple would get his hand chopped off because that's the historical standard. These assholes can't be arrested, and if they could be they'd be executed anyway. There's no law, no justice, no police, and especially no fucking Heroes."

There's a long silence, the kid's eyes going slightly unfocused and his face twitching a few times. Then he sags, the way Tomura knows he does when Kurogiri responds to 'don't wanna' with 'Sensei thinks you should.' "All right… I don't like it, but… It's… kinda like the Dawn of Quirks, Yoichi says… Before Heroes were created, there were only vigilantes, and before that, they were freedom fighters. Legally, they were, they were terrorists."

"Huh. I think Sensei mentioned Heroes and Villains used to be the same, but I don't remember him saying they were terrorists."

"…Yoichi says he'll tell us more when we get to the Cairn, if you want. Um… Those firebombs. Are they for the boss?"

"Not unless we're getting fucked. I told you I want his armor, I don't wanna damage it too badly. This is for the mobs. I've got eight of them, and if I have less than three by the time the castle's cleared I'm gonna be annoyed, so we need to get them clustered right."

"I-I think I found the instructions to make those and at least some of the ingredients, I know I've got a bunch of clay pots like that, so it, it may be okay if you run out as long as we win? But, um, Yoichi says we should probably figure out if it's possible to form a party so we can see each other's HP, because we aren't really summoned to each other's worlds?"

Once again, Yoichi shows sense. "Show current status… There's not a Covenant display in the HUD."

"Wait, show current status? Oh! I didn't know you could move those bars around… Yoichi says it's weird that it's showing number values for them. Show attributes. Hmm…" The kid breaks off into mumbling, and Tomura can only catch about one one in three. Then one in five.

"Inventory." There isn't a Key Items tab that he can see. The Spyglass goes into the no longer gray Tools though, when he temporarily shifts it out of Quickslots. "Show Skills… Show Factions? Create Faction. Create Guild. Create Covenant. Create Order." He goes through a few synonyms, but gets nowhere.

"Create Pact," Midoriya says suddenly, then jumps. "That worked!"

"Great, but you're not gonna be the party leader. Create Pact." The window appears. It asks for a name, accepts handwriting touchscreen style (even lets him use a Bone Dart as a stylus), and has a space for a 'Heraldic Badge.' Tomura thinks for a minute, then smirks and carefully sketches in a thin circle wisping with flames. Then he invites Midoriya.

Midoriya squints at the window that pops up. "Miyazaki no Kishi? Yoichi approves…" He taps something, probably the accept button, and the Darksign appears on his tabard, while an extra health bar appears in the corner of Tomura's vision.

Another window appears. "Motes of Life belonging to Pact Members will automatically be transferred to the nearest ally," he reads. "Oh, that's… great, and also shit. It means there's most likely no solo respawn, but respawn is possible, and I know how to do it. All right brat, if I go down, you run to the Cairn. It's straight out through the hole in the wall. You don't stop for anything, you activate it and you pick the second to last option in the menu. You should be able to rez me there, and also do whatever the hell you need a Stele for."

"O-okay. How, how far is it?"

"Couple minutes' walk. Maybe two hundred meters? If we go up to the roof before we fight I can show you through the spyglass."

Midoriya nods. "There's a ladder at the end of the hall."

"Show me."

A minute later, they're on the roof, and Tomura is handing Midoriya the spyglass. Midoriya scans the ground intently, from the Cairn to the courtyard and back. Then he hands the glass back and T-poses against the battlements. He mumbles and points along the crenellations, then sets his heel against the wall and pushes off into a run. He's not nearly as fast as Tomura, but he runs multiple full back-and-forth laps before staggering to a walk, then keeps going a few more before stopping. Then he looks over at Tomura and nods.

"Okay, if you're right about the distance I can make it across maybe two thirds of that field in a straight line before my Stamina runs out and I have to walk. Then I can probably be ready to run again by the last ten meters. But that's only if I don't have to worry about the two crossbows on the walls, and if my green bar is full when I start running. Otherwise I'll have to zigzag. There's rocks for cover there, there, there, and there."

Tomura glances out with the spyglass, then nods, impressed despite himself. "If you can access my shit, borrow my knife and use the Glyph skill. I don't know how far it'll get you per burst, but it scales on DEX." He looks down into the courtyard, watching the movements. "All right, do you know how many are in the castle itself?"

"I didn't go onto the bottom floor, but I think… Ten? Maybe?"

"Twelve. All right, here's what we're gonna do…"

~praise be unto the Sky~

The two on the wall go down easily, if not quickly. They patrol all the way to the gatehouse doors, which are barricaded from both sides now that he looks — makes sense, those doors open outward — so it's easy to get them while they're close to the gate with a drop stab, then shove the bodies over the battlements. He manages five of the courtyard roamers before he gets caught. He throws a bone dart at the alerted one's face and bolts for the keep with a cackle.

"Get rekt, noobs!" he yells over his shoulder. He has to duck under a grabbing hand, but a wild backward swing takes off a few fingers for his trouble.

The big double doors are half-closed, and the closed side is barricaded with benches just well enough to slow the rush, and he throws one of his firebombs just as Midoriya, hidden on the stable roof, throws another. There's a round of horrified screaming as he throws another, then he rushes up the stairs, climbs through the window frame, and jumps to the roof of what he's pretty sure is the smithy. It only takes a minute for them to realize, and he throws another dart at the first one to look through the window.

By now his STA is regenerated, and the Boss appears in his vision and his HUD.

[Ivar, Reaver Baron] is about two meters tall, and in general is dressed like he should have a silver sword on his back to go with the steel one in his hand, although he's traded the Wolf Medallion for a cloth and leather half-mask.

"I don't know who you're meant for, Sacrificial Prince, but once you walked into my castle, they lost you. Surrender, and I'll kill you quickly," Ivar growls, staring up at him.

Tomura blinks, tilting his head. "Who the fuck's a Sacrificial Prince?"

"Rabbit Knight, then. I don't care, you're both dead."

