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her-satanic-wiles · 4 months ago

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Kinktober Day 26 - Rimming

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

Fresh to the Papacy, Copia demands the Ministry worships him as the son of Satan that he is. You, his significant other, are expected to worship just that little bit more.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 2.2k.

Reading Time: 9 min.

Warnings: Copia is mean, dom/sub, fellatio, predator/prey, rimming, semi-public, skull fucking

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @hauntedharmonic-ghoulishhaunter @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sister-of-sin-claudia @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

The air was thick with anticipation, a hushed reverence settling over the Ministry as Papa Copia emerged from his inauguration, his ceremonial robes swirling around him like a shadow come to life. He’d done it, finally. All that hard work, all those deaths. Sister Imperator sticking her nose into places it didn’t belong. Finally the mitre was his, the title was his. This was his moment. The flickering candlelight danced across the rich fabric of his new Papal uniform, casting an ethereal glow that highlighted his newly crowned position as the rightful son of Satan. The whispers of his loyal followers echoed in your mind, praising him, worshipping him—nothing felt more intoxicating than the reverence bestowed upon him.

But it was you who had his true attention.

“Vieni qui, dolcezza,” he commanded, his voice low and possessive, pulling you from your thoughts. His piercing gaze locked onto yours, and you felt a thrill race down your spine. The way he looked at you was like a predator eyeing its prey, and you were all too eager to be devoured.

You moved towards him, your heart racing, the tension between you crackling like electricity. Copia stepped closer, his presence enveloping you. “Do you know what I need tonight?” he asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips. The slight curl of his mouth, the tilt of his head—it all radiated a delicious arrogance.

You swallowed, searching for words but finding only breathless anticipation. “I need you to worship me,” he purred, voice thick with authority, “to show me just how grateful you are that I’ve chosen you. Capisci?” His eyes glinted with mischief, and you knew he relished the power he held over you.

“Now,” he said, backing you against the cool stone of the wall, the chill contrasting sharply with the heat radiating from him. “Let’s see just how well you can serve your Papa.” The words dripped with condescension, a playful yet sharp reminder of your place beneath him.

He leaned in, brushing his lips against your ear, sending shivers down your neck. “Get on your knees, piccola,” he commanded, the Italian slipping from his lips like a sinful secret. “I want to feel your mouth on me.”

You obeyed, sinking to your knees, the rough stone floor a stark reminder of your submission. Your heart raced, exhilaration coursing through you as you reached for the hem of his robe, pulling it aside to reveal the hard length of him straining against his trousers.

Copia smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes as you hesitated. “What’s the matter? You’re not shy, are you?” he taunted, his tone dripping with mockery. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

With a breath of anticipation, you leaned in closer, the heat radiating off him intoxicating. Your hands found their way to his thighs, fingers digging in as you inhaled his scent—dark, heady, and wholly him.

“Bene,” he murmured, approval lacing his voice. “Suck me like the good little pet you are.”

You reached under his robes to pull him out, your mouth watering at the sight of his hardness already standing to attention. With a flick of your wrist, you freed him from the confines of his trousers, feeling the heat radiate from his cock, pulsing with need. You looked up at him, a smirk playing on your lips, relishing the way his expression shifted from arrogance to something darker, hungrier.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and thick with desire. “Now open wide.”

You obeyed, taking him into your mouth slowly at first, the taste of him overwhelming your senses. The weight of his cock filled your mouth, and you moaned around him, the vibrations making him groan in pleasure. You looked up through your lashes, catching the look of satisfaction on his face, and it spurred you on.

As you hollowed your cheeks, drawing him deeper, Copia tangled his fingers in your hair, guiding you at his pace. “Sì, just like that,” he urged, thrusting gently into your mouth, his hips moving with a steady rhythm. “You love being my little pet, don’t you?”

Each thrust sent a thrill through you, and you could feel the heat pooling low in your belly. You sucked harder, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock before taking him even deeper, the rough stone floor pressing against your knees, grounding you as you lost yourself in the pleasure of it.

“Just like that,” he groaned, the satisfaction pouring off of him.

His eyes glinted with satisfaction. “That’s my good girl. Now, get ready.” He withdrew slightly, pulling back until just the tip remained in your mouth, and then thrust back in hard, making you gag around him.

“Does that feel good?” he teased, watching you squirm. “I can’t hear you.”

You pulled back to reply, panting, “Yes, it feels amazing.” You looked up at him, desire pooling deep in your gut as his gaze locked onto yours. There was something intoxicating about being at his mercy, about knowing you existed solely for his pleasure.

“Then you better work harder,” he growled, pushing you back down, his cock sliding deeper than before. He relished in the way you struggled to take him, the sound of your gagging only fueling his need. “You’re going to take it all, capisci?”

You nodded, eyes watering, the thrill of being completely dominated filling your veins. Copia pulled you closer, his grip tightening in your hair as he thrust harder, forcing you to submit entirely to his will.

The world around you faded away; all that mattered was him, the way he filled you, the taste of him overwhelming every other sensation. You let your instincts take over, bobbing your head up and down, swirling your tongue as you embraced the intensity of the moment.

With every thrust, you felt him getting closer, the pressure building in his voice. “I’m going to come,” he warned, his tone dark and possessive. “But first…”

With a wicked glint in his eyes, Copia sank into the hard wood of the pew, his posture relaxed yet commanding. He raised his feet to the edge, exposing himself fully to you, the stark contrast of his blue and black ceremonial robes against his pale skin accentuating the invitation. You could see the glimmer of mischief and authority in his gaze as he beckoned you closer, the air around you thick with arousal and submission.

“Vieni qui, dolcezza,” he beckoned, his voice low and sultry, a command laced with need. “I want you to worship me. Start with your mouth and show me just how much you love this.” His tone was teasing, but the undercurrent of power made it clear he expected nothing less than complete obedience.

You shifted forward eagerly, the heat pooling low in your belly as you knelt before him. Copia’s cock was still hard and glistening, begging for your touch, but your attention was immediately drawn to the enticing sight of his spread cheeks, the smooth skin a testament to his dominance. You swallowed, feeling a thrill of excitement run through you as you understood what he wanted.

“Do you want to taste me?” he asked, tilting his head back slightly, exposing his throat, the movement accentuating the arrogance in his posture. “Then you better make it good.”

With a breathless eagerness, you leaned in, your mouth watering at the prospect of tasting him. You started by kissing the supple skin of his inner thighs, inching closer to the prize that awaited you. His body twitched in response, and you smiled to yourself, knowing you were already teasing him, bending him to your will.

“Non essere così lento,” he chided playfully, but the hint of a growl undercutting his words betrayed the urgency simmering beneath the surface. “I want you to eat me out like the good little pet you are.”

You wasted no time obeying, your tongue darting out to tease the sensitive skin around his entrance. The taste of him was intoxicating, rich and salty, sending waves of heat through you. You pressed your tongue against him, teasing and exploring, relishing the way he shivered at your touch.

“Bene,” he murmured, a satisfied smirk crossing his lips. “That’s my girl.” He let out a low growl as you delved deeper, your tongue swirling and flicking at his entrance, tasting him fully.

While you indulged in his taste, your hand found its way back to his throbbing length, fingers wrapping around his shaft. You began to pump him slowly, your hand working in tandem with your mouth as you lavished attention on his backside. Each movement was a dance of dominance and submission, a delicious interplay of pleasure that had both of you moaning in delight.

“Faster,” he demanded, his voice thick with lust, the words urging you on. “I want to feel you work for it. I want you to beg for it, to know how it feels to be used.” His hips bucked against you, seeking more contact, more sensation, and you complied, pushing your tongue deeper, making him writhe beneath your ministrations.

As you continued to lick and tease, your other hand squeezed and stroked his length with increasing fervor. The combination of the two sensations made his breathing quicken, each sound a low growl of pleasure that only fueled your own desire.

“Sei così brava,” he praised, a sharp edge to his voice that drove you wild. “You’re such a good little pet for your Papa.” He let out a shuddering breath, the pressure building as you expertly matched your rhythm to the movements of your tongue and hand.

His hips bucked, pushing more insistently against your mouth as he grew closer to the edge. “I’m going to come,” he warned, his voice low and thick with desire. “But I want to see you—keep licking, keep pumping me. Show me how much you want it.”

With renewed determination, you increased your efforts, sucking him harder, your tongue swirling as you pushed him to the brink. The world around you faded once more, all that mattered was the pleasure you brought him, the way he filled your senses.

“Just like that, dolcezza,” he groaned, the words laced with urgency. “Now…now!”

With a final thrust of his hips, he spilled himself into your waiting mouth, the warmth of him coating your tongue as you swallowed greedily. The taste of him, mixed with the satisfaction of his release, sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“Such a good girl,” he breathed, watching you with a mix of pride and lust as you licked your lips clean.

Copia leaned back, a wicked smirk playing across his lips as he watched you squirm. The way you bit your lip, the way your body begged for release, only fueled his delight. He enjoyed the power he held over you, relishing the sight of you, so eager and desperate, yet completely at his mercy.

“Did you think I’d let you come, dolcezza?” he teased, his voice dripping with mockery. “Oh no, not tonight. Tonight is all about me and my needs.” He chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, like honey poured over molten iron. “You really thought you’d earn that reward after being such a good girl?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a soft whine, frustration mingling with desire. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, a delicious ache that begged for release, yet he was determined to keep you on the edge.

