#pay more attention to what the romans want than how they display themselves

[filmtv2022]

Your Fate Is My Own

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Reader

Synopsis: The reader finds herself trapped in the shadow of her brothers, Geta & Caracalla. When General Marcus Acacius returns to Rome at the behest of the emperors, she is forced to face the very person she thought she'd lost forever.

Warnings: Kiss(es) + some swearing + period-appropriate expectations of women.

A/N: So to be fucking for real... I have no idea if this story complies with the plot of the movie or what actually happened in history. I have some working knowledge of Roman history, but I wasn't too pressed about getting things "right" for this story. If that bothers you... just move on. I wanted to focus on an interesting relationship backstory between the reader and Marcus. If you guys like this and/or I feel like it, there is the possibility I'd write more for these two (probably after watching the movie here in a couple of weeks.) As always, all mistakes are my own, forgive me!

Also... just to clarify... the reader may be a bit younger than Marcus, but she is meant to be read as far closer in age to him than to her brothers (older sister). Writing for large age gaps is something I'm NOT comfortable with and did NOT incorporate in this story.

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Echoed voices traversed the cavernous halls of the palace, greeting you long before the men to whom they belonged reached the marble and gold gilded room you inhabited. Perhaps it would have been prudent to stand, to adjust the layers of your flowing cotton dress, or even to consider in any way your appearance ahead of such a meeting with your illustrious guest, but no part of you could find it within yourself to care. Not when more pressing matters weighed heavily on your mind. 

Wood groaned under the brutish touch of the emperors’ posse. The guards that constantly flanked them entered the room first, posting themselves near the windows and door, their faces stoic or bored, more likely the latter considering the vapid tirade of shit flowing from Geta's mouth. The wine was bitter against your tongue, burning the delicate skin of your throat with each sip. A haze had settled over your limbs, leaving them heavy and your tongue loose. 

Your brother’s diatribe continued unchecked even as his guest’s attention waned. The General’s armor-clad chest practically gleamed in the flowing torchlight. The world seemed to move and sway around the trio, their power and might on display, but there was a difference to be sure. Geta’s slight frame held no weight,  and yet every ear turned to him, every hand either sought to please him or to protect him. Caracalla was somehow even less imposing, his attention to Geta so fervent it bordered on the obscene. The same could not be said for the General. His mere presence in the space filled it to the breaking point. Energy, passion, and intelligence poured off of him, setting those around on edge, wondering about his next step. His attention was rightly divided between the twittering men beside him, the guards stationed around him, and strikingly, the addition of your presence before him. 

The soft swish of your dress as you stood was lost in the chaos of the moment, but your words were not. They were out of your mouth before their implication could be considered, something you’d likely pay dearly for later. 

“Marcus Acacius.” The room stopped, and footfalls drew silent as every eye fell on you, now standing beside the head of the table. “How lovely to see you! " Thinly veiled disgust and temperament sharpened each word.

“It’s General, dear sister. Address him properly or I fear I must ask you to leave.” Geta’s voice grated at your nerves but now was not the time. 

“Do not pretend any of you wish for my company, but I shall do my best to acquiesce to the niceties you desire.” A sly smile turned the corner of your lips as you addressed the statuesque figure beside Geta. “General Marcus Acacius, how are you finding the Rome you’ve so diligently protected? I’m sure my brothers have spared no expense in treating you to our finest. One can only hope it's been enough to cover up the stinking pile of shit that festers in the heart of this city.” 

“Sister!” Geta snapped, spittle flying from his lips as he scolded.

“Brother.” You paid him only momentary attention, just long enough to freeze his protests before turning back to the General. “You’ve yet to answer to me, General? Don’t tell me the great warrior's afraid to speak his mind.” 

Hesitant, he searched for the words he hoped wouldn’t further inflame the situation,  and fell short, “It has been adequate.” 

“Adequate.” You couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that tumbled from your lips, “Just adequate? You mean to tell me that the blood sport of the arena doesn’t hold the same allure as it once did? But I mean how could it after all those years spent traipsing about in carnage? Burning and bloodying foreign lands all for a scrap of glory. I'm sure nothing can compare to that.”

Caracalla grumbled, but his words were stilled by Marcus’ subdued response, “You disagree with the expansion of Rome?” 

“What I do or do not agree with is of little importance.” Reaching for the decanter of wine, you sloshed more into the empty crystal glass that sat perched before you. 

“But you do? Disagree that is?” He held your gaze, searching for something in your eyes while divulging nothing of his own feelings. 

“Those are your words, not mine.” Clearing the edge of the table, wine in hand, you stepped closer to your brothers and their esteemed guest. “Now, if you’ll forgive me, I believe it is time for me to retire for the evening.” With only your eyes, you met Marcus', the soft brown of his seemed to glow, “General.” 

“My lady.” 

With no further words of departure, you left the room stunned to silence. There would most certainly be hell to pay for the way that conversation had gone, but that was indeed a problem for later. 

----------------------------------------------------

The inky blackness of the night sky and shadowed land blended seamlessly into the horizon. Free from the burden of the public eye, you luxuriated in the gentle breeze that wafted through the open balcony door. Below the soft murmur of voices had given way to the occasional clatter of armor as the guards settled into their usual spots, for no matter your differences Geta would be damned if you were left unprotected. Sadly, and to his lack of understanding, the guards he’d so carefully chosen had a deep penchant for showing up to their watch three sheets to the wind. 

You couldn't be sure of the hour,  but it had been quite some time since you’d made your exit. Greeting the General with words of derision hadn't been the anticipated outcome and still, you felt no qualms about it. For the General was astute in his assumption, you did disagree with the expansion of Roman territory. For Rome was long past the point of needing more and the conquest had become one merely for the purpose of appearances. How better to convince the world of your prowess than to eliminate the threat of opposition? Ply them with entertainment, blind with enthusiastic and unbridled patriotism, and pray to the gods no one noticed the foundation crumbling beneath them. That was the plan, tenuous and strained though it was. 

Laying back upon the pillows, their silk coverings ran cool against your wine-flushed skin. The weight of your frame pressed into the bed below, forming to your curves and hugging you tightly. It was glorious and yet it was a comfort you knew too many hardworking and loyal Romans would never experience. The safety of a warm room and a bed for rest, without a care or thought as to where their next meal would come from. It seemed unfair that you, of all people, should have so much when so many did more with far less.  But that was never to be your lot, fighting for Rome, for the poor farmer, for those who were the backbone of society. No, there'd never be a place for you to do that. Instead, you found yourself resigned to a life behind closed doors, seen and not heard when in public, and entirely ignored in private.  

A quiet knock sounded across the room, snapping your eyes open and pricking at your nerves. The ever-present danger that lurked within the inner circle left you cautious, but when a second knock met your ears it removed the choice of inaction. The marble was chilled beneath your bare feet, sending a silent shiver down your spine. At the door, you pressed your ear to the wood, listening for any sign of distress beyond. Hearing nothing, you cracked the barrier and took in your surroundings. 

No longer dressed in his formal attire, General Marcus Acacius stood no less formidable than before, and yet the lines beside his eyes told of the bone-deep exhaustion that weighed him down like a heavy trading ship caught in a violent storm. 

“General Acacius. If you are looking for my brothers they are not here. And at this hour it is likely that are… otherwise engaged.”

“It is not them I seek.” His demeanor remained that of a battle-trained soldier, calm and collected.

“I see.” Turning away, you stepped back into the room leaving the door open behind you while closing those that marked the balcony. Marcus took that as an invitation to enter the space, closing the door behind him, and stopping just beyond it.  With your back still to him, you continued to speak, “Then how may I be of assistance? For we've already established I have not the eyes nor the ears of the Emperors. And as unfortunate as it may be, the senate has their heads so far up their own asses I fear the only thing they can see is the putrid brown of the Tiber during a flood.”

“Drop the act.” Marcus struggled against his instinct and remained glued to his spot. 

“There is no act, Marcus.” You snapped back to face him, your jaw clenched with every word. “There is only a role which must be fulfilled. And as thankful as I am to the gods for only time parting us and not death, I'm afraid you no longer have a part to play in my story.”

“Don't do this.” His voice was even, unfazed despite the swell of emotion that barreled toward the surface. 

“Do what? Speak the truth?” Your stomach flipped, sending bile burning in your throat. The General’s brows knitted together, sharing barely a fragment of his pain, but it was enough for you to see the war he waged inside.

“Push me away.” And with that, his steadfastness broke. Quick and powerful steps brought him to you, his broad hands falling to your waist and cheek, tipping your face to his and pleading for you to listen. 

“I am not the one who left, remember that.” The bridge of your nose burned and wetness pooled at the corners of your eyes, blurring the stunning vision of the man before you. “I am not the one who has stayed away all these years.”

“There was no choice! They told me to go and I went. If I’d refused… they would’ve-” 

“Killed you, I know, and I fault you not for it. And yet that changes nothing of what I've said. ” Your forehead dropped to the center of his chest as his sure fingers threaded through your hair, cupping the back of your head. Reaching for him, your fists twisted in the front of his tunic. The maroon fabric was soft to the touch, but it was the heady scent of him that filled your senses forcing the tears from your eyes. “I cannot be your Marcus, not in the way that is desired. We cannot do this, fall back into each other’s arms, and pretend as if nothing has changed. You are here to appease the Emperors and I am… I am nothing more than a pawn to be owned and then put into play at the right time.”

With every ounce of gentleness he could muster, Marcus lifted your face to his. The timber of his whisper traveled gracefully to your broken heart, “No matter what they desire, you are no one’s property for they cannot steal the wonder that is your loving heart and tenacious mind. Rome would be a far better place if people such as yourself were given the space and power to make it so.” 

His calloused thumb brushed tender arcs along the high point of your cheek. Trapped in his gaze, your voice quivered, “And Rome is better with you as her General. Never forget the kindness in your heart, Marcus. That desire to protect those in need. They’ve tried to twist you into something brutish and lowly, but they do not know the goodness that runs deep within you. May the gods never let them steal it.” 

The silence that fell between you was heavy with desire, and unspoken need, for words were not enough. Knowing this and throwing all caution to the wind, Marcus brought his lips to yours. The embrace was slow and passionate. Drinking in the taste of you, his lungs hitched at the feeling of your hands on his body moving along the broad expanse of his chest.  You toyed delicately with his tunic, memorizing the feel of him beneath the thin fabric that separated you. A deep grumble reverberated in his chest, sending shivers down your spine. Only the distant sounds of heavy footfalls broke the pair of you apart. 

With chest heaving, Marcus rested his brow against yours. The warmth of his breath drifted over your face, comforting you in the wash of emotions that battered in the wake of your shared embrace. Sensing the moment waning, you spoke the truth you’d feared to share but knew could mean the difference between life and death. “Hear me Marcus, do not trust them. Move with them only so far as is necessary. You are nothing more to them than a means to an end, listen not to their praises and promises. Your fate rests squarely in the hands of men who care little whether you live or die.” 

The General swallowed hard, catching his breath before he replied, “I hear you. And I promise you, from my lips to the gods, I will fight to stay by your side if you’ll have me. I am yours for as long as fate will allow. No more running. No more putting glory above all else. I made the mistake of leaving you behind, and there is no future in which I intend to make that mistake over again.” 

“Your fate is my own. If you burn, I burn with you.” Once again you found each other, your lips working in perfect synchronization. For now only the power of the gods could stop the pair of you. Together you’d face the tempest and weather the storm for the hope of a brighter tomorrow stood just beyond its shadows.

[littlemisslipbalm]

I live in the neighbourhood - Part 3

What happened to the cycling classes after work and the occasional drinks with coworkers? Now it was flying to Italy to vacation for the December holidays with Harry and his family and friends.

Ok part 3!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and the final part of ilitn i believe! let me know what you think! plssss! Not proofread, but your support means the most and it means the world to see your thoughts, literally anything about it, and this little harry I always have to remember that’s the simp your honor ^ right there! anyway happy reading!

Read Part 1 | 2

Word Count: 10.9k | Warnings: swearing, smut! (finally) - oral (m+f receiving, dirty talk, choking? i can’t remember ngl there might not be, sloppy sex, outdoors by the pooldeck just btw, christmas, idk but hopefully nothing I missed, feelings! happy ending (possibly rushed 

-

“You’re really flying to Italy and then traipsing around the Italian countryside for three weeks with Harry and his family? I cannot believe you’re leaving me behind.”

“You’re gonna kill me for saying this, but he had said I could invite a friend or two if I wanted. But I thought it’d be weird with his family so you literally can’t be mad at me!”

“Fine. I’ll move past it, but how did you move past the whole panic attack? Like you barely spoke to him for a month and then he’s on your doorstep and you’re kissing and agreeing to a Roman Holiday?”

“It’s Harry,” she sighs, laying down on her couch. “How could I not, I got scared because he was gone, but once he was back, nothing else mattered.”

“I guess,” Cate mumbles.

“Oof, sorry Cate I have another call, I’ve got to go…”

By the time she tries to pick up the other line has gone to a message and she’s left to listen to her boss over a voicemail:

“Hey Y/N, I know your holidays have just begun, but I wanted to inform you that you’ll be getting a new client in the new year. Big artist! Anyway, just wanted to inform you that I’ll be emailing over some of their paperwork. Feel free to ignore it until the new year! Have a nice trip.”

She sighs. “Interesting...but will definitely be waiting for the new year to even think about work,” she says to herself.

She throws her phone to the side. Tired of all the phone tag and messages she had begun to have to deal with as the Holiday season dawned more and more upon her. She had more important things to think about. Most important being the suitcase laid out before her and the flight she was bound to be taking in less than 24 hours. This time, she wouldn’t be picking Harry up from the airport. No, this time they were flying out of London Heathrow together.

Together together? She wasn’t sure. The kiss on her doorstep and plea of Italian holiday meant a lot to her, but did it scream committed relationship? She had no idea when it came to Harry. Maybe it was better not to ask and just wait until he told her. Wondering had gotten her in a pit last time and she never wanted to feel the way she had over the last month while he had been gone.

She sleeps in her bed for one last night before leaving for a month. Harry had managed to convince the airline to allow Rori to ride with them in first class, so she wouldn’t have to leave her dog in a kennel or with friends during the holidays. She was grateful for that and she just didn’t understand how she had gotten so lucky as to have someone like Harry in her life.

They fly first class and while Harry had secured her ticket last minute, she insisted that he take her money to pay for the ticket. She was determined to not lose herself in this process. She would happily go along with Harry’s crazy life as long as she maintained her constitution. And paying for her own ticket was one of her ways of doing that.

The flight is short, a quick jaunt compared to the arduous trips across the Atlantic, both her and Harry were quite used to from their work and family lives. He smiles at her throughout the journey, coming across the aisle often to check on her and pet Rori. He would make little jokes that wouldn’t make anyone else laugh but them and he would grab the airpod she would take out and play whatever she had been listening to and offer a dance. His little dances were so sweet, if strange and awkward in the small flight cabin.

She wore grey marbled leggings and a matching thick strapped tank top beneath a nondescript hoodie. Harry’s dressed quite nice for traveling, she presumes in case he’s papped. Linen trousers, a collared coat, and some beaded necklaces he had taken to wearing over the last few months - each month seemed to add on another necklace, but she wasn’t counting.

He had reminded her to bring large sunglasses for the airport.

He had said “I don’t care if we’re seen together, but it’s more for your comfort. I hate when my friend’s lives are put on display for the whole world. You’re not the one who signed up for this.”

She had been appreciative and grabbed her largest pair of sunglasses because truthfully she didn’t want to be seen with Harry. She didn’t want the whole world knowing her or her business, it wasn’t who she was. No, not at all. So when they step off the plane and head to baggage claim after customs, she feels aware of her surroundings in a way she never has been. It reminds her of the way Jeff, Charlotte, and Mitch had conducted themselves in the bar that one time. Extremely alert. Watching people’s eye movements and considering whether they recognized her companion. She trails behind him a fair amount, three paces at least. Harry glances back every few moments, checking in to make sure she’s still with him as they move through the bustling airport.

They make it to baggage claim with no stops, but sadly Harry’s luggage seems to give him away. That or just his presence, he was a 6 foot tall and extremely broad man who gave off this energy that couldn’t help but turn eyes. And all it took was one of those eyes to recognize the fluff of hair, the olive-y skin, the peaking bird tattoos and colorful necklaces to alert the world of just where he was.

He doesn’t get stopped for any pictures, but she feels the number of eyes on him grow. She also watches as Harry doesn’t shrink from the growing attention. If anything, it simply makes him move quicker, but only slightly. He glances at her once to see her hood up and big green glasses covering up half her face. Rori has left his carrier and is covering the other half as she pushes a cart in front of her. He makes a nondescript nod and then sets off towards the exit, she follows behind easily.

By the time they’re in the car that was waiting to drive them to Harry’s villa, he’s gotten buzzed by Jeff just to check-in since a few photos have been uploaded of him at the airport. People were so fast. She shook her head in disbelief as she looked up Harry Styles on twitter and saw the scene she had just been apart of minutes ago on her screen now. She’s unrecognizable in the photos she happens to appear in and to everyone else she looks like another traveler instead of Harry’s companion or whatever she was to him. Instead of his friend.

Harry calls Jeff as they’re driven to his lovely sprawling home near Lake Como. He informs him they’re fine - he is quick to ensure that Y/N is well after asking her himself once they had gotten into the confines of the small car. She thinks it’s sweet especially because she was sure that Jeff really was more focused on Harry and his well-being since he was both his friend and his client while she was just an extra. The two men talk about the flight and customs and what Jeff will be doing with his holiday since he had turned down Harry’s invitation to come out to Italy as well. This leaves her to stare out the window at the passing scenery. She and Rori are completely content with this as they watch the tranquil life around them as they pass by little forests and towns over cobblestoned ground.

The colors seem brighter throughout Italy compared to the sad and gloomy winter of London. The dreary scape traded for something far more picturesque. Italy growing ever more beautiful the closer they drive to Harry’s home. Everything was so radiant, from the sun shining above her head to the little dew drops still pooled on the perfectly green leaves of plants she knew not the names of.

The car pulls up to the long driveway to Harry’s place which he insisted was just a house, but she knew better. The driveway felt like half a mile of perfect cobblestones, seemingly handpicked to make the smoothest drive. Outside the house sat a gorgeous little convertible that was in between steel and cream and sparkled in the sun. The top was currently up, but she could tell the interior was just as nice as the exterior. Harry had a thing for cars and she suspected that no matter where he was, he managed to keep his cars in perfect condition.

The house was breathtaking due to its simultaneous simplicity and intricacy. It’s coloring was variations of cream and gold and some terra cotta. But it sprawled into the hillside behind it and wrapped around the nature to the side of it and the pool to the back right of it. There also was a little separate shed like thing that also seemed to be a residence. Harry insisted it was just an extra bedroom, but it looked like almost another house to her.

As she stepped out of the car, she thought that she might get lost in that house if she was left to wander around it by herself. A feeling she feared to get accustomed to.

The door of the house was a dark green that seemed oddly familiar to her as she walked through it. And when Harry looked back to make sure she had gotten in the house alright she recognized it. His door somehow matched the color of his eyes in dark lighting. A green that was timeless and ancient at the same time. A green that was unnerving yet inviting. A green that was Harry. She never thought she had a favorite color, but in that moment she was sure it was his eyes.

Harry calls her name and she realizes he’s been saying it for awhile.

“Sorry?”

He smiles fondly at her confused face and leans towards her as if he might kiss her. She stops breathing in that moment, wanting more than anything for that to be his next move. His chest brushes against hers, his warmth invading her space. His face is a mere milimeter from hers and she can count every speck of stubble on his jaw. But his lips don’t brush gently over hers in a way that she knew was addicting. Instead, his strong hand reaches past her and shuts the entrancing green door gently.

His eyes flicker back to her face when he pulls back, taking a single step backwards to allow for a comfortable space between them. Still close, but not like he’s about to embrace her expecting frame and kiss her.

“I asked if you wanted a tour of the house? Or if you just wanted me to pick your room.” His eyes are crinkled at the corner, a smile on his face even though his mouth is hung open in a lingering question.

She blinks her eyes and twitches her head to glance around the rest of her surroundings. Rori had run off the moment they had gotten in the door. The hallway Harry and she found themselves was narrow and simple, a single painting right behind Harry’s head was the sole decoration and a tapestry style rug beneath their feet. She nods after a moment, feeling all her words caught somewhere in her throat for no reason at all.

“Good,” he nods and gives her a funny look, trying to understand her quiet demeanor. “Just drop your stuff here for now,” he adds.

His hand encircles her wrist, as it had grown accustomed to, to lead her through the house. She bites her lower lip to muffle the little giggle that somehow escapes her as he tugs her playfully down and through the house.

He goes on about almost every piece of art and trinket he has hung and placed throughout the house. Each thing has its story and Harry waxes eloquent on every single one. He shows her each room in the house and then leads her outside through the single door of the master bedroom on the second floor. The door takes them onto a small balcony that overlooks the center of the estate which included the pool and then a garden to the left of the converted poolhouse - what Harry insisted it be called when Y/N had told him it was a mini house.

His hand has traveled down to intertwine with hers as the tour had drawn on. So as he leads her down the little spiral staircase to the ground floor, she hums at the warmth his thumb rubs into her skin ever so softly. His eyes flicker to her face and hold her gaze for a moment as he watches her descend the last two stairs.

She smiles at him, her cheeks rosy from the air outside. They walk between the garden and the pool to reach the “converted pool house” and she stops for a moment to dance her fingers through the perfectly clean pool water - he must have had a housekeeper who came by recently to open everything up and clean it all.

“This is truly amazing, Harry,” she sighs as she stares out at the entire house from the single stone upstep to the little cottage. It gave her a view of the entire place besides the front of the house. It was gorgeous.

Harry nods, tucking his head to his chest slightly, possibly feeling a little bashful. Behind the successful man that stood before her was a young boy with a dream that had made this possible and he never forgot that.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely and unlocks the door of the cottage, a similar green is painted on this door as well.

She goes ahead of him at his request and he watches her fingers on the green paint, caressing it softly, each finger never wishing to leave it as they slowly depart its surface. This place is just a microcosm of the house they had just been. A kitchenette, a living area, a bedroom, and a full bath - including a freestanding tub.

She all but runs around the place, fingers running over the countless spines of books that Harry mindlessly chose to store there in ceiling high bookshelves and eyes taking in prints of personal photography he had been too nervous to store anywhere but here. There were larger poster sized prints as well as smaller ones, all black and white, of different scenes on the walls of the living area. Some were portraits of loved ones, others were landscapes of cities and countryside alike, and some were of past lovers with their hair swept behind them as they looked back at Harry in some beautiful place. She smiled at these obviously film photographs and turned to Harry after a moment, almost mirroring the people in the more personal pictures.

“When’s the last time you used your camera?” She asks.

Harry’s figure is perched in the door, his body slightly slumped on the frame while he rolls his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. He hums, thinking back to the last time he took out his camera.

“Last tour...I think. I got film back with Camille in it and I just didn’t feel like putting more in it after that,” he rasps out and clears his throat at the end, clearly unnerved by the topic.

“Well, these are beautiful, you have a smart eye for catching precious moments,” she smiles softly, understanding Harry’s apprehension.

“Thanks,” his voice still a bit deeper than usual, “I still use my Super8 pretty regularly when I’m doing things for work. Like when I shoot music videos, I usually bring it along to get my own footage for later.”

She only nods and watches him enter the room, moving closer to her to gaze at the images more up close as well.

“I like to have something to remember it by. Just in case, someday,” he starts and sighs, eyes trained on the wall of memories, “My mind isn’t what it once was.”

She watches him delicately place his hand on the couch behind them to brace himself and she notices the slight fear in his face as he says it. She blinks at the scene in front of her. A man in an amazing moment in his life fearful that it might all disappear from his vision someday. A horrible thought that seems to plague him more often than one would expect.

She nudges closer to him immediately. Her shoulder brushes his arm as she presses her head to his own shoulder and stays there firmly.

“Thank you,” she whispers and his head drops down to look at her face now radiating warmth against him. “For sharing this with me.”

His hand on the couch moves to wrap around her shoulders and pull her closer. Instinctively, she wraps her arms around his waist and he rests his head atop of hers. He stays silent but places a chaste kiss in her hair. She squeezes harder, telling him everything is alright and all he had to be with her was himself.

He switches his gaze between the girl wrapped up in him and the pictures of the rest of his life in front of him and he takes it all in. He feels safe, a comfort he was hard pressed to find with his life always on the move. The bustling change felt eons away while he was wrapped up in her. She was constant and kind. Understanding. She took him as he was, no expectations. That realization has him melting further into her, his head dropping down to her shoulder and nosing into her hair. His hands cusping at the back of her neck and the small of her back. And he presses firmly yet gently.

They stand there, swaying slightly to an unknown tune that played only in their private world of just them two.

A branch sways too and breaks them out of their reverie when it taps against the French doors that lead out to somewhere else in Harry’s estate.

“I think I’d like to stay here, if that’s alright,” she says, pulling back from him only slightly.

His hands migrate from their embrace around her back and neck and slide to her hip and her shoulder separately. Her hands both rest on his chest and she feels his consistent heartbeat that she had been listening to for the last few minutes against her ear.

His eyes sparkle at her suggestion. “Really? There’s plenty of spots in the main house,” he rushes.

“No, I love this place,” she glances around once more, soaking in the cozy room that housed Harry’s art. “Plus, your family will be here tomorrow and you should all be together under one roof for the holidays. I know how rare that can be.”

He nods in agreement and twists a tendril of her hair around one of his fingers slowly. She doesn’t notice until he makes an experimental and playful tug on it. Her lips purse at the feeling and her eyes narrow.

“You’re an evil little thing under all those layers of niceties and kind words, Mr. Styles,” she says as she pulls away from him.

Now that it was decided on where she would be staying for the next few weeks, she wanted to get her things settled and take a shower possibly. She also needed to check in on Rori and see what he had gotten up to while they had been wandering.

Harry laughs, filled with an unmatched glee as he follows her out of the cottage and back into the main house, “I can show you evil if that’s what you want, dove. I’ll give you anything you want.”

And while she knows he’s saying this in jest, she knows he’s also telling the truth. He’d give her just about anything she wanted, all she had to do was ask.

-

After settling the house a bit, finding where Rori wanted to sleep - he chose inside the main house, and some showers, she and Harry both felt refreshed.

She walked out of the front door of the cottage and crossed to the French doors at the middle point of the house. They had them open to get fresh air in the house and she walked right through and into the kitchen where she found Harry and her dog happily perched on the countertop.

Rori batted at Harry’s hands and nuzzled into his scratches as Harry cradled him to his chest. It was criminally sweet and she knocked on the door frame to pull Harry’s attention away from her furry friend.

“You look nice,” Harry smiles.

She glances down at her outfit; a cashmere olive colored sweater and high waisted cream corduroys along with her sneakers of choice. She thought it was casual, but she appreciated the compliment nonetheless. She murmurs a thanks and a quick “you too”, she didn’t even need to look at what he was wearing, he always looked good. Her head tilts to rest on the door frame as well, her eyes trained on Harry’s face.

“Do you want to go for a drive?” He inquires as he places Rori back on the ground.

The dog scampers to her side for a moment before running off to do his own thing. Her lips quirk up on the sides and her eyes narrow slightly. He’s looking at her with a quiet confidence set in his jaw that she doesn’t quite understand.

His smile makes her bite her lip, slightly unnerved by the energy he was giving off. Maybe it was because they were completely alone - not something new to them since that’s how they interacted almost solely, but something about being in Italy seemed to have shifted the dynamic. Something in the water or whatever that saying was.

“Do I get to drive?” She stands from her leaning position and crosses in front of him.

His laugh comes out quickly and heartily. “No chance, dove.”

She groans and pushes at his shoulder.

“Trust me, you’ll like it better. Can just enjoy the scenery, don’t have to focus on the road.”

He wraps a hand around her waist and then scoots her towards the door that would lead them out of the house. She giggles at the contact and she feels him watching her. It felt nice, felt simply theirs.

He drove her down the driveway and onto a country road until it merged into a road by the lake. He brought the top down so the wind rushed around them, blustering about as he drove at a quick yet somehow leisurely pace. She glanced at the scenery and took a few pictures, but something else kept demanding her attention.

Harry. He was a quiet kind of handsome in this moment. It wasn’t in your face, it was just how each curve of his skin seemed perfectly placed. Every pore was clear and every mole had a reason. His tattoos peeking from his collar and shirt sleeves were that perfect inky black that remained smooth. It was consistent, the way his hair fell over his forehead and he would smooth it back without even thinking. His eyes were focused and bright, yet slightly stormier than normal. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. And she wondered what she had done to be beside him at that moment. Wondered what it was that she had done to be cared for by Harry.

His hand on her leg brings her out of her mind once again. His looks always seemed to get her lost in thought. He was just that special. No one else had ever caused any similar reaction. His fingers splay on her thigh, no rings on them today. He rubs his thumb back and forth softly and she leans closer to him to whisper in his ear. They were completely alone, but it felt like something even the wind didn’t deserve to hear.

He tilts his head to her, eyes flickering to her movement for a moment and then back to the road. His hand on her thigh slips upwards with how she moves.

“I’m the most lucky girl in the world,” she says, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she says the words.

She pulls back and stares at him, her hand going down to her thigh to play with his lovingly. He looks at her again and sees her serious expression. This causes him to pull over on the side of the road by the water. He rubs at her thigh again with his thumb and she shifts in her seat.

“And why’s that?” His voice low as he asks and shifts the car into park.

“Because I’m here, with you. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything in this world.”

He hums in response and licks at his lips when her sweater happens to fall off her shoulder. She notices the slip, but doesn’t bother to fix it since she also saw how Harry’s eyes danced over the newly exposed skin.

“I wouldn’t trade this either” the words dance slowly off the tip of his tongue. His accent fuller as he says the last word. “Let’s walk around,” Harry suggests when he sees her eyes flicker between his and his lips.

They explore the grassy area that lives just before the dip of the water at Harry’s request. He guides her along with his hand entwined with hers. Her eyes stay on only him still, the scenery unable to compare to the beauty of him that she was just fully realizing how bad she wanted to be enveloped in. His profile is illuminated by the sun shining above them and she swears he’s sparkling under the light.

The fear of what they were and all of the things that came along with labels were the furthest away thoughts. The man who had been the quirky neighbour had transformed into the man she was pretty sure she was in love with. Too afraid to say those three words, she decided the best thing she could do was to show rather than tell.

“Harry,” she calls and he stops his wandering, turning to face her instead.

A hand reaches up to trace over his strong cheekbone and caresses down the side of his face and cradles his slightly stubbled jaw. Her thumb rubs over the place where his dimple often showed up. He sighs into her touch and says her name back. His voice fails him as he gazes down at her, everything he means to say dies in his throat, for once at a loss for words.

She purses her lips and reaches up to connect their lips, having missed his sweet lips touch. They were meant to press against hers. Harry seems to forget how to breathe, her initiating the kiss between them, something foreign to him, but not unwelcome. He leans down to make it easier on her and she glows in his reciprocation. His hand shifts to cradle the back of her head as the kiss continues. Their lips dance, brushing back and forth, tongues slightly licking into one another’s mouths ever so delicately, playfully even.

A specific clash of teeth as the kiss continues leads to a breathless laugh from her as Harry presses himself closer to her. His other hand pressing her waist safely into him. She happily obliges, sinking one hand to rest over his backside which makes him smile.

“Naughty,” he mumbles against her brightening lips, eyebrows bobbing over his closed eyes.

She laughs now, her head tilting up for a moment, eyes opening to look at his face, yet up so close it's just his eyes and upper cheeks. His eyes are extra large from this angle and the grey green they had been dancing between had merged into a darkening seafoam green that was rather rare for them. She wanted to take an inventory of every color his eyes managed to be, but she was sure the list would never end.

“You like it,” she quips back, a peck sneaked at the corner of his mouth. That little love touch leads to more minutes of making out. Her supple and soft chest against his strong one, hands roaming the other’s body searching for purchase. Soft sighs and gentle moans leave Harry’s mouth when she nibbles at his ear and leaves loving kisses to his neck and collarbone. She makes similar sounds when he laves his tongue over the hollow of her neck and mouths happily on her neck.

The sight of them is two lovers enthralled in each other’s mouths and bodies in a meadow beside a lake. The sounds of nature are only overtaken by their happiness with each other.

When he ruts his hips against her body and she writhes against him with eagerness previously not seen, Harry realizes just how in public they are and he pulls away. A whine of discontent falling from her lips before she can control herself.

“We should…” He falters again, staring down at his neighbour he had begun to want more than anything else in the world, “Should head back.”

“Right,” she nods curtly.

Hands falling back to her sides, but Harry grabs one of them and intertwine their fingers as they had them before. She smiles so wide her eyes crinkle at the corners and he can’t help himself to peck at the left side of her temple.

They drive back to the house and Harry suggests a dip in the pool which Y/N agrees to easily. Something to cool them off from the heavy makeout session they had partaken in down by the water.

“Everyone else is arriving tomorrow,” Harry says after he surfaces from his expert dive into the deep end. He treads water lightly and drifts towards her.

She’s floating on her back a little ways from him. Her hair was shimmery all wet again and the  skin of her face glowed with tiny droplets. Her eyes were closed as she moved her hands back and forth through the comfortable water.

She feels his eyes on her, burning into her, waiting for a response. She peaks open one eye and looks at him. His cheeks pinken quickly from the slight embarrassment of being caught, but he doesn’t look away.

“It’s going to be really fun, Harry,” she rights herself and swims closer to him causing him to smile happily. “I’m really happy to be here.”

“It won’t be just us anymore,” he says, swimming backwards and creating a slight chase for her as she follows after him.

She narrows her eyes at his tactics, but still follows as he swims to the edge of the pool where they could both stand.

“Nope, but we’re gonna really get the holiday spirit flowing. Family dinners and games, shopping for gifts...this really is one of my favorite times of the season,” she smiles back at him and puts her hand against the edge of the pool, her chest emerging from beneath the cooling water.

Droplets roll down her chest, racing down her body and in between her cleavage. Harry’s eyes follow the water droplets disappearing beneath her bright red tied bikini top. He gets distracted when the air pebbles her nippls beneath the thin wet fabric, his tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight. The round of her breast was especially full in the thin fabric. He had never seen this much of her despite their friendship lasting for many months now. It was...mouthwatering and his eyes stayed trained on her breasts as they rhythmically moved up and down with her breathing. It was like a spell.

That he was brought out of when a splash of water flicks at his face. She gives him an obvious look saying she had caught him staring and then she rolls her eyes at his smirk obviously not embarrassed by his latest fixation.

“We won’t be alone like this,” he steps closer to her, his own chest running with water droplets. His hair messy and wet atop his head as he pushes it off his forehead. “Possibly at all for the next three weeks,” he continues and hears her breath catch as he moves even closer. His body hovers a moment away from hers as he stares down at her. His nose almost brushes hers as he starts to lean down. She stays almost completely still. Her head moves though to allow Harry access to where his mouth seems to be headed, the side of her neck.

“After today,” he whispers before smudging an open mouthed kiss just below her ear.

A small gasp escapes her at his hot breath and a searing kiss against her chilled skin. She feels his smirk on her skin as he continues down her neck, leaving spongy eager kisses down the column.

“Well, I don’t think that’s a problem,” she tries to remain composure, feeling the burn inside of her pitch back up. The fire had dulled from the kissing by the lake once they had swam, but here he was pressing into her once again. Suddenly more eager and forward than he had ever been. Her breathing is hard to regulate with his expert hands running along her naked sides below the water and his legs backing her into the edge of the pool while his lips make love to her neck.

“Oh?” Harry hums, moving a hand up to fiddle with a strap of her top, the wet nylon twisting easily and then he lets it snap back softly. Her arousal only grows from the tiny smack. “Not a problem, eh?” His lips travel down between her breasts and she gasps in anticipation.

“Won’t be able to make you feel this good anytime you want,” he breathes and then ghosts over her covered pebbled nipple.

“You’re a tease, Harry,” she grips at his shoulders that are hunched to allow him to kiss on her. Her eyes having the perfect view of his curved neck and spine, the skin an expanse of clear perfect flesh, no tattoos in sight from this angle. The little curls at the nape of his neck trickling with spare droplets as he sucks on her own skin.

“Hmm…” his lips travel back up to the underside of her jaw causing her to tilt her head back and her stimulated chest to press into Harry’s. A chuckle passes against her skin as he feels her two points press into him.

Then, suddenly, he pulls back and grips at the back of her head to make her look at him. His eyes are deep and dark as the day starts to wear on, the sun beginning to set off in the distance.

“Maybe I need to demonstrate just what you’ll be missing out on?” He tilts his head at his suggestion and the glimmer in his eyes shows that he knows exactly what he has to say to get his friend - and soon to be lover - riled up.

Her chest heaves once, longing for the warm touch of Harry’s lips again. “What are you getting at?”

“Wanna make you feel so good you’re begging me to call my family up and tell them to not bother coming because we won’t be leaving your bed for the next few weeks.”

A breathless laugh leaves her, in disbelief, but also in wanton need. Her desire for him grew tenfold in the last ten minutes. His last sentence leaves her itching with longing. For his touch as he promised it.

“Give me the best you got then,” she challenges, her conviction never wavering despite her needy state.

That little sentence is what sets Harry’s eyes ablaze and has him gripping her waist and picking her up and setting her on the edge of the pool.

A quick press of his lips against hers and a “wait here” before he’s pulling himself from the water and shuffling to grab one of the towels he had laid out. She watches him curiously, confused why he had just promised to ravage her but was pausing to towel off.

He comes back with the towel and lays it behind her.

“Harry, what are -”

A finger presses to her swollen lips as his other hand goes to her shoulder and lays her back.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

She nods, eyes wide and glassy as she stares up at him kneeling over her, his body between her bent knees. He leans down to press another kiss to her lips and then begins his decent.

“Gonna make you feel so fucking good, sweetheart,” he whispers.

Down her throat that he had happily been sucking on. His lips ghost over her still hard nipples and his hot breath has her arching off the ground immediately. A whine leaving her lips when he mouths between her two breasts in the valley just above the tie of suit. His fingers dance around on her skin, playing with her swimsuit fabric and she wants to scream at him to just untie it and really touch her, but she refrains. He continues his assault down her body. His hands grip at her knees when his lips travel below her navel. Her breaths have grown more strained as he’s gotten closer and closer to her heat. The cold wet fabric that covered her was a poor substitute to what she wanted to rub against her.

“Please,” she begs in a sigh as Harry’s lips skip where she wants him, instead traveling to her upper inner thigh.

He spreads her legs wider with his arms and her back arches further, her body just about fully on display for Harry. His eyes flicker up to her face that was staring right back down at him, watching his every move.

The cheeky bottoms left little to the imagination and the ties on the sides were so enticing Harry’s fingers smoothed up her thighs and began to toy with them. His face now hovering over her clothed center. His breath fanning the flames of her arousal just below the cherry fabric.

“See,” he smirks, eyes back on her face, “I haven’t even touched you yet, but you’re already begging.

“You’re an ass,” she grits out, trying to not be bothered by how easily he has gotten her in this position.

He clicks his tongue and tugs experimentally at one of the bottoms ties, “S’not a very nice thing to say to the man who’s about to stick his tongue in ya’?”

She gasps and slaps at his right shoulder at his crudeness. “You’re dirty!”

“And you’re wet,” he says confidently, smirking up from between her legs.

His fingers finally tug the ties undone and pull the fabric away from her center. The red bikini bottom falls limply to the ground and Harry’s eyes train on her glistening mound. Wet with the pool water as well as her arousal. To add to the cool air ghosting over her newly exposed skin, Harry blows his own breath over her. She writhes at the sensation, she bites at her lip to hold back any possible moans.

He glances at her face again and settles one arm to be wrapped around her leg and pressing down on her left hip. His other hand snakes between his face and her body and lightly drags between her folds. She bucks her body again, completely in need of some friction after all of the build up and teasing of today. Every nerve down there was electrified at the possibility of Harry finally touching her like this.

His finger pulls back and a string of arousal clings to him, a testament to the filthy thoughts she had about her neighbour. Thoughts she had pushed away for so long until recently. Thoughts she only indulged in in the dead of night, when she was exhausted but her mind insisted on wandering to the green sharp eyes that might stare at her if he ever were to delve into her depths. Her hands would travel to where he was now and rub out a triumphant shake of her thighs and heaving chest all in hopes that maybe he would bring her to that euphoria himself one day. Well that day was today.

He filthily takes that finger into his mouth and grins.  “So wet,” he corrects.

His eyes disappear from view as he launches into his work. His drying curls flop over his forehead and tickle at her lower stomach slightly. He flattens his tongue and licks a strong stripe between her folds. The wet from her weeping hole spreads to her lips and around her clit as his finishes the lick with a little swirl. He uses his free hand to spread apart her lips a little more and takes the new angle to suck on the little puffy nub that is already throbbing. She gasps audibly when he pulls off of it with a squelching sound.

“Fuck,” he sighs and goes back to eating her out, happily pressing his tongue into her.

His hand on her hip travels to grope at one of her breasts and he deftly pulls at the top’s tie and grips onto her skin underneath the fabric. The strong grip mixed with his expert work between her thighs has her moaning loudly and her body writhing as he builds her up.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he rasps, thumb on her nipple flicking happily back and forth. “Scream it out,” he says into her quivering center, “Nobody around to hear you, be as loud as you want.”

She moans louder at his words, her hands gripping harder into his hair. The thought of this scene turns her on even more. In all honesty, if someone did hear them she’d kind of like it. If someone walked in and saw her stretched out next to the pool with their wet bodies writhing against each other in pleasure. Harry’s head buried between her thighs making her feel better than she ever has, her breasts falling out of their top as he massages them harshly.

“Taste so sweet,” he groans, lapping at her tight hole, the muscle contracting against his tongue’s invasion.

She liked how messy he got with it, not that she really had much coherent thoughts in this moment. But his hot tongue swiping up and down and back and forth over her glistening lips and sucking on her clit left her breathless. Her juices and his saliva were making a mess of her thighs and the towel below her. When Harry felt her getting closer he’d back off and pay attention to another part of her and then go back to sucking and nipping perfectly into her.

She was eventually stuttering out, “I’m going to cum, Harry.” Breathing becoming uneven as she was about to tip over the edge. He nods, sucking harder at her clit one last time before taking his tongue and pushing it in and out of her hole, one of his thumbs traveling to rub over her clit in quick succession.  

“Cum for me, dove,” he mumbles quickly before going back to making her feel good.

She grips her own nipple now with one hand and Harry’s hair with the other, her hips pushing up into Harry’s face over and over again. And then she’s hitting her climax and tipping over the edge, a moan ripping from her throat and freezing on her face as Harry eats her out through it. His tongue licking over her quivering pussy. His thumb rubbing comforting circles around her clit until she stopped shaking. Her breathing slowing down, eyes fluttering open eventually. They lazily stare at the man below her who’s lips and chin are slick with her juices as he grins up at her.

“Do you want me to call my mum now or wait until you’re fully back on earth,” he says slyly and kisses the inside of her thigh once more. Eyes lovingly staying on her pleasured out face.

“Seriously talking about your mom while you’re still between my thighs,” she breathes out, completely in disbelief. Harry and her had never gone that far before and it was life changing. He had been right, even if she didn’t want to admit it, she wasn’t sure if she could go three weeks without that again.

He sits up and begins to gently pull back on her swim bottoms and tie them back up. She lays there watching him work.

“How about now?” He asks with a smirk, moving to sit beside her and help her sit up when her bottoms have been readjusted. The fabric against her newly sensitive area was definitely interesting, but she couldn’t care with Harry beside her. She ties off her top on her own, even though Harry gestured that he could do it.

“Shut up,” she laughs and takes a hand to caress at his cheek.

He nuzzles into her touch.

“You forget I’m staying in the cottage...separate from everyone else,” she winks at him.

“Think they’ll still be able to hear ya’ from in there, dove. You’re a loud one,” he bites the inside of his cheek as he teases her.

She huffs and drops her hand, “I was gonna return the favor, but now I don’t think so.”

It’s Harry’s turn to laugh and reach out to her face, he pulls her face close to his, bringing her eyes level with his. “I’m just teasing. Plus, you don’t need to return the favor, I’ve been wanting to do that for ages.”

A laugh bubbles from her lips at the thought of Harry wanting her as much as she wanted him and she pecks at his lips. She grimaces only a little, tasting herself on him still.

“We’ll just have to be sneaky,” she pulls back and rests her forehead against his.

“Yeah,” Harry breaths out. His breath hitches when he feels her hand begin to trail down his chest and fiddle with the hem of his shorts. Her eyes are trained on his, expressionless like she wasn’t beginning to palm his hardened length over his sticky swim shorts.

“I told you,” he musters, “You don’t have to.”

“But,” she rasps, finally. “I want to,” she licks her lips with determination, “Want to make you feel good, too.”

He hums as her soft fingers go back up to the hem of his shorts and he helps her pull them down as he gives a nod of approval to her watching eyes.

Her eyes widen when his length is finally revealed and its bright red tip stands tall and strong against Harry’s stomach, placing itself slightly just below one of the ferns. Harry watches her lick at her hand and then places it between his thighs, her body positioned right next to him. On her knees, she makes an experimental first pump, seeing how his body responded. Her eyes mainly watch his face and an open mouthed smirk twitches onto his face when he notices her gaze. She pumps him again, twisting her wrist this time and swiping at the precum leaking from his tip. A groan leaves Harry’s mouth at that and his stomach flexes, the skin beneath his many tattoos hardening.

“Feel good?” She inquires.

“Great,” he breathes out as she leans forward on her knees and attaches her mouth over his head.

She slowly moves her head down and attempts to fit his entire length into her mouth, but despite her best efforts, she can’t quite get her throat to open up for his entirety yet. After holding him there for a moment, his head scratching at the back of her throat, she pulls off. Heaving a sigh and continuing to work him with her hand, her now glassy eyes look at him. Saliva gathers at her mouth and Harry can’t help himself but reach one of his hands from behind him to her lips. He swipes at it and presses the wet to her lips which she sucks at eagerly, a whine hidden beneath the action.

When his hand pulls away she says, “You’re quite girthy.”

“Girthy?” He sputters, both at the funny comment but also that she’s said it while still jacking him off.

“Mhmm,” she nods seriously, “Couldn’t get you all in.”

“That’s alright,” he starts, but falters on a specifically masterful tug. She grins, knowing what she's doing to him. “You seem to excel, no matter the setbacks.”

“I’ll get it eventually,” she begins to speed up her strokes, “Just need a bit of practice.”

Then her lips are pressing back onto Harry’s prick. She sucks solely at his head and Harry moans out as he gets more sensitive. Then she slides down further and bops her head vigorously. She wants Harry to come undone for her just like she had for him. Make him feel like she had moments ago. And within a few more minutes of enthusiastic sucking and pumping of her hands, even some fondling of his balls which Harry had been extremely receptive to, she has him stuttering beneath her.

One hand gripping at her hair, while the other keeps him upright, Harry’s head is thrown back on his shoulders as he tries to keep his eyes open and trained on the girl taking him so well down her lovely little throat.