Waaait… Does this guy see his health bar? His name? Is Tomura a boss fight to him? Are he and Midoriya a dual boss? All right then. Tomura cracks his neck and stands up. "Midoriya! You done with the rest of them yet?!"

There's a yelp and a clash of steel in the background, followed by a familiar cracking sound. A few Motes trickle into his counter, then Midoriya's health bar drops by a fifth. "I'm okay!"

"Hurry up!" Tomura stands up and jumps off the smithy roof in an odd direction, forcing Ivar to chase him. Immediately, he uses Quickstep and cuts into Ivar's back. The strike produces a muffled metallic sound and takes off maybe five percent of Ivar's health bar, then he has to duck a swing with the sword. "Well shit. That's a jack of plates," he mumbles.

Ivar glares at him. "You think a Skymarked would be so poorly clad as the scum that cling to us?"

Tomura only bares his teeth in a vicious grin and lunges. "I want it even more now!"

His knife bites into Ivar's sleeve above the vambrace, and the health bar chips again, but the cloth doesn't show a tear. The sword that slices into his own shoulder despite his dodge does equally little visible harm to his hoodie, and although pain flares to match the lost chunk of HP, maybe a sixth, he doesn't feel any blood running down his skin. He Quicksteps out of range just as Midoriya comes running up, and he starts circling as Ivar's attention turns.

Midoriya doesn't look great, pale and sweaty with bile around his mouth, but he hasn't lost any more health, and his grip on his mace is steady. "I-I'm here!"

"A child?" Ivar scoffs. He raises his sword for an overhead slash, despite the multiple meters separating them.

"Ah shit." Tomura Quicksteps in again and jumps onto his back, slashing at one raised wrist, kicking at the back of a knee, and clawing at the side of Ivar's face from an awkward half-assed chokehold all at once. Whatever ranged slice was about to happen is aborted, and Tomura gets grabbed by the back of his hoodie and thrown like a ragdoll for his trouble, landing on his back with a whoosh of breath.

He was even more of a distraction though, because Ivar ended up half-kneeling, and that gives Midoriya time to run up and swing his mace like a baseball bat at Ivar's shoulder. He gets a second swing in too, before Ivar grabs the shaft of the weapon and stops it cold. Midoriya can't rip it free… So he lets Ivar take it and stabs his dagger into the same arm instead before running away.

And Ivar's health bar, reduced to half, starts to very slowly drain.

Tomura, back on his feet, rushes in again as Ivar hurls away the mace, and goes for a thigh stab, rolling away from a downward swing, then rolling back and stabbing again. Midoriya reclaims his mace with a yell, and Tomura manages a cut across the face that immediately starts to visibly bleed. As fast as he can, Tomura tags the Bleeding boss with his free hand, triggering Deteriorate and causing blood to literally spray out.

Ivar howls, probably more in shock than in pain, and slams the hilt of his sword into Tomura's chest to shove him away, then retreats. Tomura chases after him, circling around with Quickstep, and successfully drives him into another strike from Midoriya's mace, causing him to drop his sword, which Midoriya kicks away.

"Surrender!" Midoriya shouts.

Ivar swears and retreats again, one hand going to a strange sheath across the back of his waist and the other digging into a pouch on his belt. He comes up with a golden glass bottle.

"Oh shit!" Simultaneously, Tomura and Midoriya rush him. With Quickstep, Tomura gets there first, and he manages to hit the wrist and knock the bottle away while taking off another chunk of health bar, but he pays for it when the boss draws a set of fucking Wolverine claws with his other hand and hacks into his ribs.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" screams the kid, rushing in with his mace raised while Tomura staggers away, health at a third and getting lower with blood on his hand.

The mace strikes once, simultaneously with the claws, and both of Midoriya and the boss lose a fifth of their health. The mace strikes again, and another fifth goes down. Midoriya's at about forty percent. Ivar is at one.

Then Deteriorate finishes working, and before either of them can swing a third time, the Reaver Baron falls over dead. Over a thousand Motes appear on Tomura's counter, he's too busy bleeding to track the exact number, and a blue light appears over the boss's corpse.

"Shigaraki-san!" Midoriya yelps, scrambling over to him. "The bleeding, what do I—"

"That gold bottle," Tomura snaps.

"A-ah, right!" The kid scrambles some more, and comes back with the intact Vital Flask.

Tomura, at ten percent health and dropping, chugs it instantly. It tastes like sunlight, cough syrup, and that stuff Nintendo sprays game cartridges with to keep toddlers from eating them — in short, fucking awful — but his HP shoots back up to near full in seconds. And keeps draining. "Current Status," he rasps. There's a Bleed icon under his health bar, slowly desaturating. By the time it grays out completely and the debuff ends, he's back down to three quarters of his health, and Midoriya is hovering anxiously.

"Are you okay, Shigaraki-san?"

"I'm fine brat. And call me Tomura, it's faster."

"O-oh! Then you can call me Izuku!" The kid beams.

Fucking hell. Tomura needs some sunglasses. "Turn off the spotlight, dammit. All right, let's get our loot and head back to the Cairn."

[britishassistant]

Overture

Turns out, studying to be a bard is much harder when in exile.

You try to tug your hood tighter against the sheets of rain, cursing the horns that sprout from your brow. You should’ve gone to the—the butcher or something, carve the useless things off. Maybe a blacksmith? Surely there’s a blacksmith somewhere who’s interested in tiefling horns for, for a fancy set of daggers or something. Hollow them out for goblets. Anything to get the ninth-damned things off your head.

You learned long ago there’s not really a limit to what people can do with your body parts, if they get creative enough.

You twitch your cloak closer around you, trying your best to protect the flute in its holder. You weren’t able to grab much else when you were chased out of your rented lodgings, leaving behind what little you had in the world.

Still, you try to console yourself as you force your way through the rain and muck. It’s not like you haven’t dealt with this kind of upheaval before. Last time it had been going quite well, before Elturel fell into the Hells and was raised again, before the flinches and glares, the roundings up and needing to flee into the dead of night.