“Look at you,” he continued, his gaze roaming over your body with a predatory hunger. “So desperate. So needy.” He leaned closer, the warm scent of his skin intoxicating, and brushed a finger along your jaw. “But you won’t get to feel that sweet release tonight. You’ll just have to suffer… for me.”

His tone was light, almost playful, but the underlying dominance sent a thrill through you. He was enjoying this too much, and the way he toyed with your emotions only deepened your yearning.

“Imagine how it feels, knowing you won’t get to come, knowing you’re nothing more than my little plaything,” he purred, his voice a sultry whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Do you think I’ll let you touch yourself? Do you think I’ll allow you that small mercy?”

You shook your head, the words catching in your throat. The idea of being denied was both infuriating and intoxicating, your frustration mounting with each passing second.

“Good girl,” he crooned, revelling in your suffering. “You understand your place, don’t you? It’s all about me tonight, and you’re simply here to make me feel good. You should feel honoured to be used this way.”

Copia’s fingers trailed teasingly down your neck and across your collarbone, igniting sparks of pleasure as he leaned back, his expression shifting to one of mock contemplation. “Perhaps I should just let you edge yourself, only to pull you back just as you’re about to cum. Wouldn’t that be delicious? Watching you writhe and beg for it, only to have it snatched away.”

You felt a fresh wave of frustration wash over you, mingled with an insatiable desire that left you breathless. The thought of being denied sent your pulse racing, a mix of helplessness and longing.

“Tonight,” he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “you’ll learn that true pleasure comes from submission. And I promise, you’ll appreciate every bit of it when I finally let you come. Until then… be a good pet and keep those noises to yourself.”

With that, he leaned back, crossing his arms, watching you with a smirk as if to say: Now, let’s see how long you can last.

Translations:

Vieni qui, dolcezza. - Come here, sweetheart.

Capisci? - understand?

Piccola. - Little one.

Bene - Good.

Non essere così lento - Don’t be so slow.

Sei così brava - You’re so good at this

Prev./Next

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jinxedbychaos · 5 months ago

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Echoes of Insanity Ch.1

Shadows From the Past and Crystals of Chaos

Two sisters, bound by blood and trauma, descend into madness. Forced to rely on each other to survive, twins Powder and Ash are tormented by their shared past. As the line between sisterly love and obsession blurs, they stand on the edge of self-destruction. Can they break the cycle, or are they destined to be consumed by the darkness within?

jinx (powder) x twin sister

This is the first fanfic I ever write and English is not my first language so bear with me.

I don't have an specific path for this fic so if you have an idea just leave it in the comments and ill put it into consideration.

past-

Powder and I hold tightly to our older sister's hands, one of us on each side of her. As we walk across the bridge, we both sing softly

"Dear friend across the river..." Ashes falling from the sky in pieces. "My hands are cold and bare... dear friend across the river, I'll take what you can spare."

The distant sound of fire echoes in the background.

"I ask for you a penny, my fortune it will be. I ask you without envy— we raise no mighty towers, our homes are built of stone."

we cover our eyes, just as our sister told us to, shielding us from the sight of the bodies lying around.

"So come across the river and find..."

Our singing fades as our sister suddenly stops. wanting to know why I'm the first uncover my eyes followed by powder, looking up at her. I glance downward and freeze, startled by the sight of all the bodies. My grip tightens around my older sister's hand.

Nearby, we hear the sound of fighting. A man is battling, breathing heavily after taking down a enforcer. The man looks back at us, before Vi steps forward, pulling us behind her, shielding us as the man approaches. My heart races, but as he gets closer, we recognize him.

I watch as our older sister frantically scans the area. The man, understanding what she’s searching for, he tilts his head to the left.

There, I see them Mama and Papa, lying on the ground. Clinging to my sister’s arm, I look up at her face. It scrunches, and tears begin to fall. She collapses to her knees, crying out in agony, her sobs filling the air.

Not fully understanding what has happened but desperate to comfort her, we wrap our arms around her, hugging her tightly, trying to make her feel better.

The man carries Powder and me as we sleep, exhausted from everything that happened. Vi walks beside him, clutching his jacket between her fingers. She glances back, watching the enforcers leave, and her grip tightens around Vander's jacket, her expression shifting from sadness to pure anger seeing all the destruction around her.

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present-

"We're almost there," Vi says, looking down at us.

"Aw, man..." I hear Mylo whine.

Vi reaches the top of the building and looks around. I’m just behind Powder as she climbs up and reaches the top, I see her hand reach out to help me. She pulls me up onto the roof.

i let a small thanks

"Hey, Powder, Ash, come take a look," Vi calls.

We walk over to her, standing beside her and gazing out at the view of Piltover.

"Whoa..." I hear Powder whisper.

"It's nice, getting above it all, huh?" Vi says, looking out over the city. Mylo and Claggor join us, standing behind.

Suddenly, an airship flies over our heads. Powder and I watch it, mesmerized.

"One day, we're gonna ride on one of those," Powder says with determination, hugging my arm and smiling at me. And I smile back at her.

"And one day, I'm gonna shoot one of 'em down," Mylo adds, pointing at the airship, mimicking a gun with his fingers as he pretends to shoot at it. Vi quickly swats his arm.

"Vi, are you sure about this?" Claggor asks, looking down at the houses. "Look, if we get caught, we're—" he starts, but Vi cuts him off.

"We're not gonna get caught," Vi replies, her voice full of determination.

Vi leads the way across the rooftops, and we all follow behind her.

"We’ll be in and out before anyone notices." Vi replies.

Birds chirp as they fly by, and we gather at the edge of the roof, looking down.

"All right, everybody, follow me... Just don’t look down," Vi says. Then, she jumps, sliding down the side of the roof before swinging across to the balcony and then jumping to the building in front. She looks back at us from the other side.

Mylo cracks his knuckles and goes next, who clumsily follows Vi’s path, followed by Claggor. They both make it to the other building, claggor landing beside Mylo, who is now munching on a stolen cupcake he found resting on the balcony.

"Couldn't we have just walked there?" Claggor asks, finishing the stolen cupcake.

"Gotta stay out of sight for this one," Vi says, lifting her gaze toward Powder and me, as we still standing on the rooftop of the other building.

Powder looks down, terrified, her breathing growing heavier.

"Called it. This one's on you, Vi," Mylo says, glancing over at us as we stay in our place frozen.

"I'll get them—" Claggor sighs, starting to move.

"No," Vi interrupts. "Powder, ash, look at me. What did I tell you?"

"That... we're ready," Powder replies, her voice trembling but determined as she glances over at me.

"It's okay, Powder, I-I'll go first," I say with a nervous tone.

with that I slide over the roof side and juping into the balcony railing I look down seeing how high is and I my hold in the railing tightens.

"it's okay, Ash. you just need to jump" vi says giving me enough courage to finally jump. I close my eyes, opening them only when I feel solid ground beneath me, i smile in relief and I look back at powder, who's now looking at me.

"see? Ash did it." Vi says to powder reasuring her, and waits for her next move.

With that, Powder steps to the edge and slides down the rooftop, letting out a small scream as she jumps to the balcony railing.

"Phew," Powder exhales, relieved.

She walks along the edge of the balcony, preparing to jump to the next building. But as she land, she loses her balance. I rush to grab her arm, and so does Vi. Together, we pull her back up.

"Thanks," Powder says with a shaky sigh.

I hold onto her arm, my heart still pounding like crazy after watching my sister almost fall.

We follow Vi as she starts walking, passing Mylo, who shakes his head at us disapprovingly.

"What if Vander finds out we're all the way up here?" Claggor asks, nervous.

"Look around you," Vi replies, glancing back at him. "You think anyone topside is going hungry? Besides, this is exactly the kind of job Vander would've pulled when he was our age."

"I'm going. Are you with me or not?" Vi asks, her determination clear.

Mylo shrugs, and Claggor sighs. "Vander's gonna kill us."

"Yeah, only if we screw up," Vi says, looking at all of us. "So don't screw up."

Vi drops down onto a balcony, peering into the workshop to make sure it’s clear.

"All clear," she says once she’s sure no one’s inside.

Mylo is the second to drop onto the balcony. He checks the door, finding it locked. "Who locks their balcony?" he grumbles, kneeling to pick the lock.

I’m the third to drop down, followed by Powder and Claggor.

"Whew, there are tons of enforcers down there," Claggor says, glancing over the balcony to the street below.

"Means we’re in the right place," Vi replies with a grin.

"You gonna get that door open anytime soon?" Vi asks Mylo.

"Working on it," Mylo replies with a sigh. "Seeing as I’m the only one who knows how to pick locks, I suggest—" He startles as Vi kicks the door open and strides into the workshop.

Claggor smacks the back of Mylo’s head. "Animals," Mylo mutters to no one in particular.

I walk in with Powder. "Whoa," we both say in awe, glancing around the workshop like we’ve just walked into a candy store. It’s filled with books and strange artifacts.

Vi drops her bag on the floor, eagerly scanning the bookshelves, while Claggor and Mylo start rummaging through the tables.

"You know, Claggor, for once you're right." Mylo picks up a random object from the table, eyeing it. "We are definitely not supposed to be here." He shrugs and drops the object into his bag.

Claggor opens a drawer and dumps its contents into his own bag.

Powder finds a small model of a horse, knocking over some books as she picks it up and shows it to me. Meanwhile, I start looking around for anything valuable to add to the bag.