“I’m almost there, sweetheart,” he pants, his hips bucking up once as he begins to lose control.

This only spurs her forward, spit drooling down his cock every time she pulls back from his slightly. Her ass is high in the air now as she arches over his length, trying to get him to unload.

“Taking me so well,” Harry praises. “Fuck,” he exclaims at another squeeze of his balls.

She swirls her tongue around his runny head and then hollows her cheeks and sucks on him with everything she’s got. This has Harry cursing and repeating her name, his load spurting into her mouth as she stays still. His chest now covered in beads of sweat as he tries to catch his breath after tipping over the edge himself. His eyes are trained on her. She keeps her lips diligently around his cock, wanting to swallow everything he’s just expended. When he’s done, she pulls back and sits on her legs, swallowing quickly and staring at Harry as she does it.

His eyes bug at the sight. She was the hottest woman in the world and she’d just sucked him off so well that he’s pretty sure he saw stars. Then she made eye contact as she swallowed his cum with her pretty little bikini barely covering her anymore, as she seemed to shift slightly uncomfortable in her drying bottoms. God, he was fucked.

“Shit,” he says, still trying to catch his breath. “You’re an absolute angel.”

-

Harry’s family arrives the next day and the pair have a hard time keeping their hands off of each other. She doesn’t know why they decide to start this little game where they pretend like they don’t want to jump each other’s bones each minute of the day. But as the days go by, they maintain to his family and chosen family that they are only neighbours who became friends. Anne gives a knowing look to Gemma every so often and Gemma’s boyfriend whispers in her ear sometimes, but for the most part they buy it.

No one notices that some nights Harry’s or Y/N’s beds are vacant sometimes. They don’t see him descend his spiral staircase at midnight or see her scamper next to the pool and slip into her cottage in the wee hours of the morning.

In the nights, it’s Harry’s soft lips pressed against her hot skin, panting praise and leaving little bite marks that can’t be seen with clothes on. Her lips mouth at his shoulder when fills her up and she exhales a breath that feels like she’s been waiting to let go for her entire life. They make each other feel good and they don’t talk about it but the secrecy of it makes it all the more enticing.

At least that’s what she thinks. Harry had been completely ready to tell his family about him and Y/N, at least that things were new between them, but when she introduced herself to his mum and Gemma she had said she was a friend. Harry had gulped, his adam’s apple bobbing hard, taking in the change of direction and agreeing with Y/N immediately. “Just a friend” he confirmed with a nod of his head and glance at her. She had smiled wide and given a hug to the other most important women in his life like she’d known them forever.

He didn’t understand why she wanted it this way, but his objections would be forgotten when night fell and she’d do the things he’d only dreamt of. Her breathy whimpers and pliant body would all but wipe his mind of any other thoughts but her and then he had no complaints, just a wish for the night to never end.

Y/N doesn’t even tell Cate when she calls her a week into the trip. It’s just something she wants to keep to herself and Harry. Their own private world.

It’s Christmas Eve when that bubble pops. The Champagne has been flowing for hours non stop - well only stopping when a different drink is in their hands, whether that be red or white wine or a mixed drink Harry has decided to concoct.

In the big Italian house, he’s free of prying eyes and he’s able to truly spend quality time with his loved ones. They have fancy dinners at private restaurants, go on gorgeous hikes, swim, and relax. They have a good time with playing holiday games, which they do most nights when they stay in.

Tonight’s the first night that Harry and Y/N haven’t ended up on the same team. He fears that most times he cheats it by swapping a paper or two, but tonight the alcohol has fizzed his brain and he forgot. This shouldn’t be a problem, not really. Except that everyone in the house has learned over the past week and a half that besides being perfectly matched in almost everything else, Harry and her are both equally and extremely competitive. Being on the same team has both advantages and avoids squabbles like the one the house has found themselves in at half past 11.

Harry’s arguing that his team got the last question before the buzzer went off, but she won’t back down. She is sure that Gemma had said the correct answer, but after the timer had run out. Everyone else was too sauced to care, but Harry and her were adamant and passionate about game play. As the argument heats up, Anne gives Gemma another one of those looks.

Y/N has stood up and crossed the short distance to Harry. She’s a breath away from him and he puffs up his chest, his eyes dark and serious as he’s ready to fight for this win all night.

“The time was out,” she says simply, but her eyes are beginning to glower.

“No. It was not.” He states back.

His eyes narrow at her as she stares right back at him.

“Was too.”

“Was not.”

They go back and forth, rapid fire as the alcohol in their veins flows straight to their mind and hearts.

“Children please!” Gemma exclaims,  finally growing tired of the bickering. “It’s Christmas. Harry show some spirit and let your guest have the final say.”

They think she’s done but then adds, “Or else she might never want to come back here.”

Harry exhales harshly through his nose as his gaze flickers to his older sister and listens to her scolding. Handing over the timer to Y/N, which had been what kept them from moving on, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room.

“Oh gosh,” Y/N says after a moment, her frazzled mind processing that Harry’s leaving has something to do with her. A hand goes to her lips for a moment, a ghost of his warm breath still there, but gone too soon.

“I’ll...I’ll be right back,” she confirms and exits the room, following Harry’s footsteps.

She finds him on his front porch step, his breath misting in the cold air, much like it would back in London when they’d walk the neighbourhood streets together.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she says, placing a hand on his left shoulder to really get his attention.

He turns from looking out at the clear night sky, his nose and cheeks already pinkened from the night breeze. His eyes are still dark out here, but there’s no malice or anger behind them. His lips tilt up on one side for a forgiving half smile, but there’s also some pain mixed in there.

“You wouldn’t not come back, right?” He asks helplessly, his smile faltering.

She swallows, taken aback by the question, both unsure of where it came from but also how exactly her drunk brain was supposed to respond with the double negatives.

“I’d come back next Christmas and the Christmas after that, Harry,” she whispers, “If you wanted me to of course.”

“Of course I’d want you to. I want you, sweetheart. All the time.” His voice isn’t slurred, but it’s raspy, a slight dry mouth from all the alcohol consumed tonight.

“Okay,” she confirms, “Then I’ll come back.”

They stand on the porch silently for a few minutes, eyes on one another, but no movement towards anything. It’s not a profound moment for their hazy minds, despite the meaning behind their words. It’s not quite clicking for them, but maybe tomorrow when they wake up with massive headaches it will register.

“I really am sorry,” she repeats when she sees little goosebumps begin to prick at his skin.

He had forgotten a jacket. And while his drunk blanket makes him immune to the feelings, her brain still registers that she doesn’t want him to get sick.

“S’alright. For what it’s worth, I was being a little childish. So, m’sorry too.” He says sincerely, maybe a little slurring of words slipping in.

He reaches a hand out of his pocket to touch at her upper arm. She can feel his warmth from beneath her thin long sleeve. They smile at one another and turn to reenter the house, feeling the giggly tide of alcohol wash over them again. Euphoria on their mind rather than family game malice.

Just as they’re about to open the door to the house. The two of them at the precipice of a house, a place they often find themselves, Gemma swings it open face and with little care for its heaviness. She glances between her brother and his “friend”  and then up to the top of the door.

The top of the door? Why was she looking at the top of the door? Mistletoe.

“Mistletoe!” Gemma exclaims, pointing between the two of them. “You’re beneath the mistletoe, go on!”

Harry shakes his head in protest, falling onto the sword of friendship again. But then Y/N is grabbing at the back of Harry’s neck and pressing her lips to his. It’s a little sloppy, but Harry can’t help but enjoy the taste of her against him. They slot together like they usually do, but this time his sister is watching them, which is a little odd, but his muddled mind quickly forgets that fact. Her tongue is the deciding factor as it licks into his mouth and he licks back, pulling her closer by the waist. They get lost in the kiss and only pull apart when they hear a cough.

Gemma is now accompanied by the rest of the household watching them in disbelief. Everyone’s eyebrows are raised and even Rori is standing with the group, confused that the humans didn’t know they were doing this.

“Erm…” Harry has no idea what to say, shifting to face his family more fully.

Y/N blushes and shrinks into Harry’s chest, feeling like a teenager caught in the closet with her crush.

“That’s not how friend’s kiss one another,” someone murmurs.

There’s a few “I knew it”s mixed in as well with the rest of the chatter.

“Well…” She finally musters and throws a hand out to her side in a ta-da motion,

“Happy Christmas!”

-

After the revelation on Christmas Eve, everyone won’t stop teasing Harry and Y/N. The two laugh it off but something always nags at the back of their head. What they were to the other person. The status of this relationship. This friendship that had taken a turn to something else entirely.

It’s another Eve of a holiday when Harry finally musters up the courage to ask her directly. They learned from Christmas day that they couldn’t drink as much as they once did for multiple reasons. So on New Year’s Eve, they both choose to only consume a couple glasses of Champagne.

It starts with “Can we talk about us?” right after midnight. Right after Harry’s just started the New Year with her lips on his. She hears his question and takes it in, her stomach twisting with nerves and possibly excitement as well, and nods.

They slink off to his bedroom, but not for the activity everyone else was certain they were engaging in.

He sits them on the edge of the bed, both her hands clasped in one of his. He’s been quiet all day, she just realizes as he stays silent another moment longer.

“I love you,” he says in his dimly lit room.

Her jaw drops slightly, not quite expecting those three words yet.

“You don’t, don’t have to say anything yet. I just wanted you to know that,” he continues. “And that I want to be with you.”

“Harry,” she starts, breathless at his words.

“No,” he stops her again, “I felt something draw me to you the day you moved in across from me on Sherwood, like I was meant to know you or something.  Then I met you and you made me feel so comfortable, all I wanted to do was be with you and that month when you didn’t really talk to me...dove, those weeks were wretched. But when I came back, it was like nothing happened and I was so happy because I couldn’t fathom life going back to the way it was before you. When we kissed, I felt overjoyed, I was so happy that you liked me like that because every time you called me friend...felt like a knife in me. I don’t want to be just your friend,” he pauses to say her name again, “I don’t want to be just your lover, I want to be your boyfriend or whatever they call it now - If you’ll have me.”

He takes a deep breath and blinks away the little well up of water that had grown in his eyes. He had forgotten to blink for a moment he realized.

His stare had been intense as he’d confessed all of his feelings to her, but she didn’t feel intimidated, his gaze had warmed her with its sincerity. It had strengthened his confession.

She sighed, her own eyes not as strong as his, unable to hold his gaze as she herself said her own confession.

His hand rests between them on the bed, steadying himself upright with it. She places her own hand over it and their fingers slightly intertwine. She feels him begin to fiddle with her fingers like usual. Like normal.

“Thank you,” she starts, “Of course I’ll have you. All the time, Harry.”  She repeats his words from Christmas Eve back to him.

He starts to interject, the rambling thing, but she tugs at his pointer finger and he takes it as a sign to be quiet.

“I want to be your partner, too. I want it all with you, lover,” she gazes at him now, his free hand reaching up to caress her cheek in that moment. “Want it all,” she repeats in a whisper before he’s kissing her again.

Kissing her and kissing her. Over and over again. Because she was his. And he was hers. And it was a happy beginning. A happy new year and a happy new beginning of a relationship that was bound in friendship, born out of proximity, and nurtured by two kindred souls.

And it all started with her parents making her take her dog. Harry really needed to thank that dog for being the best wing man to ever run around on four legs.

-

Who knows who that new client of Y/N’s might be...

[kendrixtermina]

On Emotional Awareness – The Revenge of the feels.

I hadn’t put these on tumblr & it occurred to me that I probably should  

General points.

Overall it tends to be generally assumed that ppl know and can express or tell you their feelings since we’re bombarded from all sides by displays of such if we turn on the radio or TV or just listen to our friends & family expounding upon whatever is, but if you’ve picked up any self-help or couples advice book, or indeed gotten into typology, you’ll find that this is not always self-explanatory.

Now, I personally have never had this problem, but it's worth noting that, though this is not always acknowledged or given its due weight, learning to interpret/ map your feelings is an actual skill that ppl need to learn. All people.

A baby/toddler doesn't know what's happening to them at all - they just start bawling & throwing a tantrum once a certain threshold of distress is reached - if you have younger siblings or cousins you may have oserved that sometimes babies get really cranky in the evening cause they can't yet distinguish anger/irritation from tiredness.

This is where the parents are supposed to come in and help you learn, for example, by mirroring your state back to you – first, through their reactions & responses such as comfort, eye contact, touch, and sympathetic reactions.

You might also notice that sometimes mothers will narrate what the baby is doing - (‚Are we sleepy/grumpy/excited today?‘)

This gives the child some vocabulary to describe their experience & a chance to associate their inner states with words. Paying attention to the child’s feelings also signals that this is important, salient information, just like pointing out colors and shapes teaches a baby to pay attention to colors.

Once the child is a little bit older and has picked up some words, the parent can then ask the child about their feelings, for example by asking them why they engaged in some bad behavior, encouraging the child to reflect on their own motivations.

Eventually a feedback loop arises and the child becomes able to self-regulate.

If you are a parent, this is part of your job as much as potty training or teaching your kids to speak and bathe themselves –

Books or TV shows geared at small children also feature narration explaining the characters’ feelings for this reason.

But sometimes the parents just want the kid to shut up & don't make noise so rather than doing any of the above things they just say „shut up!“ or dole out harsh punitive measures.

In that case, the above learning doesn’t really happen; What the child learns instead is, at best, to shut up, and at worst, that the parents are to be feared.

In some western cultures (founded as they are on the patriarchal and discipline-heavy roman civilization) even well-meaning parents do this because of bogus cultural values like "girls don't fight" or "boys don't cry" etc.

In particular we seem to think that boys don’t need crucial life skills like self-regulation (or cooking or cleaning.)

& due to the bias of male hyperagency even nominally ‚feminist’ sources often phrase this as being about making sure the boy doesn‘t grow up to exploit or be a jerk to his girlfriend.

He may be a lazy jerk if he chooses to do so but most crucially, if your son leaves your house without important life skills you have failed him as a parent – thats why you see so many dudes shooting themselves after divorces or work-related failures.

Obviously some personality type combinations are going to be more or less "talented" at learning emotional awareness (eg. a Fi dom 4 is going to pick up awareness of their feelings even if the parents are horrible and ignore them completely cause this is where their attention constantly goes. Which isn't necessarily a blessing, since they'd mainly be noticing how awful they feel about being ignored by their parents and be stuck constantly "looking" at that pain.)

Even so it’s important to realize that this is a learnable skill that can be practiced & learned despite different talent levels. (with the caveat that there might be conditions such as autism, depression or ptsd creating extra difficulties for some)

Everyone who can do it learned it at some point and if you’re lagging behind you can teach yourself, if not quite with the effortlessness of a well-cherished toddler.

So I’d like to encourage you to think of feelings detection hangups less as something specific to particular types (like, say, the competency triad) and more as yet another fixable self-awareness deficit – though type may of course influence level of talent as well as the particular ways such feelings detection deficits might manifest.

Still if you read or listen to ppl’s experiences on the internet you will find examples of low awareness individuals of almost all types.

Like with the detecting shapes example, not everyone needs to be a master painter or tell apart 30 shades of purple, but everyone ought to leave kindergarten with enough understanding of basic shapes & colors for the needs of daily life.

An interesting contrasting example is the Inuit culture – outside visitors often find the ppl there remarkably even-tempered. That is because there is culturally a great taboo against yelling at children & a big emphasis on teaching awareness of feelings – one example is that if a child misbehaves, the parent might ask at a later point in time why the child doesn’t do the bad behavior – eg „why don’t you hit me right now?“ Usually the kid won’t want to do so when they’ve long since calmed down, which makes them notice the difference between the current calm state & how they were angry during the acting out.

Type-specific hangups.

1 – the chief issue here is that 1s constantly evaluate everything including themselves. Is this the correct feeling for this situation? Is this the appropriate amount thereof? There can be the concern that feeling the „wrong“ thing to an „excessive“ amount could make you biased, „selfish“, „out of control“ or „bad“.

In the extreme you might be clamping down on any impulse no matter what it is before you have a time to „sample“ it – though, even if it doesn’t get that far, pleasure & anger in particular can be treated as suspect unless „justified“. Plus there can be a tendency to convert other things into anger or frustration (that last bit being somewhat common to all the impulse types)

2 – generally a high expressiveness type, but also a positive one. There is a tendency to cultivate positive feelings towards oneself and others (reminding oneself of positive, loveable qualities of either oneself, if criticised, or those one wishes to keep the peace with) so that feelings perceived as „unappealing“ like anger, frustration ambition or need can be repressed out of awareness.

Anger, resentment and disappointed expectations are common candidates… until it can’t be repressed anymore and the person hits the line to 8 and goes poof.

3 – probably the one that most commonly reports/ struggles with getting somewhat numbed out, either because they’re too focussed on the ‚social‘ emotions they’re supposed to be performing, or sort of put them off because there’s always stuff to do. Whereas 1s clamp down on already existing reactions (which is only possible to a limited extent) and 5s try not to get worked up in the first place (but once a reaction is there, its there), 3 is the one type that can really „flip a switch“, that is, squeeze all the attention into the compartment with the planning & impulses. But the „stuff“ is never far behind since one always has to leave one figurative toe in the dominant center (through which one is percieving the environment) so this often leads to busy compulsive activity and a „flight“-style adversity coping style.

Since the heart is in its own „compartment“ there can be the impression that making time for feelings means paralysis – plus, the more counterdependent 3s might see it as a liability/vulnerability or think showing struggles make them unappealing or „weak“.

4 – overall the least likely type to have this problem since its attention pattern is one of constant interpretation of one’s inner experience, (rather more likely to over-focus on one’s feelings), but there can still an issue of disowning or dismissing sentiments that seem too simple, banal or generic, like harmless silly fun or being upset over an everyday triviality. It might help to look for the reasons for your upset in the recent past & everyday circumstances. If anything else, those are more easily solveable. Also, even if you happened to like the same problematic elf as half of tumblr and are somewhat embarassed of this, sometimes authenticity means admitting that. And at least refusing to touch the most popular ship or universally accepted headcannons for him

5 – tends to be inattentive toward and uncomfortable with physical experience, and hence not very plugged into the sort of body sensations that are of course one possible ways to track your feelings. Also, due to a fairly neutral base mood and an not entirely conscious avoidance toward anything that’s distracting or exhausting there isn’t always something to notice, so it doesn’t take that lacking an environment for one of these to make it to adulthood without cultivating much of a sense for this, though it’s by no means universal (outward expressiveness or comfort with talking about stuff being separate variables - Plus on the lower levels most feelings that did happen would center on their pursuits or inner fantasies rather than being invested in external objects or people.)

6 – another type that can easily have low awareness – they’re wired to first look for the source of problems in the external world. Buying a car with a high safety rating as response to feeling scared checks out, but suspecting your gf is cheating just because you feel jealous doesn’t – in that case the cause is internal, it’s just your jealous feeling. But as the thinking can be disconnected from feelings or impulses the person may not realize how they’re influenced by feelings.

Also if they do notice their feelings, they might then endlessly second-guess the feelings and their perception of them or wonder if the feelings are morally correct or „weak“.

Some 6s very much desire to appear (or even suceed at being) stoic & in-control, though warmth, panic or anger are seldom too far from the surface. The more controlled/„rigid“ 6s in particular can sort of the prototypical person that’s calm on the surface but has a lot of passion underneath.

7 – 7s tend to mostly externalize their feelings, expressing them outwardly right away rather than inwardly processing them, plus the heart is their least used center. Normally this mostly means that their feelings tend to be a bit ‚diffuse‘ with not very differentiated labels & distinguishing but a few states. (especially the ExTPs/ Fi polRs) – However they can have a particular avoidance of & sometimes refusal to acknowledge fear & sadness, leading to a constant activity/ „flight“ pattern of avoidance & when the heart gets like really shut down on the lower average levels you do see individuals reporting some rather empty, numb or restless states where nothing quite seems to get them the satisfaction they seek (this is also probably how depression would show in one of these)

8 – Sort of similar to 7 as the other „heart last“ type in that inner perception tends to be somewhat ‚diffuse‘ even in average ppl, and that lower health states can involve feeling restless and numbed-out. Though the most avoided or repressed feelings are rather emotional hurt and genuine attachment or desire for it. (as that could be „exploitable“) and its not avoided through flight behavior but rather drowned out through intensity seeking(„fuck the pain away“), vented through punitive „acting out“ (ie. Covered by anger) or flat out denied.

9 – another one where low feelings awareness is not uncommon, particularly on the individuals that go so hard on the „best not to think too much about challenging things“ assumption to the point that it leads to little follow up questions or introspection. Also 9 tend to sometimes diffuse their impulses somewhat (so that helpful hints like „i want to punch that bastard!“ dont always appear in consciousness), are sensitive to strongly agitated states (like big feelings) and defense wise tend to to calm themselves down „hardware side“ in response to them, using creature comforts, which might be reasonable for short term or genuinely unfixable issues but may prevent the dots-connecting, processing and addressing on issues that should & could be solved.

All of these come with the big blinking neon arrow caveat that generally Fi types in the mbti will have more feelings awareness than others of the same enneagram type. This is because the Fi function gets it „straight from the source“, as in, the brain regions that show high activity in Fi users are known to be directly connected to the midbrain where feelings „come from“.

So, Fi users will typically know their feelings, likes & dislikes unless they’ve been subjected to extreme neglect.

Especially what is said here about 9 or 6 must be read as „...unless they’re a high Fi type.“

This doesn’t go for Fe users to the same extent as Fe users can tend to suppress inner reactions to produce „appropriate“ ones.

Strategies for improvement.

It might help you to find some more emotionally aware ppl with the same wing combo or similar mbti type and ask them how they "track" it as the same method is likely to work for you - there are probably multiple possible methods.

The first step is not to pressure yourself with expectations – sometimes there might genuinely be not much going on, you might not have a reaction where others do or the reaction you find might not per se be the same as others, & that’s by design after all your feelings are part of your individuality.

If your issue is mainly judging particular types of feelings as „bad“ or „selfish“, it might help you to read up on the concept of Radical Acceptance. (I can picture this being helpful for superego and/or positive folks)

Alternatively, you might have the concern that it might be vulnerable, „out of control“, or „too much“ (an issue you might see for, say, 8, 3 or 5) First becoming aware of your sensitive side all at once as an adult can be a handful, especially if you worry that it might change how you think about yourself or you find that there’s quite a bit of touchyness in there.

It probably helps to remind yourself that noticing doesn’t mean you have to act on it or do anything compromising as a result, especially if its just you in your room. It’s just extra information that, if anything, might help you make more informed choices.

Somatic support or self-soothing techniques might also be helpful like hugging yourself, stroking your cheek as you might for a baby who cant speak yet or ye goode olde deep belly breaths.

Finally, there’s the issue of ppl who are strongly extroverted and not used to introspection (7, 3 or 2) and might have a marked aversion to „stopping“ – something that reportedly works is limiting the timeframe like beginning with shorter meditation sessions of just a few minutes.

Other approaches are trying to „triangulate“ it using outer-directed methods, like looking for clues in your behavior, wondering what you might say to someone else in your situation, or writing letters in roleplay scenarious(„Dear Feelings…“ and then trying to reply back in a sense)

For some types like 6 or 9 it might also be helpful to have a ‚projection space‘, like writing a story about some character you relate to or who is in a similar situation.

Some types like 3, 2 and 9 might also benefit from making a point of thinking over life decisions on their own.

Alternatively if the problem is not so much dealing with it but that you can’t even locate the stuff in the first place, there are multiple approaches for that, too.

One might be trying to pay attention to physical sensations, like just trying to sense into your body at random times of the day or in meditation – I know of one person who napped their writer friends’ thesaurus for describing feelings to triangulate their own feelings.

Alternatively you could go a more direct route and try journaling – if nothing pops up, you could just freeflow ramble/ dump for a page or so and see if you notice tendencies,

Or you could get out one of those feelings wheels come journaling time or when you notice you're having some sort of reaction and try to name it up front You could also try meditating & trying to focus if you sense anything - again, keeping n mind that it's perfectly normal if a lot of the time there isn't anything necessarily aside from maybe some vague background anxiety.

The goal is, in the short term, to get some information about what things or people have which effects on you, and in the long term, to build up & reinforce an intuitive sense of associating sensations with words.

This is totally feasible, the neocortex is a wonderfully adaptable thing - ppl have taught themselves to "see" from having a "picture" shown as pressure points on their skin or to sense magnetic/electrical fields by implanting a magnet in their finger & learning to interpret the subtle shifting sensations it makes. And these are completely new things that humans were never "designed" to do, whereas you should have preexisting circuitry for tracking your feelings even if mom & dad didn't train you to use it just as they should've taught you to recognize shapes colors or animal noises.

A case study.

Something that struck me as interesting to think about while pondering the material for this post is:

How exactly DID I learn to do it as a toddler/ child?

Because I definitely did learn it but I wouldn't have had conscious memory of it or the ability to reflect on it yet.

But I am probably using an old, deeply embedded algorithm every day that I first learned as a baby, much as I do for walking or interpreting what I see - and I would have needed to expand it come puberty when sexual desire first came into the picture.

I'd say I'm pretty aware of and even welcoming of my feelings (even negative ones) so long as it's on a level of intellectual processing, but if it ever gets to a level where there is a physical response strong enough for me to notice, which isn't often, thats exhausting & unpleasant.

Though I've only been recently aware of that distinction if you'd asked my teen self she would've told you that she's all for feelings & given you a big rant about how no one wants to give sadness it's proper space nowadays and everyone wants it all to be pretty presentable & superficial, (like no points for guessing the heart fix) and I would have characterized myself as very feelsy sensitive & artistic & shit, even if I still "want to make decisions on logic"- cue rant about the whole romanticism vs enlightenment contrast as a cultural phenomenon & how feelings and reason are not opposites at all.

I suppose this awareness is because it was mirrored to me by my mom I guess. She is very enthusiastic about small children and when we were babies she would talk to us alot and narrate what we were doing. (adorable ld home video where she is commenting on one of my sisters doing typical baby things and enthusiastically ‚conversing‘ with her in a sing-song voice) And she would say stuff like, "soandso has fine, sincere feelings" or tell how she had to explain to me about recycling cause I was so upset that we were throwing the poor poor milk cartons in the trash. If she had said "shut up and dont make noise" instead of giving attention to my being upset, I probably would have turned out quite differently. Especially since I don't even remember this incident.

If anything it is my occasional lack of outward expressiveness that I was kind of in the dark about, or I just counted experiences related to that as me being "bad with people" or others "misunderstanding" me. My family is all head types except for our token 9 so I suppose they didnt find anything missing so long as I expressed myself verbally.

I'd like to stress that my awareness of physical sensations is very much piss-poor and that I find them rather uncomfortable when they do break into consciousness. I very much fit the typical "resents having to have a body" stereotype. Like feeling the blood pounding in my temples when I'm really, really angry sometimes freaks me out a little bit. - in a lot of books you read ppl, especially type 9 book authors, describing fine gradations thereof, whereas I only really notice when it's something really obvious like crying, sweaty hands etc.

I don't very much associate/ connect my feelings with physical sensations at all. If I notice the sensation at all its more like an additional thing.

I'd say my primary mode of noticing my feelings is by my thoughts or intuitive associations. That's also how I would show it if I was writing a story - if the Pov Character is scared then they would be thinking of the bad concequences that will happen if their fear comes to pass, if they have a crush they are thinking about the person alot and wanting to know more, if they are sad they are thinking about all that they have lost, its implications, everything you can now no longer do because of your loss, feeling betrayed is shown through thinking of the discrepancies & contradiction between what the person said vs what actually happened etc.

In a way that’s kind of the most „practical“ thing to do since my attention is normally on them anyways.

i guess reading and creative pursuits is also something that is shown to lead to greater awareness of feelings & empathy toward others if one does it as a child.

Heck, some of the time I even notice being hungry through finding myself thinking about food or that I'm sleepy cause my concentration begins to slip.

Though maybe its easier to build the association between the two if having a 4 wing gives you a bitty bit of "direct" access to feelingsland.

I suppose in my case it also helps that I am not 9 fixed - if impulse-based thoughts pop in your head like "I want to punch that person" or "I want to run away and lock myself in my room", that's a hint, to say the least. For 1 fixers they would be more filtered/processed already like "this is wrong!".

[silma-words]

Another prompt for Adrian and MC...

Number 5 / "say please"

not sure how you want to take this one, but I thought the smut could be next level... have fun! 😂

N/A: Omg I cannot thank you enough for this prompt @mssukeyna! This was so much fun, and a great prompt to push me a little out of my comfort zone! I literally woke up 2h earlier every day so that I could write more before work ;) I hope you’ll like it!

~~~~~

Choices: Bloodbound

Pairing: Adrian Raines x MC (Ellie)

Rating: Explicit (NSFW, 18+)

Genre: Smut.Smut.Smut

AU Chronology: Bloodbound AU (after book 1 – the events of book 2 never happened) – ‘Inevitable - Arc I: Before we part’ (Masterlist)

Summary: “We are travelling for business, Ellie, we’ll have to behave like professionals”, he had warned her, although he did not look so convinced about it himself….

Inspired by the following nsfw-prompts: #5. for sex in public / “say please”

Words: 4200

**Disclaimer: Characters and background plot are the property of Pixelberry.**

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Down to business (Part I?)

Getting to travel was one of the perks Ellie enjoyed the most about her job as the CEO’s personal assistant. She never really had any opportunity to get out of her small town before she moved to NYC, and had always been of a curious nature. This job was a dream come true on that matter. But some trips were better than others. The ones that revolved around business negotiations, although exciting in their own ways, were not her favourites. By far, the ones she preferred were the ones that were meant for networking, for Adrian to maintain his relationships with previous business partners. There had not been many of those since she had started working at Raines Corp. but she loved those very much. These business trips revolved mostly around socializing. And socializing was one of her strengths.

But the reason she liked these trips the most was not because of the fancy dinner parties, the pricey hotels, or the designer dresses she got to wear to play the part. No. What she liked the most were the times she could have to herself in between social events, to explore around and satiate her curiosity about ‘the rest of the world’, and the times when she could get Adrian all to herself. He was more relaxed during these trips. More light hearted. More playful. As well as more tuned to her cues than when they were travelling for more serious business. And that, she loved to play around with. A lot.

Adrian was always doing his best to keep up the façade of the boss-assistant interactions between them when they were in public. And she completely understood why. Truly. But that was also so tempting for her to do her best to weave her way through that invisible barrier he was tentatively setting between them.

She would brush his fingers when he would hand her a drink. Sneak a hand up his thigh under the table at dinner. Fiddle with her long strands of hair to attract his attention to her neckline. Oh, his poker face was good. Spot on. Decades of practice truly paying off. But whenever she played her cards well, she could see that façade slowly crumble down. His cheeks slightly changing colour as she would whisper sweet - well maybe not so sweet - nothings to his ear. His Adam’s apple moving slightly at the sight of her legs shifting as she would change position on her seat, her skin exposed through the slit of her dress. His speech suddenly stammering slightly as she would slowly caress the inside of his calf with her foot, whenever she had been sitting across from him at dinner and had felt bold enough to risk reaching blindly under the cover of the table cloth.

She always made sure to keep her face composed so that the other guests would not notice how Adrian’s reactions were directly connected to her. But she would also cast him a challenging look as soon as the moment had passed, to make it perfectly clear that the game was on. And never once had she received back any kind of response that would indicate that Adrian was not on board with this. He might play the game by pretending that this behaviour was totally unprofessional, but they both knew that Adrian had never been anyone who cared much about the rules.

This time, their ‘socialising trip’ had led them further from home than ever before. Ellie was finally given the chance to fly out of the country and get a glimpse at Europe, with their first stops leaving her in awe at the wonders of the Italian countryside where they had stayed for five days to catch up with a couple of Adrian’s old ‘friends’ who had chosen to retire there. She did enjoy the socializing parts way more than she had anticipated: who would have dared to complain about the exquisite cuisine, the tours of the vineyards, the breath-taking views over lakes and mountains, and the luxurious guestrooms they could discreetly retreat to when the schmoozing was getting boring and the yearning had become too much.

The last part of their ten-days trip had also reached beyond of her expectations: she had always dreamt of discovering France, and although their journey would not grant her her secret wish of seeing Paris, she found out that the luxurious hills and valleys of the South-West of France were as equally magnificent as what she had seen so far over the last few days. There was so much history around, old medieval castles and ancient caves that she wished she could explore, that her curiosity and excitement seemed to be only matched by Adrian’s nerdy enthusiasm. European history was not necessarily his strongest suit, but he did know quite a few things about it, and gladly shared with her his knowledge about the places they travelled through. His expertise on French wines was definitely spot on though. And kind of sexy too.

Their guest was – unsurprisingly – a wealthy investor who had inherited a prosperous estate from his great-grandfather who was, originally, the business partner Adrian had been trading with at the beginning of the twentieth-century. Pretending to be his own descendant was apparently something Adrian was quite used to. Even though their current host – Emile – was pretty obnoxious.

They dined, visited local investors, attended a couple of art exhibitions grand opening nights. And indulged on wine, local delicacies, and smouldering gazes in between polite handshakes and casual conversations. Ellie’s French was not really up to the challenge when other guests could not speak English, but luckily Adrian was doing quite well in that department – another sexy trait to add to that very long list that Ellie kept filling up in her head.

That night, their host had been planning a special treat for his guests – Adrian and Ellie among a larger group of about thirty: a tour of his private ‘art collection’, followed by a fancy garden-party on his estate. Ellie had been looking forward to it, until the tour had started and she had realised that most of these ‘pieces of art’ were actually ancient remains that Emile had bought from lucky ‘discoverers’ around the world and snatched from the hands of archaeologists and museums to fill up his own little private gallery. As the tour was going on, she kept grumbling by Adrian’s side, drawing the attention of a few other guests that were marvelling at these stolen relics and obviously did not care much about how these had been acquired. As the group proceeded to move on to the next room, Adrian discreetly motioned her to move aside and slow her pace, grinning at her once they had managed to place themselves at the tail of the touring group.

“I know this is grating you, but this is quite a common thing these days – there is no point sulking about it now while there is not much we can do about it”.

“You’re the one to talk, ‘Mr-I-glare-at-that-old-British-dude-for-buying-an-original-John Trumbull-canvas-to-decorate-his-guestroom’!”, she retorted challengingly. “These objects are as important to historians as those Revolutionary War paintings you keep talking about. They shouldn’t be kept in here only to be displayed once a year to a bunch of rich morons who care more about how much he paid for it than about what these objects were”.

“I know, I know…” Adrian admitted with a sight, raising his hands in surrender. “But as I said, there is not much we can do about it now. Let try to survive through this tour and enjoy the night.”

Rolling her eyes, Ellie let out an annoyed sight and finally nodded, her tensed shoulders still betraying her frustration.

The tour proceeded, Adrian and Ellie sharing eye rolls and annoyed looks every time Emile would brag about the price of a unique item. They always kept behind when they could, making a point of looking at some of the glass panels in detail to at least try to learn a little something out of this display of wealth. But that revealed to be a nearly impossible endeavour. There was barely any labels or information attached to these objects whatsoever. Nothing there to keep them distracted from that never ending tour. Well. Apart from each other.

It started with just the tingle of his breath in her neck as he was hovering above her to look at an old grease-lamp from some ancient cave. And then continued as she would casually hook her arm through his while staring at the antic statue of a Roman god. And a brush of his fingers down her spine as he stood behind her pretending to listen to Emile’s dull blabber. Her hand sneaking along the side of his thigh as they followed the group around. The light pressure of his hand on her lower back as he led her to move past him into yet another room.

Pretending to pay attention to their host was increasingly difficult. Preventing their faces from betraying their very unprofessional thoughts even more so.

“I know I have said this before but…”, Adrian whispered in her ear, a playful smile forming on his lips, “I love that little tempter of yours… it makes me feel… a lot of things”.

He could hear Ellie’s heartbeat race in her chest at his words, even though she was keeping her eyes trained on the display panel before them, doing her best to keep her composure while the predatory tone in his voice was making her knees tremble slightly. The other guests were buzzing around them, pointing at glass display cases here and architectural features there, oblivious to the heat surrounding the two secret lovers as if the bubble Adrian and Ellie had formed around them had turned them into two of those trinkets exposed around the room that nobody was truly paying attention to.

Trying to break through the thick air that had been lingering between them, Ellie shifted on her heels to follow the flock of people that were regrouping to move along, casting a knowing smile at Adrian, and holding his gaze for a few seconds before walking away.

But before she could turn left into the next corridor, she felt his arm wrap around her middle, only to swiftly whoosh her aside to a secluded corner of the room, out of sight from the rest of the group thanks to one of the strong pillars that supported the roof of the exhibition room. A gasp escaped her lips as he sprung her around, pressing her back against the cold marble as he eagerly captured her lips in a searing kiss, his hands pressed against her neck, and his torso edging closer to her chest as she was gradually yielding to his powerful embrace.

Trailing her fingers up his neck until they reached his hair, she eventually gave a gentle tug so that she could make a break for air, their lips just a few inches apart as she teased, breathless: “I thought we had to keep our public appearances strictly professional, Mr Raines?”

She felt his grin against her mouth more than she could see it. “Well, what we are doing now is purely professional, Miss Reed. If there was anyone left around to see us, I’d just explain how I was telling all about...” he paused to nibble at her lower lip for a few seconds, “... about the sturdiness of these eighteenth-century pillars...”.

“Eighteenth century, han?” she giggled against his lips, her voice catching in her throat to form a silent moan as Adrian’s mouth began to trail down her chin to follow her jawline.

Her mind struggling between the will to keep her eyes open to check that no one was in sight, and the tantalizing swirls of his tongue against the skin beneath her ear, the shivers that were running down her spine quickly sorted that battle for her. She let her eyelids drop and her head fall back to rest against the stone behind her, focusing only on Adrian’s touch and on the way his hands had now started to drift from her neck to her shoulders, inching lower and lower as his mouth tasted the salt of the skin down her neck and along her collarbone.

Her hands unconsciously travelling from his hair to his back, they suddenly grabbed his shoulders a little tighter to press him closer as she felt him reach for the fabric of her dress to bunch the black silk over her hips. It took all of her will to remain silent when Adrian wedged his knee between her legs, her lips tightening in a thin line to repress a whimper as his fingers trailed down one of her thigh to her knee so he could lift her leg up against his hip, pressing himself forward to conquer the empty space between them.

She could feel his grin against her windpipes when her hips started to grind against his of their own accord, the tight grip of his fingers against her rear sending waves of heat down to where their bodies met.

“I think one of us should keep an eye on that corridor, in case anyone is sent out to look for us” he whispered against her skin, before lifting his gaze back to her, his golden eyes glimmering with mischief. “Would that be a mission you’d be happy to take on, Miss Reed?”

“Of course” she manages to answer, her voice croaking from anticipation.

“Good.” he grins. “Then, you’ll have to face the other way…”

She barely had time to register what he meant before she felt the heat of his body replace the cold marble that had been pressing against her back. She instinctively reached forward to place her palms on the pillar as Adrian resumed his pressing touches eagerly, one arm wrapped around her chest to keep her close, and the other finding its way between her thighs.  

She could peek at the corridor ahead of them from where they stood, most of their bodies hidden by the imposing column that seemed to edge closer and closer to her as Adrian’s touch became more insistent. But being able to see ahead did not mean that she was actually looking. Even if she had wanted to fulfil her ‘mission’, the pressure of his left palm against her thigh and the hand that slipped under the fabric of her cleavage made it near impossible to focus on the task. The soft bites and kisses her neck were subjected to were not helping either.

Not being able to see or touch him was like torture, his quiet groans vibrating from his chest to her ribs, and his arousal pressing firmly against her back like a wicked promise that was for now beyond reach. Her back arched involuntarily when a firm hand grabbed her breast, his warm breath beneath her ear betraying his grin as the fingers on her thigh started to wander towards the edge of her underwear, playing with the seam of the lace before sneaking underneath with a deliberate slowness that had her whimper behind her tightened lips.

The light graze of his fingertips against her swollen nerves was all that was needed to weaken all muscles in her body, making both of them dangerously tumble forward as her arms gave in, removing the only leverage she had against Adrian’s pressure in her back, which had been keeping her so far from being flushed against the cold marble with no room to escape the sweet torment of his heated caresses.

Even though her eyes were now shut, she knew that Adrian was watching closely her features when she let her head fall back to rest in his shoulder, her brain going into overdrive when his touch became more pressing, kneading her breast and drawing lazy circles against her centre relentlessly. It was not long before she lost the last bit of control she had left over her own body, her lips parting slightly to let a moan escape, quickly muffled by Adrian’s mouth covering hers in an attempt to preserve the silence around them.

That might have worked perfectly, if only he had been able to kiss her with more restraint. Instead, his tongue had quickly found its way through her parted lips, brushing hers in patterns mirroring the movement of his fingertips between her legs, swallowing her whines as if he could taste her own pleasure through the ragged sounds that he was drawing out of her.

She was itching to touch him. One of her hands had left the cold surface of the pillar to find its way to his head and tangle in his hair, her entire body squirming against his to seek the friction that she was craving for. She knew he was trying to make her lose her mind. And it was working. She could feel his fingers slide gradually further down against her core, dipping into the wetness of her folds before retreating back, drawing growl after growl each time.

She could tell Adrian was relishing this by the way the corners of his mouth curled against hers. It was only when he suddenly pulled away from her swollen lips that she finally opened her eyes again, the lust and wickedness of his gaze sending a shiver all the way down to her toes. He had stopped moving, simply holding her petite form against his chest as tight as deemed possible, his golden eyes anchored to hers with an unmistakable gleam of challenge and promise.

“Adrian…” she mumbled feebly, desperately trying to grind against him but unable to resist his hold on her.

He smiled, remaining silent for a few seconds, before finally breaking the stillness with a low, husky voice, in a tone that was somehow both inviting and commanding: “Say please”.

There was no hesitation in her response, no control, her rasped voice echoing around the room as she begged, breathless: “Adrian, pleeeaaase…”

Thankfully, he did not make her say it again, barely waiting a few seconds before plugging a finger into her dampened slit, followed nearly immediately by a second, resuming his circular patterns over her swollen clit with the pad of his thumb. Withdrawing and dipping back into her with maddening slowness, she could feel her muscles clench around his fingers and her knees start to quiver as the pleasure was slowly building in.

Her dilated pupils could not tear away from his golden eyes, silently begging for more as he increased his pace, his hips grinding voraciously against her back, his mouth inches from hers as if resisting the urge to kiss her so that he could revel in the sweet music of her feverish whines echoing around them.

“Adrian… this is… so…” she tried to mutter between her gasps.

Adrian’s eyes flashed with a voracious gleam as he purred against her lips with a proud smirk, “so… good?”.

Her lips pursed weakly to form a teasing grin. “So… unprofessional”.

His smirk only widened further at her words, his hands suddenly moving away from her burning skin to grip her hips, making her head jerk up from his shoulder in surprise. She was about to complain when he swiftly swirled her body around and crashed his lips onto hers, pushing her back against the pillar, the contrast between the cold marble and the heat of her skin making her jump a little in his grasp.

It was not long before Adrian’s hands had found their way back beneath her dress, his fingers reaching hurriedly for the hem of her thong as his mouth started to descend from her mouth to her chin, roaming over her neck and her collarbone, until he sunk to his knees before her, skipping the parts of her that were covered by fabric to head straight for the space right below her navel. Dragging her underwear down her legs, he only broke the contact between his warm lips and her skin so that he could guide the lace over her heels, quickly shoving the fabric in his pocket before capturing her pulsing nub between his lips, not wasting any minute before expertly starting to explore her aching core, nibbling and suckling with an unmatched dedication.

Her hands were roaming all over his head, tangling her fingers in his hair and pushing her hips forward to demand more, her lower lip caught between her teeth to repress the urge to cry out with every stroke of his tongue, or every time the deft fingers that were slithering up and down her inner thigh came close enough to tease her entrance before retreating back wickedly. As much as part of her wanted to pull him back up to his feet and beg him to take her now, the other part could not even fathom the idea of making him stop his godly work between her legs.

There was no more coherent thought going through her fogged brain. Fragmentary visions of heated memories and unspoken fantasies were flashing before her eyes, mingling with the rousing sight of Adrian down on his knees before her, tasting her fervently in every way that she had ever dreamt of being tasted.

When she felt the intoxicating warmth of his mouth suddenly leave her centre, her mind unconsciously thanked him for ending this sweet torture, expecting the yearning in her core to be satiated soon enough when she would finally get to feel him inside her.

But that sweet release never came.

It took her a few seconds to realise that Adrian had jerked back up to his feet and hurriedly pulled down the fabric of her dress, unceremoniously grabbing Ellie’s waist to move her away from their hiding spot, releasing his grip once she was standing beside him in front of one of the display cases, their back turned away from the corridor.

She had to grip the edge of the display case to keep herself steady, her knees still trembling from Adrian’s handywork just a few seconds before, her eyes opening and closing at a maddening pace to try to clear her clouded brain and regain her senses. It was only when she heard the distinct sound of a pair of heels echoing towards them that she finally understood.

“Monsieur Raines?”, they heard a woman’s voice call out at a distance.

Adrian’s cheeks were flushed, and his hair completely tousled, but he made a quick work of fixing it as well as fixing his shirt with a smirk, mastering the art of regaining his composure in a flick of an eye, like the annoyingly perfect businessman that he was. Ellie fumbled around in an attempt to do the same, fully aware that she would never be able to be as efficient as Adrian, especially in the state of desperate yearning that he had just put her through. She was still panting, her heart thumping in her chest, pupils dilated and cheeks hot from so much blood rushing to her face, both from arousal and from the embarrassment that she knew was about to come.

Ellie jumped a little when the woman’s voice finally reached the room they were in: “Ah, Monsieur Raines! Je vous ai trouvé! Le buffet va commencer, si vous voulez bien rejoindre les autres invités dans le jardin?”.

Ellie had no clue what the woman had just said, and was in no shape to turn around and let the woman see the state of her. She was so grateful that Adrian knew exactly what to say and how to behave casually to buy her a few more minutes to sort out the mess he had made of her… although hearing him speak French was not helping much getting her arousal under control, as he politely answered the woman: “Merci, nous vous rejoignons dans quelques instants.”.

Ellie sighted with relief when she heard the woman’s footsteps retreat, turning around to face him, glaring at him with her best attempt at a reproachful scowl.

“That was….” she started, before being interrupted by Adrian’s mouth on hers, as he pressed a soft kiss on her swollen lips, before pulling away slowly with a grin.

“… unprofessional?” he teased, earning a falsely unamused eye-roll in return.

“We better get going, the party is starting, and all of the other guests are gathered in the gardens now” he announced, translating what the woman had said, but not releasing Ellie from his embrace just yet.

“I am in no state for socialising now” she admitted with a grimace, although she could not fight the teasing grin that was starting to form on her face. “I will never be able to focus properly after this… all I will be thinking about is sorting out this… hum, unfinished business…”

Adrian’s hold tightened a little more around her waist at her words, his eyes still gleaming with mischief and never leaving hers when he stepped slowly away, grabbing her hand to start dragging them both away from the room.

His voice was husky and full of promise when he casually answered with a teasing smile: “Well… unfortunately, we’ll have to play along a little bit longer I’m afraid… but I will certainly be looking forward all evening to the second part of this… unfinished business…”.