You’ve heard whispers at the last inn you paused at of a travelling camp of refugees like yourself, headed towards Baldur’s Gate. And maybe you don’t have any coin to offer, and it’ll be a bit awkward joining the ranks of a group of strangers, but you’re young! You’re probably more skilled with a flute than the average performer! And you’ve discovered in the past three years that you’re not bad at social interactions with people who aren’t your siblings or father! You may not be winning any likability awards any time soon, but you know how to work well in a team, contribute to and bolster different efforts. Your past employment and surviving the Descent have taught you that. If nothing else, you’re a somewhat (seriously) inexperienced combatant. Of all that, surely there’ll be something you can use to earn your keep.

You lift your head a little and march through the rapidly dwindling rain with newfound determination. You have a plan. Find the other tiefling refugees, join them for protection, maybe even finish your education at Baldur’s Gate, if you’re lucky.

You can do this.

You’ve got to.

The blow from the tentacle is so swift you hardly feel it.

So a, a tadpole gets embedded in your brain.

Not even a nice, normal tadpole. A pale, bloated nightmare with tentacles. And teeth.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, the weird organic be-tentacled ship you’re captive on somehow gets transported to Avernus! Yet again!

It hasn’t even been two months since you were last kidnapped and brought here!!

You are. Not Okay.

You know, you think as you stare in horror over the exposed landscape, you almost recognize some of the larger demonic and diabolical monstrosities clashing on the field below. If the ship moved a little more to the right you may even be able to see the place where the city was chained—!

And then you’re staring down the business end of a sword, wielded by a warrior in shining armor.

“Abomination!” Screams the woman with a decidedly toad-like complexion. “This is your end!”

You yelp, stumbling back, wishing you had something to defend yourself with other than a fucking flute.

And then something inside your head… jerks.

A warrior in battle-dulled armor leaping onto the back of a red dragon, like the one circling the ship. Watching it soar with a profound sense of longing.

Constantly fighting, to prove your worth, to kill the unworthy, to earn a silver sword, all for her, everything for her, praise be to your Queen, glory to Vlaa’kith!

Your own face, looking alien and unfamiliar and afraid.

You inhale too deeply as the images fade, and begin choking on the noxious odor of rancid sulfur mixed with wet, too-organic, partially burnt ship.

The fighter you were just in the head of (?) rallies. “Tsk’va! You are no thrall! Vlaa’kith blesses me this day! Together, we might survive.”

“Who.” You wheeze. “What—why did you think I was. A, a thrall? A thrall of what?!”

“Because you will be.” The woman snaps. “We are infested with mind flayer parasites. Unless we escape—unless we are cleansed—our bodies and minds will be tainted and twisted. Within days, we will become ghaik. Mind flayers.”

Dread floods your system like the Styx bursting its banks, threatens to drown your mind in the undertow.

You’ve been implanted with a mind flayer. Will it slowly take over your mind, leave you a twitching husk like the poor sod you saw not a minute ago? If you hadn’t killed that brain creature, would it have escaped its host and grown into one of the tentacled grotesqueries that kidnapped you? Is it only a matter of time before you meet the same fate, left to die quietly in a corner after the parasite has gorged itself upon you, forgotten?

Fuck That.

“What do you suggest?” You’re almost surprised at how steely your voice is.

The warrior straightens, a faint smile on her oddly proportioned face. “First, we must make our way to the helm and take control of the ship. We will only be able to seek out cleansing once we reach the Material Plane. All in our way must be exterminated.”

And with that bold proclamation, she turns and just runs? Headfirst into a pack of imps?

You’re only able to stare in stupefied horror.

And then the imps begin to cackle and swarm, and you have to dash on shaky legs after your surrounded warrior.

You channel your need to swear profusely at the situation into insulting the imps’ aim, looks, parentage, and failure to take advantage of the opportunities life gave them to not be here on this ship.

Even if the damage it does to their self-esteem is negligible, you’re at least enough of a distraction that the warrior is able to cut them down with ease.

“Hrm. Surprisingly adequate.” She comments after the last imp is fallen and you’re trying to swallow what little saliva you have to soothe your parched throat. “We may yet survive this.”

“Thank—“ You cough, sharp and scratchy. “Thank you. I think.”

The alien warrior gives you a considering once over.

“Here.” She pries a wickedly curved scimitar from the stiffening claws of an imp and hands it to you. “We will likely be facing fouler than this.”

You study your gift for a moment, test the grip in your hands. You nod.

“I,” You say, “Have no godsdamned idea how to use this.”

The warrior turns to frown at you. “This is no time for the japes your kind are so fond of—“

“I wish I was joking. My father expressly forbade me from ever picking up anything sharper than a butter knife.” You retort, arms dragging under the unfamiliar weight. “Said I couldn’t be trusted not to get ideas.”

“And your varsh let the whims of this ‘father’ dictate your training, or lack thereof?!” Your fighter in shining armor has graduated to full on scowling as she spits, “Tsk’va! Did they intend for you to perish the moment you were left unsupervised?!”

The grin that quirks your mouth is not a kind thing.

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

The warrior stares, then lets out a string of what you assume to be curses in that sharp, sibilant language of hers.

You can see what looks like indecision in her eyes. Weighing up whether you’re worth keeping alive.

You straighten, a practiced mix of self-assurance, teasing derision, and mild exasperation slipping over your face. “Don’t get your chain mail in a twist. If I was entirely helpless, I wouldn’t have survived down here last time.”

It’s worked before on cannier. It always works.

But for all that some of her mannerisms are similar, you can’t quite parse the meaning behind the warrior’s glare as she asks, “Last time?”

You make yourself stroll over to the unfortunate who the imps were feasting on. A cursory search of the body’s pockets reveals a handful of coin and a health potion, both of which you pocket.

“I was in Elturel when the city was pulled into the Hells.” You keep your voice smooth, blasé. Talk about it as if it’s the weather and not one of the most horrifying experiences you’ve been subjected to. “We call it the Descent in Faerûn. Had to survive four months in Avernus before some heroes were able to return us back to the Material Plane.”

You turn to face her again, stern professionalism in every line of you. “But I can tell you more later, after we reach the Material Plane again. I’m hardly eager to spend any more time here than I have to.”