Vi stands in front of a chalkboard covered in complex math equations. "Must be an inventor," she mutters.

I spot something shiny on a nearby table. "Whoa, Pow-Pow, look!" I call, holding it up. "I think this is real Valdiani!" Together, we examine the object, turning it around in our hands. Suddenly, it clicks open, and soft music starts playing as a tiny planet begins to spin.

"Oh yeah? What about this?" Mylo holds up a pair of clamps.

"That's a nose hair trimmer," I say, unimpressed.

"Ash, Powder," Vi calls over, "keep an eye out for anything actually valuable before Mylo fills the bag with junk."

Mylo grumbles and tosses the nose hair trimmer aside. As he digs through papers on the table, he uncovers a strange triangular object with a blue crystal in the center. "Uh... guys?"

Claggor and Vi both turn to look at it.

"Wait, Vi, how the hell did we find this place?" Claggor asks.

"It was a tip from Little Man," Vi replies.

"Little Man?" Mylo echoes.

"Just leave it," Vi says, irritated

Meanwhile, Powder and I explore further, walking down a hallway and reaching another room. As we look around, I spot something two sandwiches on a table. "Woo-hoo!" I cheer, grabbing the sandwiches and I hand one to Powder and take the other for myself bitting into it.

Powder uncovers a chest. We look at it, and she tries to lift it, but it’s too heavy. I help her, but we barely manage to shift it. Accidentally, I press a button, and the lid springs open, revealing six glowing crystals.

"Whoa," we say in unison. Powder picks one up, inspecting it closely.

"What is that?" I ask, eyes wide.

Back in the main room, Vi, Mylo, and Claggor are still shoving objects into their bags. Suddenly, Vi freezes, listening intently. She hears footsteps approaching the door.

"Mylo!" Vi says, pointing to a chair.

Mylo grabs the chair and runs to block the door.

"Powder, Ash, we gotta go," Vi whispers urgently.

A gasp escapes from me as Powder and I quickly grab the blue crystals. I take two, and Powder takes four.

"Hello?" A man’s voice calls from outside. "Is someone in there?" his tone growing urgent as he tries to open the door.

I shove the stones into my pocket while Powder stashes the rest, but she accidentally drops one, either of us noticing it. The stone rolls across the floor, releasing streams of blue energy.

We rush toward Vi, who grabs our arms and leads us down the hallway to the main room, where Mylo and Claggor are waiting by the balcony doors.

"Come on!" Mylo urges, trying to hurry us.

"We’ll be fine. Just get back on the roof," Vi commands, grabbing her bag from the floor.

But before we can reach the balcony, in the other room the blue stone rolls into the wall, shattering and erupting into a massive blue explosion. The blast sends us flying across the room, slamming into the balcony floor.

The force of the explosion knocks us to the ground as blue energy streaks out through the balcony. My ears ring painfully from the deafening sound.

Vi scrambles back to us, checking if we’re okay.

The entire place starts to collapse around us.

"Hold on!" Vi shouts.

Powder and I cling to each other desperately, like our lives depend on it.

Below, enforcers spot the crumbling building and scramble out of the way as debris crashes onto the street.

Vi rushes to the edge and looks down, locking eyes with an enforcer.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath.

Suddenly, honks blare through the streets alerting the city of the intruders.

We all sprint through the streets of Piltover, enforcers right behind us.

"Stop right there!" one of them yells, throwing a trap that nearly catches Claggor, but instead wraps around a light pole.

We keep running, pushing through crowds, darting down stairs, as more traps fly toward us.

We reach a bridge just as it begins to rise. We leap over the widening gap, one enforcer missing the jump and falling through.

"This way!" Vi shouts, leading us through the alleys. We run so fast, barely stopping as we hit a wall, but we keep going. Vi breaks a pipe, creating a cloud of steam that leaves the enforcers coughing and disoriented.

They search the now-empty alley, one signaling to the others to keep looking.

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

Ch. 2

That's all I'm still editing the next chapter but be done by tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.

#arcane jinx #jinx arcane x reader #platonic #vi arcane #arcane silco #vi x reader #ekko arcane #powder arcane #jinx league of legends #caitlyn #vi arcane x reader #vander arcane x reader #silco x reader #arcane imagine #reader insert

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girlwithadragonheart · 3 months ago

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Chapter 12 - The Dawn Will Come

This story contains major spoilers for Dragon Age the Veilguard. Read at your own discretion!!

Kalais x Lucanis

Summary: Under the pressure of being a leader, Kalais is having nightmares from her past and present. Luckily, an old friend is there to comfort her when she wakes.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Swearing, nightmares, lots of death, descriptions of death, animal cruelty, I am so sorry, representation of abuse

A/N: I am soooooo sorry Kalais, please forgive me

Chapter 11 DATV Masterlist Chapter 13

ft. The song that always reminds me of varric and kalais

The battlefield was endless.

Mud clung to my boots with every step, the squelching sound blending with the screams that carried on the wind. Fog swirled around my feet, disturbed by my movements. The air was cold and damp, stinking of blood and rot, so thick I could taste it, iron bitter on my tongue. My dagger was heavy in my hand, slick with something warm I didn’t want to name. I didn’t dare look down. I already knew what I’d see—the bodies. Broken, lifeless, familiar.

I couldn’t stop. If I stopped, I would fall, and I couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not ever.

The mist coiled around my legs, rising like it had intent, like it knew me. I shivered, a chill racing down my spine as a whisper slithered through the air. It wasn’t words—not exactly. It was just the sound of something wanting me. Pulling me.

My throat tightened as I pressed on, my breath ragged and sharp in my ears. Shapes loomed ahead, shifting in the fog. Relief flooded me when I saw a familiar figure.

Varric.

He was crouched in the mid, his broad shoulders hunched, his head bowed. My knees buckled with the force of my relief. He was alive.

“Varric!” My voice cracked as I stumbled toward him.

He didn’t move.

The relief twisted in my gut, turning cold and sour. Something was wrong. His hands cradled something in his lap, his fingers trembling. My chest constricted as I drew closer, the shapes resolving into sickening clarity.

It was a body.

The face was unrecognizable—bloodied, broken—but the armor was familiar. Shadow Dragon armor. I tried to swallow the rising bile, but my throat wouldn’t work.

I wanted to call out again, to tell Varric I was here, that I could help, but the words stuck in my throat like ash. He looked up, slowly, and my stomach dropped. His face was hollow, his eyes ringed with shadow and lined with grief that cut deeper than any wound.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. The ache in his expression carved something jagged into my chest. I watched his lips move, but I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t hear anything.

A moment later, his voice floated toward me on the missing wind. “We didn’t win, kid.”

And then he was gone.

The mist surged forward, swallowing him whole.

I staggered back, my heart pounding, my pulse hammering in my ears. “No,” I choked, my voice swallowed by the fog.

I turned, but the world turned upside down, and my stomach flipped.

The battlefield dissolved into a gilded hall. Chandeliers hung above me, their crystals refracting pale, unnatural light. The walls dripped with tarnish, the golden accents corroded and blackened.

I knew this place. I had walked these halls before, in another life. A life where I was a shadow, something seen but never acknowledged. Not for anything good, anyway.

The air was too still, too quiet. Then the whispers began again.

They came from everywhere, faceless voices speaking in venom.

Failure.

Coward.

Traitor.

Each word landed like a stone, the weight of them crushing my chest. My skin prickled as I turned in place, searching for their source.

The Shadow Dragons stood before me, their faces sharp with accusation.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my tongue felt thick, heavy. The words wouldn’t come.

They advanced as one, their movements unnervingly synchronized. Their eyes burned with something feral, something hungry.

“You let us die,” one of them hissed, their voice jagged and raw.

I stumbled back, shaking my head. “No, I—”

“Minrathous burns because of you,” another spat.

“You ran while we stayed,” a third sneered.

My chest tightened, and my legs felt like they might give out beneath me.

Behind them was a familiar face, and the magister’s wife emerged, her silk gown dripping with blood. Her face was pallid, her lips thin and cruel. Somewhere distant the thought passed that she looked remarkably similar to another I had killed.

“Poor, poor, Kalais. Always running, always surviving, but never saving anyone,” she said, her voice soft, almost sweet.

Her words wrapped around me like a vice, squeezing. My knees hit the floor before I realized I was falling.

The ground cracked beneath me. Darkness seeped through the fissures, viscous and alive. It coiled around their feet first, pulling them down. Their screams pierced the air, high and ragged, clawing at me.

I reached for them, but my hands wouldn’t move. My arms felt like lead. Heavy and useless.

“Please,” I whispered, the sound swallowed by the darkness.

The floor beneath me shattered, and I fell.

I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from my lungs. My vision swam, the world around me a blur of shadow and blood.

And then I saw him.

Lucanis.

He stood at the center of the carnage, his armor cracked, his body bleeding from a hundred wounds. His purple eyes glowed in the dark, the telltale sign of Spite’s influence. The sight turned my stomach, fear clawing at my throat.

I tried to call out to him, but my voice broke.

He turned to me slowly, his gaze distant, lost.

“I can’t stop it,” he said, his voice low and strained.

“No,” I rasped, forcing myself to my feet.

I reached for him, but before I could touch him, another figure stepped into the space between us.

Illario.

His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his smirk cutting across the haze like a blade.

“He’s mine,” Illario said simply, his voice dripping with cruelty.