~~~

N/A: If anyone else is as eager as Adrian to see how ‘Part II’ of their little ‘public indiscretions’ is going to play out, let me know, and I’d be happy to oblige 😉 This prompt has inspired me way too much, thank you so much for the ask @mssukeyna 😉

~~~

Tagging @adriansbiss , @itsjustwinter , @shanzay44 , @purvishraick, @thefrenchiemama

@choicesficwriterscreations

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Whisky Secrets (sequel)

Here's something different. Before I ever thought about posting fanfic here, I used to write things inspired by fanfic I found by some of the incredible writers I found on tumblr. I've never posted any of them but I've really felt like writing something for Aleister Black/ Tommy End lately.

So I reached out to one of my original favourites on this site, @ghostofviperwrites and asked her if she'd mind if I published this sequel I wrote to her story Whisky Secrets. She gave me the ok (for which I thank her very much).

You absolutely have to read her piece first or this won't make any sense. It picks up literally at the point where hers leaves off and the entire premise is based on what she wrote. I think this goes in a very different direction than what she had in mind, though.

Since this is an old story, some of the characters are very different than they are now. It was set at around the time I wrote it. Based on events in the story, it's pretty clear when that was.

It's a bit dated but I hope you enjoy.

Pairing: Aleister Black x OFC (hints of Roman Reigns x OFC)

Word count: 7,031

Content advisory: graphic sexual content, language, incidental roughness that some might find stressful

You rested on the sofa for too long, knowing that you had to get to work, that you were already behind on an assignment that was due that afternoon. As much as you desperately wanted to cling to the scent and the feeling of him being there with you and the idea that he might someday want to be there with you for longer, you knew that you were only wasting time by indulging in a fantasy. Once again, you reminded yourself, he saw you as a friend, a landing pad after he was finished his adventures. And so you dragged yourself to the computer and tried to focus.

It was a fluff piece you’d been hired to write: places for new residents of Orlando to meet people. You’d accepted it because the pay was good and it had seemed easy. But what the hell did you know about meeting people? You’d barely met anyone and the only ones that you’d call friends were the ones you met when you’d done an in-depth profile on the WWE and their development territory NXT. Of those, only Aleister had remained close and even then, you couldn’t say that the two of you had ever properly opened up to each other. Nevertheless, you’d stayed in touch with a number of them, occasionally meeting for coffee or drinks. None of this was in any way useful when it came to recommending locations to connect with strangers.

You’d tried to start the article the day before but now when you opened the file, you discovered that you’d only come up with a half a dozen corny titles and one word of text:

When?

The word was too painfully appropriate.

When were you going to run out of luck and be unable to find further work as a journalist?

When were you going to admit that what kept you here, rather than moving to another state and pursuing more secure work, was the fact that you were in love with a man who was only interested in your capacity as a friend and caregiver?

When was your hopeless love going to break you beyond repair?

Annoyed with yourself, you deleted the word and tried to start again. You could meet people at the gym classes that were ubiquitous in this city. You could meet people at get-togethers for shared hobbies like hiking or pottery or basically anything. No one had to meet people by getting thrown into their orbit and being unable to extricate themselves.

About half an hour into your resentful hammering on the keyboard, you were startled by your doorbell. For one sweet instant, you imagined that it was Aleister dropping by to pass some time with you. Then you realized that he never came to you without an invitation unless it was dead drunk in the middle of the night. Even when you invited him, it was only every fourth or fifth time that you asked that he agreed to come over and watch a movie or go for a walk in the nearby park. There was no way it was him at your door at eleven o’clock in the morning.

In fact, the person at your door was Bayley, chipper and warm as always, returning the spare laptop you’d lent her a few weeks before.

“Thank you so much,” she beamed, thrusting the computer into your hands. “You are a lifesaver. I’d have lost my goddamn mind if I hadn’t had this while mine was in the shop.”

“It was nothing,” you insist, smiling at her unconstrained warmth even though you didn’t feel very positive about your life at that moment. “Do you want to come in for a minute?”

She nodded cheerily and stepped across the foyer. You never really knew how you fit in with the women of WWE, even though you’d spoken to many of them in depth. Bayley stood out because she was determined to be your friend despite your introvert’s reluctance. And, indeed, she was irresistible. Much like her in-ring character, she cast sunshine wherever she went and her glow was contagious, even in your darkest and lowest moments.

You motioned her into the kitchen, offering her a choice of lemonade, iced tea or water. Her eyes immediately fell on the empty whiskey bottle you’d left on the counter, her expression growing more serious as she focused on it.

“Getting started early?” she cajoled.

“A friend left that here,” you replied guiltily.

She narrowed her dark eyes as she looked at you. Sweet and optimistic as she was, Bayley was not naïve. She knew exactly what friend had left the bottle behind and she knew how you felt about him.

“I’ll have a glass of lemonade,” she said, the smile slowly returning to her face.

You joined her and the two of you jokingly touched glasses before drinking.

“So, a few of us are getting together tonight,” she said hesitantly. “I thought you might like to join us.”

Your first instinct was to ask if Aleister would be there, but you thought better of it. Instead, you responded, “Well, I have an article I need to finish.”

Of course, your article was due by the end of the afternoon, which meant that your evening was free regardless, but part of you wanted to be at home in case Aleister came staggering over again.

Bayley’s jaw set in a determined expression you’d only seen from her in the ring. “We’re having a party for Roman, to celebrate him going into remission.”

Well now you felt like a bit of a bitch for making excuses and didn’t know what to say.

“It won’t just be wrestlers there. Some other journalists are even coming. And I know that it would mean a lot to him if you were there.”

When you’d done your article on the WWE, you’d interviewed Roman Reigns and he’d been incredibly generous with his time. He’d even contacted you after your interviews to confirm that you had all the detail you needed. He was the face of the company and had done everything possible to make sure that the company had provided what you required. He’d clearly wanted to make sure they’d left a good impression and you couldn’t help but be impressed by his PR skills. Although you knew it wasn’t true that it “would mean a lot to him”, you were touched by the idea that he remembered you and might like you to be there to celebrate his great news. At the same time… you needed to be there for Aleister.

“Look,” Bayley insisted, “I’m going to text you the details for the bar where we’ll be. It’s not a big deal, just a bunch of us getting together to be happy for our friend.”

There was no way that you could refuse that, so you shyly thanked her as she gulped the rest of her lemonade and made for the door.

“I’m serious,” she said as she departed. “You work so damn hard you deserve a night off. Finish what you’re doing and come have fun with us.”

As soon as she’d left, you once again sat down at your computer. Before you could return your attention to your work, however, you couldn’t resist checking Instagram.

Someone had tagged Aleister in a photo on Instagram.

Yes, you were that pathetic that you always checked.

With trepidation, you clicked the link to look at what was there. As it too often did, the notification came from an airbrushed-looking woman, her collagen-enhanced lips pressed against his. She looked arrogant and proud, while he looked smug and inebriated.

“Guess who I got to hang with last night?” the caption gloated.

You knew damn well what “hang” was a euphemism for. He never cared that the Barbie dolls he hooked up with advertised their conquest on social media. He was single and hot. Why should he care if people knew that he always scored with the sort of women other men lusted after? Why should he care that it ripped your heart to shreds every time you saw him with another woman so unlike you in every way?

The woman had posted a few other photos of the two of them together, embracing. Every part of her magazine-ready body was on display, save those parts that would have gotten her in trouble. Her artificially perfect breasts were spilling out of a tiny tube top while her endless legs were shown in their full glory between the edge of a skirt that likely required her to trim her pubic hair and the sky high heels that raised her enough to press her lips to his without having to stretch herself awkwardly. She was nothing like you, with your unkempt hair and loose, bohemian dresses, your comfortable ballet flats and blandly natural face. She had all the glamour that you lacked and he ate it up.

The images of the two of them cut into you like a laser and, for once, all you desired was to break free from the pain of feeling. A few minutes later, when Bayley sent the text she’d promised with the details of where you could find the party tonight, you immediately responded.

“I’ll be there. I promise.”

To hell with Aleister and the designer women he adored, you told yourself as you returned to your article with a vengeance. Tonight you were going to do whatever it took to break the spell he had cast over you.

*

It was just after nine when you found yourself teetering to the entrance of the bar where the party was taking place. It was marked only by a subtle sign, no words, just a stylized anchor, and it was hidden away on a tiny street that was hardly more than an alley. In your fit of pique, you’d finished your article two hours before your deadline and then, having examined the options in your closet and found them wanting, headed out and spent entirely too much money on a new dress that clung perfectly to your breasts before flaring out to highlight the movements of your body, while covering just the bare minimum to maintain decency. You’d also picked up a stylish pair of ankle boots with heels higher than you were used to and that posed a legitimate threat as you made your way down the roughly paved road to the speakeasy-style bar.

A little further down the alley, you see a couple leaning against a car, taking turns swigging from a liquor bottle. The woman is one of those glamorous animals that makes you so insecure, laughing in drunken delight in a way that only confident people can. In one quick movement the man spins her around and bends her over the hood of the car. He immediately takes out his cock, stroking it a couple of times before he thrusts into her, one hand on her back while the other holds the bottle that he continues drinking from. And it’s a moment before you realize that it’s Aleister, fucking away at a woman whose name he won’t remember in a few hours.

The sight makes you want to curl up and die, makes you want to say that you’ve made a mistake and run along home so you can bawl your eyes out while you wait for his inevitable drunken arrival. But, if nothing else, the damage that you’ve done to your credit card in order to make yourself look just a bit more sexy and edgy than usual, as well as the glasses of wine you had already consumed to fortify your courage, push you forward. This is a test. In order to pass, you need to be able to ignore the man whose indifference is killing you and enter the world of others, where someone who wasn’t up to the standards of the rarified model girls might be willing to give you a second look.

Aleister doesn’t even glance up as you enter the bar a few feet away from him, can’t feel the dark weight of your eyes on him or the force with which you tear them away as you step through the door.

As soon as you do, you are once again frozen with the idea that you’ve made a mistake. When Bayley characterized this as a “get-together”, you’d assumed it meant a group of people spread out around a few tables chatting away and toasting Roman’s health. Instead, what greets you is a basement club full of people with a dance floor alive with writhing bodies. You recognize a few journalists but for the most part, the space is taken up with every WWE and NXT star you’ve ever heard of. It’s a convention of beautiful people and you can’t help but feel dowdy even in your overpriced finery.

You slowly descend the stairs, fully intending to look around, say hello to a few familiar faces and then bolt for the exit, but you’re immediately greeted by a familiar voice that fairly shrieks. “Oh my god woman, just look at you!”

It’s Sasha Banks, standing at the edge of the stairs with Bayley, who gives you an exaggerated round of applause.

“Miranda, you look amazing,” Sasha continues breathlessly. “Seriously, you’re putting everyone to shame.”

You don’t feel like you’re putting anyone to shame, least of all Sasha in her body suit that hugs every curve of her perfect little hourglass, but you blush at the compliment.

“Come on,” Bayley gushes, “we need shots to celebrate your hotness!”

She pulls both of you through the crowd to the bar and somehow is able to get the bartender’s attention almost immediately, ordering two rounds of tequila shots because, she tells you and Sasha, there’s no point in getting just one round when you know you’re going back for seconds. The three of you toast and toss down the shots and then immediately do so again and you have to admit that you’re feeling the warm glow already. Sasha, apparently feeling something herself, wraps her arms around you and once again reassures you that you are devastatingly beautiful.

Another shot is thrust into your hand, this time by Dash Wilder, who’s arrived with his Revival partner Scott Dawson. Wilder has always been attractive to you, so you give him as radiant a smile as you can manage and you swear he blushes a little just before he downs his shot. Dawson is hugging Sasha and Bayley close to him, allowing Dash to edge a little closer to you and you’re feeling a little high on yourself when another voice cuts through your circle.

“Miranda? Holy fuck I can’t believe you’re here!”

Roman Reigns pushes right through the bodies close to the bar and grabs you firmly by the shoulders, his eyes gradually focusing on yours. He’s grinning with an intensity that clearly comes from his being a little past feeling no pain but it doesn’t hamper the thrill it gives you when he wraps his arms around you and nearly crushes you in a hug.

“I mean, shit, I don’t think I’ve even talked to you since you did that interview,” he pouts. “Thank you so much for coming.”

You smile as another shot is pushed into your hand, biting your lip self-consciously. You down about half the shot before Roman grabs it from you and finishes it, breaking up with laughter. He signals the bartender for another round, keeping an arm around your back until the tray of shots arrives. You’re all toasting each other and you wonder why you ever questioned yourself for coming here because this is exactly what you needed.

“Come dance with me,” Roman chuckles, grabbing your wrist and pulling you towards the dance floor. He’s clearly floating on a sea of drunken bliss, goofing around and happy to have someone to have fun with, someone he didn’t expect to be there. Even if you wanted to resist his offer, you couldn’t because, while he isn’t doing anything that might hurt you, his grip is strong enough and the rest of him powerful enough to compel you forward.

The two of you deliberately dance like complete nerds in high school, awkward movements and ironic posturing until you’re both laughing so hard you can barely stand. It’s then that you realize that you’ve become the focus of some attention; Roman goddamn Reigns, the face of the company, the locker room leader, the man who everyone has come to celebrate, is dancing with you. Most of the people here have no idea who you are but because you’re with Roman, you are somebody. Basking in the subtle attention and envy, you close your eyes and allow yourself to get lost in the music, swaying to the beat until you feel a large pair of hands on your hips.

You open your eyes to see Roman pulling you closer to him with a devilish grin before spinning you around and pulling your back against his massive chest. You continue to move but at a slower pace, your movements limited by how close he’s holding you and the sensual way in which his body moves against yours. Keeping one arm loosely around you, he lets his other hand fall against your thigh, lightly playing with the hem of your dress. It makes you gasp.

“You never responded to any of my texts,” he murmurs gruffly in your ear.

You remember at least half a dozen messages asking if he could clarify anything or if you needed any additional material for your article. You hadn’t needed anything else but you suddenly feel terribly rude for not answering.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “you were very professional and I should have at least told you that I had what I needed.”

His voice drops even lower as he speaks. “I didn’t mean to be professional about them. And I was hoping that you didn’t have everything you needed.”

He pulls you up and firmly against him and for the first time you can feel his hardening cock through his pants. You can’t help but thrust your hips into him, barely able to process what’s happening to you. The two of you are still ostensibly dancing, although it’s more like a rhythmic grinding to the music as he reaches down and pulls the hem of your dress up, rubbing your thigh and then your ass as he presses his lips into your neck. His hands are everywhere on you and you’re aware that your entire lower body is basically on display for anyone who cares to look but you don’t care because it feels like you’ve won the lottery. You moan at the feeling of his growing excitement against your flesh, both his large hands grazing up the front of your thighs and for a moment you think that you’re ready to beg him to take you right there when you’re violently spun away from your dance partner, a bruising grip on your arm.

It’s Aleister, eyes incandescent with rage as he tells Roman, “I need to speak to her for a minute.”

Roman looks confused and tries to speak to you but Aleister drags you away and a gaggle of women immediately descend on Roman, desperate to take your place.

Aleister flings you against the wall, glaring at you with an intensity that you’ve never seen outside the ring.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he growls.

“I was dancing before you interfered,” you snap back at him, rubbing your arm.

“Dancing?” he repeats with derision. “That’s what you call that?”

“I was having fun.”

“What the hell are you wearing?”

For the first time since you saw him with his woman of choice outside, you feel ridiculous, like a girl trying to look glamorous by donning her mother’s clothes.

“I wanted something a little different.”

“A little?” he hisses back. “Do you realize what you look like? You’re all tarted up and letting some guy grab at you and get you half naked in front of a bar full of people.”

“What I look like?”

“Everyone could see practically your whole goddamned body. They could see what you were letting him do to you.”

“You mean to say I look like a whore.”

Aleister crosses his arms and glances away, refusing to confirm what you’ve said.

“So what, Aleister? So what if I’m letting a man touch me and show me that he wants me? Who cares who else sees? Maybe that’s what I want!”

“Are you so stupid that you think he wants you for anything other than a one night stand?”

The accusation stabs at your heart and your confidence but you’re determined not to let him see that.

“Again, so what? Maybe I’m happy to have this big, gorgeous man want me. Maybe I’m fine bringing him back to my place for a few hours of fun because at least it means someone is thinking of me as a sexual being for a change.” You pause, knowing the danger of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself. “Maybe I’d be fine if he just took me outside and fucked me over the hood of a car.”

For a second, you think that Aleister is going to strangle you. The look on his face is like the moment before the sky erupts in thunder and lightning. Truthfully, you expect that he’ll turn on his heel and walk away from you and never come back, and perhaps that’s what you need him to do so that you can get over him.

Instead, he grabs you, pinning you to the side of his body and pulling you towards the door. His movements make you stumble, and the more you try to resist him, the more ungainly you look.

“She’s dead drunk,” you hear him assure a few people, “I’m going to make sure she gets home.”

And while it’s true that you are drunk, you’re not nearly as drunk as he’s making you out to be. The second he has you outside, you try to twist away from him and go back, only for him to wind you closer, pulling you off balance so that you look even more inebriated.

You hear him whisper to Seth Rollins, who’s observing the spectacle through the corner of his eyes. “Look, tell Roman that she’s falling down drunk and I just had to get her home. No disrespect meant.”

Seth has a confused expression on his face but nods and tells him, “Sure thing.”

Realizing what Aleister is doing, you once again try to rush past him, but he blocks you, gripping your arm and pulling you after him so that you really do appear pathetically unable to take care of yourself.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” you shout at him, figuring that there’s no reason to worry about who might hear you, there being no further you can sink in their estimation. “Why can’t you just let me enjoy myself?”

“Jesus, Miranda, you’re loaded. You can barely stand up.” He emphasizes this by jerking your arm forward, which almost causes you to keel over onto your face. “You’re just embarrassing yourself.”

“No,” you insist, pulling yourself to a halt. “I knew what I was doing. I knew what I wanted. Sure I’m a bit tipsy but-“

“You don’t want that,” Alesiter snaps, threading his arm through yours and continuing down the street. “You don’t just want to whore yourself out for a night because you think it might help your self-esteem.”

“You don’t get to decide what I want, Aleister.” You’re crushed against his side and he’s moving so quickly that your feet only graze the ground every third or fourth step. “Let me go. I’m sick of playing the surrogate mother for someone who’s incapable of seeing me as a real woman. I want to go back there. I want to have someone make a show of wanting me. I want to get fucked so hard I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Aleister shakes his head like a parent frustrated with a misbehaving child. “Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.”

“So let me be ridiculous!” you yell back, trying unsuccessfully to extricate yourself from his grip. “What the hell is it to you? Are you worried that for once I’m not going to be there when you need a place to collapse at four in the morning?”

The two of you reach the corner where the alley meets the street and he swings you to face him, glowering at you with a terrifying expression, gripping your biceps so hard you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. He says nothing but stares at you until he whips his arm out and hails a taxi seemingly out of nowhere.

He launches you, there’s no other word for it, into the back seat of the car and snarls your address to the driver as your tears start to fall. The cabbie is noticeably uncomfortable with your quiet whimpering and seems confused by the fact that Aleister does nothing to comfort or engage you. He sits with his arms folded, scowling, until you arrive at your building. Reflexively, you reach for your purse only to have Aleister swat your hand away and pay the driver himself. You try to keep pace as he yanks you towards the door, but stumble because of your unsure footing in these strange heels and because your vision is glazed by the tears you’re fighting to hold in.

When Aleister pins you against the door and rummages through your purse to find your keys, it somehow feels more invasive than Roman gripping your ass for an entire bar full of people to see. You feel, for a moment, that he is looking at you with tenderness. But when the door opens, he simply guides you through it. As you hear it click shut, the last of your strength, physical and emotional, gives out and you drop to your knees, finally allowing the tears to fall. It’s a full-on ugly cry, punctuated by guttural, anguished sounds you’d never allow anyone else to hear. Despite everything, you desperately want to hear the door open again behind you and to hear him say that he’s realized he loves you.

But no, in the end, he’s just found it gross that the woman he sees as his caregiver might have another side. He found you pathetic in your overpriced dress and shoes. He knew that you were desperately trying to act like something you could never be: like someone who could compete with the perfected Instagram beauties he fucks every night. You could never be that. He knew that you were just a sad little woman decked out in a gaudy outfit. You’d never be that sexy, desirable person who stopped men dead in their tracks, no matter what your dance with Roman had temporarily led you to believe.

You’re on your knees for what seems like hours, choking on tears and snot and trying to restrain yourself from howling. Just as the sound overpowers you and a low wail escapes your lips, you’re startled by a pair of arms, familiar, tattooed arms wrapping around your waist from behind.

“Shh. There’s no need for any of that,” he grunts into your hair.

And while you’re shocked and thrilled that he actually stayed behind to make sure that you were ok, it’s also even more humiliating that he’s seen you fall apart so spectacularly. Your body feels limp with defeat and unable to react at all as he gathers you up and carries you into your bedroom, setting you gently on the edge of the bed. He rests his hand on yours for a moment and you’re able to stem the flow of tears until he stands up and heads back towards the door. This time, you’re determined to hold in the worst of your misery until you’re sure he’s gone, even though you can’t stop the tears from running down your face.

But after a few minutes of straining to hear the door close, you see Aleister return, a damp washcloth in hand, and he sits once again beside you on the edge of the bed. He presses the cloth, cool and soothing, against your cheeks and then holds your chin as he delicately wipes it across your face. It takes you some minutes to realize that he’s removing your smeared makeup, cleaning you off so that you look good as new, so that you look more like the plain girl who lets him into her home in the middle of the night, his touch filled with a tenderness that you never imagined him capable of. When he’s satisfied with his work, he tosses the cloth aside and wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against him. The sweetness of his friendly gesture makes you want to cry all over again but you choke it back, knowing that you’ll have plenty of time for that when he’s gone.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he whispers, the sound of his voice making you feel weak.

You nod and roughly pull back from him, unsure of your ability to stop yourself from throwing yourself at him and begging him to wreck you. You fumble with the zipper of your boots until Aleister slides off the bed and onto his knees and removes it for you. He glides his hand along your calf, up to your thigh and then moves to your other boot. As he slides it off, he presses his head against the side of your knee, giving the skin a light kiss before rocking back on his haunches. You know he’s being gentle with you because he feels sorry for you. He finds you pitiful, which is even worse than finding you asexual.

The feelings are too much for you to take and all you can think of is that you want to get into bed where you’ll be safe and where you can sleep off the nightmare your evening out has become. You clumsily shed your dress, stockings, bra and panties without thinking much of the fact that you have an audience. Why should it bother him seeing you naked, after all? Normally, you put on some nightclothes but you don’t even have the strength to bother. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that Aleister has turned his head towards the door. He’s embarrassed for you, the way you would be if a parent or sibling was undressing around you.

You crawl under the covers with a grumbled “good night” and immediately start to feel yourself drift off. You’re jolted back to wakefulness when Aleister climbs in beside you. In all the time you’ve known him, as many nights as he’s come and collapsed on your sofa, you don’t think he’s ever seen your bedroom. Now, having seen it, he’s apparently happy not to leave it, indulging in the comfort of your bed without even asking permission. It makes you a little self-conscious that you’re nude but it’s hardly the most humiliating thing to happen to you tonight, so you let yourself ignore it. If you can just fall asleep, this night will be over and you can begin the process of trying to forget it.

It’s only a matter of seconds, though, until you feel his body pressed against yours from behind, one hand coming to rest flat on your stomach and pushing you back against him so that you are acutely aware that you are not the only person naked in the bed. The hand on your stomach flutters downward until his fingers are moving lightly over your pussy, like he’s plucking the strings of a harp. His other arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you flush against him, close enough that you can’t mistake the feeling of his erection against your back.

He presses his lips and tongue against your neck, making you whimper as you try to keep your heart rate stable. Your little noises seem to motivate him further, his touch becoming more insistent and one of his legs snaking over yours, pulling it back to give his hand greater access.

“Such a little fool,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking insistently along your fleshy folds. “Thinking I don’t see you as a sexual being.”

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, making you cry out- more from the shock than the pain. His mouth continues to move around your neck and shoulders, nipping and sucking on the skin there, his grip on you tightening until it’s nearly painful.

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.

“Leaving marks,” he says matter-of-factly.

You’re at a loss for what to say, but are saved from having to answer as he pushes two fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your clit. You’re embarrassed that he must have felt how wet you were just from being in his presence but he says nothing, quickening his pace and giving satisfied little growls when his touch elicits gasps and cries of pleasure from you.

It’s pity, you remind yourself; what he’s doing to you, he’s doing it because he feels sorry for you and because he’s drunk and horny despite his encounter earlier in the evening. But the thought gets whisked away as he brings you closer and closer to what you’ve desperately needed from him for so long. You let out a little shriek when he removes his hand, unable to believe he’s so cruel as to bring you to the precipice and then deny you. But he simply flips you onto your back before pressing his fingers inside you once more, watching your reactions to be sure he’s hitting just the right spot before burying his face between your legs. His tongue, lips and fingers work together like an orchestra. Your knuckles are white from the force of clenching on the sheets and you’re biting down so hard on your lip to muffle the sounds you’re making that you’re worried your teeth will end up permanently embedded. He unexpectedly raises his head and stills the movement of his hand inside you and the shock is almost enough to make you start crying again. You look down at him, his eyes sparkling in the low light with an expression you can’t read.

“Why won’t you let me hear you?”

Because you don’t want him to know how good his merciful little gesture is making you feel. Because you don’t want to admit to yourself that it’s better than you’d imagined. Truthfully, whenever you’ve thought about the mechanics of sex with Aleister, you imagined that it would be fast and rough and hedonistic, much like his other sexual encounters seem to be. But he’s chosen this moment to take his time, to focus on his partner, rather than go for a quick, dirty fuck in a darkened corner.

You don’t tell him any of this, instead croaking out, “I’m shy.”

He raises himself up and over your body with the effortless grace of a serpent, pressing his head close to yours and kissing along your jawline.

“What do I have to do to make you not be shy?”

“I don’t know… I just… am.” You wriggle a little under him, turning your face away when he looks directly into your eyes.

He cups your face in one hand and runs the other, still wet with your juices, over your breast, teasing the nipple and making you shudder involuntarily.

“Am I moving too fast?”

You shake your head, not quite trusting your voice.

“Is there something that you’d enjoy more? Something you want me to do for you?”

You give him another little shake of the head.

“You don’t have to be shy with me. Whatever you want, I want you to tell me so I can give it to you. Anything.”

For the first time, he kisses you on the lips, his tongue, that still tastes of you, slides against yours and the hand at the side of your face slides to hold your neck, cradling your head so that you don’t have to tense any muscles to stay in that position. Your body has nothing it needs to do but experience the sensations he’s creating. Of course, you still answer his kiss, hungrily flashing your tongue against his, reveling in the light scrape of his lip ring against your lips. His hand glides back down between your legs, and even the proximity is enough to draw a couple of little mewls of pleasure. You feel him smile a little against your lips at the noises and he pulls away from the kiss.

“Am I making you feel good?”

You nod as he starts to work his fingers around your entrance once again.

“Do you want my mouth down there again?”

You nod even more vigorously than the first time but he shakes his head.

“Tell me. Say it out loud.”

You open your mouth to do so and he immediately thrusts his long fingers into your g-spot and your clit at once, making you yelp in pleasure. It’s almost enough to make you cum on its own but he eases the pressure before you reach that peak.

“Yes?” he asks again.

“Yes, fuck, yes!”

“Then let me hear you. Please.”

He returns his attention to your core and has you making all manner of unholy noises in short order. He expertly teases you and then holds back, so many times that when he does finally take you over the edge, you feel like you might pass out from the intensity of it. Your gasps for breath sound cavernous in the quiet room.

He keeps the palm of his hand firmly against you as he leans forward and presses his lips into your neck, letting out a satisfied purr every time an aftershock rolls through your body.

When he’s satisfied that you’ve fully come down, he raises himself up on his arms, giving just the hint of a smile when you grab onto his biceps to steady yourself.

He’s so rigid that he doesn’t even need a hand to guide himself into you. He simply presses forward in one slow but sure moment, his eyes closed as if it’s a kind of religious experience, not opening them until he’s fully seated inside you. It’s been long enough since you’ve been with anyone that the feeling of being stretched draws a little whimper from your throat. He remains still, his eyes open and bearing down on you with a delirious kind of excitement, aching prick twitching inside you, desperate to proceed but waiting for a signal that he can.

And it’s at that moment that you allow yourself to think that this isn’t pity or a drunken mistake, that he’s as hungry for you as you have been for him and that what’s happened tonight has just served to connect a circuit. The fiercely possessive look in his eyes as he watches you, the fury when he thought someone else was claiming you, the need to mark you to make you his, the flush of pure lust on his face and chest… it is just a little frightening, something you suspected was in him but never that it was focused on you. But you’ve always known you could handle his darkness if he let you in. So you thrust your hips a little and wrap your legs loosely around his waist to show him that he can continue. Just as he starts to move, he cups your face and presses his mouth to your ear.

“You deserve so much better.”

“Stop trying to make those decisions for me,” you moan, feeling your insides flutter with his movements.

“I’ve never felt anything like that jealousy.” He’s staring into your eyes as he confesses. He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder pressing deeper inside you and gasping at the feeling. “Knowing that everyone could see how sexy and beautiful you are… And I’m an idiot for waiting for that to happen before I did anything, I just…”

He grimaces and slows his pace a little, obviously trying to prolong the sensation.

“You mean it?” You have to ask because you still can’t quite believe that this has been on his mind for all this time when he’s shown no sign of it to you.

“God yes,” he answers through gritted teeth, once again allowing himself to move faster and more urgently.

You can’t completely banish your fears that he’s going to regret this in the morning and just shut you out again but every second with him is pushing them further away. You lace your fingers through his hair, nipping at the shell of his ear as he lets out his own stream of desperate, lusty noises, running your nails gently down his back as he approaches his crescendo.

His head drops to your chest and he cries out as he releases inside you.

“Fuck I love you, fuck I love you, fuck I love you.” He repeats it like a mantra that brings him back down from his high, saying it a final time as he looks into your eyes.

Slowly, he rolls onto his side, gathering you close to him like he thinks an errant breeze might carry you away.

“I have…” he begins quietly, “… there’s a lot that goes on in my head… Bad things, I guess. I thought you’d run away. Or that I’d pull you down with me. I still don’t know that won’t happen.”

He looks so vulnerable that it makes your heart hurt but at the same time you have to stifle a smile.

“Well I’d rather you let me try to deal with it. I’m a lot tougher than you give me credit for being.”

His expression grows a little guilty and he nods. He wraps his arms tighter around you and you do the same until the two of you are lying in your bed, wound around each other.

[bb8sworld]

— litoreus, part i

pairing: god of the sea!obi-wan kenobi x reader

word count: 7k (*sweats nervously*)

a/n: greetings, and welcome to the first part of my new series! i don’t know how better to summarize this story than by saying that kara (@karasong) said “neptune is a dilf” then val (@milleniumvalcon) said a statue of poseidon looked like obi-wan, and it spiraled from there. so many thanks to the discord for the idea of this poseidon!obi au.

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Destiny. Fate. Will. Luck. Fortune. Chance. Predestination.

Words Obi-Wan Kenobi was intimately familiar with in a multitude of different tongues, languages, dialects, and scripts. Words that have altered in connotation throughout history but have remained steadfast in their use. Words that he didn’t believe in but knew nonetheless. As someone who has been around as long as he has, and as someone who knows the inner workings of the universe and was created shortly after it’s conception, he’s aware that the ideas of Fate and Destiny were innately… human. Something clung onto by ordinary people who dwelled on the Earth and needed reassurance for an occurrence in their lives or ideas blamed for any wrongdoing that came their way.

No, Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t believe in Fate, Destiny, Fortune, or whatever other terms may be used to describe these phenomena. Everything had an order, everything had a purpose, and things didn’t happen “by chance” or “just because.” They happened because they were supposed to, not because some outside force separate from the godly beings decided to intervene. As a godly being himself, he thinks he would know if there were outside forces beyond him and his fellow gods having any say in the universe.

One of the many perks of being a god, he supposed.

Being a god was tricky business, and it was a job that often didn’t pay in kind. From his very creation, Obi-Wan had struggled with this role of his, from who he was, who he was meant to be, and how he was supposed to act.

Despite being named Obi-Wan Kenobi upon “birth,” he has gone by a plethora of different names throughout his immortal life thus far—such as Olokun, Lir, Hapi, Poseidon, Neptune, Enbilulu, and Njord, just to name a few. So many names to describe one being who ruled, guarded, and protected the seas and oceans. Each one attuned to the civilization in which the name originated from, but all converging together to describe the same god. And from it came an outpouring of love and awe. It was flattering, to say the least, that humans at one point cared so much about him that they would craft pieces of artwork dedicated to him. Or how they would construct temples of worship for him so that they might have a place to pray for safe voyages, either for themselves or loved ones. It made him feel good and loved and appreciated and a whole litany of positive affirmations that humans use to describe this gooey feeling nestled within him.

Obi-Wan loved to help humanity and had always been infatuated with them—their cultures, lifestyles, relationships, emotions, everything. And any time he helped, he got to learn a little bit more about what made humans so human. Sometimes when he did intervene in their matters and was praised for it, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was what it felt like to be human. To be loved, appreciated, adored, wanted.

But being a god wasn’t always so pleasant and flattering.

Sometimes, if a storm churned in the ocean and caused a shipwreck, his name would be cursed at in such hatred and despair as grief overtook the humans. It stung and was incredibly painful to hear, but unfortunately, he didn’t always have control over those situations. Whenever this happened, he would wonder if the feelings he felt were the same ones humans did in response to these occurrences—unloved, hated, disgusted, guilty, remorseful.

Obi-Wan really, truly wanted to take suffering away from the very humans who had fascinated him for centuries, but that’s not the way the universe works. Matters of life and death were not his jurisdiction, even if either of these happened in the blue waves below. It fell to the god of the underworld who was the overseer of death, so therefore Obi-Wan’s hands were tied. He only had control over the voyage's journey, not the destination of the passengers, meaning he was often forced to watch as lives were taken at sea and his name was sworn against in wrath.

But like with all things brought to the attention of humanity, people move on. And unfortunately for Obi-Wan, as times changed and new beliefs gained traction, that meant humans moved on from their old ways and religions—from the other gods and from him.

Despite his presence once being well-known and called upon in times of need and worship and gratitude, his importance dwindled in the eyes of the humans until he was all but nonexistent. His very being and all his life’s work were boiled down to a name that was somehow both him yet not him, written offhandedly in a history textbook for children to be aware of for a test but to forget immediately afterward. His life became a story sometimes told in a mythology book or two, often censored and abridged for audiences to “understand better.” He became a name people were familiar with but knew little about.

And so humanity had moved on from him, but he hadn’t moved on from humanity.

He was still endlessly intrigued by everything they were about and everything they had to offer, but because of his godly status, he never dared to go down and explore for himself, despite other gods having done so for one reason or another. And every day he was a little more tempted to go down and see what was new and exciting. Every time he saw another god leave to head down, he got a little bit closer to asking if he could join.

That being said, he did stay connected where he could. Throughout all of human history, art had been made in his name, and sometimes he would clear his mind and connect to those works as he did back in the ancient days and listen in on what was being said. Sometimes he caught snippets of stories from those who stood nearby. Sometimes he heard tales of his own life being taught to a younger generation in museums. But it had been a long time since he heard anyone talk to him. And despite his lack of belief in Fate or Destiny or whatever you wanted to call it, he couldn’t help but wish for the times to change and for one person to talk to him instead of about him. He wished that someone would answer his pathetic call and just talk to him.

So imagine his surprise when one day someone picked up.

At first, he thought it to be an accident. No way had someone genuinely believed he was real and manifested the powers to protect them when they traveled at sea, nor had someone directly contacted him in years for any reason. With all the new methods of transportation and exploration in the seas and oceans, most people went on those devices willingly without saying a quick prayer to him for the waters to be safe. Which was fine, really. He knew his place. Doesn’t mean he didn’t feel a little pang of hurt every time he saw a cruise ship head out or people go boating or children learn how to canoe.

But no… this call was different. It wasn’t a history lesson, or someone singing to themselves near a statue of him, or just some background clutter. No, this one felt different. And so, Obi-Wan sat on the floor of his room, closed his eyes, and began to slip into a meditative state in order to hear the call better.

“—maybe… we hang the light a foot more to the right? And tilt it just a tiny bit backward… there. Perfect! Look at you, Poseidon—or do you prefer Neptune—whatever, it doesn’t matter. But look at you, all cleaned up, restored, illuminated, and ready to go on display when the exhibit opens tomorrow. Let’s hope the visitors appreciate you in your polished state. Are you ready?”

Ah, so a new exhibit was going up featuring, presumably, a statue of him made by one of the ancient Greeks or Romans he oversaw so many centuries ago. He was about to tune out the voice and slip out of his meditative state when the voice picked up again.

“—god I must sound crazy. Just look at me, talking to a statue of a god who doesn’t even exist.” A beat. “I wish you did though, you seem like you’d be better company than some of the other people around here. Wishful thinking, eh, Neptune? Or… Poseidon… ugh, this is what happens when it’s an ancient Greek and Roman exhibit, there are too many double names—”

And off the voice went on a tangent about finishing up illuminating each of the iconic pieces of artwork and organizing pamphlets about the new exhibit in the information stands. From the sounds of it, the person behind the voice presumably worked at some museum where a new exhibit of him and the other gods in his life was being put together.

Maybe… maybe he could go down and visit it sometime. At least to see the art he hadn’t seen in many years. And if he happened to stumble across the worker with the voice he just tuned into, then he’d consider that a happy accident despite that very claim going against his beliefs about Fate. But how could he head down from his home in the clouds without raising suspicion among the other gods? He was notorious for keeping his distance once humanity forgot him, instead preferring to observe from afar and rejecting any offers to head down to the land.

The answer came in the form of Anakin Skywalker—also known as Camulus, Svetovid, Teutates, Ares, Mars, Odin, and Montu, to name a few—the god of war and the manifestation of the spirit of battle. He was a frequent visitor of the land and was undoubtedly Obi-Wan’s best friend. Not to mention, he regularly asked Obi-Wan to join him in hopes of getting him “out of his hermit lifestyle and back to the land of the living,” to quote Anakin, but Obi-Wan had either made excuses or flat out rejected his offer. But maybe it was high time he said yes.

With his plan in mind, now all he had to do was wait for Anakin to approach him and ask. And sure enough, just a few earth days later, Anakin showed up outside of Obi-Wan’s room with a cheeky smile on his face and a “ready to be done with being a recluse?” comment as expected. And though Anakin wouldn’t ever admit it to Obi-Wan’s face, Obi-Wan could see the true concern reflecting in his eyes alongside the expectation of getting rejected. Typically, there would be a pain in his eyes following each rejection, likely stemming from the wedge that sat between them because, for all that they were best friends—brothers even—they didn’t always see eye-to-eye on godly matters. From this came the worry that always sat at the corner of every conversation because Obi-Wan (admittedly so) had been self-isolating from humanity and became a stickler for following the rules of the gods. Contrast that to Anakin who was laxer in his ways and open to embracing his feelings and attachments.

But that concern and pain would end today. Obi-Wan was tired of feeling sorry for himself and hiding away up here and being lonely despite never actually being alone.

He was ready for adventure again.

And so, it was with a resounding sigh and faked exasperation that he said, “Oh, alright.”

If he took a little pleasure in being able to cause such a shocked facial expression on Anakin’s face, then that was for him to know. Though, it was a moment later when Anakin’s face split into a wide grin that he felt any lingering doubts about going down to earth dissipate. Yes, this was the right choice. If not for himself, then for his relationship with Anakin.

The act of getting down to earth was a rather easy task consisting of exiting through a golden archway that teleported them to a location of their choosing. Obi-Wan hopped on Anakin’s coordinates and the two reappeared in a forest Obi-Wan was unfamiliar with, the lights and sounds of a nearby town being their guide on the trek.

Before stepping into the hustle and bustle of the town, Anakin and Obi-Wan had “normalized” themselves from their usual glowing, almost angelic appearance into something more humane and easily looked over, particularly nondescript and unassuming, using the powers they possessed. The less attention they brought to themselves, the better. It was safer not to risk the chance of revealing themselves. Back in historic and ancient times, it was more common for them to fall into crowds of people undercover and interact, getting to know and understand the circumstances humanity faced up close and personal instead of from a distance. But that had all changed once Obi-Wan, Anakin, and the fellow gods above all became characters in a history book.

Nonetheless, Obi-Wan treasured this one act of using his powers for fun instead of remaining dormant and simply controlling the seas in the same patterns and cycles. He looked over at Anakin, wanting to see if he was ready to head into the streets, when he was surprised to see Anakin’s eyes already looking his way, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, exasperation smothering the very word, “What is it?”

“Finally decided on getting a haircut?” Anakin replied, laughter playing on the edge of the question. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at the question. Yes, usually when he came down to earth he sported a longer hairstyle—a godly mullet, as Anakin oh so lovingly called it, business in the front and the only fun you know how to have in the back—but times had changed, and Obi-Wan had figured it was time for him to as well, at least a little bit. So he did. It was less of a haircut and more of the decision to manifest with shorter hair, unlike a certain someone standing next to him who had apparently decided the opposite.

“Strong words coming from someone who’s sporting a mullet themselves,” he quipped back, turning his attention forward and beginning the trek to the town. Affronted was the only word to describe how Anakin reacted, cemented in his shock, before he shook out of his state and rushed to catch up with his friend, secretly happy to see Obi-Wan engaging in their familiar back-and-forth.

“It is not a mullet, Obi-Wan,” Anakin refuted. “It’s stylish and helps me blend in.”

Obi-Wan gives a quiet hmm in acknowledgment before replying, “Whatever you say, Anakin.”

And so the trek continued until they found themselves in a bustling town with car horns honking, people shoving themselves through crowds, and bright lights illuminating around them. It was both entirely overwhelming yet hauntingly intriguing. For as much as he wanted to look away from the circus before him, Obi-Wan couldn’t stop admiring and absorbing all the information thrown at him. Of course he was aware of how the earth and humanity had progressed from his perch in the clouds, but while it’s one thing to hear and know of something, it’s another thing to witness and experience that which you had heard so much about.

Through his daze, he’s just barely able to keep up with Anakin as they take to the sidewalks, Anakin walking in an apparent familiar cadence as if he already knows where he’s heading and knows the trek well. Perhaps there’s a destination Anakin frequents on his jaunts down to earth? Maybe Obi-Wan should’ve asked what Anakin had in mind before he agreed to this excursion, but it’s too little too late for that now. But still, asking the destination of their slightly fast walking couldn’t hurt, right?

“You know, Anakin,” he starts, “You never told me where you were intending for us to go today.”

“Oh,” Anakin flounders for a moment, as if not expecting the question. Curious. “I, uh, well I figured we’d go to the local art museum.”

“Really?” Obi-Wan is unconvinced, but plays along anyway, only the slightest bit of suspicion seeping into his tone.

“Well… I know you love learning and appreciating the more—how do you phrase it?—refined and civilized things in life,” Anakin jokes, “So I figured we could go to an art museum together.”

Well wasn’t that just the shock of the century. Art museums were far from Anakin’s usual environment. Why? Anakin was loud, brash, and impulsive, constantly itching to go out and meet action head-on, act now think later, a complete contrast to the usually quiet, serene, and contemplative nature that art museums held dear. And for all that Obi-Wan loved Anakin, there were certain environments he would never dare to be with him, art museums being one of them. But, considering Obi-Wan had agreed to join and Anakin actually seemed somewhat eager to go, he figured he could indulge Anakin just this once.

Besides, Obi-Wan figured there must’ve been some ulterior motive at play here, and if he played his cards right, he could figure it out.

“An art museum?” he asks casually, hoping maybe he’ll get a hint of this mysterious motive.

But Anakin immediately picks up on the slight curiosity in his words. “Yeah, why? You don’t want to go?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind going, I just didn’t know you’d be interested in that.”

“Well, people change, Obi-Wan. Maybe I’ve taken a page from your book and learned how to be stuffy and grandfatherly.”

Rude, Obi-Wan muses, but an unlikely story. He leaves it at that and instead asks Anakin what else he had on the itinerary for the day as they walk toward the museum. Apparently, the art museum is the highlight of the day, though Anakin does promise that if Obi-Wan would be open to indulging in human food—something that honestly means nothing to them because they can’t be satisfied on non-godly food—there’s a cafe not too far from the museum that they can hang out and people watch at. All-in-all, not a bad day. Could’ve been way worse given how differently he and Anakin define “a fun day out.”