The warrior continues to stare at you, inscrutable. You feel a bead of sweat trickle down the back of your neck and soak into your ruff.

She turns, marches over to another imp, and bends down to loot something from it before rising and marching back to you. You’re so distracted by the hard stare bearing down on you that you don’t realize she’s snatching away the scimitar and shoving a crossbow into your hands until you notice the texture change.

“This is simple enough for even an untrained yank. Point and pull the trigger. Now come, istik.”

She jerks her head and strides off towards a wall of sticky, pink fibers. With no pause, she plants a foot and begins to climb.

After a moment’s hesitation, you follow.

The two of you scale towering walls of the stuff, jogging down more of those horrible organic corridors.

Another sphincter opens and reveals a large, rounded room. There are several tentacle adjacent appendages emerging through a hole in the center, a few fleshy protrusions scattered around that almost resemble furniture, and more of those pods marking the room’s perimeter.

There are two humans lying on some of the not-furniture. Their light skin is sweaty and paler than you think is meant to be healthy, eyes rolling sightlessly beneath half-open lids.

You touch the man on the shoulder, shaking gently as you call out to get his attention. His head lolls. He doesn’t respond to you at all.

“We have no time for stragglers.” The fighter in shining armor scolds. “These istik are already lost to the ghaik. We must get to the helm!”

You open your mouth to reply—

Something gives an almighty slam that makes you jump despite yourself.

“Help! Let me out!! Please!”

Over in the corner of the room, there’s a woman sealed in one of the pods. Through the pink film, you can’t make out many of her features. Just that her hair is as dark and glossy as rat’s fur.

You can’t leave her here.

You might need her after all, your mind quickly adds. She may have connections you can exploit, some surefire pass into Baldur’s Gate, money to pay for your passage if nothing else. But how to convince the warrior to let you help? She could be a valuable resource for your escape if you played your cards right, but what would be best right now?

“Do you have a weapon?” You shout to the captive.

That actually gets her to pause in slamming her fists against the pod. “What?!”

“A weapon! Can you fight? Do you have a—”

“Yes!” She strains against the limits of her small cell. “Yes, yes, I-I’ve a mace! I can fight! Please!”

“See?” You gesture to your companion. “She’s more useful than me already.”

The warrior purses her lips in annoyance, but cedes to you with an irritated click of her tongue.

You examine the control panel next to the pod. There’s tendons and nerves stretching between the two, so they must be connected somehow. No latches, buttons or other visible mechanisms aside from a vague depression in the center, and poking that doesn’t do anything. Neither does giving it a good kick.

Something is missing from here, comes the quiet hiss. Something was removed. You must make it whole if you want to control it.

“There’s a component missing.” You call to the captive. “We’ll have a quick look for it, otherwise we might have to get creative.”

You see the dark shine of her head jerk up and down in a nod. “Al-alright. Please hurry!”

The warrior lets out a discontented grumble.

There’s something approximating a table in the opposite corner, but a quick scan of its contents shows that it only holds one of those information tablets and a jarringly normal looking locked chest.

Think. Mind flayers may be alien and aberrant to you, but there are certain practicalities that everyone must observe due to convenience.

In your past employment, you wouldn’t leave the key to the guild’s vaults out on a table for all to see, or in an unfamiliar container you didn’t know how to access. You wouldn’t even keep it in the same room. But it would need to be nearby enough to avoid turning the times when you’d use it into a time-consuming chore…

You look at the sphincter between you and the woman’s pod. It’s closer than the third one across the room. If it opens onto a corridor, it’s right out, but if it doesn’t…

You shudder as it retracts at your approach, but grin victoriously at the small room beyond, with a far more alien chest on a raised platform at the back.

“What are you doing?!” The warrior hisses. “We do not have time for this!”

“That’s as may be, but,” Your mind races. “But we still need to plan for taking the helm once we get out of Avernus, if it hasn’t been overrun by fiends already. The more swords we have against those things, the better, right?”

The warrior doesn’t respond verbally, but you don’t see whatever face she’s doubtlessly making at you with your attention drawn by what’s in front of you.

There’s another woman in a pod in the center of this room, dazed and unresponsive. Unlike the captive in the last room, she doesn’t respond even when you tap on the cover of the pod.

You need to get her out.

After all, what if she’s a powerful mage? An actual, trained bard who can show you what you’re meant to be doing as you take control of the ship? She could even be an innkeeper from Baldur’s Gate, willing to give you a place to stay if you reach the city.

You scan the room behind her, noting another one of those panels, and—!

Yes!

There’s a distinctly alien chest sitting on a raised platform at the back of the room next to a dead half-elf, practically screaming ‘Important Mindflayer Items In Here’.

Of course, you think as you scamper up to it, it’ll probably have some kind of locking mechanism, it’s basic security after all. Who would leave a chest full of important items unlocked? If you can’t find a key for it in this room, you may have to ask you warrior if she can carefully smash it open without damaging the contents, so you have to hope that the key is close by or whatever security measures are rudimentary enough for your fledgling skills to bypass—!

The chest springs open at your touch.

You blink.

“…I never really thought of mind flayers as lazy, but. Wow.”

Of course, it can’t ever be that simple, not for you. You rifle through the contents, but there’s nothing in here that seems remotely like what you’re looking for. Your teeth pierce an ulcer as you hiss in irritation, pulling out the contents to see if there’s some hidden cache in the sides or bottom, tugging out the bent bits of wire stuck in the lock—!

You pause. You turn.

The dead half-elf lies there, still very dead.

You launch yourself towards the body, hands rifling through everything you can find.

Slid inside the corpse’s tunic is a tablet that looks the exact shape and size to fit into the control panels you’ve seen so far.

There’s only one way to find out, you think as you tug it out and head back down to the panel.

But before you can even try to insert the tablet, you somehow feel something else moving through the panel, past you and into the pod, commanding the woman inside to

CHANGE

There’s terrified screaming behind you.

You reach the front of the pod in time to see the woman inside contort hard enough to snap her own neck. Steam clouds the pink film as the horrible, fleshy sounds build to an awful crescendo.