I tried to summon my magic, but nothing came. My hands sparked weakly, useless, and panic surged through me.

“Please,” I begged, my knees buckling. “Not him.”

Illario’s laugh echoed around us, cold and hollow. It took on another layer, morphing into another familiar tormentor from my past. Magister Imarius. “You think you can save him?” I watched his face morph into that oh-so familiar one. “You can’t even save yourself.”

Lucanis dropped to his knees beside him, his gaze locked on mine. His lips moved, forming my name, but no sound came. His body convulsed, and then he was still.

“No!” The word tore from my throat, raw and broken. I scrambled to his side, my hands shaking as I cradled his face. His skin was cold, his eyes empty.

I thought it was Lucanis, but it was Varric. Those soft eyes looked up at me, empty and lifeless. But no, it was really my mother cold and dead in my arms after I crashed the slaver ring. Then it was the Magister’s wife, her skin hollow and eyes sunken in. But actually, I was a kid again, and I was holding the house cat.

The scent of lilac oil lingered in the air, masking the faint staleness of old velvet curtains. A lie of beauty, masking the rot.

I was small again, barely more than a child, my hands clutching a lifeless shape against my chest. The room felt enormous. The dark wood of the study stretched into endless corners where shadows gathered, whispering.

The cat’s fur was soft beneath my fingers, still warm. Its neck lolled unnaturally to the side. Blood crusted at its mouth, a thin streak staining its snow coat. I held it closer, my arms trembling under its slight weight. I knew I couldn’t make it right. Not this time.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, my voice barely audible. My breath came in sharp, shallow gasps.

The magister’s presence filled the room long before he stepped into view. His boots clicked against the marble, measured and precise, echoing in the suffocating silence.

“What,” he said, his voice low, even, dangerously calm, “have you done now?”

I froze. My throat tightened, and I couldn’t look up. I kept my eyes on the cat, as if keeping my gaze there could protect me.

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to,” he interrupted, his tone cutting like a blade. He loomed over me now, his shadow swallowing me whole. “That seems to be the excuse of every snivelling slave in this household. Tell me, Kalais, what exactly didn’t you mean to do? Hm?”

“I didn’t mean for him to die.” My voice cracked as the words tumbled out. Tears blurred my vision, dripping onto the cat’s fur.

The magister clicked his tongue, crouching so he was eye level with me. His gaze was sharp, dispassionate, like I wasn’t a person but an object, something broken and bothersome.

“You didn’t mean for him to die,” he repeated, mockery dripping from each syllable. His hand reached out, and I flinched, but he only grabbed the cat’s limp body, wrenching it from my grasp. “Look at it.”

I couldn’t.

“Look at it!” he barked, and my head snapped up instinctively.

The cat dangled from his hands, its head lolling, eyes glazed over. The magister shook it slightly, like it was nothing more than a rag doll.

“Everything you touch,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less cruel, “dies. Do you know why, Kalais?”

I shook my head, but he didn’t wait for an answer.

“It’s because you are cursed,” he continued, his tone almost conversational. “You were born to destroy, to rot everything you come near. You killed my wife. You killed your mother. And now, you can’t even save a cat.”

The words pelted me like stones, each one heavier than the last. My hands trembled, and my stomach twisted violently.

“Do you know what this is?” He gestured to the lifeless animal. “This is the consequence of your existence. Everything you love dies, Kalais. It’s your nature. Your purpose. The sooner you learn that, the better for everyone.”

My chest ached as I tried to swallow back sobs. I wanted to scream, to tell him he was wrong, that I hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. But the words wouldn’t come.

He dropped the cat unceremoniously onto the floor, the thud making me flinch again. He straightened, looking down at me with disdain.

“Clean it up,” he said, his voice cold, detached. “And Andraste’s sake, don’t embarrass yourself further.”

But Andraste had never come when I called.

He turned and left, his steps echoing until they disappeared entirely.

I was alone again. Alone with the dead thing at my feet. My hands shook as I reached for it, my fingers brushing against its soft fur.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

The shadows in the room deepened, pressing closer, their whispers growing louder. Failure. Coward. Traitor.

The magister’s voice rang in my ears, louder than the rest. Everything you love dies.

And I believed him.

—---------------------------

“Rook! Kalais!”

The voice yanked me from the depths of the nightmare like a hand grabbing my arm and dragging me up from drowning.

My eyes shot open, and I gasped, my lungs aching as though I hadn’t breathed for hours. My hands flew to my chest as if I could hold the shattering pieces of myself together. The room swam around me, unfamiliar shadows skittering across the walls in the dim light of the campfire outside the tent.

“Kalais, you’re safe.” The voice again, this time softer, steady. Grounding.

Varric.

I blinked rapidly, forcing the blurred edges of reality to sharpen, forcing myself to see. He knelt beside me, his face lined with worry, his hand on my shoulder. His touch was firm but carefully, anchoring me to the present.

The sound that came out of me was raw and broken, halfway between a sob and a gasp. My hands were still shaking as I reached out, clutching his arm like it was the only solid thing in the world.

“You were dreaming,” he said gently, his brows knit in that way he always did when he was trying to piece together something he couldn’t fix.

I couldn’t speak. My throat felt raw, choked with ash, as though I had screamed myself hoarse in the dream. I tried to focus on his voice, on his steady presence, but the remnants of the nightmare clung to me like cobwebs I couldn’t shake off.

“It’s alright,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re alright.”

I wanted to believe him, but the images were still there—Varric bleeding in my arms, Lucanis lost to Illario, the Shadow Dragons accusing me, the magister’s words slicing through me. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to block it all out, but it wouldn’t leave me.

“Hey,” Varric said again, his voice more insistent. He leaned closer, his other hand hovering like he didn’t know if he should pull me into a hug or just wait. “Rook. Look at me.”

I forced my hands down, blinking up at him. His face came into focus—concern etched into every line, his eyes steady and warm, anchoring me.

“You’re safe,” he said again, his voice steady. “We’re all safe. It was just a nightmare.”

“Was it?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice raw and trembling.

Varric sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sat back on his heels. “Rook, I don’t know what you saw, but whatever it was, it’s not real. You’re alright.”

My chest heaved as I tried to pull in air, but it felt too shallow, too thin. “I keep seeing it,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Everything I’ve done. Everyone I’ve failed. I keep losing them, Varric. Over and over again.”

“Listen to me.” His hand gripped mine now, firm and warm, grounding me further. “You’ve made mistakes. We all have. But you’ve also saved people. You saved me, Rook. You saved Lucanis. And you’re still fighting for the rest of us. Don’t let some twisted memory convince you otherwise.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him he didn’t understand, but the look in his eyes stopped me. There was no judgment there, no pity—just truth.

“You’re not alone in this, kid,” he added, his voice softening again. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

The tension in my chest loosened just enough for me to breathe a little deeper. “What if he was right? Imarius. Everything I love dies.” I looked down at my hands, for a split second seeing the blood covering them, the smell of blood and ash flooding my nose. I blinked, and it was gone.

Varric’s hand tightened over mine, grounding me again, pulling me out of the lingering shadows. His eyes softened, but there was something hard beneath them—anger, not at me, but at the words that had taken root in my mind, at the weight of a past that refused to let go.

“That’s bullshit,” he said, the words firm and biting, cutting through the haze like a blade. “Whatever that bastard told you, whatever he put in your head, it’s not true. It never was.”

I shook my head, the ache in my chest spreading like a fracture. “You don’t know, Varric. You didn’t see it. He—he said I destroy everything. That it’s who I am. And maybe he’s right.”

The words came out in a rush, trembling and bitter. I looked down at my hands again, half expecting to see blood, ash, or fur clinging to them. They were clean, but it didn’t matter. I could still feel it.

Clean it up.

“I couldn’t save my mother. I couldn’t save the Shadow Dragons. Minrathous… And you—” My voice broke, and I couldn’t finish.

Varric leaned closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “Stop. Just stop right there.” His voice was low, steady, but there was a sharpness to it, like he wouldn’t let me keep spiralling. “You don’t get to rewrite the story like that, Rook. You’re not a destroyer. You’re a survivor. And yeah, sometimes surviving means you don’t save everyone. But that doesn’t make you some damned curse.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted his words to be enough to push back the weight pressing down on me, but it wasn’t that simple. “Then why does it feel like everything I love slips through my fingers?”

Varric sighed, his shoulders slumping as he sat back. He looked older for a moment, wearier, like he carried his own ghosts. “Because this life isn’t kind,” he said quietly. “It’s not fair, and it doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve done. But you—you keep fighting anyway. That’s what matters.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. “What if I can’t protect him, Varric? What if Lucanis—”

He cut me off gently but firmly. “Rook, you can’t protect everyone. Not all the time. Lucanis is a grown man, and he’s one of the toughest bastards I’ve ever met. But more than that, he’s yours. You think he doesn’t see how hard you fight for him? How much you care? You’re not going to lose him because of some nightmare or an old magister’s lies.”

Tears burned in my eyes, and I bit down on the sob that threatened to escape. “I’m so tired, Varric,” I whispered. “Of losing. Of fighting. Of—of being this.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he pulled me into a rough hug, his arms strong and warm around me. “I know, kid. I know.”

The embrace cracked something inside me, and the tears came, hot and silent, spilling down my face as I buried it in his shoulder. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to fix it. He just held on, steady and solid, letting me fall apart for a moment.