Eventually, they do make it to the art museum in one piece, and Obi-Wan immediately takes note of how quaint it looks against the glamour of the surrounding town. Less bright colors and flashes of light on the exterior but still a commanding presence with its masonry that almost demands you to look at it and compels you to go inside.

They stand in the queue to get tickets and go inside, but once they do, Anakin starts walking off before Obi-Wan can even grab a map of the museum. He manages to snag one and just barely finds Anakin in the crowd of the entry foyer, leaving Obi-Wan to trail behind a couple of feet once he catches up as Anakin guides him to the Medieval and Renaissance art exhibit. They’re only a few feet inside the exhibit when someone calls out “Ani!” and the two whip their heads around in-sync to the sound of the voice, a chorus of shushing surrounding them.

It’s a short woman who approaches the pair, a charming smile on her lips and a glint in her eyes. She immediately goes to embrace Anakin and Obi-Wan thinks: ah, ulterior motive discovered. He looks at her professional attire, the low but elegant bun her brown hair is in, and the name tag he just barely caught a glimpse of and easily deduces that she must be a staff member here. Maybe once the two finally release each other Obi-Wan can say his greetings and find out more.

Luckily, she seems to be the sensible one between the two and releases Anakin after making eye contact with Obi-Wan, as if just now realizing that Anakin came with company. She tries to be blasé about the overly friendly interaction with Anakin by plowing forward in her introduction, holding her hand out for a handshake. Very interesting, indeed.

“I’m Padmé Amidala, one of the curators for this exhibit in the museum. You must be one of Anakin’s friends,” she greets. Obi-Wan takes her hand and gives it a slight shake. Her grip is firm but not tight, giving just enough of her away for him to understand that she is a person to be respected and in awe of but not feared. It’s easy to begin understanding how her dynamic with Anakin works.

“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“Oh, so you’re the famous Obi-Wan. Anakin has told me so much about you.” Obi-Wan gives a side-eyed glance to Anakin, noting the innocent expression he wears and wondering just how much he’s revealed to Padmé.

“Interesting, he hasn’t mentioned you at all,” Obi-Wan responds, giving them both a teasing smile in some semblance of reassurance that he isn’t offended by this fact.

However, Obi-Wan can feel the lingering hesitation and slight nerves radiating off of Anakin, which is an unsurprising development. Gods aren’t meant to have deep bonds with humans. Loose friendships are typically accepted with only slight frowns, but once it strays into a tight-knit bond and attachments form, especially romantic ones, they’re frowned upon greatly. And between the two of them, Anakin is less of a stickler for the rules, instead preferring to live by his own interpretations and caveats to the rules—which means Obi-Wan knows that Anakin fears this friendship of his with Padmé will be scrutinized and berated.

Which… okay, is a valid concern considering Obi-Wan’s devotion to the rules, but Obi-Wan hates to be a snitch on his best friend. And as long as he doesn’t witness any actions that would confirm a more serious relationship, particularly romantic, Obi-Wan is willing to turn his eye to the obvious heart eyes and lingering touches the two share. Can’t tattle if there’s room for doubt and question.

He just hopes Anakin knows this himself. And he especially hopes that Anakin hasn’t told Padmé that he’s a god.

He decides to shake off these thoughts and turn the conversation to safer territory to try and ease Anakin some. “So, Padmé, I take it you work here. What is it that you do?”

Immense relief hits him like a tidal wave from Anakin with happiness trailing behind like seafoam as the wave recedes. Not wanting to make any open comments about Anakin’s feelings and potentially clue Padmé into their more than human nature, he settles for a quick moment of eye contact before focusing back on Padmé.

“I’m one of the museum curators here,” she confirms, “I mainly specialize with art in the Medieval and Renaissance exhibit as well as our Impressionist pieces.” She pauses to size him up, silently scrutinizing him and his reactions. Whatever it is she finds must satisfy her, because she continues as if nothing happened, “Have you been here before, Obi-Wan? We recently got some new pieces on loan from some collectors and other museums that are worth checking out.”

“This is my first time, actually,” Obi-Wan starts before Anakin jumps in, quick on his verbal heels, “Right! And I was going to show him around. Make sure he visits the highlights at least.”

Instantly Padmé’s face drops ever so slightly at the idea of this conversation ending and her parting from Anakin, but she composes herself well. But Obi-Wan would be blind not to notice Anakin’s disappointment too, so he decides to take matters into his own hands and says, “Though I’m more than capable of wandering on my own if you’d rather stay and chat with Padmé, Anakin.”

“Are you sure, Obi-Wan? I was the one who invited you out after all—”

“Nonsense, I’ll be more than fine on my own. Maybe then I’ll actually get to appreciate the art and read the descriptions like the grandfather you think I am,” he jokes. “I’ll meet you back by the entrance in a couple hours. Pleasure meeting you, Padmé, I hope we meet again soon.”

And just like that, Obi-Wan is off and he no longer has to be surrounded by the obvious desire for something more between the two that was only stifled from being acted on by his presence. When he’s a good distance away, he decides to stop for a moment and actually look at the map in his hand, and he’s pleasantly surprised by just how many exhibits, art movements, and cultural regions are housed in this art museum. With the knowledge that he may not be able to knock out every exhibit in one visit, he decides to make his rounds to the ones that intrigue him the most. 

He starts in the African Art section, admiring the ceramics and textiles created in various regions of Africa, before moving onto the Chinese bronzes, ceramics, and jades exhibition and it’s next-door Japanese screens and paintings exhibit. He’s thinking of swinging to modern and contemporary works when he looks at the map in his hands and eyes the Ancient Greek and Roman Art exhibit, reluctance setting in. Obi-Wan always feels a bit of hesitancy whenever admiring ancient creations because he remembers who the artists were and that fact makes him feel old and worn down in ways he never expected gods to feel like. Besides, wouldn’t it be narcissistic of himself to go and admire the times of old and perhaps even stumble upon a work of him?

Caution thrown to the wind, Obi-Wan decides to make his way to the Ancient Greek and Roman Art exhibit. With his head held high, he spots the tall glass doors to the exhibit and opens them slowly before stepping inside and almost immediately being hit by a whirlpool of nostalgia. Just seeing the vases, plates, coins, cups, relics, and statues on display make him nearly stumble on his feet. The faces staring back at him on the head busts by the entrance are so eerily similar to those of his friends that he feels his breathing stutter for a moment. It’s true that back in those times the gods were more… open to visiting earth. Back then they were more willing and able to interact with humanity and be treated kindly in return. Though, the stories of their escapades and interactions always seemed to be skewed and embellished among all civilizations.

But one thing that transpires over almost every civilization who ever believed in the gods and goddess that Obi-Wan is connected to is that they managed to nail one key feature of the gods in their stories: their extremities. Because at the end of the day, that’s what the gods all were—the best and worst of humanity, but maximized.

Obi-Wan prefers not to think about that fact and how, subsequently, he feels more than humans do and also has an awareness for the feelings of the other gods.

No, best not to dwell on that.

He decides that perhaps it’s best to move beyond the entryway and stop clogging up the doorway with his presence, so he begins to move through the exhibit, stopping every now and then to admire a certain work of art. By the time he’s gone through about half the exhibit, the sting of seeing those he knows etched onto bronze or marble is hurting less; he’s thinking he can finally start to appreciate the art more when he hears a voice.

But it’s not just any voice, it’s a voice he recognizes. And it’s not Anakin, nor is it Padmé. It’s a voice he’s heard before but he doesn’t know the person it belongs to. It’s familiar enough that he clings to it, scrambling through past and recent memories until finally it clicks:

The voice he’s hearing is the voice that recently talked to him via one of the statues commemorated in his honor.

And just like that, he turns his head around and begins to look around for the source. It’s like he’s a ship lost at sea and this voice is his guiding light home, if only he could find it. It takes a couple more seconds before finally his gaze settles on you, and it’s as if sunlight just burst into the room. He notices your eyes first and the way they shimmer with happiness as you wander through the exhibit, admiring the artworks yourself. But then he catches your smile as you turn to talk to one of the nearby patrons and the very sight of it makes him feel as if the world has just opened wide, opportunities he’s never considered laying out on many paths before him.

He takes a moment to shake himself out of his daze to properly take in your appearance. Judging on your outfit and the name tag that he just barely can’t make out and read, you are obviously a worker here, perhaps a curator like Padmé. You’re wandering the exhibit with an air of pride surrounding you, as if you’re happy that so many people are taking the time to come and appreciate the art before them. Everything about you is intriguing and he wants to introduce himself to you before this high feeling surrounding him comes crashing down and he goes back up to the clouds to spend out his immortal days alone and separated again from humanity.

Just as he’s about to take a few steps in your direction, he feels a harsh force of another body hit him in the side, nearly sending him toppling over onto a head bust next to him. He’s bracing for impact, praying that this piece of art somehow is a counterfeit and doesn’t cost more than he can even fathom (seriously, exactly how bad is inflation right now?) when he feels hands on his shoulders that push him back onto his feet. His hands immediately latch onto the ones grabbing him as he steadies himself. One he’s back on solid ground, he looks up to go thank whoever caught him when his heart leaps to his throat and he momentarily stops breathing because who else would be his savior than his guiding light?

He barely has time to even admire your speed and strength before you’re talking to him.

“Are you okay?” you ask and oh how he wants to hear more and more and more of your angelic voice. It’s as if you’re a siren, tempting him closer and closer to you until finally he is caught in your eyes and dancing among the many stars that twinkle in them. But suddenly he flushes with the realization that he’s been staring way too long and oh dear this is quite a messy first impression he really needs to redeem himself with something coherent and get this boat sailing back on course—

“Uh, y-yeah. Yeah. Fine. I’m fine. Never better, truly.” Shipwreck. What an utter shipwreck this is for him. Maker, he’s making a fool of himself. Amid his internal despair, he hears you giggle at his fumbling and his heart starts beating faster.

“Poseidon right?”

And suddenly his heart stops, his mouth drops every so slightly, and his face whitens. How have you possibly figured him out so quickly?

“What?” Is about all he can muster in response.

“Or Neptune, I guess, depending on which you prefer.” He’s silent. Awestruck. But you must pick up on the confusion and awe on his face because you elaborate, “You know… the sculpture right over there? The big marble one with a man holding a trident? The one you were staring at before you nearly crashed into this poor head bust of Zeus and broke this priceless piece of historic artwork? Really, what did the poor guy ever do to you? Surely he doesn’t deserve his head getting cracked open a second time.”

Oh thank the Maker, you were just referring to the art in the room. Which perhaps he should’ve accounted for instead of internally freaking out because he did willingly enter the Ancient Greek and Roman Art exhibit of the museum.

But you take his silent relief as continued confusion because you are suddenly rambling, “You know, because Zeus already had his head cracked open once by Hephaestus after Zeus swallowed a pregnant Metis and gave birth to Athena through his forehead?” You laugh awkwardly before plowing on, “Maybe I should stop talking now, sorry, sometimes I just go off about all these old myths, I just think they’re fascinating and—sorry, I’m doing it again aren’t I?”

He laughs in response to your weak joke and hearty explanation, and he starts to feel a little less wound up and nervous when he notices that you’re feeling the same way.

“No, no, it’s alright! It was very clever. Funny too,” he comments. The two of you share a smile and simply stare into each others’ eyes for a couple moments. But then he begins to worry that he’s making you uncomfortable by maintaining eye contact for longer than normal—except what is “normal”? How much has human etiquette changed since he’d last been on earth? Is this conversation already doomed? He decides to take the gamble anyway and clears his throat as his eyes flicker around the exhibit, trying to think of what else to say to you, before he lands on your name tag (what a pretty name you have) and he says the first thought that comes to mind.

“So, you work here then?” Not the best conversation starter, but it’s something, he supposes. Maker, what is wrong with him? He’s never been so nervous in his entire immortal life, but one conversation with you and suddenly he’s falling victim to all the nerves and anxieties of humans, but dialed up beyond a 10. Gods really are the maximization of humanity’s best and worst. What an awful time to be living this fact. Thankfully, you respond and break him out of his spiraling worries.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been working here for the past couple of years as one of the curators. I actually worked on this exhibit. I helped organize and select all the pieces in the exhibit, arrange restorations and displays, and record all the art you see here. I’ll admit it’s rather hard selecting which art pieces would fit best with the message we’re trying to convey, not to mention the availability of many pieces of art also plays a difficult role, but I like to think it paid off in the end. There’s something special about all the pieces of art here,” you suddenly pause in your speech before walking over to the very Poseidon statue you thought Obi-Wan had been looking at earlier, and he follows, quick on your heels.

You continue, “Like, this statue of Poseidon, for example. It traveled through an ocean of time, across several continents, through several restorations, all to be right here, right now, in this very moment for you and I to admire.” You let out a sigh that Obi-Wan can only describe as wistful. “I can only wonder how it looked when the artist was creating it and when it was first unveiled.”

He wishes how he could tell you about when he first laid eyes on this statue of himself he had nearly burst into tears, sending a light rain over the agora from the intensity of his emotions. But he suppresses the urge. He wasn’t supposed to reveal himself to humanity, and even if he did let something slip, what are the odds that you’d ever believe him? The two of you are not close, and you never will be. His livelihood as a god forbids it.

Still…

There’s something about the sparkle in your eye as you wistfully look at the art, as if looking at it for the first time despite having seen it countless times before, and your passion for the ancient classics that he finds compelling. Initial literal-sweeping-off-his-feet encounter aside, there’s something about you that draws him to you.

You’re entirely intriguing to him, and he can’t quite pinpoint why. Not entirely, at least. It doesn’t hurt that he finds your ramblings of history and art to be adorable. Not that he’s admitting to anything more than simple infatuation at first sight. He wishes he had the chance to get to know you better beyond the confines of this Ancient Greek and Roman exhibit. But the two of you lead entirely different lives and he has to let this go.

But, he can allow himself this one instance of normal human interaction.

“I’m sure it must have been a sight to behold given how important the gods were to the Ancient Greeks and Romans,” he comments.

“Exactly!” Despite being a curator here and knowing the rules of the exhibits like the back of your hand, you are shushed by a nearby patron at your happy exclamation. Obi-Wan laughs softly at the embarrassed look on your face.

“Guess that’s my cue to switch topics,” you joke. Obi-Wan smiles kindly at you before you continue, “Basics then. I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t throw it,” he winks at your unimpressed look. Luckily for him though, it cracks and transforms into a brilliant smile as the two of you share a laugh. No harm done.

“Okay, smartass, I’ll rephrase: what’s your name?” you ask. “Not all of us are lucky enough to talk with people who wear name tags.”

“Alright then, since you asked so nicely, I’m Obi-Wan. And it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He holds out a hand for you, which you easily take and give a shake. A slight zing runs through his body at the slight contact, his hand still buzzing even after you two let go.

“Pleasure to meet you as well. Is this your first time here?” you inquire.

“Ah, yes, my friend decided to take me,” Obi-Wan starts, but he can’t help but grumble out, “I think he’s a frequent visitor.”

You let out a giggle at his grumpy tone. “You make it seem as if that’s a bad thing. Surely it’s not that god-awful here?”

“The company sure makes it better,” slips out before he can catch the words, but he’s not blind to the pleased look on your face. Huh. Interesting. “I never thought he was interested in art museums but—”

“Obi-Wan!” Cuts through the air, loud and brash and diluted with the slightest hint of concern, immediately followed by shushing by other patrons. Obi-Wan sighs as he recognizes the voice of Anakin.

“—it would appear that he still hasn’t picked up on museum etiquette despite all those visits.”

You rub his arm gently, a look of playful sympathy on your face as you tell him, “How awful it must be to have a friend that cares about your whereabouts.”

But he’s suddenly finding it very hard to even pretend to be annoyed when you’re touching him with such care. All too soon, your hand is off his arm as Anakin makes himself known, sidling up right to Obi-Wan and immediately grasping his elbow.

“Where on earth were you? We were supposed to meet half an hour ago. I waited for you! And here I was thinking you were the responsible one—” Anakin is cut off by you attempting to diffuse the situation.

“I believe that’s my fault. I kept him here talking to me and I held him up,” you turn back to Obi-Wan, a bright smile on your lips and the stars twinkling once more in your eyes. Maker, if he didn’t know any better he really would think he was looking at the sun, his beacon of light. “It was lovely talking to you, Obi-Wan. Maybe you could come again soon and we can continue this conversation?”

“Of course.” It’s his automatic response, no thoughts, questions, or worries in mind. You just look so hopeful and he’s once again a ship in the night, setting out to sail the high seas but hoping to return to again safely, guided by your light. He can only hope Anakin doesn’t pick up on his infatuation with you.

“Great! I’ll let you two go then. Nice meeting you!” And just like the wind, you’re gone, moving on to other patrons and other works of art, sharing your knowledge and stories and passion with other lucky souls. Maybe he will come back.

“They seemed nice,” Anakin remarks with absolutely no subtly.

“I’m not sure what you think happened between us, but whatever it is, you’re wrong,” and with that Obi-Wan turns and begins walking out of the exhibit before Anakin can refute or comment on Obi-Wan’s building anxiety, giving him no choice but to follow.

The walk out of the museum, their time sitting and people watching at a nearby cafe, and the walk back to the forested area follow a similar pattern: Anakin trying to do some digging with heavy insinuations, Obi-Wan denying vehemently any theories and offering scant details, and neither one willing to back down from their stance. It’s an old familiar rhythm, and despite it being grating at times, it’s nice to feel a sense of normalcy with Anakin once more.

Eventually, they make it back up to their hidden sanctuary in the sky and part ways for the day. Once back in his dwelling, Obi-Wan sits down on a cushioned chair and mulls over his day. While going to the museum was fun and enlightening, his mind wanders back to a certain museum curator. The dark horse of the day. The unexpected detail. His beacon of light.

There’s something more to you, something he wants so desperately to know. He practically itches to go back to the museum and keep talking with you. You’re intelligent, beautiful, and humorous. You’re the sun, moon, and stars. He knows he can’t pursue a romantic relationship with you, and he knows friendships with humans are frowned upon if they get too close, but he reasons to himself that one more visit down to earth to speak with you wouldn’t hurt anyone. With this in mind, he closes his eyes and begins to reach out to see if he can hear you once again, but as he’s doing so, a realization dawns on him.

Meeting you is the closest he’s come to believing in Fate, and despite this going against his beliefs, he’s ready to set sail on this unknown voyage and see where your next meeting takes him.

[x-nerdingss-x]

Guilty as Charged - Intrulogical

A one shot that isn’t angsty? Huh, turns out I am capable of writing some form of fluff/crack after all. 

Intrulogical is good shit alright?

Blurb: Upon hearing a secret relationship between Logan and Remus, the others wanted to unravel the truth in a courtroom. 

Okay no seriously: Here are some trigger warnings in case any of you need them. - Swearing - Remus, just, Remus - Sexual name calling - Courtroom scenario - Mentions of murder/suspected murder - Pet names

(You can also read this on ao3 too). 

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22:00 (PM). Sunday, 27th September, 2020. Courtroom (1).

Roman settled himself on the highest point of the room, the judge’s chair towering over the rest of the valley of seat benches in front of him. A weight scale was displayed in front of the judge’s seat, with the witness stands nicely tucked beside the judge’s space. The room had its same cream and brown structure, the dark wood fitting nicely with the formality of the scene. His red sash was pulled over his white robes, gripping onto the gavel he broke a year before.

Janus seemed smug in his side of the courtroom, chilling near the prosecutor’s benches of the scape. His partner in juristical crime, Patton, stood in his side of the room. Adjusting the silk white tie that laid on his dress shirt, he glanced curiously at the prosecutor. His own black suit fitted nicely with the yellow he adored, as well as the bowtie and bowler hat that he wore as his signature style.

Patton gave the other a small grin, a hint of mischief evident in his giddy behaviour. Wearing his own blue, white and cream suit for the event, the preppy side brushed the specks of dust off his outfit and gave a small, knowingly nod to Janus. The prosecutor of the trial nodded back to his partner, his own smirk curling onto his snake-sided face. Janus later scoped around the room for the little emo he again appointed as the jury. Given that it was early night, the tired side sprawled across the few chairs of the gallery, his hand resting over the table top and his leg hanging for room space. Roman slammed his gavel loudly near Virgil’s direction, and Janus stifled a laugh when a thud was heard nearby.

Virgil climbed off the floor to sit on his jury seat properly, huffing as he hunched over his figure. His eyes were darker than usual, his low energy reflecting his tired mood. The patched purple tie loosely hung from his purple button up shirt, and his black hoodie had its familiar, warm weight on his shoulders. It was a Sunday night, and the others thought it was a perfect time to introduce the new agenda of the week, starting fresh before the new Monday.

Logan (compared to the others) looked pissed. The last place he wanted to spend his night was in a courtroom to entertain the other sides. He was abruptly summoned from the warmth of his bed into a bright blinding room. Still in his fluffy, stark white unicorn onesie and blue flannel pyjamas, he hastily stood up in order to properly change into his daily attire. Clearly, his day has not been finished yet. With his black polo shirt and blue striped tie, he also summoned a black cardigan to keep the nightly chill off his shoulders. Logan heard shuffling noises around him, and he assumed everyone else was getting ready for the trial to commence.

Speaking of trial - What the heck is this trial meant to be? Why is it held at a late time? On a Sunday no less. Logan assumed he was to receive these answers to the questions swimming in his head throughout the fiasco the others called a court scenario. He took a quick wander around the room and noticed he sat in the defendant’s seat rather than in the back of the room where he was last time in the public gallery. At least he had a more significant role than the last courtroom event, but himself sitting in the defendant’s seat and not as a lawyer like the snake-father pair did confuse him. Was he in trouble for something? Or was it the group’s dramatics to engage themselves into a topic the answer to his questions?

Nevertheless, Logan continued observing and noticed there was a lack of Thomas in this room, so he safely deduced that the sides weren’t working with another late-night moral dilemma. He also spotted a lack of green that would often appear in the same room as the others. Perhaps, he was asleep and kept away from the mess the others would engage themselves into - although, knowing the other side’s curious and unpredictable behaviour paired together, it would have been tricky to hide away from him.

Logan’s thoughts trailed to the whereabouts of Remus instead of the sounds in front of him, his pondering kept short when he heard the gavel slamming for attention. He vaguely heard Roman’s shouts and almost missed the others sitting in their seats. Logan decided to pay attention to the situation instead. At least he can answer his own questions of Remus’ whereabouts later when he sees him again after the situation, whereas it would be more difficult to gather answers for his questions about the courtroom if he missed the trial.

“Alright ladies,” Roman said, beginning the court case. “Are we all ready to discuss the charges?”

“Yes, your honour,” both Patton and Janus said in unison. Virgil rolled his eyes as his response, and pulled his hood over his eyes.

Clearing his throat, Roman opened the conviction book and began reciting the lines from the last court trial.

“The state of… Logic Sanders v. uhm…” the judge began trailing off, staring at the imaginary lines. Patton tilted his head at Roman’s confusion, whereas Janus sighed as a response.

“Logan ‘Logic’ Sanders v. Mindspace, Roman.”

Roman perked his attention at the snake, whispering a quick thank you before clearing his throat again to restart his lines.

“Apologies, everyone,” He said, before speaking again. “The state of Logan ‘Logic’ Sanders v. Mindspace in the name and by the authority of the state of the Mindspace,” Then picking up his gavel in the process, he pointed the mallet towards the stylish lawyer. “Janus ‘Deceit' Sanders, prosecuting for the state of the mindspace, under oath information makes the trial for Logic Sanders.”

Roman saw the wording, and grinned at the page he was to say aloud. “Count one…” He said. “Did conspire suspectful activities  with Remus Sanders, the Duke of Creativity, without mentioning it to other sides who reside in the mindscape.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow at the mention of Remus. “Count two, is convicted of creating and performing numerous chemical concoctions that are, as of, dangerous to handle and human dissection without a license, whilst experimenting said ideas on an idiot the judge then refers to as a 'brother’.”

Listing off the convictions, Virgil laid his head on the jury bench to rest before the lawyers could provide their opening statements. Logan wanted to do the same as the jury, especially as the false claims of his activities are listed throughout before the case could properly commence. He took note of how most of these activities, if not all, involve Remus in some way. It’s not as if they figured something out, right? Logan handles the braincell after all.

Well, so he thought.

“And count 5. Is engaged in an illegal secret relationship with Remus Sanders, the Duke of Creativity,” Roman huffed, finishing his lines. “Remus should be glad I read his name in such formality and not as ‘Stinky Trash Bastard’.”

Logan’s attention piqued as he heard the last conviction, conscious to not give any facial expressions away for the courtroom. The others may own a brain cell between them after all, although, in Logan’s situation, it is not the best thing to appreciate. Lifting himself off the seat to call on their bullshit, Logan fell back almost instantly as if he was restrained. Noticing the chains linked from his wrists to the seat, he quietly growled as he tugged on his arms.

“What is the meaning of this, by chance?” He asked the others who stared back at him.

Roman opened his mouth to repeat the charges, for Janus to interrupt him instead. “Did you seriously forget that you were charged for suspectful murders with Remus?”

“Are you… for sweet Newton…” He muttered under his breath. “I did not try to kill anybody, I can promise the court that.”

“Sorry Logan, but that’s for the jury to decide,” Virgil mumbled, resting his head down away from the bright lighting of the room. Logan grumbled from his seat, crossing his arms and leaning back on his seat. Yawning, Logan rested his head back as he listened through the court procedures. Janus’ work for an accurate scenario, he was sure. There was no doubt Roman wanted to join him, with his theatrics for drama. Patton was most likely involved for a majority vote. Virgil however? He wasn’t too sure as to why he’s in the room, more preferring sleep than anything.

He heard the judge banging his gavel again to wake Virgil from his attempts of slumber, and he felt someone shaking his arm awake. Opening one eye to spot a concerned Patton, he shrugged his lawyer away and went back to closing his eyes, concentrating on the sounds instead.

“Logan ‘Logic’ Sanders, how do you plead?”

“Not guilty, obviously,” He said. “However, I do have a question for the judge.”

With the silence in the room, Logan took this as his opportunity to speak. “Hypothetically, for some odd reason I was to be found ‘guilty’ for any of these charges, what is my sentence?”

Patton leaned against the edge of his side of the bench, fiddling with the tie tucked into his vest. “Full fairness, we were aiming to get you to cough out what you were hiding with Remus and give you a minor sentence. We would agree on the sentence, right guys?”

Logan began tapping his foot on the tiled floor, his impatience slowly growing. “But what is that minor sentence you were thinking of? A rough idea, Patton.”

Everyone hummed at the question, thinking of an idea. It wasn’t till Roman had an idea did he share with the court.

“If you are found guilty on any of these charges, we take your crofters away for a month for not telling us and uh...”

“A group discussion about opening up to others when we figure out why you were so secretive to us, and work towards building trust,” Patton said, silently congratulating himself on his idea.

They’re going to fucking what?

Not the crofters. Not the trust exercises.

“You are not touching my crofters, nor am I going to participate in a ‘trust bonding exercise’”.

“Logan, that is for the Judge to decide after your trial. Gosh, I thought you were meant to be the smart one,” Janus said, waving away Logan’s protest. “Now, can the judge continue this trial? I do like continuing my 8 hour sleep schedule.”

“Alright,” Roman puffed out his chest, opening a different book to read from. “Prosecutor, your opening statement…”

-*-

The trial was running along smoothly as the lawyers gave their statements, and Logan decided to at least entertain the idiots for a while. If he cooperates, the better chance he has to both escape charges and sleep in his lovely cushioned bed with Remus. It wasn't as if he were not guilty with all of them, but he wasn’t going to tell the others which charge it was. Although, he wouldn’t say their relationship was illegal either, per se.

“Prosecutor, call your first witness to the stand,” Roman said.

Janus nodded, summoning Logan into the witness bench. He noticed the chains around his legs, meaning he couldn’t teleport anywhere beyond the courtroom, but he appreciated the fact that his wrists were free. Janus waltzed over to the other stand, to begin questioning his first ‘witness’. First? Does this mean there are other witnesses? Would that mean the other witness is Remus? Logan doubted that Remus would be kept away from the courtroom in the first place due to his nature, but the fact that he was included in the charges meant the others would interegotate him too.

Oh gosh, Remus doesn’t even know what a filter means.

Logan silently wished for Remus to remember the fact that it was a shared secret, and therefore his partner can keep the unharmed crofters.

“Witness, state your name, age and role as a side.”

Logan cleared his throat. He should at least follow along to their shenanigans if it meant he gets out quicker and freely. “Logan Sanders. I am 31 years old, and represent Thomas’ Logic.”

As he finished his sentence, a book appeared beside him as Janus took the initiative to recite the vow for the court. With everyone’s hand on the book (except for Virgil, who Logan could assume was soundlessly asleep), the book disappeared and the question could finally begin.

“Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” Janus asked.

Logan stared back at Janus, giving the other a small smirk. “Objection, that would be leading the witness.”

“Well objection, the witness does not object.”

Roman fiddled with his red sash for a moment before noticing the pair. Picking his gavel up, he gestured to the two men. “Sustained. Janus, watch yourself with your blunt honesty. Logan, do your job as a witness.”

Apologising to the judge, Janus sighed as he posed straighter in his stand. “Very well, we shall do this the long way.”

“We shall, yes,” Logan spoke back. Sneering at the logical side, Janus adjusted his bowtie and began his work.

“Alright, if you insist,” He began. “I’ll like to remind the court of the date of which the case commences. It should be Sunday, 13th of September, 2020, and this date is when participants of this room recognise some signs of a… relationship, between the pair.”

Janus cruised around from the stand towards Logan, resting his arm on the desk. “How would you classify your bond with Remus?”

“I would say it is a close platonic relationship between us.”

Smirking, Janus clicked his tongue at the statement. “So close, would you say you do activities together that you, or Remus, wouldn’t do with the other sides?”

“Provide examples to the court, Janus, and I’ll decide on that question,” Logan leaned over, staring at the snake. No way would there be any evidence that would suggest their relationship together, or anything else like doing chemistry experiments together, or dissection as a pair. The homicide case however, was questionable, since Logan didn’t remember killing anyone - unless they assume he was suspected to contribute into some homicide cases; again, questionable. What was the 4th conviction again? Now he thought about it, Logan should’ve paid more attention to the charges Roman was reading aloud to everyone.

Nearby an empty space in the courtroom, Janus clapped his hands together to summon a table. Logan felt the blood drain from his face as he saw the table. An assortment of items laid on the desk, from fingerprinted evidence to even photos with him and Remus together. A few objects were on the table too, which included small bags of jewellery and the coats the pair wear whenever they do their science experiments. How is Logan getting away with any of this both smoothly and quickly?

Janus adjusted his yellow gloves and picked up a small ring from the table. The glint of gold shined from the reflection of the lighting, and Logan instinctively looked over his left hand to realise there was something missing. His glance was quick, but both Janus and Patton caught his stare to confirm that it was his own ring. Logan stood up to walk over to the table himself and snatch his ring from Janus’ grip, only to remember he was restrained to the ground.

“So eager Logan… But do tell the court what this ring means to you.”

“Janus, I request that you give it back to me as it is my belongings.”

“But you have stated earlier that you would discuss the activities you do with Remus to the court once I provide examples, and this is your first only example. The rest is for Patton to decide when he interrogates you next,” Janus leaned onto the bench while inspecting his gloves, turning around to wink at the defence attorney awaiting for his go. Patton glanced to the side, covering his hand over his mouth to suppress his giggling. Janus patiently waited for Logan to dig himself out the figurative hole he just dug himself in, smirking as the opportunity for the real truth seemed bright.

“For your information, the ring has no relevance to this case, and no relevance to the previous statement you provided to the court about some weird, nonsensical ‘symptoms’ of me having feelings,” He retorted, sitting gayly-straight on his seat. "Get lawyered."

“But here’s the thing Logan, it does, in fact have relevance,” Janus said, grabbing a snapped photo earlier of the ring. “In this ring is engraved a date. Assuming this ring is yours due to your reaction earlier of checking if you have the ring, do you want to share the connection of a suspected bond between you and this ring?”

Logan gulped, shifting away slightly as Janus held up a photo for the judge to see. He knew what the ring was. Although the ring was gold, there were speckles of dark blue sapphires and emeralds that were entwined together, with detailed swirls danced around the ring. Inside the ring had a date. 13.9.20. That was the day him and Remus celebrated their 3 year marriage anniversary.

“It’s not as if you provided any details about these signs of a speculated relationship,” Logan said. “What are these figurative ‘connected strings’ between our friendship and the signs? Obviously a ring could be a part of the friendship, but do you care about sharing anything else to the court?”

Janus strolled back to the table and picked up another object from the layers of evidence he could show Logan. While gathering a few photos to display, he also held a stained cooking apron in his arms both respectively coloured blue and green. The few photos were of the pair baking or cooking dishes (captured from a corner due to Patton’s photography skills). Looking over at the evidence table, Logan’s eyes trailed across to another empty spot of the courtroom, where Patton’s side was. The logical side only realised then, that both sides had enough evidence to prove their points.

He hopes that Patton’s defending skills were better than Janus’ prosecuting.

“I’m pretty sure besties don’t wear cooking aprons together and make things. Not even Virgil and I cook together like you guys and I consider ourselves good friends,” Roman quipped as he saw the evidence.

“Well, what do you think of this new evidence, jury?” Patton asked, spinning around to face Virgil. Unfortunately for them, Virgil was softly snoring from his comfortable position. Roman grabbed his gavel again, slamming it close to the edge of the table to Virgil’s direction. The anxious side perked up from the sound, turning his gaze towards the judge before huffing. He lifted his head back, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes.

“Alright, what did we find from Logan? Brief recap please,” Virgil asked.

“We found out that Logan’s bromance can be proven as a romance,” Roman said.

“How?”

“Cooking aprons,” Patton clapped. “Oh Jannie, didn’t you also find their cookbook? You got real good recipes there Logan.”

Logan’s attention reverted back to the black-tux wearing lawyer in front of him. “Jannie?”

“We’re meant to make fun of you, you know,” Janus sneered, throwing the cooking aprons at the judge. “Anyways, I can also supply a fully documented report conducted by the side who feels… well, feelings of what was being observed during that day and now, in this very courtroom,” Janus held the case file in his hands, blowing a quick kiss to Patton’s direction. The other closed his hand as if he caught it, holding his hand to his chest while smiling. Virgil grimaced at their loving affection, whereas Roman waved the lawyer’s shenanigans away. He opened the file, finding many pages of notes instead of the expected few words Patton would’ve written.

“This is about the both of them, right?” Roman asked himself rather than Patton.

“No, your honour,” Patton heard the judge. “That is of Remus alone.”

Roman chuckled at the notes he read as Logan sunk on his seat, his confidence disappearing. His defence attorney created a case file for his prosecutor. How would Patton defend his own words? How would Patton defend? Yes, Logan felt himself getting screwed over by the two lawyers. Until, that was, an idea popped in his head.

“Hold it,” Logan stood up, pointing a finger to the prosecutor. “I thought we were discussing about me, your witness, if you remember. How would that contribute to my case?”

“I’m so glad you asked Logan,” Patton said, getting up from his seat to join Janus. “Jannie and I waited for this moment.”

Virgil, Roman and Logan looked at the both of them, each wearing their own puzzled expression.

“What moment?”

Janus stepped aside, bowing to Patton to guide him to the stand like a gentleman. “I’m afraid that’s for my clever pumpkin to tell you,” He said before strolling off to his own seat.

“Thank you Jannie,” Patton summoned his own evidence table, with more of Remus’ belongings rather than Logan’s. Still a concern for the witness, who wanted to walk away from the case with a ‘not guilty’ verdict. Preparing himself, Patton waltzed towards Logan with a grin on his face, his bunny teeth coaxed with a glint of mischief. “So do you happen to remember… the specific details… of what both you and Remus did that day… on the 13th of September?”

“In fact I do, Patton,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses. “Both he and I cooked dinner together since the rest of you were out from 5:30 PM to 8 PM, and watched a documentary to accompany each other since neither of us were busy and wanted to relax because we're good friends.” He technically  wasn’t wrong, so why did Patton look as if Christmas came early? He held up a photo album for the court, flipping through the pages with the couple together.

“This is found in Remus’ room, and evidence of his handwriting on a separated written page on the evidence table confirms that it is his handwriting and even pen ink.” He smiled brightly, trying to find the specific page in question. “There was a page of the both of you together that describes his feelings perfectly with the book I gave to judge Roman, with Remus talking a lot about your… marriage anniversary.”

Although Roman gasped for dramatic effect, Logan’s shock was shadowed from under him. His case will be blown if Patton found the page. Logan knew what he had to do, but he had to be discreet so he wouldn’t be caught. Inspecting his uncuffed hands, he rolled his wrists before flicking his fingers, making an object move from across the room. The object fell from the table and clattered on the ground, and Logan took his chance to eradicate the evidence in the photobook from where he sat. A temporary disappearing 'spell', but it would last long enough for the case. Patton looked away from the clatter to return to the photo album, frowning as his evidence had disappeared.

And a score for Logic.

Janus noticed the smug expression on Logan and the confused face on his partner. Even from a distance, he saw the lacking bulk of pages that would describe their ‘anniversary’ date, and slammed his hands on the table. It could only mean one thing, and he pointed to the witness.

“Objection,” He shouted. “Logan tampered with the evidence when the object coincidentally clattered on the ground.”

“Overruled. Unless you can prove the coincidence, then it will be dismissed,” Roman yawned. “Patton, I’m afraid your time with the witness would be over soon if you cannot gather any other sustainable evidence.”

“Oh,” Patton said, replacing his frown with a cherry grin. “No worries, my question would be finished if that were the case.”

Roman slammed his gavel down to announce the end of the questioning, and both the lawyers sat in their designated seats. Logan was teleported back to his defendants’ spot, sighing when the cold metallic shackles were connected to his wrists once again. He looked aside to Patton, and furrowed at the lawyer.

“Patton, who are you exactly in my case? I doubt you’re my defence attorney.”

Sitting down and sliding towards Logan, Patton adjusted his jacket and summoned some cookies for a quick bite. “That’s the thing, I’m not.”

“What?”

Gulping down the cookie, he hummed at the sugary chocolate chip before turning to Logan. “Both Janus and I collaborated on the case together. He would just be the leading prosecutor whereas I’m more on the side-lines waiting for your undying confession,” he explained to Logan. Before Logan could object how it was an unfair trial and therefore should be disbanded completely, Roman slammed the gavel to call for silence and prepared for everyone’s attention.

“I call for the second witness to the stand.”

Janus nodded, flinging his wrist to open the doors automatically, revealing the second witness. Seemingly in his green and black striped pyjamas, Logan assumed that one of the others forced his husband to wear some form of clothing before entering the courtroom as boxers may not have been enough. He trotted to the witness stand, also in shackles (considering the convictions were about him too). Remus yawned and glared daggers to the others that dragged him here, and took his heating (Logan) away during his peaceful slumber. Logan internally prayed that Remus wouldn’t do anything stupid during his testimony and questioning, and that the neither of them would contribute to the endless trust bond exercises if the either of them were caught guilty.

Remus seemed to not notice Logan at first, expecting his husband to wear his unicorn onesie. Landing his eyes onto Logan however in the accused's bench, a grin broke in his face and waved to his lover.

“Hey Honeybun, how’s it going?” He shouted, wanting to jump over the witness stand and cling himself into a bear hug before falling down from his seat, the shackles bonded to the floor. Nobody reacted at Remus’ fall, and each instead had their own form of surprise.

Roman saw Remus and thought that his brother could never act like an excited dog, at 11:23 PM no less.

Virgil was jolted awake from the statement, and stared at Remus in shock. By that, he had decided the verdict.

Patton was internally screaming in glee. Their plan had worked.

Janus was horrified, with his mouth open at the words that came out of Remus’ mouth.

And Logan?

Pale with rage in his eyes.

He did whatever he could to divert the case for almost an hour and a half, only for his idiot of a husband to blow it in no less than one sentence. Maybe… just maybe, he would be found guilty on all charges after all, including an attempt of homicide. Logan wished his crofters goodbye when he heard the lawyers fall from their surprise to their laughing cheers, celebrating with a quick kiss shared between them.

Janus spun around after Patton kissed him, smiling with a dopey expression before glaring at Remus. “Hold it for a second,” He said. “How the fuck-”

“Language.” Patton chided in.

“Apologies Patton. Where the fuck did you learn pet names from? I sure as heck never taught you any.”

Remus leaned over in his witness stand, wanting to be close to his best friend as much as possible (whilst being restrained).

“Did you just forget I’m also Creativity, dumbass?” He sighed, looking up to his brother on the judge’s seat. “Do repeat my title for me, ‘oh mighty judge of dick sizes.’”

Roman grumbled, crossing his arms while leaning back on his seat. “Stinky Trash Bastard?”

“No you bitch, the other thing.”

“Remus Sanders, the Duke of Creativity?”

“Ha, there’s your evidence from your ridiculous question Anus. Get lawyered.”

Logan sighed, banging his head on the table before grumbling curses under his breath. Virgil swung his legs on the table by that point, now awake more than ever since Remus stepped in the courtroom. This is what he signed up for. The drama - and he wanted to see it personally.

“Don’t worry sweetie,” Remus noticed Logan’s upset mood. “I’ll steal more crofters for you later once the trial ends and we’ll hide it in the secret stash.”

"And there goes the 4th conviction..." Roman muttered. "Count 4; thievery."

At least he remembers what I like, compared to who I love.

“Remus, you do remember the two sentences carried for this case, right?”

Getting himself comfortable on his seat, Remus tilted his head. “I mean, I know ‘the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog’, Star-fly, and something about crofters?”

“No Remus, we have to explain everything, including our feelings.”

Remus’ eyes widened at the words, hissing. “Aw Shit. You’re not gonna do that to us, right guys?”

“I dunno Remus,” Roman said, spinning his gavel. “That is the sentence if you are found guilty on one charge, and so far you’re going to be found guilty on two and a half charges?”

“Two and a half?” The partners said in unison.

Virgil smirked, pointing to Logan. “Do you see the murder in Logan’s eyes when you said that, Remus? I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Remus cursed under his breath again, whining to the emo. “But he’s my heater. Do you know how cold it is when you’re in bed alone?”

Patton squealed quietly, covering his mouth. “Oh my gosh they sleep together. You’re both so adorable, oh my god look at you Logan - all grown up and living with your life partner- hey wait a second.” He stopped talking, looking between the both of them.

“If you're both married like the photo album said, then why did you never invited us to your wedding?”

“Hey yeah - Where are your wedding papers if you’re both married?” Janus asked. Logan hummed while processing the memory of the papers, shrugging as a response.

“I remember signing mine, and I was actually fairly surprised when the last count was announced,” Logan quipped to himself, sighing when he may of realised something. “Remus, what did you do to your papers?”

“What papers? The wedding papers?”

“No Remus, we were talking about your funeral arrangements- Yes you’re marriage papers you idiot.” Virgil rolled his eyes.

Remus tapped his chin, furrowing in thought before letting out a small sound in realisation.

“Oh. Okay Logan, believe me when I say I did sign the papers.”

“Mhm, do go on defending yourself in a courtroom,” Logan said while shaking his head. He knew where this was going.

“But I may or may not… ate-our-papers-a-few-weeks-ago-with-the-new-deodorant-stick-you-gave-me?”

“You fucking WHAT?”

Virgil snickered at the couple as they began bickering, looking over to Roman and waved to him for attention. “Your honour, I came up with a verdict.”

Roman leaned over to Virgil’s side, hammering for the others to quiet down before Virgil could announce the verdict.

“Not guilty.”

Remus stared at Virgil for a moment, a grin slowly forming on his face as he whooped in joy, celebrating as Logan let out a breath of air. They can finally sleep. Both Janus and Patton stared at him in ‘are you kidding me?’ expression. Virgil watched the husbands have their moment of glee before he could speak again.

“Nice try fuckers, it’s a guilty verdict by a landslide.”

The lawyers nodded as that made sense whereas the partners groaned in unison. Roman slammed the mallet down to announce the end of the case and the sentences carried out. Although the shackles were off the pair, Roman quickly snapped his fingers together to keep the shackles on Logan’s wrists.

“Do you mind, Roman?” He asked the judge as he descended down the stairs.

“Dude, by looking at your face, you’re probably going to kill someone for taking your crofters. Or, well, murdering your 3 year husband? From announcing your secret relationship? Platonic relationship my ass…” He muttered the last part, beckoning Virgil to join him from the jury stand. The lawyered-couple followed from behind, and Logan sat seated as Remus waved from the witness stand.

“Hey Remus?” Logan asked once the door clicked closed when Patton was the last to leave.

“Yeah Cherry-Nerd?”

“5.”

“What? 5?” Remus tilted his head.

Logan summoned Remus’ morning star in his hands, gripping onto it as he stared at Remus. “4.”

“Oh shit-” Remus scrambled to jump off the witness stand to the door. He slammed it open and checked behind him briefly.

“3.”

“ROMAN- ONE OF YOU NEED TO ARREST MY HUSBAND BEFORE HE KILLS ME.”

Even if Logan is pissed, he can appreciate the feeling of finally be called his husband. But now, Remus is going to stay on the couch tonight.

"2... and 1-"

[soakinforsif]

Just Let Logan Read 2020 (1865 words)

Quick A/N before the fic, this is set outside of canon in what I call ‘everyone gets along verse’ inside my head, and I have put them in my version of the ‘mindscape’, where they can go into the real world to interact with Thomas, but they can’t interact with anything from the real world that Thomas hasn’t (in the case of this story, that applies to books) Logan uses they/them and Virgil uses ze/zem/zir because I said so and NB sides rule. 

All of the sides and THomas (except Roman, who is referenced) are in it and sympathetic, besides that, TWs for implied nudity and kissing. Please let me know if there are any others I need to tag!

Logan finally set aside the last of their work for the foreseeable future. They’d been working just about nonstop for the past week, trying to catch up with their normal scheduling and editing as well as trying to assuage some of Thomas’s fears about the quarantine. Now that they had some free time, they wanted nothing more than to curl up with a new book and a cup of tea. The problem with that, was that being an actual human’s ‘side’, and thus not having access to the real world past Thomas’s experiences, they could not read any books that Thomas had not, and therefore needed to convince Thomas to read something new, preferably a horror book, their favourite genre. 

Logan did briefly worry that reading a horror book, and by extent Thomas reading a horror book, might worry Virgil even more about the current pandemic, but they had an arsenal of research on escapism to defend himself, and Virgil had a very good support system in place in case of this, having recently reconciled and resumed zir romantic relationship with Janus and Remus. Logan was very glad to hear this, as they cared about the anxious side very much. (This care was, in part, due to Logan being head over heels in love with zem, although you’d have a hard time getting them to admit even a slight romantic attraction.) 

The much more pressing obstacle that Logan expected in his quest to finally get to read was Roman and Patton. Unlike the former ‘dark sides’, the two of them had been together for quite some time. The longevity of their relationship had done nothing to curb their enthusiasm, however, and they spent a great deal of their time together, and in spare time for them all like this tended to engage in rather grandiose displays of their affection. 

Due to this, Logan decided that if they wanted their quiet afternoon of reading, they would have to ask the two lovebirds to tone it down for a while, please and thank you. 