There’s a wet thunk as a four-fingered hand emerges from the steam.

The rest of a mind flayer within lurches forward unsteadily.

Your stomach lurches too as you swallow against the terror sticking in your throat.

“Tell me that isn’t normal.” You beg. “You said we had days. Days.”

The warrior’s skin has paled several shades. “Kaincha…how?! Changing at the pull of a lever?”

“I didn’t pull anything!” You snap. “I barely even touched it then—and something…”

You both turn to stare at the mindflayer, which gazes back with something that could be called intent.

“We’re going.” The warrior says, one hand gripping your shoulder tightly and tugging you back. “That will be us if we do not find a way off this ship.”

You nod, numb, as she shepherds you away from the thing in the pod and back through the sphincter.

You might have let her steer you right out of the room, if there hadn’t been an almighty pounding on the pod behind you. “Hey! HEY!! Where are you going?! Wait, come back!!”

You feel the fighter’s nails prick your doublet as you shift out of her grip, scurrying over to the other pod with a muttered litany of apologies falling from your lips.

You pause after inserting the rune, watching as the control panel pulses almost greedily. It. You don’t want—

“If this turns you into a mind flayer, I’m so sorry.” You blurt.

“Wait, what—?!”

Something in your mind connects to the panel and commands OPEN

There’s a ripple of tendons and muscle, a stretch-like shudder as the pod’s seal slides up and back.

A sensation not unlike a bite inside your head.

One of the Shroud brothers told you once that there’s technically nothing in the brain that can feel pain—just in all the flesh and bone layers meant to protect it from the outside world. If you ever see them again, you are telling both of them that that is complete bullshit and that the ragged, bleeding feeling of profound loss inside your head would beg to differ.

There’s a squirming behind your eye. It feels satiated.

The woman inside the pod tumbles forward without the barrier to hold her up, hitting the floor with a wet, meaty thud.

She’s a half-elf, you note absentmindedly as you and the warrior help her to her feet, maybe a cleric of some sort with that austere, practical chainmail? Her dark hair is even glossier than the pod led you to believe, reminding you of the rats you used to find hiding in the grain stores, the sleek, canny, well-fed-and-groomed survivors.

Her eyes are green enough to make you slightly queasy as they meet yours, a scar over her cheek and the bridge of her nose shifting as she smiles. “I thought that damn thing was going to be my coffin. Thank—“

And then her eyes flick to the warrior holding her other arm, and the smile vanishes as your mind jerks—!

Hiding and trying to stopper your breaths as the yellow gith monsters twist the sword in the acolyte’s gut.

Praying desperately to your Lady that they won’t find you as you flee, his screams chasing you into a nautiloid’s tentacles.

The tiefling child before you, your only hope of salvation, being pulled away by another murderous yellow bitch—!

At least nothing’s on fire in here, so when you gasp for air as the connection is abruptly cut, the smell is slightly less awful.

Still cloying and raw and terrible though.

You blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the sensation of your own skin when the cleric says. “You keep dangerous company.”

You’re wary of the chilled tone she’s using, and the way the warrior’s teeth are being bared in a sneer.

“Dangerous company’s what you need in a fight.” You return carefully. “And as we’re heading to the helm, we’re probably going to walk into one.”

Thankfully, the cleric nods. “True enough. Let me come with you. We can get off this ship, and watch each other’s backs along the way.”

“All right then, let’s get going.” Your warrior sighs in impatience and begins heading for the other exit. You think you’d smile, if it weren’t for everything else going on right now. “I’m Yuu.”

“Shadowheart. Ah—one moment.”

You turn to see her going back to the pod she was trapped in, reaching in and pulling a small metal shape out of the cavity.

It’s mildly disconcerting, given that everything else here is so fleshy and organic. “What’s that?”

The chill stare gets turned on you this time. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with. Let’s get going.”

You can feel your hackles rising, but you can’t exactly put the half-elf back in the pod now, can you?

Your foreboding only gets worse once the warrior stops you both in the corridor, the clamor of activity growing worryingly close. “We are nearing the helm. Once inside, do exactly as I say.”

“Who put you in charge?” The cleric snaps. “I’ll trust my own judgement.”

The warrior mutters a word in her alien language that you’re pretty sure is some kind of epithet.

You have an awful suspicion that it’s going to be an accurate descriptor of your current situation.

That suspicion only worsens once the sphincter opens and reveals the almost familiar chaos the room has devolved into.

Imps are soaring through the air and chattering maliciously as they try to aid their cambion leaders, whose swords blaze with hellfire as they bellow orders. Hellboars gorge themselves on those brains on legs scuttling about, their shrieking death throes resonating painfully inside your teeth.

There are two mindflayers left, which rapidly becomes one mindflayer when one of the pair is cut down by imps after eating a cambion’s brain.

The remaining mindflayer turns to the three of you. Your thoughts about somehow hiding are rudely interrupted by an echoing voice inside your skull.

“Thrall. Connect the nerves of the transponder. We must escape. Now.”

The transponder that it seems to be referring to is yet another panel, this time with odd waving fronds reaching from it to a matching set hanging from the ceiling. With a raiding party’s worth of imps and hellboars between you and it.

“Do it.” The warrior orders sternly. “We will deal with the ghaik after we escape.”

You and the cleric share a glance.

You both start running.

You’re quicker than the cleric and the warrior. Your feet remember racing through darkened streets, changing direction on a hair to avoid imps or ghouls or whatever else had chosen to infest Elturel on a day to day basis.

But you’re not on Elturel’s streets, with back alleys and hasty blockades and abandoned buildings and miles of cobblestones through which you can lose your pursuers. The helm is tiny and cramped and you find yourself swerving even as you dash forward, trying to evade the hellboars and imps intent on forcing you into a corner you can’t escape from.

The cleric and the warrior aren’t much better off. The warrior is attempting to pick off the infernal interference with her sword and bow, but doing so slows her down immensely. The cleric is trying to dash through the imps swarming her, but even the protection of her shield isn’t enough to keep off most of the hits she’s taking.