When I finally pulled back, my breathing uneven but steadier, he offered me a faint, crooked smile. “You don’t have to do this alone, Kalais. You’ve got me, you’ve got Lucanis, and you’ve got the rest of us. We’re not going anywhere.”

I nodded, the weight in my chest just a little lighter. “Thank you, Varric.”

“Anytime.” He stood, brushing invisible dust off his pants. “Now, get some rest. You’ve got a long day ahead, and I don’t need you nodding off in the middle of some life-or-death situation.”

A faint, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “I’ll try.”

As he stepped out of the room, I let myself lean back against the chaise, watching the reflections of water dance across the ceiling. The nightmares would come again—I knew that. But for now, I held onto his words, letting them anchor me.

For tonight, at least, I wasn’t alone.

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

A/N: I'm sorry...

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writingjourney · 2 years ago

Text

Unprecedented | Secondo x gn!Reader

Or: The four times you almost get Secondo to admit his feelings for you and the one time you succeed.

Summary: Working with Secondo is only half as bad as people make it seem – at least until you fall in love with each other.

Content: 12.7k words, gn!reader, pining, sexual tension/suggestive language, food mention, blood/minor injury, forced proximity, soft secondo, terzo being a menace, smut-ish in part four but definite smut in part five (thigh riding, unprotected sex, penetration, dom/sub dynamics), 18+ MDNI

thank you for being patient with me, this is my first time writing Secondo, so pls go easy on me ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link

1 Voluntary Abstinence

The air gets colder by a few degrees as you take the last few narrow steps down the winding staircase into the basement. Burnt-down candles are illuminating the hallway from small alcoves, wax dripping down the weathered stone, their light flickering off the dark brick walls. Amongst these dancing shadows you make your way to the door at the other end of the hall. It’s made of iron, heavy and airtight, the rooms beyond kept on very specific temperature and humidity levels to preserve the precious items they’re protecting.

You push it open and find yourself in a small antechamber that leads into three different rooms – a tiny office, the restoration workshop and a small storage room. Entering this area always feels like stepping foot inside a secret laboratory, though it looks far less sterile with all the shelves of old tomes, paintings and other cursed as well as non-cursed artefacts.

“Papa?” you whisper upon closing the door.

“Office,” a steady voice calls back.

You find Papa Emeritus II bent over the desk, sorting through papers. He’s wearing his narrow reading glasses, the paint by his ears slightly smudged while his outfit remains pristine. Black slacks, a black button down shirt, sleeves rolled up casually, his usual black leather gloves switched for white cotton ones to avoid fingerprints and sweat stains.

He’s hard at work, has been for most of the morning, trying to save a rare first edition of Nietzsche’s Der Antichrist. He lets you observe him from time to time, ever since you expressed your genuine interest in his restoration work. His book-binding fascinates you the most so whenever an interesting project emerges, he lets you know and you get as much time off from your regular clergy duties as possible in order to learn from him. Lucky for you, Sister has no issue excusing you from time to time to help Papa down here. Not many Siblings have the patience or steady hands to work on these intricate projects and even less want to work with Secondo at all, if only for his understandably high standards when it comes to handling fragile artefacts.

“How is it going, Papa?” you ask casually.

“I am taking some time to document the process and sort through these,” he says. “My hands are a little too shaky for bookbinding right now.”

When you don’t reply, he finally looks up at you. His eyes appear bigger behind the glasses but he quickly takes them off, the marks now imprinted on his nose making you smile. Only the smile quickly vanishes when you take in his tired eyes. Even under the black make-up he looks exhausted, sleep-deprived and almost hungover, though you know he wouldn’t drink in the middle of a project like this. So there has to be a different cause.

Secondo, meanwhile, takes you in as well. You’re wearing the tight habit that hugs your body in all the right places today and he’s very pleased with that. Perhaps by now you’re aware it’s his favorite, he knows you’re observant like that, such a smart, sharp-witted thing you are. He’s trying very hard not to stare but you’re too busy worrying to notice.

“Are you feeling alright, Papa? You look… ugh.” You’re clearly trying to find a polite way to put it and it amuses him greatly. Even now you hesitate to speak your mind around him. “I mean, you seem like you’re in need of some rest.”

“Yes, sleep was not a priority last night.” He smirks to himself at the memory, he can still feel it in his sore muscles as well. “So you will have to excuse me looking a bit tired today, Sibling.”

Your lips press together into a thin line. “Oh. Of course.”

Secondo does not miss the hurt that’s flickering over your face. Once, he might have, but by now he’s seen this look so many times that he can catch it in milliseconds. The guilt he feels upon glimpsing it is the main reason he established certain rules in the first place. As a man with many lovers, Secondo had to find ways to stop anyone from developing any actual feelings for him that he cannot reciprocate. Most of the time, this isn’t a real issue, the intentions are clear, people seek adventures, a like-minded lover who can satisfy them in ways that others can’t. But from time to time expectations change, feelings get in the way and it’s so very human but very bothersome at the same time. Secondo has no desire to toy with anyone, so at the first hint of anything that goes beyond lust, he usually calls it quits to avoid inflicting any more pain than necessary.

But there is a key difference here: You’re not his lover.

“Well, I won’t keep you, Papa, I just wanted to see the progress and check in on you. I have to help out with lunch preparations now, but perhaps I can come back later,” you say without meeting his eyes again. “I wish you a productive day nonetheless.”

He wants to stop you and say something, only he’s not sure what there is to say at all. Please, do come back? Don’t leave yet?

It’s only when you’re out the door that he realizes he could have just thanked you.

✦ ✧ ✦

Despite what occurred in his office before lunch, you’re back in the early afternoon hours, presenting him with some painkillers and a cup of black coffee. He can tell by the smell alone that this hasn’t been brewed in the kitchens; you clearly begged Terzo to let you use the fancy coffee machine in his office. It’s always worth it, even if Terzo teases him mercilessly when it comes to you by now, his little assistente, as he calls you.

You don’t comment on your hasty exit from earlier as you set down your cargo on his desk and take a seat on the wooden chair opposite from him. You’re staying for a while, it seems, that’s good. He can use your company after working alone in the basement all day.

Not used to someone taking care of him, Secondo tries not to show how your simple gesture affects him. “Thank you, my dove. This is just what I needed.”

You smile with genuine kindness, the sort of smile that always makes him pause as he feels its paralysing effect on him. “You’re welcome, Papa. Are you feeling any better?”

He smiles and takes a much needed sip of coffee. “Yes, but I think I should take a bit of a break from…” He stops, trying to word it carefully. “… the nightly activities.”

“Oh, really?”

Your eyes bore into his and it’s like you’re begging for the honest answer he simply cannot give you. Secondo knows – he knows of your feelings for him, he knows of your desires, your wishes, your hopes. And he’d be a liar if he claimed not to return them. But right now being a liar seems easier to him than admitting to any of this.

“I am not getting any younger and I can’t have it impacting my work too much,” he states instead, a lame excuse for certain. His stamina is impressive even now and his reputation precedes him. It’s the lack of sleep that’s affecting him more and more, some joint pains maybe, but even that is barely worth mentioning – he can focus when he has to. Satan knows he could have a Sibling or even a ghoul over every single night if he really wanted to.

There is only one reason he doesn’t find proper fulfilment in most of these nightly encounters anymore. And that reason is looking at him with wide and far too hopeful eyes right now.

“I’m sure some people will be very sad to hear that,” you finally say, glancing away.

Not you, no, he thinks.

You shift in your seat, then, and he can’t tell why exactly you’re so nervous all of a sudden. It could be the subject matter. He doesn’t take you for being shy, so maybe it’s because of your very obvious attraction to him, the mere idea that anything could happen between you, implied by the fact he’s telling you about his sex life right now when you’ve been lingering on a safe professional level for months.

Secondo is not in the habit of discussing his private matters with people who aren’t involved, as much as Terzo tries to coax the details out of him over drinks sometimes. He is a private person, discreet, not necessarily secretive but certainly disinterested in any sort of unqualified opinions. But with you he feels safe enough to at least hint at them, if only to see that delicious blush spread across your gentle face.

“Well, I’m not saying that I’ll stay abstinent forever,” he finally says, aware that he’s sending out very mixed signals. “But I think I will be more selective from now on.”

You look at him again and your eyes still shimmer with expectation. He almost hates himself for giving you false hopes. But he can’t help it, you just look so stunning when you’re flustered for him, when your eyes circle in on his bare forearms, his gloves, his lips, your breathing becoming heavier by the second. Arousal suits you, he decides. It takes a lot of restraint to withstand the urge to show you what he could do to you if he just gave in. And this is certainly not the first time the image of fucking you on this very desk pops into his head.

In the end, you don’t comment. It’s something he appreciates a lot about you, the fact that you know when to shut up. And for the rest of the afternoon, while you watch him work on the Nietzsche, standing idly by the side with your eyes glued to his hands, you barely say another word. But you don’t have to – the very telling smile that never leaves your face speaks for itself.

✦ ✧ ✦

2 Papa’s Personal Pasta Day

Wednesday is Pasta Day.

Three different types of pasta, three different types of sauce you get to choose from. It’s the best day of the week, everyone agrees – even Secondo.

And yet your Papa is nowhere to be found today.