They chose to approach Patton (assuming Roman wasn’t already with him) mainly arbitrarily, but also because Logan was a bit worried that asking Roman to tone down his… romantic tendencies might offend him somewhat (especially in conjunction with their rather blunt phrasing) 

They knocked on Patton’s door, barely having time to bemoan about the peeling stickers covering it to themselves before it opened. 

“Heya, Logan!” Patton greeted, smiling, “Finally taking a break?” Logan smiled back, 

“Yes, Patton, thank you for your concern. I actually came to ask a favor, if that’s alright?” 

“‘Course, Lo! Whatcha need?” Patton looked just as happy, if maybe a little concerned for Logan, and they had to take a second to remind themselves that they weren’t asking for that much really and that they are not a burden before they spoke again 

“Um, I was wondering, if it’s not too much trouble,” Patton was looking increasingly concerned for Logan, 

“If you and Roman could, um, tone it down? With the romance today? As you know, our emotions impact Thomas’s somewhat, and I’d like to finally get to a new book today.” 

“Oh, sure! We actually didn’t have anything planned today, so if anything we’ll just hang out.” 

“Thank you Patton, I appreciate that.”

“No problem Lo, good luck with the reading!” Logan muttered a thanks, and left with a wave. 

Now they just needed to convince Thomas. 

When Logan popped up in the living room, Thomas was reading something on his phone. He seemed remarkably engaged, he hadn’t even noticed Logan pop up. 

“Thomas?” no such luck. They leaned away from the stairs, towards Thomas. 

“Thomas!” 

“AH- oh hey Logan!” Thomas recovered quickly from his startle. 

“Hello, Thomas, I apologize for scaring you.” 

“Nah, you could never scare me Logan, you just startled me, you do it almost as well as Virgil!” he joked. Logan knew it was a joke and an offhand one at that, but he still blushed at the comparison. Thomas cocked an eyebrow at them, but relaxed it quickly, resuming his cheerful expression. 

“So, what’s up? You don’t usually pop up if it’s not for a video or something,” Logan frowned at that, perhaps they should venture to make more social calls? 

‘Well, not this time, in fact I actually have some free time and I came to ask you a favor,” Thomas motioned for them to continue.

“Well, you know about my… penchant for reading, particularly horror novels, and I was hoping that you, er, we might read a new one?” 

“Oh, buddy, you didn’t have to be nervous about that!” Logan bristled a little at how easy they were to see through, and Thomas chuckled a bit.

“How much free time do you have? I’m pretty into this story I’m reading now, maybe we could read IT or something tomorrow?” Logan was disappointed at that, but tried to contain it, nodding at Thomas. They were quite ahead after all. 

“Of course, Thomas, I’ll still be free then,” They tried to smile reassuringly at Thomas, but the answering one was still apologetic. 

“If I may ask, what were you reading just now? Perhaps it might interest me as well.” 

“Oh, well, I don’t know, maybe, it was just some fanfiction for that new anime I’m into, it’s pretty good but I don’t know if ‘found family’ is really your thing?” That caught Logan’s interest, wasn’t that why they asked Patton and Roman to tone it down? But… Patton was anything but a lier, and a found family fic was a little… soft to be influenced by those two. 

Oh shit. If it wasn’t them, then that meant the others, which meant Virgil. Logan was not looking forward to this conversation. 

“Apologies, Thomas, I understand now. I will see you tomorrow.” And with that, they sunk out, cutting off whatever confused utterance Thomas was about to say. 

They rose up near Virgil’s door, dreading another ‘can you please not be horny so I can read’ conversation, especially with their crush. Well, at least they were giving some warning this time, and maybe that warning would help prepare zem for what Logan planned to read tomorrow? 

Logan gave a courtesy knock to Virgil’s door (which had fewer sticker’s than Patton’s, but the artfully distressed and chipped paint irritated Logan no less) Logan and Virgil had been quite close lately, a double edged sword in Logan’s opinion, since it meant Logan was frequently close to zem, but nowhere near as close as they would like, but regardless, due to the close nature of their relationship as of late, they had agreed that they were welcome in Virgil’s room anytime (and vice versa) so long as they knocked, so after doing so, Logan opened the door, a greeting on their lips. 

Oh. Logan froze. In the back of their mind they told themselves that agreement or no agreement they would definitely wait for Virgil to answer next time. Because while the three sides in the room were technically doing little more than kissing, it was still a very… intimate moment, and Remus was wearing very little. 

Finally having processed enough to realize that they should definitely not be standing in the doorway still, Logan moved to back out and close the door, but before they could, a pair of eyes locked onto their own. 

“L! What are you doing?” Virgil was bright red, and while Logan couldn’t be sure, they were pretty sure they were blushing just as much as zem. 

“I- it’s not important, I will leave.” 

Janus looked at ehm, considering, the same time Remus exclaimed, 

“No need to do that!” 

“Remus!” Virgil admonished, turning to Logan, apologetic. Logan wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him. They wanted nothing more than to join the three sides, and it was the three of them, they realized, Remus with his earnest curiosity and enthusiasm, Janus with his sly flirting and tendency to bully his loved ones into self care, not to mention Virgil with zir intelligence and fierceness and softness. Shit. 

Logan almost dared to have hope for a second when he looked back up at his three crushes. Remus was smiling a little unnervingly at them, Virgil was still looking at them apologetically with that blush on zir face, and Janus, Janus was smirking at Logan in a way that made them feel just a little bit like prey, but by no means in a bad way.

“Remus is right,” Janus purred, ignoring Logan and Virgil’s shock, 

“After all, you came here to tell V something, didn’t you?” 

“This is not how we agreed to do this,” Virgil grumbled, and Logan couldn’t even begin to wrap their head around what that meant, so they just decided to answer Janus’s question.

“Why I came is… not important. You were busy, I should leave.” Janus hummed, 

“That’s not a lie, but I don’t think it’s quite the truth either… regardless, it’s not an answer.” Logan sighed, stubborn as they were, Janus had them beat in that regard, as well as the fact that (provided he was paying enough attention), he could tell when they were lying. They were going to have to tell them why they were here. 

“I wanted to ask if, tomorrow, you all could tone it down with the… romance, so that Thomas can focus on reading, but as I said, it is not important and I can leave.” Remus laughed, and Janus looked just as amused. 

“And, do you still want us to ‘tone it down’? As ze said,” Janus motioned to Virgil, “This wasn’t exactly our plan, but I have no complaints with you staying.” Remus grinned and nodded enthusiastically at Logan, looking at them hungrily. Logan looked, shocked, at Virgil, and ze met their eyes with a shy smile. 

“Just to make sure I’m not… misinterpreting, what exactly are you offering?” Logan asked quietlyC. Remus got up then, the first of them to leave the bed, and Logan realized that he was wearing even fewer clothes than they had realized. 

Logan very pointedly looked up at Remus’s face, and he took their hand, (if it hadn’t been Remus, Logan might have thought he seemed shy) 

“We were gonna ask tomorrow since Virgey said you’d be free!” Remus started leading them towards the other two, all three of them looking at Logan with different degrees of nerves and affection, 

“We really like you,” Virgil said, and Logan gasped, unbelieving how lucky they were, 

“So, L, would you want to join us? Our relationship?” Virgil finished. 

Logan lunged at Virgil then, kissing zem briefly before switching to Janus. They broke away, looking at Remus. “Yes,” they said, “I’d love to!” Remus moved to kiss them then, but Logan stopped him. 

“I’m not kissing you until you put on some pants.” 

“Lie” Janus said, and Remus’s disappointment melted away as he moved to kiss his new partner. Virgil threw some shorts at Remus, winking at Logan when they turned to look. Logan laughed, the happiest they’d been in a long time. 

Maybe they could settle for a romance, instead of a horror. 

[jj-lynn21]

Roman & his Princess Valentine’s Day ch 3

Warnings: FLUFF, smut 

ch1 ch2 ch 4 ch5

Roman comes out of his office. He grabs your hand. Pulling you up out of your chair he commands, “We’re done for the day.”

You need to walk fast to keep up with his strides to get to the car. He opens the door to his car, and you get in heart racing at his commanding nature. He gets in and starts the cars. Grabbing your hand he drives keeping one eye on you and the other on the road. You lay your head on his shoulder.

You murmur, “Roman, I need and I’m thirsty.”

“You don’t have to beg Princess.” He lifted your hand up to kiss it. “I’ll take care of all you need. I hope you like what awaits you.”

You light up with excitement, “Oh, more than the earrings and night out?”

“So much more just for my girl,” He pools up to the house and jumps up to help you out. You take a few steps towards the door. “Wait a second.” He pulls a blindfold out of his coat pocket and puts it on you.

“We’re having this kind of night, are we?” You reach out for his hand.

Roman leads you to the door. As he opens the door you hear Bed of Roses by Bon Jovi. You can smell roses before he even takes off the blindfold. He lets go of your hand after you are inside. It takes a few minutes before you feel him on you again. Your body trembles as you feel his lips and tongue move down your neck. His hands unbutton your blouse. After he takes it off, he moves to get your skirt on zipped. It falls to the floor.

“Very sexy Princess,” He buries his face in the cleavage of your bra. Falling to his knees he nuzzles his nose over your panties. “I just want to worship you tonight.”

You take a deep breath, “Roman, I need you to baby boy. I’m really thirsty.”

Roman takes the blind fold off you. He is standing before you completely on display. When you look around you see all the roses and rose petals. To say the house is full of roses is an understatement. Vases full of roses all over and rose petals cover the floor. You are in aww of the whole thing while Roman smiles proudly.   He goes to grab some wine glasses and fills them halfway with the blood bags in the refrigerator and hands you a glass watching you closely.

“That’s what you were thirsty for first, right?” He said casually.

You drink the nourishment, “Yes, thank you.”

He takes the glasses, rinsing them and putting them in the sink before he turns his attention back to you, “I know you like that song so just wanted to do this for you.” He takes your hand, “Come on up-stairs. I’m going to lay you right down on our bed of rose.”

“You mean its like this all over the house?” Your eyes wide with surprise.

“Of course, don’t you like it?” He questions.

You jump up on Roman wrapping your arms and legs around him, “I fucking love it!”

You kiss him as he carries you upstairs. #1 crush by Garbage plays throughout the house.  Roman lays you down. Rose pedals already sticking to your back and shoulders as he tries to take it slowly to give you all the satisfaction you need. He looks right in your eyes as you grip the sheets looking back at him.

“I would you know,” he says rather cryptically.

You’re not sure what he really means by the statement. “Would what?”

“Everything the song says Princess,” He said. “I would die for you I would kill for you…”

“MMM…I… would… for you to,” You admit slowly.

He can really take you to a high place of passion before you drop off the edge together. The way he moves just right like he knows just what you need every time you are together even when he makes you both wait, is the greatest feeling you ever had. He lays beside you after laughing as you sprinkle pedals on him. You’re probably the only person that gets to see him laugh like this you think.

“This is wonderful, but these pedals won’t stay so fresh for long.” You sprinkle more on him.

He takes your hand to stop what you keep doing and pulls you in close to him. “Don’t worry about that my Princess. I do what to tell you something a little more serious.”

You close your eyes relaxing in his embrace, “What is it Roman.”

“The club we are going to tonight is run by Bill & Jen Edlund,” he starts. “They have clubs in Vegas, Los Angeles, Chicago and Cleveland. There lineage are Aklat Alnaas, more powerful than me or you in some ways. And maybe more powerful than my mother ever was at her best. They will welcome us to the club to stay. They are more fragile in the daytime than us, so when we leave in the morning the place will seem empty. The club is a feeding ground for others like themselves including us.”

You turn to look at him. “You mean they feed on humans?” Your surprised to hear it’s even possible without getting caught. Roman has been paying different blood banks and private donors to supply you both. “And you let them? And no one notices? I find that hard to believe.”

“I would never let anyone be killed Princess,” He kisses your forehead. They have the power to heal and the same mind persuasion we have. How it has been explained to me, they drink just a little from each person right before the bar closes, heal them and wipe their minds of what really happened other than they all had a great time.”

“We can’t heal people, so how can we even think of joining this party,” You voice your concerns. “And we are going to take a wolf into basically a vampire den with your human cousin and everyone will be cool with it?”

“I checked it out in LA before investing in the Hemlock Grove club. They are willing to heal who we don’t and do it quickly. We just get a great free drink. You will fucking love it.” He licks his lips just thinking about the taste and smell of it all. “As for Peter and Letha, as long as they leave before 4a.m. they won’t be involved. I will have a talk with Peter. I’m sure he will know by the smell of the place who are inside. I talked to the club owner. They know we will be there, so get a little rest.”

Roman lays back against the pillow. One arm still around you while the other relaxes up over his head as he falls asleep. You snuggle up to him, your back side against his side as you hold the arm around you. You can’t help but be little worried about later, but you are also excited.

[sparklyjojos]

CARNIVAL recaps [9/13]

Today’s recap: Nessie the killer, a Dot on the run, and a game of truth and lies.

--

SEVENTEEN

12 Oct 1996 — 18 Oct 1996

LOCH NESS

--

The Trans-Siberian Express crashes into Baikal, but the vast majority of the passengers survives thanks to quick rescue only possible due to Hanto Maimu’s prediction. Drexel Uryakov is declared dead.

A week later Maimu predicts that the next case will happen at Loch Ness. The lake is known for its alleged cryptid Nessie, one of the world’s most famous UMAs (Unidentified Mysterious Animals).

--

[Swap to first person narration.]

It’s a mystery what kills all the people who have gathered at Loch Ness that day, but the footage found by the police in a victim’s video camera shows an astounding scene. From the surface of Loch Ness rises a head resembling that of a giant turtle, nearly twenty meters in length. It takes a look at the gathered people and swipes at them like a deadly whip, crushing them against the walls of Urquhart Castle until no one is left.

After the attack, the three of us leave the Billion Killer skull at the scene and go back to the Morgue, the area of the Sanctuary where we Dots live. I go back to my dark empty room and use the automatic belt conveyor system that runs in the walls to get a drink. Then I watch as the experts on TV try to explain the Loch Ness case. It seems one of the victims survived for long enough to confirm that it really was Nessie who attacked them.

It’s strange that someone survived. Had His Excellency RS predicted that this would happen, or had they somehow missed it?

Dots don’t know anything about who the Billion Killer is, what tricks he uses for the cases, or what his connection with RS is. We are only supposed to leave the skulls at the right places, to help RISE purge the Beasts in preparation for the era of Gods, and not ask questions… but sometimes one can’t help but wonder. Humans live to solve mysteries.

The video footage was surely meant to be found. The sole survivor could have been a planted Dog, or maybe RISE messed with his head to convince him his testimony was true… but would Billion Killer do something as simple as just using a fake witness?

The Billion Killer case was probably designed to seem unsolvable. In this sense it resembled a magic show a lot; what looked like a miracle was just careful engineering and preparation behind the scenes, and all the marvels would lose their charm if everyone could guess the methods easily. Normal people should never be able to figure them out… so the truth can’t possibly be something as simple as a fake testimony.

If we assume there was actually no Nessie at the lake, then RISE had to plant their own Dogs as the victims and kill them in cold blood… which isn’t unbelievable, but I don’t want to think about RISE treating their underlings like disposable tools, even though I’m a Dot. It’s better to believe that the Billion Killer somehow manipulated Nessie, and the ones gathered around the lake were normal people.

Dogs at least have families and friends who would grieve them. Dots don’t have anyone—because we have already “died” once. The previous “us” don’t exist anymore, and we no longer need things like personal differences, gender or age. The same undistinguishable “I”, like characters in a novel. We thought that RISE would bring us into a new age, but in the end we are just tools.

--

[Back to third person narration.]

The three Dots who assisted with the Loch Ness case are called to the Dragon’s Center, where Black Rook tells them they did well and are to go to the Cosmic Room to talk with RS. Seeing one of the Dots worried, he reassures them that it’s the usual procedure.

After they leave, Black watches the displays for a while, paying most attention to the secret live feed of the detective Ryuuguu Jounosuke. Then he checks the progress of brainwashing of “that Beast captured at the Cape of Good Hope”: as always the man in question is lying down with a strange helmet covering his head, all data showing that the process should be entering its last stage.

--

Black goes to the Cosmic Room. RS, as always dressed like a minotaur, already knows what Black is going to ask—why were the Dots left alive this time?—and tells him to go to the Dark Room of the Sanctuary if he wants to know... and if he wants to learn why RS doesn’t worry about the “Pregnant Genius” either.

RS reminds him once again that they know everything and cannot be betrayed. Even if Black is trying to secretly plan something, he can’t hide it from RS. Not that it would matter either way; RS knows that Black has only sixty-three more days to live, and changing one’s destined lifetime is impossible.

“You, Black Rook, the Master of the Sanctuary,” RS addresses him seriously, but then as if correcting themselves says, “no… Ryuuou. Don’t forget you’re carrying the greatest responsibility. Die as the person you are. Don’t worry your head with Ryuuguu Jounosuke.”

It’s been a while since RS used Black’s real name.

As Black leaves the room, he answers so quietly he can’t be heard:

“Mein Fuhrer… lord Tsukumo Jaki.”

--

Black goes to the Dark Room—as the name implies, it’s kept in complete darkness—and discovers headless bodies of the Dots inside.

But only two bodies. The third Dot fled. No doubt RS had already known this would happen. The reason why the Dots weren’t killed on site was so that this one could escape later.

It’s pointless to try to avoid the all-knowing gaze and prophecies of RS. Black knows that. But maybe there is a way to turn those prophecies in one’s favor.

--

EIGHTEEN

02 Nov 1996 — 08 Nov 1996

BOROBUDUR

--

A man called Elfi Geppen [or however you romanize ゲッペン] works as a driver of a cycle rikshaw that tourists hire to get to the temple Borobudur in Central Java. One day, a mysterious Japanese tourist wearing a strange black coat and hat approaches him and addresses him as some “Suzukaze Unomaru”, apparently mistaking him for a friend. Elfi has a feeling like he had heard the name Suzukaze before, but can’t place it.

Elfi isn’t good at Japanese, but fortunately the strange man calling himself Ryuuguu Jounosuke can speak fluent Indonesian. He explains that ever since he was born he’s been travelling all over the world with his parents and naturally picked up many languages. He believes that his native Japanese is the hardest to learn, and in a way could be regarded as one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Ryuuguu works as some kind of a detective (and certainly he has a way of looking right through Elfi that makes him feel uneasy.) Ryuuguu says that the way Elfi speaks in broken Japanese is odd, almost like he’s only pretending not to know it.

--

[Second person narration.]

You offer Elfi a bet. If he wins, you’ll pay him additional money for driving you to Borobudur and showing you around the place. You say you don’t actually need a guide, but want to blend in with the tourists, so that nobody will notice you searching for someone—for a man without a name.

The rules are as follows: during the conversation, each party will answer the other’s questions with only lies, but may mix in some true statements here and there. If one person correctly guesses the other is telling the truth, he wins. If the guess is wrong, he loses. They have time until noon.

Elfi agrees to the terms and you start moving towards Borobudur. (Of course, your actual goal here is something else than money. You win no matter the bet’s outcome.)

“Are you Japanese?” Elfi starts.

“Hmm, however one looks at it, Ryuuguu isn’t a Japanese man. Ryuuguu is only a projection of a living person and doesn’t quite exist. Nothing more than a story character.”

“So you’re saying you live in a book? But then why is your body so real?”

“Oh, it’s borrowed. A temporary thing. Ryuuguu actually comes from an underwater palace they call Ryuuguujou. Has Geppen-shi heard about it?”

“Well, I’ve heard about the sea prince Ryuuguu Jounosuke that resides in it, which would be you.”

“Are you Javanese?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m the same kind of person as you.”

“So a story character? Could it be you come from Ryuuguujou too, Geppen-shi?”

“I’m not a person, but a character, a pawn created by an author. I do not come from Ryuuguujou, unfortunately, but I am not quite Javanese, just like you are only pretending to be a Japanese man.”

“Then where did you come from?”

“Ryuuguujou is a castle in the sea, but I came from the castle in the sky. Elfi Geppen is only a temporary name.”

“Ryuuguu has never heard about it. Wouldn’t a castle in the sky be quickly discovered?”

“That castle cannot be seen. I came from there three weeks ago.”

“And got into the rikshaw business so fast?”

“Well, just like you guessed, I’m actually pretty good at Japanese and can reliably get Japanese clients.”

“Is that really true? This question is outside the bet.”

“Is what true—that I can speak Japanese?”

“They don’t necessarily have to speak Japanese in that castle in the sky. Isn’t there some other common language?”

“Well, there’s the R language. That’s what I’m best at speaking. What language do they speak in Ryuuguujou, I wonder?”

“What a coincidence! The R language as well. ...Ryuuguu understands now where Geppen-shi is from. That castle in the sky is called the Sanctuary, isn’t it?”

“...yes, is it,” Elfi says and goes pale, but you pretend not to notice.

You arrive at Borobudur. The bet will have to continue during sightseeing. Geppen seems to be unraveling a little psychologically under all the questions.

(...you understand that. Sometimes, when playing “Ryuuguu Jounosuke”, you take a conscious look at “yourself” and see a big difference between the two, that you really work hard to bridge.)

--

[First person narration.]

I end up guiding Ryuuguu around. He seems to enjoy this bet and getting answers out of me… how much does he know?

“Are you really one of JDC?” I ask. “If you come from Ryuuguujou, why would you become a detective?”

“It was a lie. Ryuuguu is actually a member of RISE, the ones responsible for the Crime Olympics.”

“Was that about a nameless man also a lie?”

“It was true, but Ryuuguu isn’t searching for him out of detective duty, instead to get rid of him for the sake of RISE.”

Then Ryuuguu notices a blind man walking around the temple, so I explain that it’s Old Man Pongo. Nobody knows his true name, so in a way he is nameless. He has spent so many years living the same way every day—walking from his home village to the temple and back—that he can still do it even without sight.

Noon approaches, so it seems the bet won’t be won or lost by either of us. I say that as long as I get the normal payment it’s fine with me. Ryuuguu says that it seems awfully like I’m trying to get away from him, so I quickly add that I just have something urgent to do. Ryuuguu retorts that now it just sounds like I’m about to commit a crime. I answer that hey, it’s Ryuuguu who said he’s with RISE, and the hour’s getting close to 1 PM on a Saturday. Ryuuguu laughs, finally pays me and goes away.

But it still feels like I’m stuck in a story. That man without a name that Ryuuguu mentioned—that’s me. But how did he know that? The IDID he showed me looked real, but what if he really is with RISE? But if he was, there’s no way he would let a runaway Dot like me to just walk away.

Had it all been predicted by RS? Did the Sanctuary make a stop at Sumatra back then specifically so I could run away? Either way, I have no choice but to try realizing my plan to stop RISE.

--

The next Billion Killer case was so unusual it almost got overlooked: a person nicknamed Old Man Pongo fell down the stairs of Borobudur and died. A few tourists claimed that he tripped over a Billion Killer skull, which was then stolen away by a man.

Even though the tourists claim that, I know I stole that skull before the old man could even approach the stairs. The witnesses must have been planted by RISE. I thought that if there was no skull in place, the Billion Killer would lose his perfect streak, but it turned out to all have be planned. Instead of helping, I just became a suspect. If I disappear, nobody will ever know the truth.

I can’t help but wonder—why was this one case so... normal? And if there was no skull to trip on, why did the old man fall down the stairs that he climbed every day?

--

A month later mass media announce that the JDC detective Ryuuguu Jounosuke has died in a plane crash. For some strange reason, I feel like I lost an old friend. Maybe it’s because when they show a photo of his smiling face, I recognize that glimpse of loneliness in his eyes. Sadness behind a happy facade. Sadness of a man without a name. In a way, maybe the person Ryuuguu had been looking for the most was himself.

Then I remember where I heard that one name, “Suzukaze Unomaru”: it was the man brought inside the Sanctuary after the Cape of Good Hope case. The one who had ordered to save him was Black Rook—and with this thought, I realize that the eyes looking at me from behind the black mask were the same as Ryuuguu’s. Not just similar; the very same.

Black Rook and Ryuuguu were the same person.

--

Some time later, as I try to get through rioting crowds in Jakarta, the Billion Killer skull hidden in my backpack like always, I’m violently attacked and await my death on the street. Just another little death that nobody cares for in the grand scheme of things. As my consciousness fades, I recall the events in Borobudur and suddenly realize what truly happened.

What the Billion Killer actually did wasn’t pushing the old man to his death; it was extending the giant stairs by one step. The change wasn’t noticeable to most people, but a blind old man who relied on his memory would make a wrong step and fall to his death.

--

[>>>NEXT PART>>>]

[illegiblewords]

5 Questions for Writers!

               5 Questions for Writers                                                        

I got tagged by @kunstpause, it looked like fun so figured I’d go for it! THANKS TO KUNST!

Tagging @wouldyouliketoseemymask, @nilim, @azwoodbomb, @peregrineroad, @frostmantle, @autumnslance, @strangefellows, @redbud-tree, @nozomikei​, and @rivenroad​. No obligation to anyone but full permission to steal granted to anyone else who might like to. I’ll literally be delighted if you pick this up spontaneously and blame me as an excuse lmao.

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

I made long answers so have a cut!

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why?

It depends heavily on what fandom and where I am mentally, but I’ve figured out I tend to love writing angsty lameass dudes with blonde hair who are prone to doing really silly things despite taking themselves entirely too seriously. Honestly, I have a pretty huge track record at this point. Harvey Dent, Vexen, Dmitri, Lahabrea, probably more besides. Every one of them fits the right balance of lameass to angst. I like seeing them grow and find fulfillment as people and they are very very cute while still having an edge of badassery and cleverness. Also they’re funny.

Lahabrea is my favorite at the moment, and him reaching that position is an accomplishment considering how stiff the competition is in FFXIV. Loser tricked his way to the top while I was busy laughing at him.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write?

I really, really, really love redemption arcs and people recovering from fucked up experiences. Latter case especially I love seeing characters in those situations successfully connect to the people and world around them, especially if they get to grow together with a partner. I also LOVE “hero saves the villain and villain takes it to heart”.

(You may be sensing a theme here haha.)

There are a few reason these concepts resonate with me, the first being I think they’re really hopeful, inspiring, and something I always wanted to see growing up but rarely did.

People fuck up in life. People get hurt in horrible ways that bring out the worst in them. Sometimes when that happens they dig themselves deeper and deeper into ugliness. The more a person’s bad side comes out, the more hopeless it can feel. And for mental illness especially I’ve found this can be a major issue.

Everyone makes mistakes and everyone has flaws, but I think there’s something really significant in seeing someone who has hit rock bottom, who can no longer imagine a way out, get offered a hand for support and take it. While recovery and redemption (not synonymous of course) ultimately need to be carried by the individual struggling, I really can’t understate how important it is to know in those situations that you’re not alone and someone believes in you.

I think a big part of why this theme is important to me is because mental illness, both genetic and due to trauma, is something unbelievably difficult and painful not only for the sufferer but those around them. The most mentally ill characters in fiction tend to be villains, and are disproportionately more likely to be suffering severe trauma. It frustrated me since I was pretty young to see over and over again cases where a mess could have been avoided if there was any support system in place.

Seeing compassion and connection given that kind of power means a lot to me, as does recognizing that villains are people before they are villains. It’s also very reassuring in the sense of “If this person fucked up that badly but still tried to better themself, I can too. And odds are I’m also worthy of love and compassion, even when my issues make things harder for others. I just have to keep working to improve.”

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written?

Eff.

Straight up I think I’ve written too much to have just one favorite description. It’s been a lot of years and I have hundreds of fics and I’m lame. So I’m going to put a few of my favs.

Anytime there’s a gap in block quotes it’s a different section within the same fic.

22 - A Batman Fanfic

He trembles beneath the weight of their expectations but his smile never fades flashes before cameras microphones under his nose crowds screaming questions bleeding together he answers like clockwork the District Attorney who must bring justice to us all paying tribute to false idols with golden hair and silver tongues we the people bow down in worship to this guardian of the law with words and deeds I believe in Harvey Dent so he swears in hallowed halls to bring prosperity to smite the wicked to damn the criminal with authority invested in him by Gotham’s dutiful children and himself.

***

On the precipice of victory we stand united our voice raised like a torch like a spear like a golden arrow against the beast of Lerna we are gods and monsters we are so much more than good and evil we are order in the court cauterizing corruption our head held high and mighty manifest in Harvey of the doubletalk Harvey who writes himself into the fabric of Gotham’s history Harvey who will not bend before the Roman we command you the unworthy we condemn you the unrighteous we will not be merciful and you will fall before our eyes.

***

I am Dionysus divided at the altar of Tyche O Fortuna O Fortuna give me guidance in the light of the moon you dance sacred silver dollar I see and obey the wax and wane your whim Wheel of Fortune the card I am dealt your servant your slave venerated puppet of flesh blessed is your wisdom bestowed upon I am your disciple wine-mad twisted chanting your word becomes law holy splendor against gavels desecrating your name defiant in denial extend your will through me and we shall strike the innocent enlighten the ignorant or spare them all for now.

Doppelganger - A Spider-Man Fanfic

She asks him to tell the story of himself, and like Scheherazade he begins anew each day.

As with many other things, this comparison is imperfect. The Ravencroft Institute is hardly a palace and neither of them could pass for royalty. She sits in a chair across from him over a carpet the color of sawdust. Her walls are lined with insects pinned on display. Not many butterflies, quite a few beetles. On a bookshelf Dmitri sees The Metamorphosis nestled between non-fiction texts more relevant to her profession. He thinks maybe it's an inside joke she has with herself, but doesn't say so.

He's received an invitation to call her Ashley instead of Dr. Kafka and doesn't know whether to accept. It might be to make him more comfortable. It might be something else. In her late fifties Kafka is built from delicate features, and he suspects the lines around her eyes mean they crinkle when she smiles. Short black hair, beige suit, only jewelry a pair of diamond stud earrings. Dmitri thinks she looks like a mother, but not his.

Her weight sinks into leather, darker than the floor. The couch he rests on matches. He finds himself leaning forward with one elbow propped on his thigh, the other locked in a cast suspended by his neck. There is something reassuringly empty in the gray fabric of his uniform, cheap and utilitarian and harmless. Dmitri’s wrists are thin, but then he's lost a lot of weight recently. He probably wouldn't be able to run as fast as he used to, but then circumstances would be the same anywhere he went so that really doesn't matter. His espionage days are over. His free arm is shedding in flakes but at least his skin is dry. Clean.

Dmitri no longer looks like anyone, unrecognizable to himself. A face without much in the way of edges, short nose. Weak chin. Mismatched eyes that shift between green and blue and brown and every other natural hue as moments pass into minutes pass into hours. Dark blotches interrupt his forehead and chin. They will peel in new patterns across a span of days. For the most part though, he is pale enough to trace veins where his body seems on the brink of spilling out.

It's been a while since he shaved his head and the hair that grows back is almost foreign. An unruly mess of black, blond, brunet, and red—strands as unlike in texture as anything else. The mask that made him Chameleon was white plastic embedded with hardware. Left deformed after trying to resemble others in flesh too many times, it allowed him to duplicate any face, any body he could remember. More than holograms, the most complete sensory illusions technology could perform.

Without it, Dmitri feels stripped.

When Kafka looks at him she’s receiving constant signals and missing none of them. The moments he needs to turn away, flat monosyllabic turns of phrase he chooses or resorts to or blankly accepts as his own. It doesn’t have to be this way. It isn’t comfortable and he doesn’t even trust it’s not calculated. But she’s going to notice no matter what he does at this point, and lying about it doesn’t do anyone much good. They both know why he’s here.

***

“We were poor. We worked hard to keep ourselves fed and clothed and less than an embarrassment. I probably could have worked harder. Mother,” he begins before stumbling over himself.

The story he’s telling isn’t hers. Whatever else she was, Sonya Smerdyakov wasn’t Mrs. Bates. He remembers her voice as the beginning of an echo, forever following someone else’s lead.

And so he followed her.

She was bright like a light going out. She was gentle without being kind. Her fingers were short and delicate and she touched him as little as possible. He found her attention in the way she avoided his name.

***

In the privacy of his room, Dmitri began talking to himself.

Celebrities. Teachers. Children. The flat, steady rhythm of his father’s voice. The words and intonations favored by mother. Sergei’s laugh. He lost himself in a fantasy of conversations, strode through space to mimic confidence he didn’t feel, flashed teeth in front of his mirror like other people.

Once, Dmitri raised his voice. And when his older brother came, eyebrows knitting in confusion, he found himself full of stammered explanations, hands fumbling at his elbows, stumbling over his tongue to make sense of it.

Just making stories for himself. A game with no ending. That was all.

***

He would have died in that town under the eyes of speechless parents. Dmitri remembers the confusion that took his peers when he found a job for people who spoke for themselves. They thought he might be growing up.

He could lie. And when he began he understood it would always be a game with no ending.

Dmitri lost himself in a fantasy of conversations with real people and a voice that didn’t belong to him.

They asked a stranger to sign their yearbooks without even realizing it.

And then he was eighteen, and he left to continue elsewhere.

He didn’t announce his departure.

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It was probably a dream.

Lukewarm water crept down his throat, nearly making him choke. A skin pressed to his lips, insistent. He coughed, and for the first time there was moisture enough for resistance.

The face that obscured his vision was shrouded in white cloth. Cenric found he couldn’t focus on it. Mismatched eyes, one light and the other dark. Impossible to say if blindness caused the inconsistency.

A string of shells dangled from the figure’s neck, rattling gently. The skin pulled back for a moment. Careful. Patient.

It returned only once he'd grown quiet. Cenric drank for as long as he could. Impossibly, a great deal remained by the time he relinquished his hold.

There wasn't enough of him present to say thank you. Cenric barely registered being dragged, being carried onto a cart. Awareness was altogether gone by the time they started to move.

***

…to the blessed traders who enrich our lives we’re bound to pay with our lives in turn aether born fire-walker your will sees us to rest we entrust ourselves to your sight forged of oschon for peace and prosperity and an ending you do not weep for father azeyma lives in the earth with you her fan brings no breeze the air is hot and thick and breathless your domain a silent place that does not stir have you forgotten the sound of your own voice have you known what it is to live and fail have you been alone do you know what it is to die how can a god pass judgment without being judged nald’thal lord of departures of flame and sand whose coin purse overflows who knows not what it means to starve what it means to spoil the legacy of one who loved you nald’thal who holds shells and souls and precious stones as if their worth were equal nald’thal who cannot know mercy without knowing pain who are you to weigh mortal affairs?

***

In darkness he unwinds the black bandana, steps first from his slops and then his kurta. Yuyudana has provided robes, which rest neatly on a small rock nearby. It crosses Cenric’s mind that the bones of his knees, his hips, his wrists, even his face have all started to protrude strangely. He looks less hyuran than before, maybe less than he ever has. Closer to something priests would exorcise than anyone deserving aid.

He wonders if this idea has occurred to them.

The water, when he advances, is cold. Goosebumps raise across his skin as slowly, gingerly, he wades in to his waist.

Cenric ducks under.

His hair is a long and tangled wreck. Being wet only disguises this slightly. It drifts past his neck, comes to float near the surface. Cenric holds himself in silence, eyes open, watching the silver scatter of light over stones and plants and fish. He remains for as long as he can bear.

His vision stings afterward. Gasping, he can’t tell if the cause is exposure or something else. For a time he simply waits, breathing hard through his nose, hunched so that his lips are partially submerged.

He thinks of nothing, pretends that this time instead of no future he has no past.

Only one moon remains. Maybe the sky aches for losing Dalamud, but better that than the blow which scarred Eorzea.

Stalemate - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

He is presented with impressions of a horse, gaunt and fetid and decayed. Spreading ruin wheresoever it goes. Occasionally it sloughs off portions of its own flesh, which collect flies and blacken any land that surrounds. On its back rests a world, and alongside it does the herd struggle under their own burdens. But even beasts of such endurance have limits. Theirs are reached. When the rotten steed lags, its companions cannot afford to falter. Cannot turn. Without its ability to bear loads, this aberration has no place. Falling is inevitable.

Yet a heart still beats and lungs yet swell.

The Ascian shivers in his grasp, but does not attempt escape.

Here, something festers. Something bleeds. An old wound exacerbated over time.

Fevered, coated in a film of self-disgust, the core of Lahabrea convulses.

 Don’t…

 Don’t leave me like this…

***

Teeth and tongue. Lingering, wet, disembodied. Another finds his hip. Another his thigh, slipping beneath what clothes remain.

And another.

And another.

Warm, human, seeking. The Warrior tightens his hold, uses the moan crawling from his own chest as incentive. Barred by naught but fabric, driving close as he can manage. Lahabrea makes a strangled sound, his gasp crushed empty. A new mouth finds the dark knight’s ear in response.

These are parts of him no one dares touch, no one dares acknowledge. Slick now, attended with something like reverence. Supplication.

He resolves to fuck the Ascian senseless for this, presses his intent deep into Lahabrea’s aether. He is going to steal all his fancy words away. Make him squirm.

“I… I…” Tight, airless, like a plucked string. The Warrior feels Lahabrea’s voice reverberate against the roof of his mouth.

The feeling is difficult to describe. Cracked ice. A fraying rope. Such is Lahabrea's response, fumbling and disoriented as it is.

The Warrior lets go.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written?

Just imagine me weeping over here lmao. Same deal as before, I’VE DONE TOO MUCH SHIT.

Spare Change - A Batman Fanfic

"Stop," he gasps, "I wouldn’t—"

"You would Harvey. You did. It’s what makes you such a damn good instrument. You had to test yourself, prove that you’re not a real person.” He can feel fingers grinding against bone. His knees bend. Harvey kneels, shuddering, gazing up into the destruction of his own visage. Two-Face meets his eyes, blue on blue. “People are weak. People are ruled by what they want and don’t want. You’re capable of anything if the wind blows just right. You can’t even stop yourself.”

"I wouldn’t," he repeats, numbly.

"Did you," demands Two-Face, forcing him down further, "or did you not flip for their lives, Harvey Dent?"

"We…We aren’t the same people anymore."

"Of COURSE we’re the same people!" Another shove and he’s on the ground, Two-Face sitting on his chest, teeth bared, coin clenched tight between them. "Do you really think you can close your eyes and pretend you aren’t capable of these things? They’re alive," and there is something hideous in his expression, something certain, "because they were lucky. No other reason.”

"The coin is gone! Even if I wanted to listen to it—I can’t!”

"If you’re so sure," says Two-Face, "then how about you improvise?”

And with one motion the silver dollar is under his tongue, forced back so hard he feels himself gag and begin to choke before his eyes open.

The Inquisitor’s Letters - A Dragon Age: Inquisition Fanfic

To His Worship Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan of Skyhold, My name is Isell from Amaranthine and I’m seven. My mum is helping but says I can send you all by myself. Thank you for fixing the hole in the sky and also the one by the dead man’s house. There were demons but they’re mostly gone now and people are going outside now. Da says Amaranthine has been through too much and can survive anything and he says you’re an elf like us and the Hero of Ferelden was an elf too. He says people used to think elves can’t be heroes but now they don’t. Have you met the Hero of Ferelden? Also I heard that even though you’re Dalish Andraste helped you in the Fade and that humans let you be in the Chantry because anyone Andraste likes must be a really good person. What’s Andraste like? The Chant says a lot but it’s different meeting someone I think. Also I think I saw you a little before but Mum wasn’t sure because you had a helmet on and we were far away and there were a lot of people but I bet it was you. Da wasn’t sure I should write because he says the Dalish don’t like city elves like we are but I think you must be nice and Mum agrees with me. I’ve been playing demon hunters with my brother Arrion (he’s just five still) and Da said templars are who fights demons usually and elves can’t be templars. People thought elves couldn’t be heroes and inquisitors though and we are so I bet I could too. Is it hard fighting demons? Da says they’re real scary but I’m not scared. Thank you for helping us and everyone and I hope you kill lots of demons. Sincerely, Isell U’venlan

From Umbra - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

Cenric sits on the floor, draped in a white cotton tunic. It might have been snug on a Roegadyn but anyone else would find ample room. Behind him, Memesu stands on a cot holding shears. Gold earrings dangle on either side of her face.

“I fought at Carteneau, you know,” she mentions casually. There is a soft hsssssshhhh. Click.

Hair hits the floor. Coils.

He starts to shake his head, aborts the gesture partway through. Stills. “…you saw Bahamut?”

Memesu snorts. “I’m sure everyone this side of Hydaelyn saw Bahamut.” Click.

“That’s probably true,” he concedes. The dragon is what everyone knows, everyone remembers. He can't imagine the proximity. “What about the Warriors of Light?”

“Pff.” Gentle tugging at his scalp. Cenric does not open his eyes but leans into the motion. “I wasn’t of rank to see their like. Not that I’d remember. Stop moving.” Click.

Cenric hesitates.

“What do you remember, then?”

For a time, the only sound comes from blades and a thousand strands cut short. This lasts for several minutes. Cenric resigns himself to secrets.

Then, “I used to think I was special too. As a twin. My sister was Memeni. We studied together.”

 Was.

The exhale hits him slowly, quietly.

“She died?”

He can feel the shrug in her hip against his shoulder.

“It was Carteneau,” says Memesu. “Of course she died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Click. “It had nothing too do with you. If you keep trying to claim responsibility for every misfortune you find, you’re going to get self-important.”

Cenric only grunts, quiet and non-committal.

 Click.

 Click.

 Click.

“Carteneu was so much worse than people remember. Only four years later and already we hurry to dispose of details.” There is a hard undercurrent to Memesu’s voice, but what contact she makes remains light. Careful. “I remember the arcanist from Limsa who didn’t dodge a magitek canon in time. Miqo’te. Spells come faster in that discipline, so there’s less stress on distance than thaumaturgy. Girl got careless.” Click. “The mess smelled like rotten eggs and charcoal. Her face was… melted.” Click. “I try not to look in those situations. They only make casting harder. But she was so close.”

Cenric doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

Memesu continues. “One of our own gladiators, an Ala Mhigan, took to mutilating any pureblooded Garleans he could catch. The man had a string of eyes hanging around his neck. I’m pretty sure one enemy officer wet himself before he started to beg. Not that it particularly mattered.”

 Click.

“Memeni… didn’t anticipate what she was getting herself into. She saw magic as a way of being useful to craftsmen. My focus has always been theoretical. Right side.” Startled, Cenric lets her guide his jaw to get a better view of his profile. Click. Click. “Meni used to think I was a priss. She preferred to develop magitek kettles alongside alchemists. See if she could find a way to capture light like the Mhachi did. She still enjoyed fishing when she could, even though it smelled awful. Never outgrew the braids she wore growing up. ” Memesu sighs. “…just understand she died afraid, in pain, and with things left undone. My sister didn’t even resemble herself at the end.”

Cenric is very still. Thinks carefully.

“…I wish it could have gone differently,” he says at last.

Memesu’s mouth slides up in a small, crooked smile. She tousles the neat, ear-length hair before her. “So do I.”

Eclipse - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

It ends at Elidibus’ untimely arrival.

“Lord Zodiark,” he says, so smoothly that were he not searching for it that the anger would be undetectable, “appreciates your attentions.”  His gaze does not waver from Lahabrea as he speaks. “But there is work to be done and I’m afraid there are words I would have with your Speaker.”

They disperse.

Nabriales, careful and curious, folds himself out of sight beyond the chamber then makes his way back to its edge.

Lahabrea, farthest from the exit, attempts to steal some small dignity. Turns to face Elidibus.

The Emissary makes him wait. Expressionless red masks matched by those who wear them.

Then, with more speed and force than typical for his demeanor, the Emissary closes distance to trap his colleague against the wall.

“It was my error,” hisses Elidibus, leaning in, “to have stayed silent upon rescuing you. A mistake I will remedy now, so we can be on no uncertain terms.”

Lahabrea lowers his eyes. Nabriales notes that despite the dread they all share of such reprimands, the man does not brace.

“You know as well as I that these words offer less succor to our Lord than action,” continues Elidibus, his fury quiet and no less sharp for that, “just as we both know your thoughtless action is the cause of repeated missteps these past centuries. Make no mistake—for all the strides you’ve made, your fixation and your impatience have cost the rest of us considerable time.”

Silence.

“Do you truly think this is your best service to Him?” asks Elidibus. “To us? Compromising your ability to fill the hours? Even Emet-Selch agrees these displays are disgraceful. You have ever borne them poorly, but being a 'paragon among paragons' naturally you continue ignoring your own better judgment with ours to continue this exercise in futility. Idiot.”

A twitch of the head. Almost a flinch.

It is one of few moments Nabriales has seen the Emissary express his anger so openly. Even after the Thirteenth fell to Igeyorhm’s error, Elidibus allowed the Angel of Truth to lead and voiced his own reproach with a more typical icy demeanor. Scathing though it was.

“I can be of use,” says Lahabrea softly. “Only three of us remain, and I—“

“You,” Elidibus snaps, “cannot follow the most simple instructions for the good of us all. Not for Him, not for Amaurot, not even for yourself. Your pride has made you not simply an embarrassment but a liability.”

Neither man speaks for several moments after that.

And then, at length, Elidibus exhales.

Says the Speaker’s name.

Receives his attention.

“What would you have me do?” the Emissary asks. His tone now is almost weary. “Clearly it would be unreasonable to trust you’d simply listen. Must I mind you like a child?” This is what breaks Lahabrea’s composure.

Knowing the man’s temper, Nabriales had expected him to lash out. Even on the back foot their orator is perfectly capable of defending himself from insults.

Instead, he embraces Elidibus fiercely—face just within the bounds of his pauldrons. Jaw locked shut firmly enough to hurt. Expression downcast.

Elidibus remains perfectly still at first. In the absence of conversation it is possible to hear the rush of Lahabrea’s breathing. Only through the nose, withheld briefly between each inhale as if that offers some means to steady himself.

As if that would make it better.

Tentatively, Elidibus holds him back. Lahabrea's fingers contract, and though he remains upright when his knees begin to give it is the Emissary who helps him kneel.

“Easy,” he murmurs, and Lahabrea removes one hand to run it reflexively over his face—coming against the mask.

Nabriales finds himself staring, searching. A puzzle with missing pieces whose image he may yet divine

“It was not,” says Lahabrea roughly, “my intention to…”

Elidibus reaches beneath the other man’s cowl, finds the hair and skin beneath. Draws him in once more.

Naught that would be shared with or among the Sundered. Nothing so personal as that.

Nabriales has worn his own share of flesh. Bedded lovers, adopted companions and families of vessels to fulfill a purpose. Passable enough, perhaps, but never for him. Not in truth.

It’s as if he looks upon two strangers.

Parched - A Final Fantasy XIV Fanfic

The door closes behind them. Lahabrea, projecting his preferred likeness over the host, waits on a couch within.

It’s admittedly a surreal sight. Ishgardian finery with its gilded edges, its elaborate wallpapers and marble floors. A collection of creams and blues and greens, fine furniture with velvet seat cushions. All ostentatious in the extreme… and then Lahabrea. Masked and cowled. Pouring three glasses of La Noscean arrack.

Elidibus freezes, and though none of them can see his eyes the confusion is clear enough.

“What is this?”

“Your turn,” says Emet-Selch, lightly but less flippant than he might have been.

Lahabrea proffers a cup from where he sits.

Elidibus neither moves nor speaks.

Emet-Selch approaches. Takes the drink. Presses it carefully into the other man’s hand.

“Don’t think,” he says smoothly,” that I won’t let you drop it.”

Mercifully, Elidibus has a good grip.

“Sit,” says Lahabrea, gesturing with his own glass to the sofa across from him.

Elidibus sits.

Emet-Selch sits.

Takes his own glass, perhaps a bit pointedly.

Elidibus’ mouth is pressed tight. It opens briefly, as if to speak. Shuts again.

“Explain,” the Emissary manages eventually.

Lahabrea meets his co-conspirator’s eye. Downs his arrack in a single attempt.

It is a long attempt.

It lasts several moments.

The other Ascians watch.

“Elidibus,” says Emet-Selch as Lahabrea endeavors to catch his breath in the aftermath, “Lahabrea and I are concerned that you may be experiencing some difficulties in recent years.”

“I’m fine,” replies Elidibus coldly. Holding his drink. “Why did you think this necessary?”

“Because—“ wheezes Lahabrea.

“Because you’re practically a mammet,” says Emet-Selch, picking up Lahabrea’s glass. Moving it just out of reach. “Truly. It’s been what, two hundred years? Three? Neither of us can remember the last time you so much as spoke of matters unrelated to the Rejoining.”