From your place next to a hole blown in the side of the ship, you can see the mindflayer flagging. Silver blood leaks from its wounds, and the energy it’s throwing at the cambion misses more often than it hits.

And if that weren’t enough, fucking red dragons soar past the hole with ear-splitting screeches, swooping up to perch on the front of the ship, one flammable wall away from the transponder.

You can’t get there in time like this but if you don’t the ship will go down and you’re all dead. Or the dragons will breathe fire into the room and you’re all dead. Either way, you need to do something, make some kind of—!

Your eye is caught by the constant, raging movement below.

It takes moments you don’t have to fumble the crossbow onto your pack so you can pull out your instrument.

Everything in you is screaming at not having a weapon in your hands in a room full of things that want to kill you. If this doesn’t work, you’ll be dead in a matter of moments.

But if it does…

You seal your lips tight over the mouthpiece of your flute, partially block the end with your thumb, and hope to whatever Gods will hear that you remembered the right notes as you blow.

The sound that comes out of your poor instrument is a pale imitation of the tortured warscreech which haunted the streets of Elturel.

But it’s similar enough that some of the demonic forces fighting on the plain below look up.

There’s a bassy, hellish noise of response to your summons, the sounds of things that shouldn’t be able to making their way through the air after the Nautiloid. You hear one of the dragons roar, see its snout vanish as it launches itself off the ship in response to this new threat.

Terror mixes with glee in your gut.

Most of the imps scream, flying to the nearest exits and flinging themselves out, to fight or flee you can’t know.

With the path cleared, the cleric sprints full-pelt towards the control panel.

You’re so elated by her progress and the possibility that you may make it out of this alive that you don’t register your surroundings until burning steel bites into your back.

You scream as the metal scalds as it cuts, twisting away from the cambion looming over you.

“PRODITOR!” The devil roars. “TO THE ABYSS WITH YOU!!”

You barely scramble out of the way of his second swing. Your breath comes in pained whimpers. Blood slicks the back of your legs like sweat.

The cambion looms large over you, backing you into a corner, wings beating powerfully and promising to block every escape attempt as the flaming sword rises high again.

You can’t get away.

You need to get away.

You’ll die if you don’t get away.

You can’t—!

“SH’KAKETH!!”

There’s a squeal of steel meeting superheated steel, and a roar as the cambion is forced away from you.

Your warrior in shining armor is standing over you, teeth bared as she raises her sword for another swing at the devil.

And then the cleric does something to the control panel, and everything gets very weird.

The smog of Avernus vanishes between one breath and the next, the sudden absence of overwhelming heat chilling you to the bone.

You have no chance to process this though, as the floor suddenly vanishes from beneath you and you’re sent spinning through the air, helpless as a leaf on the wind.

You’re not sure if leaves on the wind end up smacking into quite so many hard surfaces, whirled away even as you claw for a grip and cry out as something else slams into you.

By the time normal gravity reasserts itself the ship is listing alarmingly on its side and you collide what was once a wall, breath driven from you by the impact and the gaping hole not a centimeter from you.

You end up staring at a mindflayer across the hole, its beady orange eyes shot with malice and tentacles flapping almost humorously in the wind.

And then something catches you across the head, and you’re tumbling arse over teakettle through the starry sky.

You try to think, to plan, to work out a way to save yourself from this, but the piercing air and dizzying drop rips your senses from you, leaves your mind shrieking in futile terror no, no, no please, not this, I can’t go yet, no, I haven’t got to live, please, don’t let me die like this!

You lose yourself to oblivion. Hopefully if you’re unconscious, it’ll make your demise hurt less—!

But you’re caught.

You don’t.

You don’t know how. But one moment you’re falling to your death, and the next you’re…

You’re…?

Suddenly released, and hit your head hard enough to black out.

[conclover]

｡ﾟﾟ ･ ｡ ･ﾟﾟ ｡ ﾟ。 𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝒾𝑔𝑔ℯ𝓈𝓉 𝒻𝒶𝓃 ₊ ⊹ 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 1 　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

NEXT CHAPTER

❤︎ Pairing ₊ ⊹ Mettaton x GN! Reader

❤︎ Summary ₊ ⊹ You’ve applied for a position at the renowned MTT Resort, with the exciting opportunity of becoming Mettaton’s personal assistant. As you step into the glamorous building, the celebrity robot himself conducts the interview and expresses a genuine interest in the idea of working together.

❤︎ Warnings ₊ ⊹ Mettaton being physically touchy (SFW). Slight yandere vibes. Burgerpants is having an existential crisis. AFAB reader.

❤︎ Notes ₊ ⊹ H-Hewwo?

❤︎ Word count ₊ ⊹ 1861

₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊

Before you started this job, you had a different expectation. The position was sold to you in such an irresistible way that rejecting it seemed impossible. You were going to work for a superstar, and you'd be known by everyone. Perhaps the promise was a bit exaggerated, and though you didn't fully buy into that last part, you decided to apply for the position anyway. After all, being Mettaton's assistant at his MTT Resort (the grandest, most imposing building in all of the Underworld) didn’t sound that bad.

However, as you stepped through the gates of your new beginning, your hopes were quickly shatered. This was nothing like it had been presented. First, the fountain adorned with a statue of your boss’ old form was poorly constructed. A large puddle had gathered on the otherwise gleaming marble floor, a direct result of the poorly made design. The restaurant, while decent was far too dimly lit, as though they were cutting costs on lighting. The receptionist, quite strangely, was just a hand. Literally. On the bright side, you had to say that the MTT fast food chain was running efficiently, but only thanks to some overworked employees. One of them gave you all the chilling details about your new boss.

“Good luck,” the young boy said with a forced smile, his voice lacking enthusiasm. “Though, you probably won’t need it.” His gaze drifted, lost in the depths of his own despair.

Despite the boy’s demoralizing words, you held on to a sliver of hope. Maybe Mettaton wasn’t as terrible as everyone made him out to be. Sure, there was that time he tried to kill that little kid. Or the times he belittled Burgerpants for his poor performance. Not to mention the exploitation of his staff and his temper. Or at least thats what you had been told by the burger boy.