It’s not rare for him to skip lunch or avoid the bustle of the dining hall, but you always, without a doubt, catch him here on Wednesdays. As you eat the remainders of your own meal, staring at the empty spot next to his brothers where he usually sits, you wonder what keeps him occupied. You know he finished the Nietzsche but you also know that he recently got another box filled with rare books. So the only real explanation is that he’s even busier with those now.

Which means he’s skipping lunch altogether.

A sudden movement in your peripheral vision. Terzo stands up with his tray, though you can already see two Siblings scurrying towards him, ready to do the job for him. Without thinking too much you gulp down your last bite and hurry after him, asking a friend to dispose of your empty plate, an idea forming in your mind.

You catch him in the hallway as he’s sauntering back to his office, humming a merry tune.

“Papa!” you call out to avoid running after him for another five minutes.

“Hm?” Terzo spins around, smiling in recognition. “Oh. Buongiorno, Sibling. Don’t you look so well today?”

“Thank you, Papa. I was wondering if you can you spare me a moment?”

“Ahh, for you always!” The corners of his mouth curl up into smirk. “I hope you don’t come to complain about my fratello? Because that list is already very long.”

You assure him it’s not a complaint and follow him to his office. Once inside, he casually leans against his desk, folding his hands neatly in front of him as he awaits your plea. A few dots of red pasta sauce stain his right glove but you’re too nervous to point them out to him.

“I have a… a request,” you start, fidgeting under his intense gaze. “It’s unusual and I totally understand if you won’t allow me such a thing. But… can I use your kitchen?”

“My kitchen?” he asks, brows shooting up in surprise. “Whatever would you use my kitchen for?”

You blush profusely as you start to explain. “It’s just… your brother skipped lunch today and you know he’s working so hard on these books right now. He probably forgot to eat again and it will give him another headache in approximately two hours. I would ask to use his kitchen, of course, but then it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore and you know I can’t use the Ministry kitchens because they’re busy in there now cleaning up. And I really don’t want to bring him reheated leftovers.”

Terzo considers this, considers you. “Oh Sibling, you really do like him, eh? What is it that you see in him? He’s a grumpy old man with no sense of humour.”

“He’s not so grumpy when we’re alone,” you offer, even more heat creeping up your neck. “And he can be funny, in a kind of dry, unintentional way.”

“Hmmmm. My coffee machine, my kitchen…” Terzo furrows his brow, the skull paint on his face giving him a slightly menacing look. “What is next? My bedroom?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh no! No, it’s not that kind of… not that kind of thing.”

Terzo chuckles and his features relax, making way for genuine amusement. “No? You want to tell me you don’t fuck down there?”

“N-no…”

“Ah, well, so it is on me to give it a little nudge?” His hand moves up to his chin in mock contemplation as he smiles at you. “Va bene, you can use my kitchen but I have one condition.”

You give him a pleading look, folding your hands in front of your chest. “Whatever you want, Papa, I will gladly do it.”

He smirks again, fishing for his keys before throwing them at you. “I expect some leftovers in the fridge tonight. And they better be good.”

✦ ✧ ✦

Carrying a tray down the narrow steps into the basement is not an easy feat, especially because your mind constantly tries to tell you that this is a bad idea and you forget to watch your steps. In the humidity underground the stone gets especially slippery, just like your situation with Secondo. You’re not quite sure how he’s going to take this. You shouldn’t have made such an effort. This whole idea was born from mere intuition, from that pathetic need to impress him that you always carry around with you.

But you just can’t control that tiny part of you that wants to prove just how perfect you are for him, how well you’d take care of him if he just allowed you to be in his life – no matter how unlikely that is.

You just hope it’s not awful, especially since Terzo is going to eat that big bowl of pasta you left in his fridge. To be fair, his kitchen looked like it had never been used before, so at least you don’t have to worry that you messed up his routine.

You sigh in relief when you see that the lights are on in the workshop. You can hear Secondo in the main room, so you set the tray down in his office, the only area down here where eating is actually allowed, and then knock very carefully to avoid startling him.

“Oh.” His eyes land on you and sets down the book in his hand that already looks mostly finished. “Good morning, Sibling.”

You lift your eyebrows with a smile. “Hello, Papa. Though I’m afraid I have to tell you that it is not quite morning anymore.”

He eyes the clock on the wall above him, exhaling in defeat. “I forgot the time, to be honest. I missed lunch, no?”

You linger near the door, ready to take the plunge. “Well, you did, but… are you hungry by any chance?”

✦ ✧ ✦

Secondo is not quite sure what to expect when you lead him into the office. What he certainly didn’t expect was a tray that resembles the ones used for room-service in the upscale hotels he loves to frequent, cloche and napkin included. He knows you have good taste by being around you so often, but that it is this excellent is news to him. The thought of you choosing this fancy dishware for him is almost enough to make him smile.

“So you brought me lunch?” he asks, though he should not be surprised by your efforts. You’re always attentive, you most likely noticed him missing earlier and pieced it all together.

“I made this in your brother’s kitchen,” you warn him. “So, he might ask about it.”

As he takes a seat behind the desk, Secondo’s brow furrows. “You made it? It’s not from the kitchens?”

At this question you bite your lip. He tries not to stare at your mouth. “Uhm, I made it, yes. I didn’t want to bring you stale leftovers and besides, they didn’t have your favorite today…”

Secondo leans back in his chair. He can tell that you expect him to scold you, to tell you that he wouldn’t have minded the leftovers, that you shouldn’t waste your time on such a thing, but that’s not what’s on his mind at all. To anyone else, he might have said these things, but to you? He feels his heart swelling in his chest at the gentle care you offer him, an altogether unfamiliar feeling, so all he can really do is stare at you in wonder.

You seem uneasy under his lingering gaze, your restless hands fiddling with your habit. “Okay, well, I should leave you to it. I have other dut–”

“No, no, you stay,” he commands and there is no room to question him. He will not let you scurry off again, not this time.

He waits for you to take a seat before he removes the cloche from the plate, revealing a beautiful serving of Spaghetti Cacio e Pepe, complete with freshly ground pepper on top as well as some half-molten parmigiano. He fails to suppress a surprised exhale as he takes in the food. It’s a beautiful plate, one he may well find in one of his favorite restaurants in Rome or Milan.

“How do you know what is my favorite?” he asks, spreading the napkin out over his lap.

“Oh well, I’ve… I’ve seen you get it for lunch whenever they offer it… Maybe it’s not your favorite, I just assumed…”

“It is my favorite,” he admits. “You’re very observant, my dove. I should be more careful around you, eh?”

You smile at him and the corner of his mouth curls upwards as well before he quickly averts his gaze. Secondo grabs the fork and moves it around in the pasta, his stomach giving an urgent growl. It’s beyond him how he managed to miss lunch being this hungry, but you made sure to give him his very own Pasta Day and a much better one at that.

From your side of the table, his feelings are still veiled in shadows, hidden by the severity of his features. You can’t quite tell what he’s thinking, but you have to admit that the situation is a bit awkward because all you do is sit here and watch him eat. Secondo, completely unbothered, has quickly finished half of what you put on his plate and you feel mildly concerned that you didn’t bring enough. He moans softly every few seconds and you struggle to hide what it does to you. There is something inherently erotic about this man eating your food, the way he seems to treasure every single bite, how he licks the sauce off his painted lips before using the napkin to gently clean them, leaving a mouth-shaped black stain on the cloth. It’s not hard to imagine the same shape covering every inch of your body, an entirely unhelpful thought. Secondo can’t hear how rapidly your heart is beating in your chest, but he may well notice how you sit there with your thighs pressed together, hands covering your lap.

“It’s good?” you ask for distraction, fiddling with a loose thread on your sleeve.

“Very good,” he states. “Have you not tried it?”

“Uh… well I had to hurry down here before it got cold.”

Secondo fills another fork, expertly wrapping the spaghetti around its tines. Then he holds it out to you, his other hand kept flat underneath it, and you realise that he wants you to eat.

That he wants to feed you.

Your chest feels like exploding as you lean over the desk to reach him. Eyes locked with his, you slowly open your mouth, pushing your tongue out just enough to give him a glimpse. His hand doesn’t move, in fact he’s completely static as his eyes move to your open mouth. They stay glued there, his own lips parting just slightly. The expression turns his features unusually soft.

“Papa?” you ask, trying to hide a grin.

Secondo looks back into your eyes, but before he can move, you wrap your lips around the fork and slowly drag the spaghetti off. He watches your every move and his reaction gives you the courage to continue. You moan softly at the taste, the intense aroma of the Pecorino still evident in the sauce and it is good, you have to give yourself credit for that.

You hum vocally, a sound that hits Secondo like a brick.

You’re so deliciously unaware of the pain he’s going through, how the sight of you licking your lips nearly drives him insane. Your tongue darts out to reach the corner of your mouth, but there is some sauce closer to your chin that you have to remove with your thumb. When you suck it off the digit, Secondo has to fight a deep groan and it comes out as a strangled cough. His cock is twitching in his pants, already half-hard, and he knows he has to get a grip. You’re eating, it shouldn’t have such an impact on him.

“I may need some more practice,” you say, sitting back in your chair. “But I would say it’s better than in the kitchens.”

“You’re modest,” Secondo states. “It was perfect, my dove, thank you. I could not have prepared this dish any better and I have made it a hundred times.”

An almost shy smile, only betrayed by the way your lips quiver as you hold back your delight at his praise. “You’re flattering me, Papa, I’m sure you’re way more proficient than I am.”