Lahabrea reaches. Elidibus pours his arrack into the other man’s glass before nudging it back toward him.

Elidibus makes eye contact with Emet-Selch.

“I remain focused,” he says evenly. “Nothing more.”

Emet-Selch gestures to the bottle.

Elidibus sighs.

Refills his own glass.

“There are matters I must attend myself. As is the case with each of you.”

“Undoubtedly,” replies Lahabrea more evenly. “But with few exceptions, you haven’t done so.”

A hard stare from behind the mask.

“What would you have me do? I can’t very well take time off.”

Emet-Selch sips.

“A negligible amount of time,” he says, “taken sparingly, may be forgivable.”

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?

Lmao see this is a plus side/minus side deal. Minus side, it’s being asked just before I embark on a MASSIVE ASS FANFIC. And I basically am excited for all of it. Plus side, there are things I refuse to spoil.

So... putting it vaguely, in no particular order:

- Lahabrea and Hydaelyn meet a second time after Praetorium.

- Moonfire Faire

- Thancred

- Conversations over mulled wine

- Silvertear Lake

Some of these are sex scenes. Most aren’t. But I am very hyped.

[trolldomblog]

Wheel of the Year

Samhain

Winter Nights (Asatru)

The Winter Nights are the traditional festival honoring the Disir or family spirits.  It is a time to remember your family, the dead, and your ancestors.  (For more information on the Disir see the chapter. Elves and other Spirits..)

A Freyablot may be performed at this time as Freya is known as the Vanadis (i.e.  the Dis of the Vanir) or the Great Dis, and she seems to be the Goddess of the Disir themselves.  This is probably connected to Freya’s position as recipient of half the battle slain.  One might also simply want to honor the Disir as a whole, or attempt to summon and pour offering to your own family’s Dis.  A sumbel which toasts one’s ancestors and passed on friends would also be in order. If a feast is held, it should be quiet and respectful of the character of the season.  Another idea is a silent. mum feast, a custom which is

found the world over.

The various Halloween customs such as dressing in costume or celebrating this time as a time where the worlds of the living and the dead connect are more Celtic in origin than Nordic and probably should not be part of an Asatru celebration.

Samhain

Originating in ancient Europe as a Celtic Fire festival, Samhain is now celebrated worldwide. The timing of contemporary Samhain celebrations varies according to spiritual tradition and geography. Many of us celebrate Samhain over the course of several days and nights, and these extended observances usually include a series of solo rites as well as ceremonies, feasts, and gatherings with family, friends, and spiritual community. In the northern hemisphere, many Pagans celebrate Samhain from sundown on October 31 through November 1. Others hold Samhain celebrations on the nearest weekend or on the Full or New Moon closest to this time. Some Pagans observe Samhain a bit later, or near November 6, to coincide more closely with the astronomical midpoint between Fall Equinox and Winter Solstice. Most Pagans in the southern hemisphere time their Samhain observances to coincide with the middle of their Autumn in late April and early May, rather than at the traditional European time of the holiday.

Samhain also has been known by other names. Some Celtic Wiccans and Druids call it Calan Gaeaf, Calan Gwaf, Kala-Goanv, or Nos Galan Gaeof. In Welsh, it is Nos Cyn Calan Gaual. It also is known as Oie Houney. A medieval book of tales, the Yellow Book of Lecan, reports that common folk called it the "Feast of Mongfind," the legendary Witch-Queen who married a King of Tara in old Ireland. In the ancient Coligny Calendar, an engraved bronze dating from the first century C.E.and dug up in 1897 in France, Samhain is called Trinouxtion Samonii, or "Three Nights of the End of Summer." Variant spellings of Samhain include Samain, Samuin, and Samhuinn.

With the growth and spread of Christianity as the dominant religion throughout Europe, Samhain time took on Christian names and guises. All Saints' Day or All Hallows on November 1 commemorated Christian saints and martyrs. All Souls' Day on November 2 was a remembrance for all souls of the dead. With the coming of Christian Spaniards to Mexico, the indigenous customs of honoring the dead at this time of year mixed with Roman Catholicism and gave birth to the Day of the Dead, Dia de los Muertos, in early November. Samhain shares the ancient spiritual practice of remembering and paying respects to the Dead with these related religious holidays of Christianity.

Halloween, short for All Hallow's Eve, is celebrated on and around October 31. Although occurring at the same time of year and having roots in end-of-harvest celebrations of the ancient past, Halloween and Samhain are not the same, but two separate holidays that differ considerably in focus and practice. In contemporary America and elsewhere, Halloween is a secular folk holiday. Like its cousin, Thanksgiving, it is widely and publicly celebrated in homes, schools, and communities, large and small, by people of many paths, ethnic heritages, and worldviews. Furthermore, Halloween has evolved to be both a family-oriented children's holiday as well as an occasion for those of all ages to creatively express themselves and engage in play in the realm of make-believe and fantasy through costumes, trick-or-treating, storytelling, play-acting, pranks, cathartic scary place visits, and parties.

In contrast, Samhain and its related Christian holiday counterparts continue to be religious in focus and spiritually observed by adherents. Although observances may include merry making, the honoring of the Dead that is central to Samhain is a serious religious practice rather than a light-hearted make-believe re-enactment. Today's Pagan Samhain rites, while somber, are benevolent, and, although centered on death, do not involve human or animal sacrifices. Most Samhain rituals are held in private rather than in public.

Samhain's long association with death and the Dead reflects Nature's rhythms. In many places, Samhain coincides with the end of the growing season. Vegetation dies back with killing frosts, and therefore, literally, death is in the air. This contributes to the ancient notion that at Samhain, the veil is thin between the world of the living and the realm of the Dead and this facilitates contact and communication. For those who have lost loved ones in the past year, Samhain rituals can be an opportunity to bring closure to grieving and to further adjust to their being in the Otherworld by spiritually communing with them.

There are many ways to celebrate Samhain. More info here and below:

Samhain Nature Walk. Take a meditative walk in a natural area near your home. Observe and contemplate the colors, aromas, sounds, and other sensations of the season. Experience yourself as part of the Circle of Life and reflect on death and rebirth as being an important part of Nature. If the location you visit permits, gather some natural objects and upon your return use them to adorn your home.

Seasonal Imagery. Decorate your home with Samhain seasonal symbols and the colors of orange and black. Place an Autumnal wreath on your front door. Create displays with pumpkins, cornstalks, gourds, acorns, and apples. Set candles in cauldrons.

Ancestors Altar. Gather photographs, heirlooms, and other mementos of deceased family, friends, and companion creatures. Arrange them on a table, dresser, or other surface, along with several votive candles. Kindle the candles in their memory as you call out their names and express well wishes. Thank them for being part of your life. Sit quietly and pay attention to what you experience. Note any messages you receive in your journal. This Ancestors Altar can be created just for Samhain or kept year-round.

Feast of the Dead. Prepare a Samhain dinner. Include a place setting at your table or at a nearby altar for the Dead. Add an offering of a bit of each beverage being consumed to the cup at that place setting, and to the plate, add a bit of each food served. Invite your ancestors and other deceased loved ones to come and dine with you. To have this as a Samhain Dumb Supper experience, dine in silence. After the feast, place the contents of the plate and cup for the Dead outdoors in a natural location as an offering for the Dead.

Ancestor Stories. Learn about family history. Contact one or more older relatives and ask them to share memories of family members now dead. Record them in some way and later write accounts of what they share. Give thanks. Share what you learned and have written with another family member or friend. Add names of those you learned about and wish to honor to your Ancestors Altar.

Cemetery Visit. Visit and tend the gravesite of a loved one at a cemetery. Call to mind memories and consider ways the loved one continues to live on within you. Place an offering there such as fresh flowers, dried herbs, or a libation of water.

Reflections. Reflect on you and your life over the past year. Review journals, planners, photographs, blogs, and other notations you have created during the past year. Consider how you have grown, accomplishments, challenges, adventures, travels, and learnings. Meditate. Journal about your year in review, your meditation, and your reflections.

Renovate. Select an area of your home or life as a focus. Examine it. Re-organize it. Release what is no longer needed. Create a better pattern. Celebrate renewal and transformation.

Bonfire Magic. Kindle a bonfire outdoors when possible or kindle flames in a fireplace or a small cauldron. Write down an outmoded habit that you wish to end and cast it into the Samhain flames as you imagine release. Imagine yourself adopting a new, healthier way of being as you move around the fire clockwise.

Divinatory Guidance. Using Tarot, Runes, Scrying, or some other method of divination, seek and reflect on guidance for the year to come. Write a summary of your process and messages. Select something appropriate to act upon and do it.

Divine Invocations. Honor and call upon the Divine in one or more Sacred Forms associated with Samhain, such as the Crone Goddess and Horned God of Nature. Invite Them to aid you in your remembrance of the Dead and in your understanding of the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. If you have lost loved ones in the past year, ask these Divine Ones to comfort and support you.

Transforming Expressions. If you encounter distortions, misinformation, and/or false, negative stereotypes about Paganism and Samhain in the media, contact the source, express your concerns, and share accurate information. Help eradicate derogatory stereotyping with courteous, concise, and intelligent communications.

Community Connections. Connect with others. Join in a group ritual in your area. Organize a Samhain potluck in your home. Research old and contemporary Samhain customs in books, periodicals, on-line, and through communications with others. Exchange ideas, information, and celebration experiences. Regardless of whether you practice solo or with others, as part of your festivities, reflect for a time on being part of the vast network of those celebrating Samhain around the world.

The fields are bare, the leaves have fallen from the trees, and the skies are going gray and cold. It is the time of year when the earth has died and gone dormant. Every year on October 31 (or May 1, if you're in the Southern Hemisphere) the Sabbat we call Samhain presents us with the opportunity to once more celebrate the cycle of death and rebirth. For many Pagan traditions, Samhain is a time to reconnect with our ancestors, and honor those who have died. This is the time when the veil between our world and the spirit realm is thin, so it's the perfect time of year to make contact with the dead.

Rituals and Ceremonies

Depending on your individual spiritual path, there are many different ways you can celebrate Samhain, but typically the focus is on either honoring our ancestors, or the cycle of death and rebirth. This is the time of year when the gardens and fields are brown and dead. The nights are getting longer, there's a chill in the air, and winter is looming. We may choose to honor our arncestors, celebrating those who have died, and even try to communicate with them. Here are a few rituals you may want to think about trying for Samhain–and remember, any of them can be adapted for either a solitary practitioner or a small group, with just a little planning ahead.

Start off by decorating your altar with symbols of the Samhain season, representing symbols of death, the harvest season, and tools of divination. You may also want to incorporate some Samhain prayers into your rituals or perform a quiet Samhain Ancestor Meditation.

Plan your ritual festivities with ceremonies that celebrate the Harvest's End or honor the ancestors of your family and community. You can also perform a God and Goddess Ritual for Samhain or do a ritual that marks the Cycle of Life and Death.

If you have young Pagans in your family, there are different ways you can celebrate Samhain with kids, including planning a family Samhain Cemetery Visit.

Finally, if you're involved in your community, consider a ritual to Honor the Forgotten Dead.

Samhain Magic, Divination and Spirit Work

For many Pagans, Samhain is a time to do magic that focuses on the spirit world. Learn how to properly conduct a seance, how to do some Samhain divination workings, and the way to figure out what a spirit guide is really up to!

If you're thinking about holding a seance or a dumb supper, you'll want to be sure to read about the different types of spirit guides and how to find yours. If you find yourself wondering about whether that spirit guide is something else entirely, you'll need to know how to get rid of unwanted entities.

Pagans have a view of death and the afterlife that is a little different than our non-Pagan friends. In fact, divination with the spirit world is a popular magical activity around Samhain. You might want to try using a scrying mirror or even a Ouija board.

Last but not least, familiarize yourself with some of the Sacred Plants of the Samhain Sabbat.

Traditions and Trends

Interested in learning about some of the traditions behind the celebrations of the late harvest? Find out why Samhain is important, learn why black cats are considered unlucky, how trick-or-treating became so popular and more!

Samhain has a rich history, going back a long time. This is the season of Cailleach Bheur, the Hag in Scottish folklore, and a time when the many gods and goddesses of death and the underworld are recognized. However, keep in mind that Samhain is the name of the holiday, and not a Celtic death god.

Learn about Bat Magic and Legends, as well as some of the spooky traditions surrounding Black Cats, Jack o'Lanterns, and the practice of trick-or-treating. In many cultures, spider magic becomes prevalent around Samhain, and you may notice a lot of owl activity outside.

Because this is a time when many of us honor our dead, it's a good time to think about how we take care of those who have crossed over, and how many Pagan societies have venerated their ancestors.

Brush up on your Samhain Superstitions, and read some spooky poems... just in case things go bump in the night! In fact, if you like vampire stories, while they're not part of Paganism or Wicca, they definitely seem to be popular at this time of year.

Crafts and Creations

As Samhain approaches, decorate your home (and keep your kids entertained) with a number of easy craft projects. Start celebrating a bit early with these fun and simple ideas that honor the final harvest, and the cycle of life and death.

Bring the season into your home with these 5 Easy Samhain Decorations, or create some Magical Samhain Goodie Bags for Pagan Kids in your life.

Feasting and Food

No Pagan celebration is really complete without a meal to go along with it. At Samhain, celebrate with foods that celebrate the final harvest, and the death of the fields by making Soul Cakes, soups, Pumpkin Spice Cheesecake, baked apples, and even ghost poop for dessert

Yule

Winter Solstice has been celebrated in cultures the world over for thousands of years. This start of the solar year is a celebration of Light and the rebirth of the Sun. In old Europe, it was known as Yule, from the Norse, Jul, meaning wheel.

Today, many people in Western-based cultures refer to this holiday as "Christmas." Yet a look into its origins of Christmas reveals its Pagan roots. Emperor Aurelian established December 25 as the birthday of the "Invincible Sun" in the third century as part of the Roman Winter Solstice celebrations. Shortly thereafter, in 273, the Christian church selected this day to represent the birthday of Jesus, and by 336, this Roman solar feast day was Christianized. January 6, celebrated as Epiphany in Christendom and linked with the visit of the Magi, was originally an Egyptian date for the Winter Solstice.

Most of the customs, lore, symbols, and rituals associated with "Christmas" actually are linked to Winter Solstice celebrations of ancient Pagan cultures. While Christian mythology is interwoven with contemporary observances of this holiday time, its Pagan nature is still strong and apparent. Pagans today can readily re-Paganize Christmastime and the secular New Year by giving a Pagan spiritual focus to existing holiday customs and by creating new traditions that draw on ancient ways. Here are some ways to do this:

Celebrate Yule with a series of rituals, feasts, and other activities. In most ancient cultures, the celebration lasted more than a day. The ancient Roman Saturnalia festival sometimes went on for a week. Have Winter Solstice Eve and Day be the central focus for your household, and conceptualize other holiday festivities, including New Year's office parties and Christmas visits with Christian relatives, as part of your Solstice celebration. By adopting this perspective, Pagan parents can help their children develop an understanding of the multicultural and interfaith aspects of this holiday time and view "Christmas" as just another form of Solstice. Have gift exchanges and feasts over the course of several days and nights as was done of old. Party hearty on New Year's Eve not just to welcome in the new calendar year, but also to welcome the new solar year.

Adorn the home with sacred herbs and colors. Decorate your home in Druidic holiday colors red, green, and white. Place holly, ivy, evergreen boughs, and pinecones around your home, especially in areas where socializing takes place. Hang a sprig of mistletoe above a major threshold and leave it there until next Yule as a charm for good luck throughout the year. Have family/household members join together to make or purchase an evergreen wreath. Include holiday herbs in it and then place it on your front door to symbolize the continuity of life and the wheel of the year. If you choose to have a living or a harvested evergreen tree as part of your holiday decorations, call it a Solstice tree and decorate it with Pagan symbols.

Convey love to family, friends, and associates. At the heart of Saturnalia was the custom of family and friends feasting together and exchanging presents. Continue this custom by visiting, entertaining, giving gifts, and sending greetings by mail and/or phone. Consider those who are and/or have been important in your life and share appreciation.

Reclaim Santa Claus as a Pagan Godform. Today's Santa is a folk figure with multicultural roots. He embodies characteristics of Saturn (Roman agricultural god), Cronos (Greek god, also known as Father Time), the Holly King (Celtic god of the dying year), Father Ice/Grandfather Frost (Russian winter god), Thor (Norse sky god who rides the sky in a chariot drawn by goats), Odin/Wotan (Scandinavian/Teutonic All-Father who rides the sky on an eight-legged horse), Frey (Norse fertility god), and the Tomte (a Norse Land Spirit known for giving gifts to children at this time of year). Santa's reindeer can be viewed as forms of Herne, the Celtic Horned God. Decorate your home with Santa images that reflect His Pagan heritage.

Honor the Goddess as Great Mother. Place Pagan Mother Goddess images around your home. You may also want to include one with a Sun child, such as Isis with Horus. Pagan Goddess forms traditionally linked with this time of year include Tonantzin (Native Mexican corn mother), Holda (Teutonic earth goddess of good fortune), Bona Dea (Roman women's goddess of abundance and prophecy), Ops (Roman goddess of plenty), Au Set/Isis (Egyptian/multicultural All Goddess whose worship continued in Christian times under the name Mary), Lucina/St. Lucy (Roman/Swedish goddess/saint of light), and Befana (Italian Witch who gives gifts to children at this season).

Honor the new solar year with light. Do a Solstice Eve ritual in which you meditate in darkness and then welcome the birth of the sun by lighting candles and singing chants and Pagan carols. If you have an indoor fireplace or an outdoor fire circle, burn an oak log as a Yule log and save a bit to start next year's fire. Decorate the inside and/or outside of your home with electric colored lights. Because of the popularity of five pointed stars as holiday symbols, this is a good time to display a pentagram of blue or white lights.

Contribute to the manifestation of more wellness on Planet Earth. Donate food and clothing to poor in your area. Volunteer time at a social service agency. Put up bird feeders and keep them filled throughout the winter to supplement the diets of wild birds. Donate funds and items to non-profit groups, such as Pagan/Wiccan churches and environmental organizations. Meditate for world peace. Work magic for a healthier planet. Make a pledge to do some form of good works in the new solar year.

Yule (Asatru)

Yule is the most important holiday of the year.  Everyone is familiar with the shortness of the deep winter days, but in the Scandinavian countries this is of even greater importance.  At the Yuletide there is almost no sunlight at all, and the climate would have people bound in their homes waiting for the return of Spring.

Yule is a long festival, traditionally held to be 12 days or more. After Yule the days began to get longer, and the festival represented the breaking of the heart of winter and the beginning of the new year. Yule was the holiday of either Thor or Frey, although there is no reason not to honor both Gods in modern practice.  Frey is the God of fertility and farming and was honored at Yule in the hopes that his time would soon return.  Thor was the sworn enemy of the Frost Giants and Jotunn who ruled the winter months, and as such was honored as the God whose actions fought off these creatures and brought back the

spring. Sunna, the Goddess of the Sun, should also be honored at Yule, although she is held at more important during the summer months when she is at her strongest.

The most important symbols of Yule are still with us today.  Most of the supposedly secular customs of Christmas are actually Pagan in origin.  Evergreen trees and holly which remained green throughout the long nights and cold were a promise that spring would once again return to the land.  These symbols may also have been a connection to the nature spirits who have sway over the return of the warm days. The modern conception of Santa Claus as an elf, for whom offerings of milk and cookies are left, is probably a modern continuation of leaving offerings for the Alvar and other nature spirits.  The idea of

children staying up all night in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Santa Claus may be a remnant of people staying awake to mark the long night and remind the sun to return. (In the latter case it’s

considered an adequate substitution to leave a candle going all night to light the way for the returning sun.)

Yule is a week’s long festival, not just a single holiday.  The Yule season begins on the solstice, which is the Mother Night of Yule, and ends with Twelfth Night on January sixth.  As a point of interest, January seventh is St.  Distaff’s day, which Nigel Pennic has suggested may have been a day sacred to Frigg, whose symbol is the distaff.

While one might expect a rather dour theme to a holiday held in the darkness and cold, Yule is a time of feasting and gladness.

In various places different Gods were held to be the most important at Yule.  Thor was honored because it is, he who fights and kills the Jotunn, who surely are the ones responsible for the loss of warmth in the world.  Yule was when Thor broke the back of winter and allowed the warmth to slowly return to the world.  Frey was also honored because it was, he who married Gerd and warmed her heart, returning fertility to the world.

There are simply so many different Yule customs, both ancient and modern, that one has almost limitless possibilities even when staying within Scandinavian and Germanic customs.  In modern practice one might honor Sunna on the Mother Night, then hold a blot a few days later to Thor, a feast for New Year’s day which is shared with the house and land spirits, and then finish on Twelfth Night with a ritual to Frey, whose time is then officially beginning.

13 Ways to Celebrate Yuletide

100 6806Create a Pagan Winter Solstice framework for the entire holidays season - understand that Christmas Eve and Christmas, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day have their origins in Winter Solstice celebrations of a variety of Pagan cultures through the ages.

Decorate your home with sacred plants connected with Winter Solstice: evergreen wreaths & boughs, mistletoe, holly, and ivy. Learn about the Pagan symbolism of each.

Harvest a Yule tree in a sacred way from a tree farm that practices sustainable agriculture, if you can, or intuitively select a tree, cut or symbolic, from a shop in your area. Set up the Yule tree in your home and decorate it with lights, sun symbols, and other images. Reflect on blessings of joy, renewal, and well-wishes as you decorate the tree.

Kindle lights to represent the Sun. Decorate with electric lights and candles. On one of the nights of Solstice, turn off all lights, experience the longest night, reflect on renewal and peace, and turn the lights back on to symbolize the birth of the New Solar Year.

Recognize Santa as a multi-cultural, multi-religious character - learn about the Pagan roots of Santa and other Winter Solstice sacred gift bringers, including the Goddess Holda.

Learn about holidays foods, symbols, customs, and/or lore from an ancestral ethnicity and incorporate something you have learned into your celebration of Yuletide.

Listen to Pagan Yuletide music. Create a Yuletide chant, poem, or song.

Burn a Yule Log in a hearth, in a bonfire, or by burning candles on, in, or near a log of Oak on an altar. Learn about Yule Log traditions and create your own.

Meditate on the rising and/or setting of the Solstice Sun. Note its position on the horizon at this time of year and observe its change in position on the horizon as the days start lengthening again.

Join with others in celebrating Pagan Yuletide. Attend a ritual, be part of a festival, join an on-line discussion, host a party, listen to a Yuletide show on internet radio (I will be doing 3 podcasts this Yule!)

Contribute to a charity of your choice. Spread the joy of Yuletide.

Learn about sacred sites aligned with the Winter Solstice. Envision your own celebrations of Winter Solstice being part of a vast network of Solstice celebrations happening around the planet (Winter in the Northern hemisphere & Summer in the South). Watch live video of Winter Solstice at New Grange or other sacred site with coverage.

Focus on world peace and planetary well-being in your rituals, meditations, prayers, and other workings. Peace-making was part of Winter Solstice among many peoples in the past. Keep this tradition alive in the present and future.

For people of nearly any religious background, the time of the winter solstice is a time when we gather with family and loved ones. For Pagans and Wiccans, it's often celebrated as Yule, but there are literally dozens of ways you can enjoy the season.

Rituals and Ceremonies

Depending on your particular tradition, there are many different ways you can celebrate the Solstice season. The Yule season is full of magic, much of it focusing on rebirth and renewal, as the sun makes its way back to the earth. Focus on this time of new beginnings with your magical workings!

There are so many great ways you can decorate your home for the Yule season. Adapt store-bought Christmas decorations, or make your own Pagan-themed home decor for the season.

Decorate a Yule Log

Yule Ornaments

Yule Smudge Sticks

Winter Nights Incense

Yule Herbal Sachet

Make Your Own Yule Greeting Cards

Hang the decorations on the Holiday Tree

Feasting and Food

Most Pagans will have a potluck at the drop of a pointy hat, so Yule is as good a time as any to plan a big feast. Spread the table out with your favorite holiday dishes, lots and lots of candles, and some of these delicious seasonal recipes.

Meal Blessings

Make a Pot of Wassail

Yule Plum Pudding

Crafting Yule Traditions with Väntljusstaken

(Light-Anticipation-Candlesticks)

Approaching the Winter Solstice/Yule time generally brings modern-day Heathens a variety of minor (in the scheme of the world-events) conundrum of choices. Most have a background in Christianity which is often considered baggage to be eschewed, something to consider as part of who we are, or somewhere in between.

The relationship with that monotheistic religion prior to moving into Heathenry (or other non-Christian practice) can be considered bitter and harmful, or positive in many ways but just not the path for that individual.

Probably one of the most uniformly celebrated holiday around the world is that of “Christmas”. Since the beginning of the Christian advancement and conversion practices, the movement has absorbed local pagan traditions, renamed them with Christian terms, incorporated them into the religious liturgy, and created new traditions to coincide with their new faith. As societies and cultures changed with integration and interaction with others, practices adapted to stimulus of new and different ideas. Over the centuries of practice, and as people were born into the faith, the origins of these practices were forgotten and often lost to the mists of Niflheim.

Thankfully due to archaeology, writings, and the continuance of traditions from generation to generation, we can begin today to recall some of those origins and attempt to reconstruct what our ancestors may have practiced. Given that this includes a lot of geography, a vast amount of time, and really having only the most minuscule clues resulting in a lot of guessing, surmising, and connecting dots that may not belong together, volumes of books are written about the “pagan” origins of Christmas.

About this time among Heathen groups, particularly on social media, discussions arise about how people celebrate during the Yule season and how they do it in a Heathen way. The results vary from people taking examples from certain practices (as noted above) and using them as their foundation for a Heathen Yule tradition to those who unravel the traditions from their heritage and Christianity to find the the pieces with which they can form new or revised Heathen traditions to connect with the Gods, Ancestors, and Nature Vaettir (spirits).

One of those re-purposed traditions is that of the Väntljusstaken (Sunwait Candles) being re-envisioned from the Advent Candles. I discovered this in 2017 from the post of a friend and found a page on Facebook to inspire the growth of this delightful tradition for the entire family.

It takes the premise of lighting a candle for a specific number of days or weeks prior to Christmas eve (usually twelve days) and changes some of the parameters (which are also flexible depending on the individual). The Väntljusstaken/Sunwait Candles practice came from Swedish traditions and adapted for a meaningful experience.

The lighting of the candles begins six weeks prior to the winter solstice on Thursdays. Thursdays were selected because of a Swedish tradition known as Thorshelg.

“The reason for the Thursdays is that, Thursdays have a traditional significance in Scandinavian folk lore. Thursdays have been the day for trolldom (folk magic) and communicating with the gods and nature spirits long into Christian times,” explained one of the Väntljusstaken Facebook page organizers. “There are accounts as late as the 19th century where the Torshelg (Thor’s hallow) was celebrated by inviting Thor and Frigga to the house on Thursday night.”

She continued to expain that other cultures have a specific holy day and but as there isn’t a one day specific to all of Heathendom universally, it makes sense for people to select what works best for them in this “tradition in development.” Some may choose to do the activity on the six Thursdays prior to the Winter Solstice (21 December), some may choose to do it on the day that the solstice falls upon for six weeks prior – with the final candle on 21 December, some may choose to begin six days prior with the final day on the solstice, and some may choose another day that is special to them. “I think everyone should feel free to do as they feel most comfortable. We are creating this together,” she said.

The procedure of the event is to light one candle each week until the solstice, recite a poem, stanza, or meditation, and contemplate on the season. For the Väntljusstaken activity, the first six letters of the Futhark (F U TH A R K) were chosen as a sort of runic “guide.” In preparation of the activity, one can select the six candles, carve or draw a stave on each candle (or as part of a decorated base or candle holder), anoint each candle, or address the energy of the runes with the candle. This would be a great activity for families to include their children in a creative activity that can also include storytelling, learning about runes, and strengthening those family ties at this special time of year.

On the chosen night, light the candle while reciting the Väntljusversen poem (available in Swedish, Dutch, French, and German on the page) or one of your choosing that is meaningful to you/your family. The rest of the ceremony is up to you to create to suit your desires for the winter, Yule, the coming year, etc. One thing that this author does is to contemplate on the energy of the rune of the week. How does that energy/power influence and interact with my life? How can I harness or observe those influences and recognize them?

At the end of the time, extinguish the flame. At the next week, relight the candle prior to starting with the next until all candles are lit at the end of the process. Some choose to allow all of the candles to burn down on the final night, sending the energy and intents of the working into the universe. (A note of caution: do not leave burning candles unattended, accessible to children and pets, or around flammable decorations or items.)

Väntljusversen poem

Fehu – In the first of sunwait we light

The candle of Fehu so bright

Until the return of the queen of skies

May her beauty and splendor in it rise

Uruz – In the second of sunwait we light

The candle of Uruz so bright

With all that has passed and ahead of us lies

May the passing of time in it rise

Thurisaz– In the third of sunwait we light

The candle of Thurisaz so bright

When the force of winter upon us lies

May the return of spring in it rise

Ansuz – In the fourth of sunwait we light

The candle of Ansuz so bright

In worship of gods old and wise

May the powers of Regin in it rise

Raido – In the fifth of sunwait we light

The candle of Raidō so bright

In yearning for that which never dies

May our longing for new life in it rise

Kenaz – In the sixth of sunwait we light

The candle of Kenaz so bright

A light in darkness again shall arise

May the hope of yule in it rise

Imbolc

Imbolc, also known as Candlemas and Groundhog's Day, occurs at the beginning of February. It marks the middle of Winter and holds the promise of Spring. The Goddess manifests as the Maiden and Brigid. The Groundhog is a manifestation of the God. Colors are White, and sometimes Red. It is a festival of spiritual purification and dedication.

Thoroughly clean your altar and/or temple room. Do a self-purification rite with Elemental tools -- cleanse your body with salt (Earth), your thoughts with incense (Air), your will with a candle flame (Fire), your emotions with water (Water), and your spiritual body with a healing crystal (Spirit). Bless candles that you will be using for rituals throughout the year. Invoke Brigid for creative inspiration. Take a Nature walk and look for the first signs of Spring. Reflect upon/reaffirm spiritual vows and commitments you have made.

Festival Dates:

January 31, February 1, February 2, February 6, February 7.

Multicultural Parallels:

Ground Hog's Day (USA); Aztec New Year; Chinese New Year; Roman Lupercalia; Valentine's Day (USA); Armenian Candlemas.

Flames: Sacred Fire

torchlit processions circling fields to purify & invigorate for the coming growing season (old Pagan)

lighting & blessing of candles (11th century, Christian)

sacred fire of Brigid (Celtic Pagan)

torchlit procession to honor Juno Februata/Regina (Pagan Rome; Christianized, 7th century)

Brigid: Celtic Goddess

Triple Aspects:

Goddess of Inspiration - poets, poetry, creativity, prophecy, arts

Goddess of Smith craft - blacksmiths, goldsmiths, household crafts

Goddess of Healing - healers, medicine, spiritual healing, fertility (crops, land, cattle)

Symbols:

Fire - flames, candle crown, hearth

Water - cauldron, springs, wells

Grain - Brigid wheels, corn/oat sheaf Goddess effigy, Brigid's Bed

Creatures - white cow with red ears, wolf, snake, swan and vulture

Talismans - Shining Mirror to Otherworld, Spinning Wheel and Holy Grail

Name variations:

Brighid; Bride (Scotland), Brid, Brigit, Bridget, Briganta (England), Brigan, Brigindo (Gaul), Berecyntia, Brigandu (France)

Name means Bright One, High One, Bright Arrow, Power.

Christianized forms: St. Brigit (Irish), St. Ffraid (Welsh), St. Bridget (Swedish), Queen of Heaven, Prophetess of Christ, Mary.

Pictish Pagan Roots

Bruide, the Pictish royal throne name, is said to derived from the Pagan Goddess Brigid. The Bruide name was given to each Pagan Pictish king who was viewed as the male manifestation of the spirit of the Goddess. The most sacred place of the Picts was Abernethy in Fife. It was dedicated to Brigid, in Pagan times, and to St. Brigid, in Christian times. Columban monks tended a Celtic abbey there and hereditary abbots were of the Earl of Fife branch of the Clan MacDuff, which survived to the present day as Clan Wemyss (Weems).

Irish Transitions and Traditions

When Ireland was Christianized, veneration of the Pagan Goddess Brigid was transformed into that of St. Brigit, said to be the human daughter of a Druid. St. Brigit became a saint after her "death" and was supposedly converted and baptized by St. Patrick. Pagan lore was incorporated into the Christian traditions and legends associated with Her as a saint. For example, as St. Brigit, She had the power to appoint bishops and they had to be goldsmiths. She was associated with miracles and fertility. Into the 18th century a women's only shrine was kept to her in Kildare (meaning Church of the Oak) in Ireland. There, nineteen nuns tended Her continually burning sacred flame. An ancient song was sung to Her: "Brigid, excellent woman, sudden flame, may the bright fiery sun take us to the lasting kingdom." Brigid/St. Brigit was said to be the inventor of whistling and of keening.

Customs

Blessing rushes/straw and making Brigid wheels

Putting out food and drink for Brigid on Her eve (such as buttered bread, milk, grains, seeds)

Chair by hearth decorated by women; young woman carries in first flowers & greens, candle.

Opening the door and welcoming Her into the home. "Bride! Come in, they bed is made! Preserve the House for the Triple Goddess!" Scottish Gaelic Invocation: "May Brigit give blessing to the house that is here; Brigit, the fair and tender, Her hue like the cotton-grass, Rich-tressed maiden of ringlets of gold."

Brigid's Bed (Scotland): Putting grain effigy and a phallic wand in a basket next to the hearth/candles at night and chanting three times: "Brigid is Come! Brigid is Welcome!"

Purification

removing Yuletide greens from home & burning them (Celtic)

cleaning up fields and home (old Roman, Februa "to cleanse" month)

Mary purification festival (Christian, Western church)

burning old Brigid's wheels and making new ones (some parts of Ireland)

placing Brigid's wheel above/on door to bless home (Celtic, Wiccan)

Signs of Spring: Ground Hog's Day

seeds as a symbol of new life to come

first greens and flowers as offerings

weather - bright or grey

hibernating animals - groundhog, bear, badger

If Candlemas day be sunny and bright, Winter again will show its might.

If Candlemas day be cloudy and grey, Winter soon will pass away. (Fox version)

If Candlemas day be fair and bright, Winter will have another flight.

If Candlemas day be shower and rain, Winter is gone and will not come again. (Traditional)

Spiritual Awakening: Spirit Within

initiations - self, group (Dianic & Faery Wiccan); Christ child in temple (Christian, Eastern church)

dedication - shrines, temples (contemporary Pagan)

self-blessing and spiritual dedication

inner journey for Divine inspiration

affirming the artist/innovator within; energizing creative work.

19 Ways to Celebrate

Sacred Flames of Brigid Light, Making Magic on Brigid’s Night!

Alter: Create a Brigid Altar with candles and one or more depictions and symbols of Brigid

Cross: Create a Brigid’s Cross. Place it above or near the front door to bless your home.

Learn: read about Brigid Lore, Symbols, Powers, and Aspects.

Create: call on Brigid as Goddess of Inspiration as you journal, sing, dance, write a poem, tell a story and/or engage in other creative endeavors.

Fire: connect with Brigid as Goddess of Sun and Fire as you light a candle in a cauldron, kindle a fire in a hearth, or build and ignite a bonfire & gaze in the flames.

Land: call on Brigid as Goddess of the Land as you do ritual outside & attune to Spirit of Place.

Chant: sing Brigid’s name, chant Brigid chants.

Heal: call on Brigid as the Goddess of Healing in a ritual for healing self, others, and the planet

Mantle: place a strip of white linen or cotton cloth outside and call on Brigid to bless it. Bring it inside the following morning.

Feast: hold an Imbolc dinner to honor Brigid.

Water: place water in a cauldron, call on Brigid as Goddess of the Sacred Waters to bless it.  Scry in it. Anoint yourself and others for renewal.

Oak: call on Brigid of the Sacred Oaks as you meditate with an Oak tree or on Oak tree imagery and connect with strength, power, and endurance.

Journey: call on Brigid as Goddess of the Sacred Swan and have Her guide you in this form on a trance journey.

WELL: Visit a Brigid holy well in person or imagination. Place ribbons and strips of cloths there as healing prayer offerings.

Fertility: Craft a Brigid’s Bed or other charm for fertility and gift it to someone in need.

Stories: Hold a Storytelling Circle in person or online and share stories about Brigid and Brigid experiences.

Welcome: Open the front door to your home as you call to Brigid and welcome Her to be with you.

Blessings: Wish others Bright Brigid Blessings by voice and by written words!

Ostara

Spring Equinox, also known as Ostara, occurs in the middle of March. It marks the beginning of Spring and the time when days and nights are of equal length. The Goddess manifests as Ostara or Eostre with her basket of eggs. She is accompanied by the Hare or Rabbit, a manifestation of the God. Green has been sacred to this Sabbat since ancient times, because it represents the greening of the land with vegetation. This is a festival of new growth.

Prepare egg dishes and share them with friends. Organize egg games, such as egg hunts. Decorate your home with spring flowers and sprouting greens. Wear green clothing as an affirmation of new growth within yourself and Nature. Bless any seeds you plan to plant in your garden. Begin a new project. Make a growth charm out of a hard-boiled egg -- decorate it with symbols, write on it the quality you would like to manifest more fully within yourself, energize it, and then eat it.

Summer Finding (Asatru)

Summer Finding is also known to many groups as Ostara, the holiday sacred to the Goddess for whom the modern Easter is named.  She is a fertility Goddess and her symbols are the hare and the egg.  She was an important Goddess of spring to the ancient Saxons, but we know little else of her other than this.  Some have suggested that Ostara is merely an alternate name for Frigg or Freya, but neither of these Goddesses seem to have quite the same fertility function as Ostara does.  Frigg seems too high class to be associated with such an earthy festival and Freya’s form of fertility is more based on eroticism than

reproduction.

The obvious folk tradition at this time of year involves eggs.  These were colored as they are today, but then they were buried, or more appropriately, planted in the earth.  Some have suggested that the act was purely magical, the fertility of the eggs would then be transferred from the animal realm to the plant realm and would increase the prosperity of the harvest.  It’s also possible that they were left as an offering to the alvar and the spirits of the plants.

In any case a blot should be prepared to the Goddess of Spring, however one wishes to honor her, and also to the spirits of the land.

Spring Rituals

Signs of Spring - take a Nature walk with your attention focused on changes in the land, climate, creatures, plants. Reflect on yourself renewing as other parts of Nature you encounter are doing this.

Spring Cleaning - in & around home. Sweeping, scrubbing, smudging, burning, re-organizing, more.

Airing out the Home - opening windows and letting new air flow through and circulate.

Spring Home Blessings - consecrate with Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Spirit; bless threshold.

Home Altar Renewal - take off all objects, clean altar and area around it, assess what to keep & what to change, re-set, add Spring decorations.

Spring Decorations - place Spring symbols such as wreath and/or budding branches on or near front door, place symbolic and/or actual flowers, other symbols around home.

Egg Traditions - coloring, exchanges, hunts, games, decorations, foods, divinations

New Growth Choices Egg Rolling Divination - decorate a hardboiled egg with symbols of possible actions to bring about new growth; with intention, roll the egg to discover which to work with first.

Spring Tonic - infuse herbs in hot water to create a tea, drink it with intention of rejuvenation; use newly sprouted greens when available.

New Garb - purchase and/or create something new to wear - clothing, hat, shoes, necklace, or other item; wearing it as symbolic of new life spring forth.

Seeds Blessings - selecting seeds to be planted, blessing seeds, starting seeds.

Garden Blessings - clearing away debris, burying egg or other charm for abundance, envisioning abundant growth of plants in the garden.

Spring Meditations - working with one or more Spring images: Ostara, Green Gods/Goddesses, Flora, Maia, Demeter & Kore, Dionysus, Jack-in-Green, Balance of Day & Night, Flowers, Eggs, Baskets, Maypole, Greening/budding branches, Butterflies, Sunshine, others.

Festival Rites - Spring Equinox, Earth Day, Beltane; bonfires, greeting dawn, dance, processions, song.

Beltane

Beltane Lore & Rites

known as May Eve, May Day, and Walpurgis Night, happens at the beginning of May. It celebrates the height of Spring and the flowering of life. The Goddess manifests as the May Queen and Flora. The God emerges as the May King and Jack in the Green. The danced Maypole represents Their unity, with the pole itself being the God and the ribbons that encompass it, the Goddess. Colors are the Rainbow spectrum. Beltane is a festival of flowers, fertility, sensuality, and delight.

Beltane Customs

Prepare a May basket by filling it with flowers and goodwill and then give it to someone in need of healing and caring, such as a shut-in or elderly friend. Form a wreath of freshly picked flowers, wear it in your hair, and feel yourself radiating joy and beauty. Dress in bright colors. Dance the Maypole and feel yourself balancing the Divine Female and Male within. On May Eve, bless your garden in the old way by making love with your lover in it. Make a wish as you jump a bonfire or candle flame for good luck. Welcome in the May at dawn with singing and dancing.

Going A-Maying & Bringing in the May -- Merry-making and Nature communion. * Midpoint between Spring Equinox and Summer Solstice. * In Pagan Rome, Floralia, from April 27-May 3 was the festival of the Flower Goddess Flora and the flowering of Springtime. On May 1, offerings were made to Bona Dea (as Mother Earth), the Lares (household guardian spirits), and Maia (Goddess of Increase) from whom May gets its name. * Roman Catholic traditions of crowning statues of Mary with flowers on May 1 have Roman Pagan roots. * Marks the second half of the Celtic Year; one of the four Celtic Fire Festivals. Complement to Samhain, it is a time of divination and communion with Fairy Folk/Nature Spirits. * Pastoral tradition of turning sheep, cows, other livestock out to pasture. * In Pagan Scandinavia, mock battles between Winter and Summer were enacted at this time. * Building on older tradition of this time being a holiday for the masses, in the twentieth century, May Day has been a workers' holiday in many places. * Some say that Mother's Day, in the USA, Mexico, and elsewhere has Pagan roots. Forms include pole, tree, bush, cross; communal or household; permanent or annual. * In Germany, Fir tree was cut on May Eve by young unmarried men, branches removed, decorated, put up in village square, & guarded all night until dance occurred on May Day. * In England, permanent Maypoles were erected on village greens * In some villages, there also were smaller Maypoles in the yards of households. * Maypole ribbon dances, with two circles interweaving; around decorated bush/tree, clockwise circle dances.

Flowers & Greenwood

Gathering and exchange of Flowers and Greens on May Eve, pre-dawn May Day, Beltane. * Decorating homes, barns, and other buildings with Green budding branches, including Hawthorn. * Making and wearing of garland wreaths of Flowers and/or Greens. * May Baskets were given or placed secretly on doorsteps to friends, shut-ins, lovers, others. * May Bowl was punch (wine or non-alcoholic) made of Sweet Woodruff blossoms. Traditionally, sacred woods kindled by spark from flint or by friction -- in Irish Gaelic, the Beltane Fire has been called teine eigin (fire from rubbing sticks). * Jump over the Beltane Fire, move through it, or dance clockwise around it. * Livestock was driven through it or between two fires for purification and fertility blessings. * In ancient times Druid priests kindled it at sacred places; later times, Christian priests kindled it in fields near the church after performing a Christian church service. * Rowan twigs were carried around the fire three times, then hung over hearths to bless homes. * In the past, Beltane community fire purification customs included symbolic sacrifice of effigy knobs on the Beltane Cake (of barley) to the fire, or, in medieval times, mock sacrifice of Beltane Carline (Hag) who received blackened piece of Beltane Cake; Maypoles in Spain were each topped with a male effigy which was later burned. Contemporary Pagans burn sacred wood and dried herbs as offerings in their Beltane fires.

May Waters

Rolling in May Eve dew or washing face in pre-dawn May Day dew for health, luck, beauty. * Getting head and hair wet in Beltane rain to bless the head. * Blessing springs, ponds, other sacred waters with flowers, garlands, ribbons, other offerings. * Collecting sacred waters and scrying in sacred springs, wells, ponds, other waters.

Sacred Union & Fertility

Union with the Land focus, often with actual mating outside on the Land to bless fields, herds, home. * May Queen (May Bride) as personification of the Earth Goddess and Goddesses of Fertility. * May King (May Groom) as personification of Vegetation God, Jack-in-Green -- often covered in green leaves. * At Circle Sanctuary, in addition to May Queen & May King, is May Spirit Couple, an already bonded pair. * Symbolic Union of Goddess and God in election/selection, crowning, processional, Maypole dance, feast. * Morris Dancers and pageants (with Hag & Jack-in-Green) to awaken the fertility in the Land.

Litha

Summer Solstice

Summer Solstice, sometimes known as Midsummer, Litha, or St. John's Day, occurs in the middle of June. It is a celebration of the longest day of the year and the beginning of Summer. It has been a grand tribal gathering time since ancient times. The Goddess manifests as Mother Earth and the God as the Sun King. Colors are Yellow, Green, and Blue. It is a festival of community sharing and planetary service.

Celebrate Solstice time with other Pagans -- take part in the Pagan Spirit Gathering or some other Pagan festival happening during June. Keep a Sacred Fire burning throughout the gathering. Stay up all night on Solstice Eve and welcome the rising Sun at dawn. Make a pledge to Mother Earth of something that you will do to improve the environment and then begin carrying it out. Have a magical gift exchange with friends. Burn your Yule wreath in a Summer Solstice bonfire. Exchange songs, chants, and stories with others in person or through the mail. Do ecstatic dancing to drums around a blazing bonfire.

Midsummer Day (Asatru)

The summer solstice was second only to Yule in importance to the ancient Northmen.  Some groups mark this day as sacred to Balder, but we disagree with this.  While Balder can be seen as a dying and

resurrected Sun God, in the mythology we are most familiar with, he does not return to life until Ragnarök and it seems like. bad karma. to symbolically kill the sun when you know he doesn.t come back until the end of the world.  Instead, we mark this day as sacred to the Goddess Sunna, who is literally the sun.

One idea for midsummer is to remain awake all night and mark the shortest night of the year, then at sunrise to perform a. Greeting of Sunna. and a blot to her.

Another midsummer custom is the rolling of a flaming wagon wheel down a hill to mark the turning of the wheel of the year.  If fire would otherwise be a hazard, one could parade a wheel covered with candles for similar effect.  It is also a time for general merriment and in the Scandinavian countries many of what we know as the traditional May Day rituals such as May Poles and Morris Dances were instead

celebrated at Midsummer.

Solstice Fires of the Pagan Spirit Gathering

DSC 3266Sacred Fires and Sacred Flames have been an integral part of the Pagan Spirit Gathering since it began in 1980.  The Pagan Spirit Gathering, also known as PSG, is one of America’s oldest and largest celebrations of Summer Solstice and Nature Spirituality.  The Fires of PSG symbolize Sun, Summer, Community, Culture, and Celebration.  They are sources of illumination and inspiration that are an integral part of celebrating Summer Solstice and creating Community.

A variety of traditions involving sacred work with Fire have developed over the years at PSG.  Some of these traditions are forms of ancient Pagan practices, while others are more recent in origin.

Community Sacred Fire

A Community Summer Solstice Fire has been part of each PSG since it began in 1980.  Called the Sacred Fire, it represents the Spirit of the PSG Community and its celebration of the Sun at Summer Solstice time.  As was done by Celtic, Germanic, Scandinavian, Baltic, Roman, Greek, and other old European Pagan peoples, we use Oak wood as a fuel for our Sacred Fire.  Before the Sacred Fire is lit, we add ashes and charred wood from the previous year’s Community Sacred Fire.  This kindling a new fire from remnants of a previous one is an ancient Pagan practice representing continuity with the past in the on-going spiral journey of life.  

In creating each year’s Sacred Fire, we also include dried stalks of Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris), a ritual herb long associated with Summer Solstice celebrations.  The Mugwort we use is from the Mugwort Circle, a tall hedge and ritual circle around our Maypole at Circle Sanctuary Nature Preserve in Wisconsin.  We harvest the Mugwort in a special ceremony at Lughnassad time during our Green Spirit Festival in early August.

On the evening of the opening day of the Pagan Spirit Gathering, we light the PSG Community’s Sacred Fire during our Opening Ritual.  The Fire is located in the center of our main Community ritual circle area.