“What have I gotten myself into?” you wondered aloud, your concern growing with each passing moment as you made your way to the elevator.

First floor

“Maybe he is not as bad as they say?”

Second floor

“Yes, I can do this!”

Third floor

“Oh fuck, what am I going to say?”

Fourth floor

“You got this!”

Fifth floor

“You have been practicing!”

Sixth floor

“At least the elevator is pretty fast...”

Seventh floor

“I hope I don't end up like Burgerpants.”

Eight floor

“Almost there...”

Ninth floor

You stepped onto Mettaton’s floor, uncertain of what awaited you. You weren’t too worried about getting the job itself. If he was truly an exploiter, it would likely be easy, like a lamb to the slaughter. Even if those terrible things were still lingering in your mind, you tried to set them aside and approach the day as if none of it were true. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe Burgerpants’ words, but you knew that starting the job with a frown wouldn’t make things any better. Right?

You took a deep breath as you stepped off the elevator, the soft hum of the lights above you making the silence feel heavier. The floor was immaculate, gleaming, pristine, almost too perfect to be real. The walls were adorned with movie posters that almost seemed to glow under the soft lighting. If there was one thing Mettaton’s empire had going for it, it was its undeniable glamour.

A small knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach as you walked trough the long hallway, trying to ignore the feeling of a gaze that followed your every step. As you moved down the hall, the sharp scent of expensive cologne filled the air, making you feel even more out of place. The door at the end of the hall was polished to a mirror finish. You knocked twice before opening it, your heart pounding in your chest.

The room inside was exactly what you’d expected: a lavish, out of the Underwold, with a view that stretched out over the entire city. Mettaton himself was sitting behind a large, glittering desk, his humanoid form radiating an almost otherworldly glow. His smile was as dazzling as ever, just like in TV! Though something about it felt a little too rehearsed. Just like in TV...

“Ah, there you are!” he exclaimed in his usual, theatrical voice. “I’ve been eagerly anticipating your arrival. Welcome to the future of luxury, glamour and... whatever!”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “Thank you, Mr. Mettaton Ex,” you replied, trying to maintain a confident posture while offering a wide smile.

His eyes gleamed as he rose from his desk, moving towards you with graceful steps. “Please,” he said, his tone warm yet oddly calculating. “Call me Mettaton.”

Despite the charm, a chill ran down your spine as he circled you, his gaze lingering a little too long. “I trust you’re ready for what’s ahead. The Underworld is waiting for us to revolutionize it. And you, my dear, will play a crucial role in making that happen.”

You nodded, a bit surprised to hear that you already had the job. Though still uncertain, you were determined to maintain the facade of confidence. “Of course, Mettaton. I’m ready.”

He smiled again, this time with a sly grin. “Good. You’ll need to be. This isn’t a job for the faint-hearted.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “But I have a feeling you’re not faint-hearted, are you?”

You shook your head, as if to say no, wondering just how much of the rumors were true. More importantly, whether you were ready for whatever came next.

Mettaton’s smile widened as he took a step closer, clearly pleased with your response. His movements were fluid and graceful, like a well practiced performance. As he gestured toward the pink leather chair opposite his desk, you couldn’t help but feel as though you were on stage.

“Take a seat, darling,” he said, his voice dripping with that familiar, honeyed charm. “We have so much to discuss.”

You lowered yourself into the chair, the fabric sinking beneath you as you tried to control your steady breathing. There was a strange tension in the air, like something was just beyond your reach, waiting to spring into action. Mettaton lowered himself into his chair, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

“Now, let’s get down to business,” he said, leaning forward, his hands folding neatly in front of him. “The Underworld, as you know, is at a crossroads. The old way of doing things has worn thin. It’s time for a new era, one of luxury and never ending entertainment.” Rising from his chair, he moved behind yours. His hands rested firmly on your shoulders, giving them a tight, deliberate massage. “And you, my dear. You are perfect for this role!”

His words, while promising, carried a hint of something darker beneath the surface. You shifted in your seat, trying to keep your composure as he walked around you, scanning your every move.

“I see,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. “But… what exactly would I be doing?”

Mettaton’s smile only widened. “Oh, darling, there’s no need to worry about that right now,” he purred taking a seat on his desk. “We’ll speak about it tomorrow. Congratulations. The job is yours.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. Even if you were happy that you got the job you applied for, something darker hid behind those words.

“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr... I mean, Mettaton.” You rose from your seat and extended your hand, ready for a handshake.

“Pleasure is mine, darling.” His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he shook your hand, the dim light reflecting off his metallic form while his free hand’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the surface of his desk. "And don’t worry,” he continued, his voice softening. “I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you. After all, I want you to succeed.”

You didn’t know whether that should make you feel better or worse.

“I… I won’t disappoint you,” you said, a knot tightening in your throat as you awkwardly pulled your hand back. There was no turning back now. You were committed, whether you liked it or not.

Mettaton’s eyes sparkled, but there was an edge to his smile now, one that wasn’t nearly as inviting. “That’s the spirit. But remember, this is more than a job. It’s a position of trust. The Underworld is counting on us, darling, and there’s no room for failure.”

You nodded, but something about the way he said it, the weight behind those words, felt like a warning more than an encouragement. As you sat there, his presence enveloping the room, you couldn’t help but wonder just how much you were about to sacrifice to play your part in this glamorous, yet undeniably dangerous, job.

“You can leave now, darling,” he said, his smile almost condescending, as if he were doing you a favor. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Do I need to bring anything in particular?” you asked, walking toward the elevator with him close behind.

“Just that lovely smile of yours.” He lifted a hand to cup your cheeks, the pressure making your face feel uncomfortably squished. You weren’t sure how to react to his unexpected displays of closeness. Maybe that was just how he was. Outgoing and touchy.

“Have a nice day,” you said, stepping into the elevator, keeping your manners sharp.

“You too, darling!” he said, clasping his hands together, his enthusiasm for tomorrow already clear.