It’s an endearing look on you, a hopeful sort of confidence, laced with a hint of hesitation. He’s not sure where his next words come from, but despite their barely hidden meaning he can’t hold them back. “I hope I get the chance to return the favor soon. I think I know what your favorite is and I happen to know the perfect recipe.”

Your grin widens, your whole expression one of warmth and joy and he’s rendered speechless for a very conspicuous amount of time.

“Should I get rid of the tray?” you ask. “I think your brother wants his dishes back.”

He finds his words again at the mention of Terzo. “Only if you come back down here after. I need your help this afternoon or I am going to miss dinner as well.”

“Certo, Papa,” you say, mimicking his Italian. “I will be back before you notice that I’m gone.”

You grab the tray and he watches your figure disappear through the door, slumping back in his chair with a myriad of thoughts and feelings running through his mind that he can’t possibly catch up with. His hand finds his crotch as soon as you’re out of sight, adjusting just enough to get rid of the painful tightness in his pants.

At least this time he didn’t forget to thank you.

✦ ✧ ✦

3 Seeing Red

He’s trusting you with a Crowley.

It’s unprecedented. Secondo had Siblings watching before, he had them assist him before by bringing him tools, but never before has he allowed them to touch any of his delicate books.

It’s the next logical step. You have been watching him for months now, you have practiced on less valuable books and shown unexpected talent. And even now, with the Crowley in hand, he’s surprised to find himself trusting you completely.

Inexplicably, his eyes find you ever few minutes without his own doing. It’s not to control you, though maybe a tiny part of him does indeed check in with the state of your work. Whenever you look back, you hold his gaze so confidently. It’s intoxicating to have your eyes on him, fully aware that you reciprocate the feeling, and even when you don’t look back, seeing you so patiently focused on the needle in your hands is quite the sight.

His staring doesn’t stay unnoticed. You catch him looking at you for the tenth time in the past few minutes, though that is only a rough estimate. As elated as you are by his attention, you’re genuinely getting frustrated with him. He has to feel the tension between you. You refuse to believe that all those lingering looks are meaningless to him.

A sudden sharp pain in your finger. You hiss, more in surprise than in pain, and quickly pull away. The thick, curved needle pierced your white cotton glove and dug straight into your skin. By pulling it out so rapidly, you must have damaged an artery or at least left a pretty big wound because the blood spills out immediately. The shock only lasts for a quarter of a second before you pull your hand away, just in time before a few heavy droplets of blood drip down your wrist and onto the floor. Fortunately, the book still looks pristine and you take a shuddering breath of relief.

“What happened?” Secondo asks.

“I… I–”

Before you can explain, he’s by your side, roughly grabbing your arm to hold it steady.

“I didn’t bleed on the book,” you stammer. “I pulled my hand away really fast.”

His grip on your wrist is impossibly tight and you wonder if he’s going to scold you for your clumsiness, for being so distracted. His lips are pressed together as he takes in your shaky frame, his eyes meeting yours with such intensity that you struggle not to break away and you feel your lips quivering as you fight back tears.

“I’m so sorry, I– I didn’t–”

“I don’t care about the book,” he says and then he pulls you out of the workshop. Once you’re safely back in his office, he leaves for the storage room. You stand there, watching the blood run over your hand, pressing your thumb into your pulse in hopes of limiting the blood flow just like he did. But the once white glove is ruined by now, blotchy and red all over.

When Secondo returns, he carries a first aid kit. He sits down on the chair in front of his desk and motions for you to join him. You carefully step beside him, hand out-stretched in a cautious offering, but he’s having none of it, he just pulls you straight into his lap and grasps your wrist again.

“Let’s examine the damage,” he says, even though you’re not sure you can even hear him. His strong thighs are firm underneath yours, keeping you steady, but then there’s the throbbing in your finger, his hand on your arm, a wild mixture of impressions that overflow your sensory perception. Your rapid heartbeat surely does nothing to help with the bleeding.

You fight the urge to shift nervously but he doesn’t seem to notice your state, just turns your hand skyward and gets to work. He meticulously removes your bloody glove, one finger at a time, the fingertips of his own turning red in the process. Frustrated by the barrier, he removes them as well, throwing them aside with an annoyed grunt. Once his bare hands grasp yours, you feel a shiver running down your spine. The pain in your finger ceases to exist for a moment as you realise that this is the first skin on skin contact you ever shared. You’re closer than ever, so close you can smell the remainders of his cologne, feel his exhales on your skin.

“It’s not as bad as I thought,” Secondo muses. “You hit a bad spot.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. “I’m not usually so careless.”

“I know, my dove. It happens.”

Not to me, you want to say, not while I’m here, trying so hard to impress you.

“Go wash out the wound,” he orders then, his hand patting your hip in encouragement, dangerously close to your ass.

You reluctantly hop off his legs and wash your hand in the sink in the workshop. The water runs red at first but turns clear in the matter of seconds. With the blood gone, the wound only looks half as scary and you’re far less shaky when you return to the office.

You expect Secondo to just leave you to yourself now, but he immediately pulls you back into his lap, turning slightly to reach into the first aid kid on his desk, fiddling for bandaids and a spray bottle with disinfectant. You patiently hold out your hand, waiting for him to figure out the logistics.

The antiseptic stings and you flinch, more from shock than actual pain. Secondo is so careful, not a single tremor in his deft fingers as he applies the bandaid, making sure it sits tight around your still throbbing digit.

“There,” he says. “It is better now, yes?”

You nod, sniffling as you try to calm down. “Thank you, Papa.”

His mismatched eyes meet yours and the concerned furrow in his brow softens. One of his hands rests on your hip, the other comes up, hovering by your jaw as though he’s scared to touch you. You feel his fingertips grazing your skin, tickling, exploring cautiously.

His gentle touch gives you courage. You lean in slowly and press your lips to his cheek. The feeling of his skin against your lips is so soft that you linger, kissing again and again, slowly moving them further down while one of your hands skims his other cheek. Your last kiss hits the corner of his mouth and you hear him suck in a sharp breath through his nose. His lazy grip on your hip suddenly tightens until you can feel the tips of his fingers digging into your flesh.

You sit back and look at him. There is something wild in his eyes now, a flicker of… you can’t quite decide if it’s lust or anger. For a long moment he stares at you like this, a terrifying expression that keeps you static. Right when you come to the conclusion that he must be angry, that you have to apologise, his hand shoots up to grab your chin and then his fingers push into your hair, his second hand joining in until he’s properly holding your head. He growls and presses his lips together until his whole face is tense.

“Papa,” you whisper. “Did I–“

He shuts you up by moving to stand, simultaneously lifting you onto his desk and pushing himself between your legs until your chest is pressed to his. The first aid kit flies to the floor, but the impact is only evident by a distant cluttering because all you can focus on is him. Secondo’s hands find your head again, holding it in place as he continues to stare at you, eyes moving from your lips to your nose to your cheeks that are squished between his palms, and then, finally, they meet yours.

You think he’s going to kiss you as he leans in, but then his head abruptly turns to the side and he buries his face in your neck. With a groan, he pulls you further into him, squeezing so tightly that you lose your breath.

“You’re killing me,” he mumbles. “Oh, my dove, you will end me.”

”Papa–“

Another groan. He sounds like he’s suffering, a wounded animal about to turn into roadkill. You don’t quite understand. It feels good to be so close to him, to have him hold you like this, so you simply sink into his embrace, move your unhurt hand to the back of his neck and softly scratch his scalp. He sighs deeply, slowly relaxing against you.

“What is this?” you mumble.

He gives a dry chuckle. “I wish I knew.”

✦ ✧ ✦

4 The Storage Closet Incident

Are you high on glue and paint solvent? Maybe.

In any case, your head is spinning. You spent all morning so far sorting through a fresh delivery of restoration materials, taking inventory and checking if they’re complete. Papa was here earlier to check in with you but left for a clergy meeting half an hour ago, so you’re left alone inside the storage room. There are three more boxes outside in the hallway and you’re on your fourth now, different types of paints and solvents and glue. You never opened any of the cans but you swear you nevertheless inhale the biting fumes.

Upon crossing out the last few items on your list, you hear a heavy knock. Maybe you should be cautious with opening considering that no one ever knocks here, but you do indeed find Secondo in front of the entrance, still fully robed.

“Forgot my keys upstairs,” he mumbles, patting down his pockets as though they would magically appear if he just tried hard enough.

“You can take the ones inside the storage room for the rest of the day,” you suggest.

“Humph.”

He’s usually in a pretty foul mood after clergy meetings that involve his father, so you’re not surprised by the lack of conversation. You watch him pull the keys out of the lock – the door stays open while you’re busy in the storage room anyway – and when he carries them into his office, you think nothing of it. Any potential concern would have escaped you at the latest when you catch him shedding his robes through the open door. As soon as they’re hung up on the coat rack in the corner, you can’t help but sigh. He’s wearing his classic black shirt underneath – black because it won’t show the paint stains on his collar. But it barely touches his neck anyway; he keeps it open just enough to display the first few inches of dark, curly chest hair. You take in his slender form, the taut muscles on his arms stretching out the fabric as he moves around, sorting through the papers on his desk, hands covered in tight black leather gloves that perfectly match his belt.

“So…” He looks up and catches you staring. “How is inventory going?”

“Great,”you say, finally looking back at your actual work. “I’m more than halfway done.”

“Good,” he says. “You’re fast.”