Each year, one of the elders in our Community serves as the PSG Firekeeper.  The Firekeeper, assisted by a small crew of other Community members, ritually kindles the Fire as the rest of the Community chants and our Community drummers make rhythms.  After the Sacred Fire ignites and grows in intensity, my husband, Dennis, and I walk clockwise around the Fire and carry a large wreath of evergreen boughs used to celebrate Yule six months before at our Winter Solstice celebrations in Wisconsin. We cast this wreath into the Fire to signify the turning of the Wheel of the Year.  As the wreath blazes and burns, gathering participants cheer and welcome in the Summer.

Then, PSG coordinators of various aspects of gathering Community life come into the center of the ritual circle and encircle the Sacred Fire.  As they cast in handfuls of dried sacred herbs, they speak blessings upon the gathering and the Community.

Throughout the entire week of the gathering and through all types of weather conditions, the PSG Firekeeper and crew, assisted by other Community members, continue to watch over the Sacred Fire to make sure that it continues to burn day and night.  In instances of heavy rains, the Firekeeper and crew usually place a portable free-standing canopy over the Fire or use other methods to protect the Fire and keep it burning.

A variety of individual, small group, and large community rituals, meetings, workshops, meditations, and other activities take place around the Community Sacred Fire during the gathering.  Community members often feed the Fire dried flowers, sweet smelling herbs, paper talismans, and other spiritual offerings.  No trash is burned in the Sacred Fire.  The Sacred Fire is respected as a spiritual presence embodying the Community Spirit as well as a sacred area.

Each day’s morning meeting is held in the ritual circle around the Sacred Fire.  Community members gather to share news, announcements, discussion, music, drumming, and meditation.  

Some PSG Community members do personal healing work at the Sacred Fire at times other than large Community events there.  Some scry into the Fire and do other types of Fire divination for personal spiritual guidance.  Some Community members keep vigil at the Sacred Fire throughout the night and then ritually greet the rising Solstice-time Sun at dawn.

In late morning of the final day of our week-long gathering, the Community Sacred Fire is thanked, honored, bid farewell, and then extinguished as part of the Closing Ritual. Following this ritual, after the remains of the Sacred Fire have cooled, the PSG Firekeeper collects some ashes and chunks of charred wood for use in starting next year’s Sacred Fire.

Other PSG Community members have the option of taking bits of the Sacred Fire’s remains home with them to bless their home fires and remind them of their connection with the Pagan Spirit Gathering Community and the larger global Pagan culture of which we all are part.

Another ancient Solstice Fire practice which has been part of each PSG over the years is that of celebratory dancing and drumming around blazing bonfires.  In addition to happening as part of rituals around the Community Sacred Fire in the main ritual circle, this also occurs at other places within the gathering site.

The Community Bonfire Circle space has been developed in a wooded area of the gathering site as a place dedicated to drumming and dancing.  The Bonfire is initially kindled from the Community Sacred Fire following the conclusion of the Opening Ritual in the main ritual circle. One of the major PSG rituals, the Tribal Dance and Drum Ritual is held there on the second night of the gathering.  

During the daytime, a variety of drumming workshops are held at the Bonfire Circle.  Each evening, ecstatic dancing and drumming happens throughout the night.  Drummers and dancers interact with each other and the Bonfire in the center of the circle. Various drummers and dancers take turns establishing rhythms, which vary in pace, style, and intensity.

In addition to rhythm making with drums, often there are the additional sounds of tambourines, rattles, zills, flutes, bells, and other instruments.  Sometimes there also is chant-singing.  A variety of dancing styles may occur during an evening, such as trance dancing, ribbon dancing, and circle dancing.  As with the Community Sacred Fire, herbs, wood, and other spiritual materials may be added to the Bonfire as part of dancing and drumming experiences.

Next to the Bonfire Circle is the Fire-Spinning Area.  Fire-Spinning instruction and performances take place there.  By special arrangement, some Fire-Spinning also is incorporated in large Community rituals and other events.

Sweat lodge Fire

Another special area of deep spiritual practice is the Sweat lodge.  This sacred place is an area where sacred sweat traditions of the Americas and, occasionally, old Europe are practiced.

The Sweat lodge has its own Sacred Fire.  This Fire is used to warm the stones that provide the transforming sacred heat during Sweat lodge rites.  The PSG Community Sweat lodge coordinator, trained in traditional ways by a Native American elder, watches over the PSG Sweat lodge area and activities, to make certain that spiritual and safety protocols are abided by.  The Sweat lodge Coordinator also interfaces with the elders and teachers of different sacred sweat traditions who conduct Sweat lodge rites.    

Prior to each Sweat lodge rite, the ritual leader and participants gather around the Sweat lodge Fire and prepare for the ceremony.  During each ceremony, the Sweat lodge Firekeeper tends the Fire, serves as a guardian of the area, and attends to the needs of participants.  Following a ceremony, participants often spend additional time around the Fire as they reflect on and integrate their experiences of healing and transformation.

Other Sacred Fires

Other ritual fires sometimes are kindled in workshop areas and gathering centers as part of various small and large rituals, such as child blessings, handfastings, coming of age ceremonies, other life passages rites, guided journeys, and consecration rites. Also, each year, at least one potter facilitates a clay sculpture workshop in which participants create sacred images, ritual bowls, pentacles, and other altar pieces.  After the clay pieces have dried, they are pit fired in a ceremonial Fire created for that purpose.

The campfire in Amethyst Circle, the alcohol-free camping area for Pagans in recovery, serves as a focal point for meetings and socials as well as ceremonies there.  There are social campfires in other encampments such as the Rainbow Center and Camp, for GLBTQ Pagans, and the Guardians Camp which coordinates First Aid and Safety.

Candlelight Procession

One of the oldest and most spectacular of the Solstice Fire traditions at each year’s PSG is the candlelight procession to the Opening Ritual.  As twilight approaches, PSG community members dress for ritual and each lights a candle in a lantern or jar to carry with them.  With these lights, they join the community procession as it weaves its way through camp toward the main ritual circle.  Like a great ribbon of flickering flames, the procession spirals around and around within the great circle.

Hundreds of lights gleam and glimmer in the darkness.  Our lights represent both our individuality as well as our unity.  Our procession with these sacred flames spiritually connects us with each other, with the Spirit of the PSG Community through its history, and with the many others who have used sacred processions with flames through the ages as part of their religious and cultural practices.

A long-time favorite PSG Solstice Fires tradition occurs at the end of the opening ritual, when each participant simultaneously lights a sparkler from her or his candle flame. Participants then wave their glowing sparkler wands overhead as they make wishes and blessings for the gathering.

Another way we celebrate Summer Solstice at each year’s Pagan Spirit Gathering is with a Candlelight Labyrinth Ritual.  One thousand votive candles, each set-in sand in translucent cups, are arranged in an ancient labyrinth pattern within the main ritual circle.  

Known as the Seven Circuit Labyrinth, the pattern we use is more than 5000 years old and dates back to Pagan Crete.  At twilight, the Candle Labyrinth Ritual facilitators and helpers light each of the candles and do a special blessing of the Labyrinth.

Over the course of the night, from dusk to dawn, hundreds of PSG community members silently and meditatively enter and walk the Candlelight Labyrinth as a ritual of spiritual transformation.  After walking the Labyrinth to its center, which is next to the Sacred Fire, most pause and meditate for a time before walking the Labyrinth back to its gateway. Experiences with the Labyrinth vary. For some, it is calming, while for others it is energizing.  For most, it is a renewal ritual that deepens spiritual understanding.

Torchlights & Campfires

As twilight approaches each day of PSG, flames are kindled to illuminate roadways, centers, and campsites throughout the gathering site.  The PSG Community Torch lighting coordinator and crew make their way along main roads and side paths and light the many tiki torches that they have filled with kerosene, citronella oil, or other fuels earlier in the day.  They also light torches at the community altar, stage, and centers.

Throughout the years, there has been a growing number of tiki torches appearing at individual campsites as well, and these are lit by campsite members as part of their welcoming the night ritual process.

In addition, or as alternatives, to tiki torches, some individuals and groups kindle votive candles, oil lamps, and candle lanterns to illuminate their campsites, and in recent years, some solar-powered torches also have been used by some participants. Many Community members have sacred flames on campsite altars and shrines.  Merchants who keep evening hours often light their booths as well as their campsites with flamelights.  Most campsites with Fire rings also have campfires.  In addition to their use for cooking food and warming beverages, these campsite fires serve as focal points for small group evening activities, including discussions, storytelling, singing, and merry making. Some of these campfires also are used for household or small group private rituals.

The widespread use of many types of Fire, including torches, lamps, candles, and campfires throughout the gathering site each evening creates an enchanting ambiance which is timeless, bringing forth ancestral memories of living in community during times when live flames were the customary means of nighttime illumination. The flickering of flames and the various Sacred Fires in rituals, in community areas, along paths, and throughout the gathering tribal village is a visible reminder of our connection with each other, with ancient ways, and the Summer Solstice.

Lughnassad

These are the dog days of summer, the gardens are full of goodies, the fields are full of grain, and the harvest is approaching. Take a moment to relax in the heat and reflect on the upcoming abundance of the fall months. At Lammas, sometimes called Lughnasadh, it's time to begin reaping what we have sown throughout the past few months and recognize that the bright summer days will soon come to an end.

Rituals and Ceremonies

Depending on your individual spiritual path, there are many different ways you can celebrate Lammas, but typically the focus is on either the early harvest aspect or the celebration of the Celtic god Lugh. It's the season when the first grains are ready to be harvested and threshed, when the apples and grapes are ripe for the plucking, and we're grateful for the food we have on our tables.

Here are a few rituals you may want to think about trying -- and remember, any of them can be adapted for either a solitary practitioner or a small group, with just a little planning ahead.

Lammas Harvest Ritual: This ritual celebrates the beginning of the harvest season and the cycle of rebirth and can be done by a solitary practitioner or adapted for a group or coven setting.

Honor Lugh of the Many Skills: Take the opportunity this day to celebrate your own skills and abilities, and make an offering to Lugh to honor him, the god of craftsmanship.

Lammas Prayers: Use these simple seasonal prayers to celebrate Lammas, the early grain harvest.

Decorating Your Altar: Set up your altar for Lammas/Lughnasadh, using colors and symbols of the season.

Lammas Magic

Lammas is a time of excitement and magic. The natural world is thriving around us, and yet the knowledge that everything will soon die looms in the background. This is a good time to work some magic around the hearth and home.

Ash Tree Magic and Folklore: Because of its close association not only with the Divine but with knowledge, Ash can be worked with for any number of spells, rituals, and other workings.

Bread Magic: Let’s look at some of the magical folklore surrounding bread in different cultures and societies.

The Magic of Corn: Corn has been planted, tended, harvested and consumed for millennia, and so it’s no wonder that there are myths about the magical properties of this grain.

Protection Magic: In many magical traditions, workings can be done to ensure protection of home, property, and people. There are a number of simple ways you can do protection workings.

Sunflower Magic: Let’s look at some of the superstitions and customs about sunflowers from various cultures and societies.

Honey Magic and Folklore: Honey has a number of magical properties - let's explore some of the ways you can use it!

Lammas Customs and Traditions

The early harvest and the threshing of grain has been celebrated for thousands of years. Here are just a few of the customs and legends surrounding the Lammas season.

Lammas (Lughnasadh) History: This holiday can be celebrated either as a way to honor the god Lugh, or as a celebration of the harvest.

Legends and Lore of Lammas (Lughnasadh): Here are a few of the stories about this magical harvest celebration from around the world.

Lugh, Master of Skills: Lugh is the Celtic craftsman god associated with this time of year.

Deities of the Fields: In addition to Lugh, there are many other deities connected to the early grain harvest.

The Legend of John Barleycorn: In English folklore, John Barleycorn is a character who represents the crop of barley harvested each autumn.

The Vulcanalia, August 23: Because Vulcan was associated with the destructive powers of fire, his celebration fell each year during the heat of the summer months.

Crafts and Creations

As summer winds to a close and autumn approaches, make crafts and decorations for your home that celebrate the outdoors and the gifts of nature. Before you get started, though, read up on these Five Quick Decorating Ideas for Lammas!

Feasting and Food

Nothing says "Pagan celebration" like a potluck! Lammas, or Lughnasadh, is the time of year when the gardens are in full bloom. From root vegetables to fresh herbs, so much of what you need is right there in your own back yard or at the local farmer's market. Let's take advantage of the gifts of the garden, and cook up a feast to celebrate the first harvest at Lammas

Mabon

It is the time of the autumn equinox, and the harvest is winding down. The fields are nearly empty because the crops have been plucked and stored for the coming winter. Mabon is the mid-harvest festival, and it is when we take a few moments to honor the changing seasons and celebrate the second harvest. On or around September 21 (or March 21, if you're in the Southern Hemisphere), for many Pagan and Wiccan traditions it is a time of giving thanks for the things we have, whether it is abundant crops or other blessings. It's a time of plenty, of gratitude, and of sharing our abundance with those less fortunate.

Winter Finding (Asatru)

I have not come across a great deal of traditional lore about the Autumn Equinox which we know as Winter Finding.  It seems to have been overshadowed to some extent by the Winter Nights which we celebrate at the equinox rather than at the more traditional time of mid-November. If one wishes not to do this, the Winter Finding would be a festival of harvest. One should hold a Blot to whichever Gods of fertility seem most appropriate and then hold a large feast, concentrating on vegetables that are currently in season.

Rituals and Ceremonies

Depending on your individual spiritual path, there are many different ways you can celebrate Mabon, but typically the focus is on either the second harvest aspect or the balance between light and dark. This, after all, is the time when there is an equal amount of day and night. While we celebrate the gifts of the earth, we also accept that the soil is dying. We have food to eat, but the crops are brown and going dormant. Warmth is behind us, cold lies ahead. Here are a few rituals you may want to think about trying. Remember, any of them can be adapted for either a solitary practitioner or a small group, with just a little planning ahead.

Setting Up Your Mabon Altar: Celebrate the Mabon Sabbat by decorating your altar with the colors and symbols of the late harvest season.

Create a Mabon Food Altar: Mabon is a celebration of the second harvest season. It's a time when we're gathering the bounty of the fields, the orchards, and the gardens, and bringing it in for storage.

Ten Ways to Celebrate the Autumn Equinox: This is a time of balance and reflection, following the theme of equal hours light and dark. Here are some ways you and your family can celebrate this day of bounty and abundance.

Honor the Dark Mother at Mabon: This ritual welcomes the archetype of the Dark Mother and celebrates that aspect of the Goddess which we may not always find comforting or appealing, but which we must always be willing to acknowledge.

Mabon Apple Harvest Rite: This apple ritual will allow you time to thank the gods for their bounty and blessings, and to enjoy the magic of the earth before the winds of winter blow through.

Hearth & Home Protection Ritual: This ritual is a simple one designed to place a barrier of harmony and security around your property.

Hold a Gratitude Ritual: You might want to consider doing a short gratitude ritual as a way of expressing thankfulness at Mabon.

Autumn Full Moon -- Group Ceremony: This rite is written for a group of four people or more to celebrate the full moon phases of the fall.

Mabon Balance Meditation: If you're feeling a bit spiritually lopsided, with this simple meditation you can restore a little balance into your life.

Traditions and Trends

Interested in learning about some of the traditions behind the celebrations of September? Find out why Mabon is important, learn the legend of Persephone and Demeter, and explore the magic of apples and more! Also, don't forget to read up on ideas for celebrating with your family, how Mabon is celebrated around the world and the reason why you'll see so many Pagans at your favorite Renaissance Festival.

Mabon History: The idea of a harvest festival is nothing new. Let's look at some of the histories behind the seasonal celebrations.

Origins of the Word "Mabon": There is a lot of spirited conversation in the Pagan community as to where the word "Mabon" originates. While some of us would like to think that it's an old and ancient name for the celebration, there's no evidence to indicate that it's anything other than modern.

Celebrating Mabon with Kids: If you’ve got kids at home, try celebrating Mabon with some of these family-friendly and kid-appropriate ideas.

Mabon Celebrations Around the World: Let's look at some of the ways that this second harvest holiday has been honored around the world for centuries.

Pagans and Renaissance Festivals: While the Renaissance Festival, whichever one you may be attending, isn’t inherently Pagan itself, it’s definitely a Pagan-magnet. Why is this?

Michaelmas: Although it's not a Pagan holiday in the true sense, Michaelmas celebrations often included older aspects of Pagan harvest customs, such as the weaving of corn dolls from the last sheaves of grain.

The Gods of the Vine: Mabon is a popular time to celebrate winemaking and deities connected to the growth of the vine.

Gods and Goddesses of the Hunt: In some of today’s Pagan belief systems, hunting is considered off-limits, but for many others, deities of the hunt are still honored by modern Pagans.

Symbolism of the Stag: In some Pagan traditions, the deer is highly symbolic, and takes on many aspects of the God during the harvest season.

Acorns and the Mighty Oak: In many cultures, the oak is sacred, and is often connected to legends of deities who interact with mortals.

Pomona, Goddess of Apples: Pomona was a Roman goddess who was the keeper of orchards and fruit trees.

Scarecrows: Although they haven't always looked the way they do now, scarecrows have been around a long time and have been used in a number of different cultures.

Mabon Magic

Mabon is a time rich in magic, all connected to the changing seasons of the earth. Why not take advantage of nature's bounty, and work a little magic of your own? Use apples and grapevines to bring magic into your life at this time of year.

Mabon Prayers: Try one of these simple, practical Mabon prayers to mark the autumn equinox in your celebrations.

Apple Magic: Because of its associations with the harvest, the apple is perfect for Mabon magic.

Grapevine Magic: Here are some simple ways you can incorporate the bounty of the grapevine into your fall harvest celebrations.

The Magic of the Kitchen Witch: There's a growing movement within modern Paganism known as kitchen witchery. The kitchen is, after all, the heart and hearth of many modern households.

Raise Energy with a Drum Circle: Drum circles are a lot of fun, and if you've ever attended a public Pagan or Wiccan event, chances are good that somewhere, someone is drumming. Here's how to host one!

Crafts and Creations

As the autumnal equinox approaches, decorate your home (and keep your kids entertained) with a number of easy craft projects. Start celebrating a bit early with these fun and simple ideas. Bring the season indoors with harvest potpourri and magical pokeberry ink or celebrate the season of abundance with prosperity candles and cleansing wash!

Mabon Feasting and Food

No Pagan celebration is really complete without a meal to go along with it. For Mabon, celebrate with foods that honor the hearth and harvest—breads and grains, autumn veggies like squash and onions, fruits, and wine. It's a great time of year to take advantage of the bounty of the season

Ten Ways to Celebrate Mabon

Mabon is the time of the autumn equinox, and the harvest is winding down. The fields are nearly bare, because the crops have been stored for the coming winter. Mabon is a time when we take a few moments to honor the changing seasons and celebrate the second harvest. On or around September 21 (or June 21 in the Southern Hemisphere), for many people who follow Pagan and Wiccan traditions, it is a time of giving thanks for the things we have, whether it is abundant crops or other blessings. It is also a time of balance and reflection, following the theme of equal hours light and dark. Here are some ways you and your family can celebrate this day of bounty and abundance.

Find Some Balance

Mabon is a time of balance, when there are equal hours of darkness and light, and that can affect people in different ways. For some, it's a season to honor the darker aspects of the goddess, calling upon that which is devoid of light. For others, it's a time of thankfulness, of gratitude for the abundance we have at the season of harvest. Because this is, for many people, a time of high energy, there is sometimes a feeling of restlessness in the air, a sense that something is just a bit "off." If you're feeling a bit spiritually lopsided, with this simple meditation you can restore a little balance into your life. You can also try a ritual to bring balance and harmony to your home.

Hold a Food Drive

Many Pagans and Wiccans count Mabon as a time of thanks and blessings and because of that, it seems like a good time to give to those less fortunate than ourselves. If you find yourself blessed with abundance at Mabon, why not give to those who aren't? Invite friends over for a feast, but ask each of them to bring a canned food, dry goods, or other non-perishable items? Donate the collected bounty to a local food bank or homeless shelter.

Pick Some Apples

Apples are the perfect symbol of the Mabon season. Long connected to wisdom and magic, there are so many wonderful things you can do with an apple. Find an orchard near you and spend a day with your family. As you pick the apples, give thanks to Pomona, goddess of fruit trees. Be sure to only pick what you're going to use. If you can, gather plenty to take home and preserve for the coming winter months.

Count Your Blessings

Mabon is a time of giving thanks, but sometimes we take our fortune for granted. Sit down and make a gratitude list. Write down things that you are thankful for. An attitude of gratefulness helps bring more abundance our way. What are things you're glad you have in your life? Maybe it's the small things, like "I'm happy that I have my cat Peaches" or "I'm glad my car is running." Maybe it's something bigger, like "I'm thankful I have a warm home and food to eat" or "I'm thankful people love me even when I'm cranky." Keep your list some place you can see it and add to it when the mood strikes you.

Honor the Darkness

Without darkness, there is no light. Without night, there can be no day. Despite a basic human need to overlook the dark, there are many positive aspects to embracing the dark side, if it's just for a short time. After all, it was Demeter's love for her daughter Persephone that led her to wander the world, mourning for six months at a time, bringing us the death of the soil each fall. In some paths, Mabon is the time of year that celebrates the Crone aspect of a triune goddess. Celebrate a ritual that honors that aspect of the Goddess which we may not always find comforting or appealing, but which we must always be willing to acknowledge. Call upon the gods and goddesses of the dark night and ask for their blessings this time of year.

Get Back to Nature

Fall is here, and that means the weather is bearable once more. The nights are becoming crisp and cool, and there's a chill in the air. Take your family on a nature walk and enjoy the changing sights and sounds of the outdoors. Listen for geese honking in the sky above you, check the trees for changing in the colors of the leaves, and watch the ground for dropped items like acorns, nuts, and seed pods. If you live in an area that doesn't have any restrictions on removing natural items from park property, take a small bag with you and fill it up with the things you discover along the way. Bring your goodies home for your family's altar. If you are prohibited from removing natural items, fill your bag with trash and clean up the outdoors!

Tell Timeless Stories

In many cultures, fall was a time of celebration and gathering. It was the season in which friends and relatives would come from far and near to get together before the cold winter kept them apart for months at a time. Part of this custom was storytelling. Learn the harvest tales of your ancestors or of the people indigenous to the area in which you live. A common theme in these stories is the cycle of death and rebirth, as seen in the planting season. Learn about the stories of Osiris, Mithras, Dionysius, Odin and other deities who have died and then been restored to life.

Raise Some Energy

It's not uncommon for Pagans and Wiccans to make remarks regarding the "energy" of an experience or event. If you're having friends or family over to celebrate Mabon with you, you can raise group energy by working together. A great way to do this is with a drum or music circle. Invite everyone to bring drums, rattles, bells, or other instruments. Those who don't have an instrument can clap their hands. Begin in a slow, regular rhythm, gradually increasing the tempo until it reaches a rapid pace. End the drumming at a pre-arranged signal, and you'll be able to feel that energy wash over the group in waves. Another way of raising group energy is chanting, or with dance. With enough people, you can hold a Spiral Dance.

Celebrate Hearth & Home

As autumn rolls in, we know we'll be spending more time indoors in just a few months. Take some time to do a fall version of spring cleaning. Physically clean your home from top to bottom, and then do a ritual smudging. Use sage or sweetgrass, or asperge with consecrated water as you go through your home and bless each room. Decorate your home with symbols of the harvest season and set up a family Mabon altar. Put sickles, scythes and bales of hay around the yard. Collect colorful autumn leaves, gourds and fallen twigs and place them in decorative baskets in your house. If you have any repairs that need to be done, do them now so you don't have to worry about them over the winter. Throw out or give away anything that's no longer of use.

Welcome the Gods of the Vine

Grapes are everywhere, so it's no surprise that the Mabon season is a popular time to celebrate winemaking, and deities connected to the growth of the vine. Whether you see him as Bacchus, Dionysus, the Green Man, or some other vegetative god, the god of the vine is a key archetype in harvest celebrations. Take a tour of a local winery and see what it is they do this time of year. Better yet, try your hand at making your own wine! If you're not into wine, that's okay; you can still enjoy the bounty of grapes and use their leaves and vines for recipes and craft projects. However, you celebrate these deities of vine and vegetation, you may want to leave a small offering of thanks as you reap the benefits of the grape harvest.

[anastasiaskarsgard]

Destiny of the Damned

Part 1- Roman Godfrey

Chapter 1- nosebleed

I never thought I'd miss traffic and noise. In California, something is always happening, and traffic is just a fact of life. When I had to move out to help my uncle, who lives outside of Hemlock Grove Pennsylvania to say it was a culture shock was an understatement. Everything closed early and I think they’d have to schedule a traffic jam or someone would need to get murdered on the main roads. After about a month, you figure out who everyone is. Small town life is bizarre. I went to eat at a local diner, and a police officer was eating there as well, looking out the window and makes a call. I’m in the next booth, so I can’t help but overhear him call someone that had just run the stop sign, and told them to come pick up their tocket at the station later. I always took the energy and anonymity giant metropolitan areas like Los Angeles or San Francisco for granted. It never even occured to me there were places where there were no malls, airports, freeways or parking fees. I’ve been here for a little over 2 months, and I am literally the only Mercedes Benz S-Class I’ve seen. In order to reach civilization and acceptable fashion retail, you had to go on a full on road trip. My uncle was the closest thing I had to a parent, so I was willing to tough it out for him. He had fallen down his concrete basement stairs, and fractured his neck a hands. He is very independant and stubborn and needed assistance until he healed from the multiple surgeries he’s had to endure, to get his hands working correctly again. His home is a famous work of art, more than a place to actually occupy, so strangers coming to stay there, and touch his stuff, damn near got him catching a charge. I just finished University and was an executive for my Uncles’ multi billion dollar corporation but realistically, we could take the rest of our lives off, and be fine. But we are both workaholic innovators that share the same miraculous quirk. We have autobiographical memories which means we don't forget anything. Want to know what the date, temperature, things I did, who I was with the first time I heard a particular song? I can tell you. It's a blessing and a curse. Everything is a trigger for memories for me and my Uncle. So although his desire for isolation and little contact is extreme, I get it. Having a brain that doesn't stop can be exhausting and stressful.

Books help, so when I turned the corner, and spotted a Barnes and Noble, I actually squealed in excitement. I pulled up and looked a little out of place, but i didnt care. My car was understated, low profile, over the top. With its clear panoramic sunroof,  technology, and ambiance lighting, id always kid with my uncle that i needed it for my mental health. Really, I was terribly spoiled,  yet I appreciated it and never tried to rub it anyone's face, but I understood a young woman exiting a very expensive car, in a small town, that lived in the strange house with her reclusive billionaire Uncle, wasn't going to have anyone baking me pies. I was a realist.

I was pleasantly surprised by the sheer size of this store. inside there was a shockingly large lego display and it reminded me of how much i used to love assembling complicated structures, while most girls played wth dolls. While most little girls wanted to play with dollies and imagine scenarios about their wedding day, I was trying to improve my laptops performance (catching a few on fire in my early years). The dynamics and emotionality of people never held any value really. It was what truly always puzzled me. Losing oneself in another person, or the entire concept of love, seemed so unlikely. Far too many factors involved, and why anyone compromises when they can just do as they please by themselves only makes sense in situations like with my Uncle. It was still inconvenient, so getting close to people has never been appealing, but the legos we're.

I walked over and spotted a gigantic Death Star set and clapped in delight. I thought I heard a low chuckle behind me, so I spun around to find the best looking man I'd ever seen, dressed in a very nice suit. He didnt waver or look away when i looked at him, and almost looked as though he were daring me to look away. Most people would find him intimidating, but nothing really made me nervous so he didnt phase me.

"What's funny?" I asked looking him dead in the eye.

"You." He smirked.

"Glad to oblige you" i said sarcastically as I did a half hearted bow, then standing straight with a smirk. Who did he think he was? Green eyed, puffy lipped punk. I didn't break eye contact which usually caused people to look away by now, but To my surprise he laughed and looked me up and down. Assessed me like i was livestock; sizing me up and trying to decide if he could break me.

"I'm Roman."

"I'm American." I replied.

"No my name is Roman." He laughed heartily. An amused twinkle in his eye.

I couldn't help but notice he really had the best smile, and I really have a thing for noses, and his was divine.  if you think about it, its the most important facial feature. A nose can make or break a face, and his cute little slightly upturned nose, with its perfect symmetry was for sure making his face. combine that with his gorgeous green eyes, long lashes, defined bone structure, alabaster skin and standing at least 6′3″ he must be one of the biggest pains in the asses, this side of the Mississippi! Most women would see him and be all in but having a gorgeous man that exudes sexuality and is very sure of himself is far more trouble then anyone could ever be worth.

Why pretty boy wanted to trade names, probably had nothing to do with me, and much more to do with boredom, or what he could get out of me. I usually don't pay much attention to anyone of the opposite sex, especially obvious pains in the ass like the man before me, but something about him, was preventing me from just turning around and blowing him off.

"Generally when I tell someone my name, they tell me their own." He said staring into my eyes with such an intensity that I reacted almost involuntarily.

I have a defect. If someone tries to tell me what to do or control me, I am not fucking having it. Authority has always been an issue, and this felt a lot like him trying to dominate me, and I felt almost sick. Like when you stand up too fast and get a bit woozy. I took that as a good time to turn my back on him and ignore him.

He walked in front of me, blocking my view of the legos and ducked down a bit to make eye contact. I couldnt hide the complete shock on my face at his behavior.  He's either crazy or incredibly confident. I raised my eyebrows as if to say "can i help you" and I know my face was absolutely unfriendly, yet he didn't appear to notice.

His face hardened "tell me. Your. Name." He said slowly and deliberately.

Now it was my turn to laugh. I looked at him to see the smile or just kiddding , but it never came... WOW. He was serious!!! I leaned my face a couple inches from his face and I said "Nope" making sure to loudly pop the p.

The look on his face was absolutely priceless, and had my laughing enough that several people were starting. just as I was about to walk away victorious, his nose began to bleed. I instantly was embarrassed for him and I couldnt just leave him here to bleed on the legos so I jumped into action.

"Oh shit, your nose is bleeding." i said lookinbg around for any type of tissue, when i noticed we were right next to the restrooms.

"What? Seriously? Can you get it?" he implored looking all frightened, dare I say fragile.

Without any hesitation, I wiped the blood from his face. "Come with me, we need tissue, bathroom is right here. Look up and hold your nose." I grabbed his hand and recieved a shock. static electricity stayed with me a lot and often scared people but he didnt even flinch. He laced his fingers in mine as if it were the most natural thing in the world and i led him to the bathroom.

Once inside, I grabbed some tissues and directed him to stand over the sink. I wet some paper towels and wiped away the blood and then took the dry tissues and pushed his head back and crammed little tissue torpedos in his perfect little nose. The whole time I could feel his intense gaze on me, but what else was he going to look at really?

"Gotta admit, this is new." He quipped, admiring my handy work in the mirror and laughing in dismay.

"What? Bloody nose or attention from ladies?"

"Um.... you're kind of rude, but then when there is an issue, you don't hesitate to help.  Then you're taking better care of my nose bleed than anyone. No one really takes charge with me.... and now I'm in a bathroom with a woman and we aren't fucking." He laughed again.

"Fucking. Classy. If I didn't know any better I'd swear you were the Godfrey asshole everyone keeps telling me about." Ever since I'd arrived at Hemlock grove, I'd heard Godfrey this and Godfrey that. Their name was on everything and I'd heard the son was like a 21 year old gorgeous nightmare, that was as kind, as he was humble. The few people id spoken to had told me to stay away from him. I found it odd, I didn't know his first name all of a sudden.

His face fell into a frown.

"I see that's the general consensus about that guy. Cheer up Charlie, your nose stopped bleeding most likely, let me just pull these out." i gently pulled the tissues from his nose and waited for blood but none came. "Boom mothafucka its on!" i laughed at my own ridiculousness before turning and washing my hands.

"You're weird” he stated matter of factly.

Roman stood there quietly thinking. I could almost feel the wheels turning in his head. His mood had completely changed at the mention of the Godfrey kid.Maybe his family had lost everything because of them too or the guy stole his girl, i felt a little guilty so i relented a tiny bit.

"Hey listen, Roman was it?" He nodded and bit his lip. oh he knows what hes doing. boy he was trouble "I'm sorry if the Godfrey's are a sore subject. I don't know anything about anybody here. I'm just helping out my crazy uncle that fell down his basement stairs and broke his hands and neck. I'm from the west coast and this dreary fucking place isn't exactly my cup of tea. I don't know why I'm rude before I'm polite but it's involuntary. My name is Letha, it's like Lisa with a lisp and now I've officially over shared." I could feel my face turning red. Why was He making me such an awkward mess? My God this WAS new.

suddenly he grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me in stopping just an inch away from my face. "Who put you up to this?" He asked with such venom in his voice it made me flinch. "WHO!?!?!" He screamed in my face.

I tried to push him away but he wouldn't budge. My mind raced and I began to panic. No one has ever screamed in my face like this and I didn't like it and yet, the way his eyes searched mine and the tenseness in his body, and just sheer panic made me do something I hardly ever did. Maybe it was brought on by panic or survival instinct, but it was not my normal. Especially to a crazy stranger in the bathroom, but I had the overwhelming NEED to hug him. I fought past his hands trying to hold my shoulders in kind of a silly slap fight and grabbed him around the waist and buried my head in his shoulder. He smelled so good.This was outright crazy behavior for me, and i was confusing myself but if i tried to not think, it almost felt nice, for a few moments my mind was blank. A minute passed with me holding him as he calmed his breathing with his arms raised. Nothing was triggering me and I felt odd.

"Nobody sent me, you nut job! Hug me back, you need a hug. ”i squeezed even harder, nuzzling my face into his collar, his chin gently resting on my head.

His arms hesitantly closed around my back and then he crushed me into a deep embrace. He really did need a hug. "You ok now crazy?" I asked trying to pull back to look at his face but he held me fast. He started to shudder a bit and then I felt moisture hit my forehead. Ok it's gone too far, this is why I don't hug.

Was this crazy ass dude crying? Oh no, he was really crazy. Shit shit shit. Good job Letha, you're gonna get murdered in a bookstore bathroom, in shit hole Pennsylvania, on a Friday afternoon. Why did you hug this fucking guy? I was starting to breathe funny now!

Roman loosened his grip and looked deep in my eyes searching for something. What? Im unsure, but he must of found it, because he laughed and he seemed almost sweet, except tears were running down his face and a moment earlier he screamed in my face.

"Well Ms Letha, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'd love nothing more than to take you out this evening wherever you want to go. Before you refuse, I assure you I'm not crazy, it's just I had a cousin named Letha, which I'm sure you're aware is an unusual name, and I loved her very much and she passed and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It caught me off guard."

I had heard about that Letha. Everyone that found out my name, told me about Letha Godfrey, the Godfrey girl that was as kind as she was beautiful, but tragically got knocked up and lost her mind talking about angels being the father, and dating some weirdo outcast. when she went to give birth in the family skyscraper medical facility, she mysteriously died and so did her baby.

"You're the Godfrey kid." I practically whispered staring at him with wide eyes as I recalled what I'd said about him, TO him.

"Hardly a kid anymore I think." He smiled. He was so handsome, it was freaking me out. "What's your phone number? I have to run to the white tower, and then I'm all yours."

I knew better. He was too good looking and too rich and too everything but something told me he needed me. I know it sounds crazy but I believed in my heart and soul, this perfect beautiful fucking legend of a man needed me. I knew it wasn't logical, but I told him my number and turned to walk out of the bathroom, but he grabbed my hand.

"Please answer." He pleaded pressing a kiss to my hand. He wasn't trying to make me do anything now. He was giving the power over to me and i was honestly taken aback a bit by the almost desperate look in his eyes. I knew in my heart, he genuinely needed me, but for what?

I can't explain the feeling I felt in that bathroom with this man, but when I say I felt a deeper connection to him than I'd ever felt in my 22 years on this earth, I mean it. It was thrilling, and scary, and strange. I smiled at him and nodded my head. As I made my way to my car, I tried to convince myself not to answer, but I knew that I would.

He didn't follow me out of the bathroom and I just made a bee line for my car. I had to go. I couldn't help smiling from ear to ear. The cashier glared at me with open animosity, before turning her attention to the restroom door, looking dreamily for Roman to appear. Boy oh boy did I know better than to get involved with this guy, but deep in my gut i knew. He needed me.

[queercode-my-minecraft]

Tales of Flowers and Boys

Characters: Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Logan Sanders, Remy (Sleep) Sanders, OC Characters (Roman’s parents)

Relationships: Lamp/Calm

Trigger Warnings: Swearwords, mention of exams, crying and if you see anything else, please, tell me!

Words: 4279

Summary: In a world where everyone has a stem from which beautiful flowers bloom, showing how your Soulmate feels about you, Roman has three.

Notes: I finally managed to write this,,,, monster for my dear friend @thesealwhodraws.Yes, I am your exchanged, suprise! I’m sorry if you hate it. Also! This gift exchanged was supervised by Thomas- I mean @darknightvirgil. Summary sucks? I know, hopefully the story sucks less

Taglist: @punsterterry @max-is-tired

Roman was peculiar indeed to society.

With an intricate design of purple thorns who looked less deadly every time you watched them, orange branches full of tiny vibrant leaves who were seemingly waiting for summer and a precise light blue neon light that had always reminded Roman of computers.

Three soulmates, that’s what the thorns, the branch and the neon light meant.

Three soulmates, that were destined to love him and each other, platonically, romantically or in any other way.

When Emma and Isabella, Roman’s moms, told him that those beautiful drawings on his back were his soulmates, the six year old could hardly contain his joy. Three people that would surely love him (because they were soulmates).

That same day he decided to go and search for them, under the amused eyes of his moms (Isabella had shot different glares at Emma, because she wouldn’t stop chuckling at her sons antics).

He didn’t end up going all around the globe searching for his soulmates, nor the day after.

“Mom, where do you think orange-leaf-one is?” Asked seven year old Roman as he was being tucked into his bed.

Isabella smiled softly at her son.

“They might live somewhere where oranges are very important, sweetie-pie.”

“South Europe, maybe?”

Both Isabella and Roman stared at Emma. One full of excitement and the other pondering her wife’s words.

“I guess. Goodnight, Ro, may golden dreams come to you.”

Isabella kissed Roman’s head and the two adults left their son in the fairy lights lighted room.

“We are not going to south Europe, dear.”

“It would be an amazing vacation, though.”

Isabella chuckled, placing a kiss on her wife’s cheek.

Roman hated school.

He hated that when he told the teachers his opinion he would be sent away. When he was too loud or excited (even if it was about the current subject) he would be sent away.

Everything he did was against some school rule, not that the fact stopped him (he knew that those rules were ridiculous and if they had to be applied on him, they had to invent some better ones).

Fair to say that he was pretty used to passing hours in the school’s mostly empty hallways.

His senior year of high school had been slowly advancing; ready for the summer and ready to kick them out towards college and the real world. Alas, that didn’t stop Roman from getting kicked out of the class.

Walking absentmindedly through the corridors Roman’s eye got caught by a small figure sat against the wall, that was hugging their legs tightly to their chest. Slowly Roman walked towards the figure, and at every footstep he took he could feel a tingling sensation spreading along his back.

He ignored it.

“Such a gorgeous person shouldn’t be here all gloomy and miserable.” Stated Roman, sitting next to the figure.

The figure turned their head to glance at Roman, their curls tumbling messily around their round face, before trying to disappear in their cat hoodie once again.

A pained chuckle came from the figure.

“Everyone thinks I should, though.”

“I don’t! Moreover, in this hell-hole I’m the only one whose judgment actually matters something! And I think you’re positively delightful!”

This time when the other turned, Roman could clearly see the tears swelling in their eyes before they flung themselves into Roman’s arms, hugging him.

“It’s going to be okay, sunshine.”

The nickname brought a giggle in the other, who clinged to Roman as if their life depended on it.

They remained like that for a long time, until the not-so-stranger pulled away, using their hoodie to wipe away the remain tears.

“Thank you…”

“Roman Garcia, forever at your service.”

“I’m Pat-Patton.”

Just after Patton closed his mouth the door of the classroom before them cracked open, letting a girl with long blonde hair sneak outside.

“Patricia, the teacher wants you back inside.”

Patton got up gingerly and walked towards the classroom. But, before disappearing inside he turned towards Roman:

“Thank you for being there to help me. I hope we’ll see each other around the school.”

Roman smiled and Patton fled inside.

That same night Roman stayed awake, searching for the meaning of the three buds that had appeared long the orange tree branch.

Purple heathers, Roman had guessed under the faint light.

Solitude, beauty, admiration.

As he began dozing off, his head laid on his desk and the rest of his body in a rather uncomfortable position, he wondered if Patton was the orange branch Soulmate he had dreamed of.

After weeks where they didn’t seem to meet again, Roman finally managed to corner Patton as he walked to school, a small bouquet of roses in hand. He had wanted to buy a bigger one, but his moms had told him that any bigger would scare the poor soul away.

“Hello, my dashing Prince!”

“Roman! Hi! What beautiful flowers you have there! Who’s the lucky one?”

Roman smiled, feeling his cheeks burn, and handing the flowers to Patton.

“These beautiful flowers are for my handsome soulmate, of course.”

Patton stares dumbfoundead at the flowers, his hand slowly reaching to cover his open mouth.

As silence stretched between the two, Roman had the suspect he shouldn’t have given roses at their second meeting. However, those thoughts were quickly vanquished when Patton squealed in delight.

“I love them, Roman! Thank you so much, they’re lovely!”

A vulnerable smile, unlike the confident smirks he often displayed, appeared on Roman’s face.

“I’m… I’m glad you like them, Patton! Would you… like to go on a date… with me, sometime?”

Patton smiled softly and, as he took the flowers into his hands, he placed a kiss on Roman’s cheek, before murmuring: “I’d love to, my Soul Prince!”

Roman was left in the middle of the sidewalk, blushing to the tip of his ears and fumbling with his words.

None of the previous dates he had participated in could compete with his first date with Patton.

They had mostly taken a stroll around the park (Patton wanted to show him his favourite place in the whole city) and when Patton’s eyes shined or when he smiled brightly at him, Roman felt even more invincible than usually.

After that they were officially dating.

And Roman loved every single moment of it.

When Patton peppered his face in small kisses which made Roman giggle and blush, not that he would ever admit it, or when in the dead of the night, as Roman was working on his fanfictions, Patton would send him pictures of the cutest animals before telling him to go to sleep. He treasured when they passed their time together, chatting and calling each other adorable nicknames.

In a matter of months, Roman could hardly picture his life without Patton and his smiles who seemed could brighten up every room he entered.

Both of them, though, felt that something was missing in their relationship.

“I’m gonna miss you so much! I already know that without your beautiful face I would dramatically die! Which would be tragic and such a loss for everyone!”

Patton smiled, with a hint of sadness, at Roman’s extravagant antics, hugging his boyfriend tightly.

“Such an incredible loss! I would rather not think about it, my Soul Prince.”

Noticing a slight tremble in the other’s words, Roman quietly took Patton’s face in his hands, drying the tears and leaving a kiss on each cheek.

“Darling, you really mustn’t worry. We’ll be able to see each other through Skype and… it’s going to be okay, Patton.”

“I know, I’ll just miss you a lot. You’ve been here with me for the last months, supporting me and helping me with transitioning and everything, and now you… you won’t be here anymore.”

“I know I’m the dramatic one, but two hours of distance aren’t much, my dear. You’ll probably see me so much you’ll get bored of my face, not that you will: I’m too stunning!”

The other chuckled softly and Roman looked fondly at his boyfriend, wondering how could such an angel love him.

After their last bittersweet goodbye Roman left Patton in his room, his roommate nowhere to be found. As he let his mind wander he collided against another body, sending both of them sprawling on the floor.

Roman gazed at the other man and his jaw might as well have dropped.

Before him, well, on the floor next to him laid a man with chocolate brown hair, pointedly styled back, and behind the rectangular glasses a pair of cool blue eyes stared back at him with a disapproving frown.

Roman was prepared to compliment the man, ready to loudly proclaim him how beautiful he thought those eyes were, alas all that came out of his mouth was:

“You walked on me!”

“No, I didn’t walk on you! We collided because you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings!”

Roman huffed annoyed. Attractive people were often extremely bothersome.

“How dare you say that such an amazing person like myself would be inattentive enough to collide with such a handsome man!”

The other quirked a perfect eyebrow. “So, you admit you collided with me!”

As the other man got up, a smirk on his face.

“I hope we won’t see each other in the foreseeable future.” Said the man, taking his suitcase and starting to walk down the corridor.

“For Zeus’ beard, what the fuck has just happened?”

As Roman got up himself from the floor he didn’t notice the tingling sensation that had spread through his back.

That same night as he prepared for sleep (even though he would probably remain awake until two in the morning to write and chat with his European friends) he caught the neon light soulmate and Patton’s soulmark become closer. Surprised he took some minutes to inspect his back.

The purple thorned soulmate had started blooming Christmas roses that signified loosely Anxiety. And although Roman and Patton believed that it was one of Roman’s internet friends (since only he had the bloomed soulmark), they had decided to play it cool, not wanting to scare their soulmate away.

On the orange branch a pink camellia bud had appeared next to the to the daisy, which made Roman smile melancholically. However, what took him more by surprise was the neon light soulmate.

A stylized geranium bud had appeared.

Stupidity.

Did this new soulmate without a face believe he was stupid without even meeting or knowing him? How dare they!

Alas, with his pride stricken he returned in bed, a burning sensation overwhelming him. If his soulmate, someone who was supposed to love him, thought he was stupid, was he really so?

Life moved on.

Lessons started and the overwhelming stress began. And although Roman had a terrible schedule that brought him to several breakdowns a week, he still found college enjoyable.

Mostly thanks to Patton and “there’s no party until there’s anxiety” (an Internet friend who lived in Italy) who both managed to make him smile, even when he was sobbing on the ground eating ice cream and trying to study for tomorrow's exam.

However, deep in his guts Roman felt that something was going to change, breaking the routine he had so quickly adapted to.

One day, that hadn’t been particularly stressing or interesting, Patton had knocked on his dormitory room. Which wasn’t unusual and neither disturbing, since Roman loved seeing his boyfriends face.

However, he was surprised when a handsome man, the same he had bashed against so many weeks ago and that he had discovered being Patton’s lost roommate, had entered holding Patton’s hand and blushing furiously.

“Roman!”

Patton screamed and, letting his hand drop Logan’s, he flinged himself in Roman’s arms, which brought Roman to laugh and try to spin the other man.

Something he shouldn’t have done, since the room was extremely tiny.

“Are you two hurt?”

Asked Patton’s roommate, Logan, kneeling before the two bodies on the floor. Patton laughed delighted and got up.

“Oh, gosh! I missed you so much! And I don’t think you have met Logan, well, not face to face, at least!”