You pressed the button, waiting for the doors to close, deliberately avoiding his gaze. You already had enough of his attention for one day. Once they closed, you let out a quiet sigh of relief and leaned against the metallic wall. You tried to steady your breathing, but your mind kept drifting back to his words, his touch, the way he seemed to see right through you. There was no turning back now.

“Hey!” Burgerpants called out, catching your attention as you stepped into the cool evening air. “Already leaving?”

"Yeah,” you replied, watching closely as the boy took another drag from his cigarette. “He told me I could go home.”

“That’s weird,” he said, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. “I haven’t had a day off since I was a teenager with pimples.”

“I’m starting tomorrow,” you hummed, trying to steer the conversation away from your unsettling day. "I just did the interview, so I don’t know."

“Well, congratulations on the job anyway.” He flashed you a forced smile before turning and heading back towards the building.

“Thanks,” you murmured, still lost in your thoughts.

The events of the day felt almost surreal, and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around what had just happened. How was tomorrow going to be like? More of Mettaton’s cryptic charm? More uncomfortable moments? Or would it be something entirely different? Something you couldn’t predict, no matter how hard you tried. The rest of the night passed in a blur, your mind racing with questions and half-formed thoughts. When you finally lay in your bed, sleep came quickly, as though your body instinctively knew it needed to rest for what might come tomorrow.

NEXT CHAPTER

[thestorieswesay]

Hi hi! For the writer's game:

4, 5, 7, 12, 19, 29! (If someone hit any of those before me, pick ones you want to answer instead!)

a story idea you haven’t written yet

I've been working since January on an idea I have, based on a dream I had in... September? I think? Of last year. The fic is called 'Aubade' and is a post-apocalyptic Sanctuary fic set 300 years after a nuclear war between humans and Afina's Court, featuring Nikola taking care of Helen, who has contracted a deadly disease. The story takes place at their home in what used to be the London Sanctuary and also in the wilds of what once was Avignon, where he hopes to find Helen a cure. (However, nothing is that easy or that simple). I have copious amounts of notes and a playlist just for this fic. Last week, while driving to my doctor's appointment in another city, I broke through the writer's block I've had towards starting the fic for the first time in five months. I wrote the first and last sentence of two scenes and played with some ideas for the first section as I drove. I solved the problem I had about info-dumping and I think it's going to work!

first sentence of the fifth paragraph of an unpublished WIP

I started this Sanctuary fic during Whumptober last year and the document is titled 'priest kink' but the story is actually named 'Your Ecclesiastic Skin'. It is about wicked!Helen and her Boys plotting to corrupt Nikola at Oxford, except in this universe, Nikola is a young Eastern Orthodox priest:

"And yet, it is not nearly enough for Helen Magnus."

a WIP you’d like to finish someday

I answered the question about fonts here, so I'm choosing #11!

I started a Stargate Universe fic called 'something we left' back in April of 2021, and it's so close to being finished. It is about Telford and Rush, before Icarus, offworld on an unnamed planet for some training exercises where they are kidnapped by aliens in order to observe human 'mating habits'. The aliens thought Rush was a female and Telford a male, but being half-right isn't going to stop them from getting their show!

2,800+ words and I just need to finish the sex scene and write the aftermath, rip. Does anyone care about this? Probably not, lol. But the dream persists.

share a fic you’re especially proud of

I answered the question about tropes here, so I'm choosing #30!

Edit: It helps if I actually answer the question tho!

My personal favorite from last year is 'never found the answer (but we knew one thing)', aka the 'Nikola is trapped in Carentan instead of Will: the Fic'... (And thank you so much again for the moodboard you made for the story! No one has ever made me a moodboard before!) It's a story about blood, bread, and love that's shown with both.

the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

For my Stargate Universe fic, 'Humane', I had to write Rush solving a complex mathematical equation called The Ninth Chevron. Now, in canon, Rush fails at this, solving Chevrons 1-8, because the solution to 9 is actually really stupid (so stupid the idiot savant everyman character is the only one who can do it, using logic that's been part of the franchise since the 1994 movie, but no one in the third television series of the franchise thinks to do it so whatever). But in 'Humane', I needed Rush to be able to solve the entire equation, Chevrons 1-9, on his own. But I the problem is, 1-8 are never explained or shown, so we don't even know how that's supposed to work. Plus, Rush is said to have solved them using cryptography, and I have dyscalculia.

I spent probably three or four days alone, just reading about cryptography, about how the chevron system of Gate-dialing works in the Stargate franchise, and what each of the chevrons does and what they're for. The Science Fiction and Fantasy Stack Exchange was unbelievably valuable in this quest. I discovered eventually that the 9th Chevron is special in terms of the Gate-dialing network, because, unlike Chevrons 1-7, which represent locations in a certain galaxy and the 8th is 'distance', equaling an extra jump to something beyond our galaxy, the 9th Chevron is 'velocity' because what it leads to is not a stationary object. I found it fascinating.

how easy is it for you to come up with titles?

I love making titles for things. Like I said in another one of these answers, I have been using miniscule titles and 'title of the fic (secondary title)' since my very first published fic back when I was 13 in 1998. (The fic was a Highlander: The Series fic called 'fire in the sky (lightening in the blood)'). Most of my titles come from song lyrics, and that song is usually whatever I've used for pull-quotes and have been listening to on loop while writing. Since I'm always listening to music, there's always something I can pull from.

The problem comes when I write a series, like with my series the secret language, where there are three stories (and one is multi-chaptered) and each title comes from the same song (in this case, Taylor Swift's "Illicit Affairs"). I still don't know what to call the final, bonus chapter that will be the last section of the last fic. Maybe just 'illicit affairs', rip.

[midnightliar]

PS if you didn't enjoy gideon the ninth but maybe wanted to like it or liked some of the ideas, please read the serpent gates duology by ak larkwood if you haven't yet!!! it's not necromancy or anything if that's what you were there for, but it's a fantasy setting with a swordfighting lesbian protag who isn't necessarily the smartest or most naturally gifted but is actually a compelling character in a compelling plot and it makes me crazy that like four people have read it