When Roman managed to stay up standing he took Logan’s outstretched hand.

“I’ve been brought to believe that we’re soulmates.” Stated Logan.

Time might as well have stopped after Logan said those words, because Roman’s mind went fluttering with thoughts.

The first being: my soulmates are gorgeous, I need to step up my game. And the second being: so he’s the one that thinks I’m stupid.

“You are extremely handsome, sure not as handsome as me or Patton, but enough so that people don’t doubt that we’re actually soulmates. However, you’re also the soulmate that believes I’m an idiot.” It only took that last sentence to let silence fall on the three of them.

And that’s when Roman’s roommate, Remy, decided to storm in. A cold Starbucks drink in hand, long pink hair a mess and his usual shades on the point of his nose.

“Gurl, you have no idea what just... “ He stopped on his tracks observing the three men in the room, “Who cares about what’s happening outside, tell me what’s happening here!”

“Remy, this is not the…”

“You’re Remy, right? Roman’s roommate! It’s so nice to meet you!” Interrupted Patton, moving to hug Remy, who sported a baffled expression.

“Gurl, I thought you were joking when you said that your boyfriend is Sunshine and Love!”

Remy moves his gaze towards Logan, “And if I’m not wrong, you’re the soulmate the believes that Roman is dumb.”

The last sentence was grave, clearly directed to a passive Logan who just fixed his tie. Patton clapped his hands:

“I guess it’s time to get out of here as fast a soul leaves a ghost!”

Logan didn’t let him repeat it twice and was quickly out of the room, leaving Roman, Patton and Remy alone.

“I’m sorry Ro, I didn’t know that…”

“It’s okay, darling.” Answered Roman placing a kiss on Patton’s forehead.

“Not in front of my Starbucks’ tea, nuh-huh!”

Patton shared a bittersweet smile with his boyfriend and followed Logan out of the room. As he heard their footsteps become quieter, Roman let himself fall on his bed with a thud.

“Gurl, you won’t hear me say it a lot, but I’m fucking sorry for you. If you ever need any help, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks Remy.”

prince_of_your_dreams: virGE, I MESSED EVERYTHING UP

there’s no party until there’s anxiety: wanna vent?

there’s no party until there’s anxiety: or do you need my help to hide a body?

prince_of_your_dreams: my soulmate, the one that hates me, came to visit me with pat

there’s no party until there’s anxiety: are you sure you don’t need my help to hide the body?

prince_of_your_dreams: nah, i just-

prince_of_your_dreams: he hates me, virge, he thinks im stupid before he even met me

prince_of_your_dreams: normally people think im stupid after they meet me

prince_of_your_dreams: what if pat will stop loving me???

prince_of_your_dreams: virge, i am so fucking fucked

there’s no party until there’s anxiety: dude, calm down. take deep breaths

there’s no party until there’s anxiety: at times flowers are wrong, keep that in mind

there’s no party until there’s anxiety: I mean, look at me! one of my three soulmates believe that I’m like the best person ever or something

there’s no party until there’s anxiety: so, don’t worry and inhale for 7, maintain for 4 and exhale for 8

there’s no part until there’s anxiety: but I also find it quite hard believing that someone could hate you, you’re amazing, ro!

prince_of_your_dreams: agdsfahjfks thank you virge, you’re a true angelo

there’s no party until there’s anxiety: hdgwedjavxjs was that Italian?

prince_of_your_dreams: yeah! You proud of me?

there’s no party until there’s anxiety: hjedfgshj ye, I am

Virgil smiled fondly at his phone, treasuring the conversation with the other man. He quickly gazed outside of the small airplane window, feeling his heart tighten at the thought of being more of a hundred meters in the air.

However, this and more for his maybe-soulmate.

there’s no party until there’s anxiety: I’m on an airplane right now, so i’m sorry if i will go silent for a few hours

prince_of_your_dreams: oooh where are you going?

there’s no party until there’s anxiety: i’m actually coming to visit you, drama queen, i should be there in nine hours I think???

Roman couldn’t believe his eyes when he read that message, quickly writing back asking if it was some kind of joke. Alas, Virgil had already went offline.

He passed the nine hours buzzing in excitement, hardly stopping.

“Gurl, calm down. It’s not like this Virgil is your soulma-” Remy stopped walking, eyeing Roman from the top of his shades “He’s your third soulmate?”

Roman nodded enthusiastically. “And Patton is in the city too! We could all meet together! That would be splendid!”

As Roman began rambling, Remy sighed heavily, trying to keep up with the others quick pace.

“Gurl, barely two hours ago you were ready to murder that nerd and now you want him, and Sunshine guy, to meet an internet friend that came specifically just to see you? Hon, you really need to put your priorities in some sort of sense!”

“Are you telling me I should make peace with him, Remy?”

“Shit, no! Although I’m not the most responsible person out there…”

“You really aren’t.” Interrupted Roman, as he took out his phone for the thirtieth time since the message.

“-Shut up! As I was saying, hon, I don’t think you should take the nerd to the airport with you. Except if you wanna send him away, in that case do what’s right.”

Silence stretched between the two, Roman began humming some upbeat tune and Remy just drank and scrolled through his phone.

“Shit.”

“Don’t you dare call me shit, gurl.” Answered Remy, without taking his eyes from his phone.

“I have an exam in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, and?” But before Remy could have his answer, Roman was already nowhere to be found, running as if there was no tomorrow.

Three hours in that damn room, answering questions and sweating like a cow.

At least he had taken a shower. Sure with freezing water that might as well have destroyed his delicate skin, but he didn’t smell like a cow.

As he moved in front of the bathroom’s mirror, which he had brought from home, he remained dumbfounded looking at the neon light soulmate and the purple thorned one.

Two soulmarks that finally had names to accompany them.

Logan and Virgil.

A stylized purple hyacinth from Logan’s stem and a jonquil from Virgil’s stem.

One for sorrow and forgiveness and the other for the hope of reciprocated affection.

Roman took a shaky breathe. He had to set everything right.

“Patton! Logan!”

The two men in question turned towards Roman, who was steadily walking towards them.

“Roman! I thought you didn’t want to come with us!” Exclaimed Patton. Roman noticed how quiet and closed off Logan remained.

“I did have an exam, but now that it’s defeated I wanted to come along… and I wanted to talk with my other Soulmate.”

Added Roman, moving his gaze towards a stunned Logan.

“Okay, my love, I’m going to buy some coffee as you sort things out… Please, don’t kill each other, I care too much about both.”

Placing a kiss on Roman’s and Logan’s cheek, Patton walked towards the nearest coffee shop. Out of earshot, but still close enough to be aware if the situation started spiralling downwards.

“How may I help you, Roman? You told Patton you wanted to talk with me, however I don’t understand the reasoning behind such a decision.”

“My reasoning behind wanting to clear things out? My soulmark.”

Logan quirked an eyebrow confused.

“Not my soulmark, it’s actually yours. But it is on my back! I would gladly show it to you if…”

“Please don’t. I… understand what you mean.”

“Great! Because the flower that is blooming on my back signifies that you’re sorry, or that, at least, you regret being a douche the first time we met and telling me that you wished to never encounter me ag…”

“I do, though.” Whispered Logan, who has moved his gaze towards his shoes.

“Wha-?”

“I communicate better through actions, rather than words, that I must admit, and it often ends in situations that could have been resolved earlier if I had actually… tried to resolve the conflict.” Logan took a shaky breath, before continuing.

“And I… I care too much about Patton and his well-being to make him feel awful for an action I could work out. Therefore, I am sorry if my words have wounded you.”

Roman started at the other in a mixture of disbelief and softness.

“Thanks, I too want to… move on. And if I ever do, I’d love to have you next to me on this journey.”

For the first time, Logan smiled at Roman. And a small part of him hoped he would only ever smile at him.

Dread filled Roman as ill intentioned thoughts began tormenting him incessantly.

Patton clearly saw it and placed a comforting hand on Roman’s back. Even Logan noticed Roman’s… unusual jitteriness.

“You seem anxious, to say the least, if it helps you to know: I’m quite certain that our third soulmate doesn’t hate you, since he spent nine hours of his time just to come and meet you.” Commented Logan, tentatively taking Roman’s hand.

“Logan’s right, my Soul Prince, he does seem like someone who really cares about you!” Added Patton, leaving a kiss on Roman’s cheek. He seemed to relax at the attention, although that didn’t stop him from starting to ramble nervously.

“But what if… what if when he meets me he chooses that soulmates are stupid? What if the worst happens?”

A chuckle came from behind them.

“Geez, Princey, you’re starting to sound like me. All anxious and stuff.”

Roman whipped around recognising the voice from all the chats on the Discord voice channels.

Standing before them was a man with purple bangs, dark clothes and exhausted, spectacular eyes (that no matter what Roman said, he would never show his face without the eyeshadow under).

“Virgil?”

“That’s my name, yes.”

Roman took two steps towards the other man: “Hug?”

A vulnerable smirk appeared on Virgil’s face before he launched himself in Roman’s arms.

“You’re actually real.”

“Yes… I am, Princey… but you’re too… and I’m hugging you and… you don’t hate me.”

Roman chuckled, his voice hitching in his throat.

“Obviously I don’t hate you! Why the heckity heck should I hate you?”

Tears began welling in both Virgil’s eyes, who hid his face.

“This is too wholesome to process.”

Roman turned to look at their two Soulmates, letting go of Virgil and taking his hand, hoping that such a small act would bring comfort in the other handsome man.

When he turned his gaze towards the other two, he noticed Patton lightly blushing next to a seemingly unfazed Logan. He had to repress a smirk.

“You’re Virgil, right? I’m Patton...”

“You’re... my Soulmate. Why didn’t you tell me you all knew each other?”

Roman and Patton shared a worried look. Virgil left Roman’s hand, moving to gaze at the three of them. But, before the two could open their mouth, Logan interrupted them.

“Yes, we are Soulmates. And, in my defense, I’ve only known Patton since this September, being his roommate, and I have had an encounter with Roman… it didn’t end well.” Logan coughed awkwardly, glimpsing at Roman

“We... discovered we’re Soulmates a few days ago. Also, I believe I haven’t presented myself: I’m Logan Wright.”

Virgil stared at Logan and took his outstretched hand, under Roman and Patton’s distressed gaze.

“You’re the one that thinks that Roman is a fucking idiot, am I correct?”

“I guess so, I mean our first encounter wasn’t of the best and the only times Patton told me about him, he didn’t seem like the brightest.”

“Betrayal! Awful betrayal; by my own Soulmates! What have I ever done to deserve this!”

Logan snorted and Virgil rolled his eyes as they watched Roman. Patton giggled before taking his hand and looking at Virgil.

“Yes, we didn’t wanted to tell you about knowing each other, because we were afraid that you would run away. We’re really… loud and affectionate people and if we would lose you, we would lose an opportunity to know someone amazing.”

With a shaking hand Virgil tried to dry some of the tears, who had began tumbling down his face and smearing the makeup. Smiling softly, Patton embraced Virgil, who quietly sobbed. Roman moved to hug the two of them and even Logan, though begrudgingly, placed an arm around the other three.

“It’s going to be okay, sweethearts.”

Falling for Patton had been sweet and instant, a spiral of laughter and hugs as the time slowly passed.

Falling for Virgil had been just as quick but more surprising. Gazing out of the window and hoping for the day where they could talk and bicker.

Falling for Logan had been a different story entirely. It had been gradual and steady, both not realising until they were well engraved in the routine.

A routine comprised of mornings where, as Logan prepared breakfast for everyone, Roman would sneak his arms around the other and talk and talk through whispers. Or Logan placing a kiss on everyone’s cheek, even Roman’s, before going out.

Falling for Roman was had been the best decision his three Soulmates could have made.

[mason-mem]

more pages of Serres’ Malfeasance

FROM LANDSCAPE TO COUNTRY

From tribe to homeland, from the rustic farm to cities, and from these to nations. The latter sometimes revere the tomb of an unknown soldier, not so much to remember the horrors of war, as the inscriptions claim— it would be better to forget those—but to bow before the vile remains that sanction the urban or national appropriation of the soil. My book Statues and Robert Harrison's The Dead develop this insight at great length. Leland Stanford built our campus on top of the remains of his beloved son, just as Romulus built the eternal city on the corpse of his brother.

Millions of young people, whose remains rest in military cemeteries, in the shadow of bronze statues erected for the foul glory of the very people (were they clueless or criminal?) who sacrificed them, marked with their blood, their corpses the nation's property. Born on the soil of their nation, they died on it and for it, and now they sleep in it.

THE LITTLE-KNOWN MEANING OF A FEW WORDS

I have briefly described actual individual or collective behaviours, without paying much attention to the words I use such as clean or one's own, place or location. Let me start then by clarifying the meaning of some of the terms signifying property. Note: the verb "to have" in Latin has the same origin as to inhabit. From the mists of time, our languages echo the profound relation between the nest and appropriation, between the living space and possession: I inhabit, therefore I have.

Appartenir4 comes from ad-per-tinere, which means to hold or to be linked to. The English words tenure and tenant also describe an inhabitant who dwells. We hold on to our habitat; we value it. To inhabit is to have. The relation between "appertain to" and "apartment" is similar; they imply the grip, the solid link I have just mentioned between the body and its nest, between life and place, which is the very subject of this book. From the Latin ligare (to bind) come the words ob-ligation, re-ligion, neg-ligence ... all links that bind one to a reference, a point, or a place. I belong to a space where such-and-such a place belongs to me.

What do we mean by the French word for place, lieut Its magnificent and little-known etymology, the Latin locus, refers to the sexual and genital organs of the woman: vulva, vagina, and uterus. Sic loci muliebres, ubi nascendi initia consistent (woman's places, where the beginnings of birth are situated;5 Ernout and Meil-let, Dictionnaire e'tymologique de la langue latine, Paris, Klincksieck, 1885, p. 364b; I quote this in passing as ev­idence for readers who might think I am fantasizing). The word topos (rojiog), which expresses in Greek the same meaning, of course preceded the Latin and refers to the same delights. We have all inhabited the matrix, the first place, for nine months; all of us were born by going through the vaginal canal, and a good half of us seek to return to the original vulva. The lover says to his loved one: "You are my home," the neonatal place, of birth and desire. It is our first place, warm, humid, and intimate.

The term lodging, of a different, Germanic origin (Laube, entrance hall) leaves the Latin tenancy behind and signifies a hasty construction of leaves, for instance a tent, called in Latin tabernaculum. The Jewish religion celebrates this mobile habitat every year, pitched here and there, as in the desert of the Exodus; here we have a nomadic tent that looks like a rental. I'll come back to this.

With reference to sites that are outside the body, our language says "here lies" for the place where our ancestors rest; I am coming back now to consider the country and the aforementioned landscape. In Egypt, in the City of the Dead in Cairo, the poor have invaded a huge cemetery where they haunt the graves; it is a necropolis, a metropolis. There I understood that the first house was built near the tomb of the loved one whom the poor wretch did not want to leave. The here of the "here lies" did not in fact designate the funeral site; on the contrary, it signalled that there is no place other than the site rooted in those bodies. The site does not indicate death; death designates the site, and often its limits. This is another inevitable link.

Ultimately, here we lie down, to sleep, to love, to give birth, to suffer and die. We return to etymology: the French verb coucher comes from col-locare, to sleep in the same spot, to share a location. The original vulva, the final tomb . . . this third location designates the bed, the pallet, precisely the place to be born and die, but also to sleep, copulate, be ill, rest, dream. . . .

My very language displays the three themes of this book, which proposes that there are at least three fundamental sites: the uterus, the bed, and the grave. Do we really know what we are saying? To inhabit therefore haunts the nests needed in moments of weakness and fragility, the embryonic state, the risk of being born, the infant at the breast, the caress in the amorous offering, sleep, peace, rest. . . requiescat in pace: fetal life, the love act, the darkness of the tomb, the horizontality of night.

Everything else—the ability to cope with daily life and standing on your own two feet, economic or culinary activities, public comedy, politics, the heat and cold of the desert—depends on those intimate necessities that bind us to our nests with the strongest possible links. Exposed to space, our strength emerges from our weaknesses that lie in those places from which they spring forth. The primary need: to live here. To inhabit, to have; how to describe the strength of the link that unites them? He who lacks a "here" where he can lie down does not have the strength to stand up for very long.

These words do not refer solely to spaces occupied by humans, for let me remind you of the real origin: every living being takes refuge in such nests and emerges from them. Oysters and clams, titmice and wasps, hares and moles, boars, chamois, izzards ... all inhabit a shell, hive, nest or burrow, wallow, shed, as I have mentioned before. And so plants grow in sites where the altitude reproduces the cold or heat of their latitude. Here is the proof: when their environment changes, either they die or they must go to hothouses, hotels protected by a glass roof that imitates the effect known by that name. Anthropomorphism aside, let us then consider those places as slices of inhabitable space, a division practised also by animals, vegetables, algae, and mushrooms and even by monocellular beings ... a division that is generally necessary for life to continue. Apart from our maps, land registries, or nautical charts, we could imagine many more such vital divisions.

Let us return to humans. What happens when this nest, this place, is lost? Again, on this point our language is quite precise. The person whose pecuniary resources are dwindling is called poor, the famished deprived even of bread are indigent; those who roam without a roof, without a place, are miserable. Human misery marks the limit of possible life. Those who have a place have. Those who have no place have nothing, strictly speaking. Do they still exist? They have fallen below the level of animals. I will return to this subject in the end.

THE NATURAL FOUNDATION OF PROPERTY RIGHT

Necessary for survival, the act of appropriation seems to me to have an animal origin that is ethological, bodily, physiological, organic, vital . . . and not to originate in some convention or positive right. I sense there a collection of urine, blood, excretions, rotting corpses. . . . Its foundation comes from the body, alive or dead. I see those actions, behaviours, postures as sufficiently vital and common to all living beings to call them natural. Here natural right precedes positive or conventional right. Rousseau is wrong when he writes, "The first who after enclosing a piece of land thought of saying 'This is mine' and found people simple enough to believe him was the real founder of civil society."6 Describing an imaginary act, he proposes a conventional foundation of property right. A few centuries before him, Livy, in the first book of his Roman History, might have said more concretely: "The first, Romulus, who having enclosed a piece of land by plowing a furrow around Rome, and thought of saying 'this is mine,' found no one to believe him, but on the contrary found a twin brother, a rival, a competitor, someone with the same desire . . . and opposed him." Livy understood this sudden jealous reaction quite well and ascribed it to a double, a twin. Romulus therefore killed Remus, who had turned up so conveniently, and hastened to bury him under the walls of the city, which made him its founder, owner, master, and king. The bloody remains of his crime polluted the earth he thus appropriated, according to what I have just called the natural or living law. Romulus remained faithful to the wolves that reared him. Although from a historical perspective it is just as wrong as Rousseau's tale, the Latin historian's account expresses an anthropological truth that refers to bestial customs described in ethology; these customs are still obvious to the passer-by on streets full of dog piss.

I foresee that laws emerging from animal life and behaviours will slowly but surely wrench themselves away, break loose, and free themselves from their origins. They may finally forget their origins to give birth to a set of conventions or cultural legislations. The so-called natural law becomes, little by little, positive.

How? In two ways: first, by changing the most horrifying practices, such as crimes, violent invasions, stinking trash . . . and evolving toward what I call soft signs, and finally by freeing itself from those marks. This is the theme of my book.

BLOOD, CORPSES:

PEASANT AND SACRIFICIAL CUSTOMS

Most of the rituals performed in antiquity, throughout what was called, erroneously or out of ignorance, the inhabited world, revered the gods pertaining to the cult of ancestors. Fustel de Coulanges describes this in his book The Ancient City. Sacred was the name of the Earth that they walked on, haunted, and cultivated; sacred because it contained the historical remains of descendants buried there. The cultivated Earth, the pagus, from the tilled plot of land, owned by the descendants of the ancestors buried there, was the origin of the pagan religion, as the term itself indicates. The domestic altars bring into the household the remnants of the dead and the gods of the pagus. In the second generation, Numa, the successor of the founding king Romulus, becomes a priest instead and establishes the rites in question. On the heels of the first murder come religions.

THE HISTORY OF RELIGIONS: A HORRIBLE TRAIL

When I read the pious Virgil or the divine Homer, I count the enormous number of sacrifices offered by kings, warriors, priests, and travellers. First of all, there was Iphigenia, killed for wind;7 next the children of Athens, devoured by the Minotaur; they precede the bulls, pigs, calves, heifers, and kids whose throats are cut on the altar stone. The suovetaurilia sacrifice multiplies the mass graves of animals; holocausts burn all their limbs. Disgusted by the bloody trail whose abomination abundantly soiled the space they traversed, I track the travels of those ancient heroes: slimy, unpleasant trails. . . . What smells of burned flesh, which bone yards did they leave behind? Did they know that their passage was marked by garbage of whose function they might have been unaware? They were purifying, so they said. . . .

I must really translate into Latin Rousseau's saying, even though he is plenty Roman already. In that language, "The first who enclosed a piece of land," the word lustrare is used specifically; it means to travel all over a place, go around its periphery, circle it, inspect it. The same word for closure also means to clean, to purify. This purification occurs through sacrifice; is this bloodshed used to clean, or to soil? The victim to be bled is led around the object to be cleansed, surrounds it and confines it as it passes by; and so the oxen turned around the altar before dying. With this ritual and sacrifice, lustration becomes both spatial and bloody. This plot of land full of blood and hideous limbs appeared pure to the ancients, while to me it looks soiled, dripping with suffering, reeking of a foul stench. They called it enclosed, and I say appropriated: a bloody appropriation on top of corpses.

The first who bled a child or a pig after having led him around such a spot, and flooded this spot with the blood of the victim, succeeded in enclosing it and made it into a temple. Let me now give a Greek translation. Belonging to the same family as lobo-tomy or a-tom, the word repivd) (temno) in Greek means to cut. Just so, the term temple means the closure of a place that is sometimes sacred, sometimes profane. Translated into French, it becomes cloitre (cloister). Translated into Polynesian, "here" is taboo, elsewhere, yours. When you go to a Pacific island you will see the word taboo in large letters on the signs indicating private property. Don't enter here, this place belongs to someone. Another enclosure. When in ancient times the human or animal sacrifice flooded the altar, the temple, or the square with the victim's blood, the horrible outflow marked in red the place of the god. Or that of the hero: Remus' blood spreads over Romulus' Rome. It is his. Blood signals the inner space. No one has the right to enter this templum tabu, this taboo temple. Do you want to desecrate it? Well then, soil it! The "natural" foundation of property right is followed by the religious foundation. Yes, Numa succeeds Romulus.

Finally, nothing is shut more tightly than the temple of Vesta, located long ago in the Forum in Rome. A round structure, it admitted only chaste priestesses. In the back, a small door opened up through which the vestals regularly expelled the ashes of their pure and perpetual fire. They called it the stercorian door— in other words, the anus. As we know, the word stercus _ means excrement; the (scatological) term scoria says the same thing in Greek and Latin. Situated outside the city that Romulus appropriated in earlier times, the temple threw its refuse into the city. Thus they signaled the boundaries of the temple.

After urine, blood. And after blood, we have ashes. After nature, after the paganism of the pagus, we have polytheism. TWO ENDINGS OF RELIGIOUS FOUNDATION

Here is the first example of a softening, a first narrative of liberation. We no longer realise what upheaval was introduced, at least among European peoples, by their progressive conversion to Christianity around the first century of our era. Suddenly, a conversion. As I reread the old Latin of the mass, I remember the lavabo} When I was an altar boy, I gave the priest the water for purification—not blood, but water. Not blood, but wine. The priest, his hands under the flow of water, recites the ninth verse of psalm 26: "Lord, do not let my mind or my life perish among men of blood" . . . cum viris sanguinum. . . . Of course, I will no longer kill a human being or an animal as sacrifices; nothing is taboo any more. There will be nothing sacred, only what is holy. Nothing dirty is left, only what is clean and proper. At the altar as at the hotel? There is no more property?

Here we have another conversion. This Holy Land, no longer sacred but holy, we will no longer tread on, no longer work it either by hand or by plough. We will barely inhabit it because it no longer lies here; it takes place somewhere else, far away, toward Jerusalem and Bethlehem and the rising Sun, the birthplace of Abraham, Sarah, the Holy Virgin, and the Messiah, all men and women who will never appear in our genealogies. Our very earth has been desecrated, or rather secularised; in other words, it has become ordinary, analogous to any other, plunged into a homogeneous and isotropic space. Lying before us passively, the earth has even become objectified . . . objectifiable. Hence our sciences will be able someday to study it, observe it, and measure it.

A very few of us will get to know this Holy Land, only after a long pilgrimage. Pilgrimage or peregrination is derived from per-ager, to travel to the other field, another agriculture different from mine, which therefore is no longer mine. What is more, this so-called Holy Land no longer harbours any remains of the one who was raised from the dead, leaving his tomb empty, containing neither corpse nor mummy; even better, he is the one whose Ascension—or Assumption in the feminine—we celebrate but whose departure leaves nothing behind on earth. There is nothing there, not the least scrap of cloth, not the smallest relic, not the smallest mark implying a story. Daughter of the religion whose prophecies created history, this religion is based on the life of a person leaving no trace whatsoever that would allow us to infer a history. Ancient history ends here; I'll discuss the end o/geography later.

Called holy before, this Earth now also loses its sacredness because it contains no more remains—no more blood, a little bit of wine; no corpse, no stench, no signs of appropriation any more. It is finally cleansed, finally dis-appropriated, de-territorialized. On the universal face of the world, the grand old Pan, the son of all the dead, is dead. With the resurrection of the new god Jesus Christ, there is no longer any marked place. There is no more space, no more history, no more time.

Our only hope left now is in the heavenly Jerusalem, completely absent from this world. Our world lies elsewhere. The holy land no longer even lies in the Holy Land; it can no longer even be found on earth, henceforth referred to as "here below." Like a dispossessed traveller, wandering and roaming, a transient pilgrim, a tenant, our being is not there; it does not come from there, does not go there, but only passes through.

Here are the new answers to the four classic questions concerning place: neither ubi, nor quo, nor unde, but qua.3 We now have a new spatial, religious, or anthropological foundation for tenancy. No longer is there a here or appropriation; we live as transients or tenants, deprived of a fixed abode.

We can call this the first end of property; it is abstract, theoretical, virtual, whatever you want

IMPURE BLOOD

However, here is evidence of a regression at least from this achievement. Indeed we have a second narrative, or second example, to the contrary; the homeland of the Marseillaise10 with its soiled and dirty furrows, soaked (hence appropriated) by the impure blood of its enemies, reveals an anthropological or even animal, and in any case racist, regression toward the archaic pagus. Do you dare to tell me, privately or in any other way, who has impure blood? Do they know what the French are saying? At the top of their voices, they sing this national anthem; what it signifies takes them back even before antiquity, indeed toward those archaic rites whose gestures again mimicked the bestial behaviors of hyenas and jackals. This represents two regressions at the same time. Dirtied by blood, this country belongs to them. Buried under the furrows, the dead by the millions found the homeland, sufficiently soiled by their own pure blood and by the impure blood of their enemy brothers; and so appropriation, twice founded, has returned.

The national anthem becomes a religious hymn, although archaic, falling short of Christianity with its discreet monotheism. But be assured; our fellow citizens belt it out only at trivial encounters, sporting events in the past and today at media or financial gatherings. Like victory, the terrain changes hands with each match and every half-time. It is paid in rent.

4. In English "to belong," but also "to appertain to."

5. Varro, On the Latin Language, vol. 14 (http://www.archive.org/stream/ onlatinlanguageoivarruoft/onlatinlanguageoivarruoft_djvu.txt).

6. Discourse on Inequality, second part, beginning (rendered by translator).

7. A pun in French: pour du vent, "for wind," referring to the ancient Greek myth. Iphigenia is to be sacrificed in order to appease Artemis, who stopped the wind from blowing; this was preventing Agamemnon, who had offended the deity, from travelling to Troy. The colloquial expression c'est du vent means "it is just hot air."

8. From the Latin verb lavare, "to wash."

9. Ubi, quo, unde, and qua are Latin adverbs related to places. They refer to the sentence above, "Our being is not there, it does not come from there, does not go there, but only passes through"

10. The French national hymn, La Marseillaise, is a call to arms to the French to "drench the furrows with the impure blood of the enemy."

and for the  chaverim

[lukes-writing]

Chapter 1: The Man from the Trailer

Project introduction | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Word count: 4000 Warnings: Mild violence, profanity

September 21st, 8:55 PM, Casino Northstar, Trinity Gate

The young man strides towards the casino’s main entrance, keeping his head down. Several people notice him - wealthy gentlemen in expensive suits with fine cigars in their hand, leaning against a luxurious car, trying to make a good impression on the women who accompany them, usually young enough to be their daughters.

They give him just one quick glance and continue to pay attention to the beauties by their side. Why should they care about some sketchy figure dressed in unkempt street clothes, walking with a heavy limp? His posture is hunched up, with hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Tall, but neither athletic or muscular; even though he has to be in his early twenties, he is still lanky like a teenager.

The casino in the Confederation District is built to resemble an ancient Roman building - white, with numerous pillars, a triangular pediment above the entrance, even a dome on the roof. There are several marble stairs leading to the glass-filled front door.

The sketchy man draws more attention as he starts to climb the stairs. The wealthy visitors presumed he’s there only to inhale the atmosphere of luxury and beauty. That he’s some kind of miserable homeless man, or possibly some trailer trash, just continuing his journey with no goal. But now, it seems this otherworldly man wants to disrupt their social bubble and invade their territory.

Some of them take his mere presence as an insult. This is no place for such lowlifes.

As the man conquers the last stair and starts to make his way to the main entrance, a large bouncer blocks his way. He’s shorter than the mysterious visitor, but much larger and stronger, dressed in a suit and sunglasses. “Hey, where do you think you’re going in such clothes?” he barks at the man.

The bouncer has mixed feelings about that guy. Of course, he looks unbecoming to say at least, but he’s not filthy and neither he does smell bad. There’s also nothing weird about his face. It’s completely forgettable, neither attractive or ugly. Long and thin, just like his body and limbs. A short stubble of facial hair, shaggy, short brown hair, prominent nose and tired, almost black eyes.

“I think I’m going inside for some gambling,” the limping man replies with a gruff voice. He seems not to be afraid of the big thug at all.

Subconsciously, the bouncer wants to get rid of the man, mainly because he just doesn’t belong here. His youthful appearance, however, can offer a reason to kick him out. “May I see your ID, please?” the bouncer requests curtly. “I am not allowed to let in anyone under the age of twenty-one.”

Annoyed, the man reaches into his pocket and hands the guard his ID card. The bouncer notices his name: Skellinger, Parker. Twenty-three years old. Parker receives his ID back, secretly enjoying the distress he caused. Inside, he’s laughing at the bouncer’s attempts to get rid of him. Outside, his face stays emotionless.

Sure, Parker is wearing a hoodie with a logo of some metal band almost nobody knows, well-worn jeans and durable army boots. However, he made sure the casino has no official dress code before he decided to go inside. The bouncer has no valid reason not to let him in.

The heavy finally gives up and steps aside, making room for Parker. “Thanks,” Parker utters and hands the man a five-dollar bill, confusing the bouncer even more. Then he walks in, his boots resting on the red carpet which covers the floor.

The casino’s inside is a display of luxury, just like the outside. There are men in suits everywhere, chatting, playing a variety of games the casino offers, drinking fine liquor and, if they have no official escort, flirting with waitresses dressed in splendid Roman gowns.

More and more people stare at Parker as he limps towards the big poker table made of heavy, dark wood like most of the furniture in the casino. Some with revulsion, some with amusement. Who does he think he is? Probably another lowlife trying to gain a fortune by gambling. It won’t take long and he will leave even poorer than he came. That’s how it goes.

To everyone’s surprise, Parker reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of banknotes. “Ten thousand,” he says. “Give me tokens, please.”

The surprised croupier does as Parker requested. The sketchy man nods and continues towards the poker table, now enjoying the attention of the whole casino. The regular visitors play for such amounts of money rather frequently, but nobody expected this particular guy to step up the game like this. The desperate souls are usually willing to bet only about a hundred dollars. However, this guy doesn’t look desperate at all.

His determination and confidence unsettles even the most famous gamblers.

The players around the poker table aren’t playing yet. They are up for a friendly talk and a glass of nice Scotch, enjoying the golden glow of the casino’s interior. Parker takes advantage of it and takes the free seat. The men stop talking immediately. Their body language now shows the man in a black hoodie makes them uncomfortable. However, they don’t ask him to leave. He has money - money they can possibly win from him. One of the men tells the croupier the game can start now.

“Would you like something to drink, Sir?” a waitress asks Parker as she passes by.

“Just a glass of Coke, thank you,” Parker replies, provoking even more mockery from his soon-to-be opponents who all enjoy glasses of fine alcohol.

The wealthy men see Parker and his money as easy prey. After all, they are the elite. The young gentleman wearing a fashionable crew cut is Trinity Gate’s poker champion. The overweight man with a mustache was able to start a renowned company thanks to the money he won in this game. And the remaining three men also aren’t amateurs. It’s something like a VIP club.

It’s no wonder they tend to underestimate Parker. But how justified their feelings are?

Parker would smile at the naivety of the men who play with him (or against him, as it seems the VIP players ganged up to bleed him dry as soon as possible), but he has full control over his facial expression. This is not only a result of countless poker games. He was just born with a natural talent for this.

What the men don’t know is that Parker has no chance of losing as he knows which cards do the men hold. He sees clear images in his mind. His sixth sense, as he calls it, has never betrayed him so far. Acquiring this kind of extrasensory perception was a painful, tormenting experience. So Parker doesn’t consider it wrong to use it for his own benefit, even though some may consider it cheating.

He intentionally lost a few rounds to keep the men’s guard down. They already started to snicker at his apparent lack of skills. But that’s what Parker wants. Calm them down, then strike.

The image in his mind is clearer when he closes his eyes, but he keeps them open to brush off any suspicion closing them may cause. The image is still bright as day. The young upstart has only three-of-a-kind - four of spades, four of diamonds, four of hearts. However, the fat man has a flush - five clubs.

Parker has a straight, so he has to fold and wait for the next opportunity.

It comes soon enough. First, he carefully starts to win some rounds when his hand is good enough. Then he steps up the game and in the end, there is only him, the young gentleman and the fat mustache man playing. The men have started to be suspicious about his skills which seem to get better with every round.

He finishes by going all-in when his pile of tokens is already considerably big. He already knows he has much better cards than both his opponents, so he ends up claiming the whole pot for himself. Not minding the shocked expressions of both men, he casually takes the tokens, exchanges them for dollars and walks away.

By then, he already has the attention of the whole casino. All the gamblers stopped playing for a while to witness the local poker champions getting obliterated by a random kid who came here for the first time. Before leaving, Parker generously tips the waitress who gave him the Coke he requested - the girl stares at the ten hundred-dollar bills in her hand in disbelief.

Nobody objects. This weird guy won the money fair and square… at least that’s what they think.

Parker’s sixth sense reveals everything. Which gamblers are armed. Who and what are they texting if they are on their phones - that guy over here with a young woman by his side definitely isn’t at work despite texting this lie to his wife. He’s aware of all hidden security cameras. To some degree, he’s also able to sense the mood and intentions of the people staring at him.

If he ever talked about his supernatural abilities, he would find it hard to explain them to a person confined to their basic five senses. They became a natural extension of himself. He sees things without his eyes, hears without his ears. That way, he can perceive things hidden from other people.

Some people notice the tattoo around his wrist. It’s a chain of five symbols - a circle, a square, a star, a plus sign and three wavy lines. Some of them recognize them as the symbols present on the so-called Zener cards which are used in the research of extrasensory perception. It could give them an idea about the true nature of this guy’s otherworldly luck, but they are all too hesitant to accept there is an actual psychic among them.

Parker finally steps out of the casino and slides the bouncer who let him in another pack of banknotes. Then he disappears God knows where.

Even though he’s gone, the other gamblers still find themselves unable to enjoy their night out as much as before. They have to constantly think about the young man who just invaded their territory, humiliated local champions, won a great sum of money and left like nothing happened.

The ones affected the most are, naturally, the two men who lost their money and dignity to Parker. They worked hard to earn the respect of the community and now, this random stranger made them a laughing matter. Some of their friends have already started to mock them for losing to such a lowlife.

The young businessman and the fat man with a mustache, who are best friends through thick and thin, exchange looks. They know there’s only one way left to regain their reputation. They don’t even start a new game. The duo just pays for their drinks, leaving a generous tip, then leaves the casino.

Parker can finally put a smile on his face as he counts the money he won from these two upstarts. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. It’s not that Parker is a poor man - he already has about a million dollars locked in a strongbox in his trailer. This isn’t the first splendid poker victory he achieved.

However, because of these magnificent victories, he can’t visit the same casino twice. He knows that the renowned gamblers tend to hold grudges against weird guys who just show up and scoop the pot, even if they (at least seemingly) play fair. When it comes to big money, a lot of people turn into sore losers.

Parker walks down the alley which is almost empty during this hour. This is not his first time in Trinity Gate - he grew attached to this place since it offers the best of all three American territories in just one city. When he turns around, he can see heavy industrial buildings, factories and functional high-rise buildings which can be found in most of the major cities in the Central Confederation.

However, if he drove a few kilometers to the northwest, he would end up among vast fields, greenhouses and ecological houses typical for the Commonwealth of Great Moors. And a look to the northeast offers a skyline of futuristic white skyscrapers of the Republic of Northeast.

The city of Trinity Gate was built near the end of the second civil war to serve as a neutral ground for negotiation. Now it consists of three districts, one for each territory, and the “Core” which is completely neutral. A simple map of the city resembles the Google Chrome logo.

Trinity Gate is located at the point where Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky meet. After the United States divided, Indiana joined the Great Moors while the Confederation claimed Kentucky and the Northeast got Ohio. However, that’s all Parker knows since he’s not much into politics.

He already started to make plans for the rest of the night. He will probably drive to the Great Moors district to get something good to eat. Since the Great Moors are mostly agricultural territory, their food has the highest possible quality and is always fresh.

The food here, in the Confederation district, usually tastes like military rations. What can you expect from a heavily industrial, militant area which is like a bomb with a short fuse?

As Parker walks through the park which is basically just an alley with trees and several benches, his sixth sense warns him. Someone is behind him. Two people. One is slimmer, the other one rather heavy. Parker smirks. His two friends from today’s poker night.

He pretends he’s not aware of them and just walks casually.

Later, he finally hears a voice: “Turn around. Slowly.”

He complies and stands face to face with the young businessman with a butch cut. He has a gun in his head, its muzzle aimed at Parker’s head. The fat guy is behind him, expecting what will come next. “The money,” the younger man hisses. “We know you didn’t play fair. Give them back.”

Parker just smiles at him. “Sore losers, huh? How can you prove I was cheating?”

“The money! Now!” the man barks. Parker stays calm, infuriating him even more. The man’s finger is trembling on the trigger and his face turned red. Wow, I guess I really pissed him off, Parker thinks.

“How are you gonna force me with an empty gun?” Parker asks casually.

The suited man cocks the gun. “What are you talking about? It’s loaded and ready to blow your fucking head away. Are you really gonna risk your life for some money?”

“I’d give you the money if you had some actual ammo in that guy, but if you don’t even bother to load that gun, I can only tell you to piss off,” Parker utters without a sign of nervousness in his voice.

“So you still believe the gun is empty,” the man grins. “Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

Parker shrugs. “If it’s necessary.”

The casino gambler just keeps pointing the gun at Parker’s forehead. Even without his sixth sense, Parker would be able to spot the man’s anxiety - trembling hand, droplets of sweat on his forehead, clenched teeth. “Come on, pull the trigger,” Parker taunts him. “I ain’t gonna give you the money. If the gun is loaded, shoot me.”

No response.

“Come on! Shoot me!” Parker raises his voice. “Prove me I’m wrong!”

The man finally gives up and lowers his gun. “Fuck,” he mutters, furious that this weird guy humiliated him once again. Of course, Parker knew the gun is empty. His sixth sense never disappoints.

Then, the men from the casino hear a rattling sound. The younger man’s face turns pale as he notices an iron chain in Parker’s hand, hanging from his wrist. Parker keeps this weapon wrapped around his forearm in case things get tough. Even though the men are already about to turn tail and leave, Parker can’t turn down some good beating when there are good targets.

He steps forward and cracks the chain like a whip. The young man screams in pain as the chain whips him and creates an ugly gash on his arm and back. Then, Parker turns around and strikes again, this time hitting the man’s head. The man collapses on the concrete pavement.

His overweight companion tries to run away, but Parker swishes the chain again. It wraps itself around the man’s leg. He trips and falls to the ground face first. Parker strikes him with the chain two more times - the metal lands on his back, then on his butt. The man wails in pain as Parker finally turns around and leaves.

“That’s what they deserve,” Parker mutters to himself as he wraps the chain around his forearm again. Then, he forgets about the incident and continues thinking about his late dinner in the Great Moors district.

September 22nd, 9:20 AM, Serenity Park, Trinity Gate

Wiccan Salisbury carefully examines the travel trailer parked in one of the nice parks in the Great Moors district, that kind of park with ponds, playgrounds and decorative fountains. The rising sun shines through the treetops above the man and a gentle wind makes them sway back and forth.

The trailer is large, big enough to substitute a house. He raises his eyebrows when he sees the car which belongs to the trailer - a matte black Jaguar convertible, elegant and beautiful. Definitely not a car for a regular person. It had to cost a fortune.

Wiccan knocks at the trailer’s door.

The resident takes an eternity to open and Wiccan starts to lose patience. He knows someone’s in there since muffled sounds can be heard from the inside. He knocks once again. This time, the resident opens the door.

When the door open, Wiccan hears loud music - soft female vocals accompanied by violins which gradually grow into aggressive screaming and heavy guitar riffs. Then he also sees the resident - a tall, scrawny young man wearing a black hoodie. He has an annoyed expression on his face. He takes a drag on the cigarette in his hand and blows the smoke in Wiccan’s direction.

Then he points somewhere in the distance. “Woodstock is this way, old man,” he says, his voice as annoyed as his face. Then he just slams the door shut.

“Just why did I sign up for dealing with another Skellinger?” Wiccan sighs. The young man’s remark leaves him calm - he’s already used to people making fun of his long dreadlocks and youthful clothes he’s wearing. He knocks on the door again and then two more times until the trailer’s resident opens again, this time angry.

“What the fuck do you want?” he spits out.

“Let’s be polite for a moment, okay?” Wiccan replies. “My name is Wiccan Salisbury. And you are Parker Skellinger, I presume.”

“Mhm,” the young man nods. The metal music still screams in the background, making the talk even harder.

“Let’s say I have a job offer for you,” Wiccan continues.

Parker cackles. “Look, old man. I have this car, this trailer and about a million dollars. What makes you think I’m all eager to get a job? If this is all you wanted, you can piss off.”

The older man tries hard not to snap at the condescending expression and tone of voice of the brat in front of him. Parker takes another puff from the cigarette and once again blows it in Wiccan’s face. “It’s not some kind of everyday job offer,” Wiccan says. “We’re looking for special people with special abilities. And, according to my files, you possess an ability someone might consider unnatural.”

This remark changes Parker’s cocky smirk into glare full of anger and disbelief. “Who the fuck are you?” he hisses. Wiccan smirks; he succeeded at disconcerting this man. Wiccan would never recruit this guy voluntarily - his physical condition isn’t ideal and his attitude is even worse. But he’s one of the few possible recruits roaming close to Trinity Gate, so it seems he has no choice.

“I’m just a man who seeks talented people for a special job. I know you’re a nomade - a guy made for adventures. The job I’m offering you would get you a lot of thrill. And you would also find yourself while doing it. No more pointless roaming and living as an outlaw. We would give your life a purpose.”

“Not interested,” Parker retorts.

“In that case, I have another motivation… and you won’t like it much,” Wiccan looks straight into Parker’s eyes which is enough to unsettle the younger man even more.

 Wiccan opens the folder full of papers he’s carrying. “Okay, Parker,” he says. “See these papers? This is evidence of every fraud, offense and crime you committed since you turned fifteen. We know you cheat in casinos to win money. We know you beat people up from time to time. The minor offenses like speeding or breach of the peace are also there to spice things up a little.”

“Prove it,” Parker barks. His face, however, turned pale. Wiccan knows he’s on the right trail.

“Just yesterday,” the man with dreadlocks reads from one of the papers. “You cheated in the Casino Northstar in the Confederation district to win a large sum of money. Then you used a chain to injure two men.”

“It was a self-defense!” Parker objects. “They had a gun!”

“Maybe it could be taken this way… but what about this?” Wiccan takes another sheet of paper. “About a month ago, St. Louis, the Great Moors territory. An armed robbery. Parker, you’re a really naughty boy. You cause trouble wherever you go.”

“How do you know?” Parker blurts and Wiccan smiles in satisfaction when he hears the panic in his voice.

“Well, we have means the FBI can dream about. We know about every move you make, every website you visit, every thing you buy. So let’s make a deal. If you don’t come with me, I would have to hand this folder to the police. And trust me, I can make them follow you wherever you go until they catch you - we have a million ways to track you. You wouldn’t have peace for the rest of your life. But if you agreed to go with me…”

Parker’s face scowls in anger. “Are you blackmailing me?”

Wiccan shrugs. “Call it whatever you want - I need you to come with me and we can both benefit from that. These files say you’re intelligent. Reckless, yeah. An asshole, definitely. But you’re smart. And if that’s true, you’re not going to refuse. Not when I can offer you something much better than years behind the bars.”

The younger man still doesn’t look convinced. “How can I trust you?”

Wiccan comes up with his trump card. “I used to know your older brother.”

Parker’s face grows cold once again. “I don’t have a brother,” he says with such ire in his voice even Wiccan backs off. The older man realizes it probably wasn’t the best idea to mention Gerard Skellinger, the former member of Team Menhir.

The man has to find a way to get Parker on his side again. “So I guess your relationship wasn’t really warm… well, Gerard never spoke about his siblings and he isn’t among us anymore, so I guess you can forget what I said.”

Parker frowns. “Not among us anymore? Does that mean he’s…”

“No, not dead. He just left us and went his own way.”

“Leaving people,” a bitter smirk appears on Parker’s face. “That’s what he knows best. Anyway, back to the topic. It seems that I don’t have many choices other than doing what you say, right? Can’t say I’m overjoyed about it, but it can be fun, I guess. Do I have to go right now? Can I take my car with me?”

“No, not right now,” Wiccan says, relieved that he made Parker comply. “I will tell you the exact time and place where you need to be. And having a car is actually a benefit.” Then, when he notices the arrogant smile returning to Parker’s face, he adds: “If you think you’re smart enough to just drive away as soon as I leave, think again. In the second I would find out you didn’t arrive at the meeting, I would inform all the law enforcement units and the hunt would begin.”

The smile on Parker’s face slightly fades, but it seems the young man wouldn’t attempt it anyway. “Understood,” he says. “So when and where?”

Author’s Note

I wholeheartedly thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and if you did, please leave a comment, send me a message or share and let more people know about this story! You can also consider a small donation at www.paypal.me/lukassladky. Have a great day and stay tuned for the next chapter!

@notquitenovelist