You smile when you deposit the last bottle of glue onto the shelf. “Speaking of inventory, can you help me carry the rest of the boxes? I left the big ones for when you get back.”

He’s already back out of the door before you even finish your sentence, carrying one of the heavier cartons inside to where you’re standing. You push it in front of the designated shelf and wait for him to bring the other two boxes in as well – carrying both at the same time. On his way inside he bumps against the open door to the storage room and it falls close behind him. He sets the boxes down and you notice him flinching as he rights himself, even though he covers it up with a low cough. You make a mental note to acquire something for his back pains, perhaps Primo can whip up some sort of tincture or cream. And even though you highly doubt Secondo would let you rub it into his back, the image is very clear in your mind now.

You hide your deepening blush by pulling out your neat little list, flipping through the pages without actually reading anything. “Thank you, Papa. I’ll spend the rest of the afternoon sorting these until Sister needs me.”

He moves to reach out for your arm, but his hand drops before he ever reaches it. “Thank you, my dove. I know it’s tedious work.”

You smile at him, a little disappointed that he didn’t touch you. “Well, I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

His gaze lingers on you for a little longer before he pulls himself away to return to the office. Only then do you realise that something is very odd in here. The door is closed. Fully closed. With no functioning door handle inside, you have no way of getting out without the keys. For a second, all you can do is stare at the metal bar used to pull it open – and the very empty hole where the key would usually be found.

“You have the keys, Papa,” you remind him.

“I don’t,” he states. “They’re on the desk.”

His lips are pressed together tightly and you can feel the colour draining from your face. No one ever comes down here, there is no chance people are going to find you anytime soon, at least not before your friends notice you missing.

You swear you can hear him mumble a cazzo, before he lets his forehead rest on his hand, massaging his temples, but your heart is beating so fast that it drowns out all other sounds. You’re not necessarily panicking, even though you do suddenly begin to wonder whether you’re secretly claustrophobic or not.

“It’s fine, I have my phone,” he says but you already know there won’t be any reception down here. Your suspicion is confirmed when he sets it down on the shelf next to him with a little too much force.

“My friends will probably come looking for me when I miss lunch.”

He looks over to you and suddenly his expression changes. There is a glimmer of something almost dangerous in his white eye that makes him look menacing, the effect only amplified by his skull paint and the sharp lines of his cheekbones. You back against the wall behind you, unable to look away despite your body telling you to be on alert. The last time he looked at you like this was when you hurt your hand and you wonder if he’s finally going to initiate more. The thought is arousing and bone-chilling at the same time.

”Papa–“

“Are you scared?” he interrupts, reading you perfectly.

“No,” you reply. “I’m not claustrophobic.”

He approaches you slowly, the soles of his black leather shoes squeaking on the linoleum floor. “That is not what I meant.”

When he stops right in front of you, you swallow, your throat suspiciously dry all of a sudden. You can smell him over the paint solvent now, his cologne so heavy in your nose that you get dizzy. If you weren’t high before, then you are definitely high now. Instead of fear, you suddenly feel incredibly, stupidly bold, full of adrenaline and longing.

“I’m not scared of you,” you say somewhat confidently. “I’m not scared of being alone with you.”

You should be, his eyes are telling you. Even closer now, he leans into you, his hands resting on the wall on either side of your head. You know the eye contact is something he enjoys so you keep your eyes on him without flinching away.

“If I had you right here right now no one would hear you screaming.” He chuckles uncomically, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it before. “I could do to you whatever I want.”

“Then why don’t you?”

He furrows his brow. “Hm?”

“Why the hell don’t you?” you challenge. “Why don’t you show me what you want to do to me?”

He seems taken aback by this, staring down at you with his lips slightly parted. For a second you think he’s going to snap back, scold you for disrespecting him, but he just huffs out a laugh. “You know why.”

“No I don’t!” You fight back tears as all of your suppressed emotions threaten to spill out. A strangled sob almost swallows your next words. “I don’t.”

Secondo stares at you and you finally look away, trying hard to stay quiet. You know this is not what he expected to happen and neither had you. But you can’t stop, you’ve lost control over your emotions and now that the cork has been removed you can’t get it back inside.

“I keep trying to find a reason why you don’t want me.” You force your gaze to meet his once more, despite being afraid of what you’re going to see in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me, Papa? What do I lack that the others before me had? What is wrong with me that you don’t even want me for a night?”

You’re crying now, struggling to make sense of him. Frankly, you’re already embarrassed by your outburst and expect him to laugh it off or gently tell you that he appreciates you but just doesn’t feel attracted to you like that. Even him yelling at you would help at this point.

“My dove–”

“Don’t call me that.”

He cocks his head to the side, his lip quivering slightly. “Where is this coming from now?”

You don’t reply, even though your pout should be answer enough. Secondo regards you for a long moment but there is no anger, only curiosity.

“Who knew you could be so feisty?” he mumbles, leaning in even closer but turning away just before your mouths can touch.

His lips ghost over your cheek, down your jaw, but they never touch. All you can feel is his hot breath on your skin, the tip of his nose dragging over your cheekbone. You squirm, letting out a desperate, high-pitched whimper. Secondo chuckles against your ear and the unfamiliar sound goes straight to your core, goosebumps running all over your body.

“You’re cruel,” you whisper. “So cruel.”

“I am.” His lips touch the shell of your ear. “But you seem to enjoy it.”

Impulsively, you wrap your hands around his neck for support. Secondo moves to look at you again, his pupils blown wide with lust. This time, you close the gap by leaning in, but he turns away just slightly, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. You try again, more boldly this time, and you swear your lips are already grazing his, but then they’re gone again. His hand moves to grip your chin painfully tight, his thumb digging into your cheek so hard you can feel it pressing against your teeth. You’re completely immobile and when you test it out, his grip tightens even more. You’re pretty sure you’ll find subtle bruises all around your jaw tomorrow.

Secondo’s mouth still hovers just in front of yours, his exhales tickling your face, but he remains just out of reach. You whimper in desperation and he chuckles again, nuzzling your nose.

“Not so bold anymore now, eh?”

“Please,” you whine, squirming in his grip.

“Please what?”

You let out a half-strangled mewl. “P-please.”

Secondo hums and he can feel your body shivering underneath his, muscles jerking, everything inside of you trying to reach for more. He knows he’s being cruel, knows that you’re suffering, but he can’t deny that the thrill of having you at his mercy like that is spurring him on. He wants to test out your limits, see how far he can go, if he can get you to beg even more. You’re always so good, so quiet and polite. Seeing those previously unknown sides of you is like unwrapping a birthday gift and why should he stop when there is still so much more to explore?

You whimper louder this time and he brings his other hand to your waist, pulling you flush against him. A gasp and your mouth stays open just slightly, lips wet and glistening with spit, still pushed into a beautiful little pout bis his gloved fingers. He pushes his erection against you, eliciting a moan from you that seems to come from somewhere deep within. It’s what tips him over the edge, his patience dissolving into thin air. He unravels, closing the gap and swallowing all of your other sounds with his mouth. The kiss is sudden and almost violent. He has to release your jaw to ease the pressure on your head, but he just moves his hand down to your neck instead. More moans and whimpers as his tongue pushes into your now open mouth and it’s adorable how you keep trying to move against him. He rewards your efforts by easing up just slightly, allowing you to taste him as well.

Secondo is not sure what’s taking hold of him but he can’t fight the urge to taste more of your body. You’re all breathless when his mouth moves to your cheek and over your jaw, soothing, exploring. His lips find the soft skin below your ear, a shiver running down his neck. He can feel the tendon there twitching underneath his tongue and then he’s just sucking with reckless abandon, his intensity the result of a week-long, maybe even month-long starvation.

You moan into his ear and he thinks he’s going to lose it, his hips move on their own accord, pushing against you. It’s not a lot of friction but it’s enough to extract a deep groan from him. He wants to let go, he wants to have you so bad that it’s starting to obscure all rational thought. But he can’t lose control like that, not right now. As a safety precaution he pulls away, slotting his knee between your legs instead. With his hand on your hips he pulls you forward and you groan at the friction. A strangled sob and you try to wriggle for more. It’s uncomfortable with all the layers of clothing in between. His own pants are so tight that it provides him more pain than relief but to see you unravelling under his ministrations is enough to keep him going.

“Please,” you whisper, wriggling even more but his hand on your hips stays firm. He can feel the fabric of his pants getting wet under your movements, your crotch hot against his leg.

“Feels like you’re leaking onto my thigh,” he whispers back. “You’re such a mess, my dove, and I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You moan again, completely beyond words. He had this coming, he knows it. This was bound to happen at some point, the inevitable. But you’re at his mercy now and Secondo knows how to handle responsibility. He can see in your eyes that you’re too far gone now and for a second this clarity hits him like a brick. It’s almost like he’s watching the scene from above, bird’s eye view. This is exactly what he did not want – to fuck you like it’s just that, like it’s just sex, a quick romp in a closet, not even fully undressed, no real intimacy. Right now, it’s all you want, it’s all he wants, but what’s going to happen after?

Secondo pulls his head back to assess the situation, but when he sees the slowly drying tears on your cheeks, your still watery eyes, his paint and spit smeared all over your face and neck, he can’t bring himself to say any words that could possibly hurt you.

He’s lucky to be spared any excuses by a plethora of muffled noises in the background. Your eyes widen at the same time as he hears them and reality slowly settles around you again.

“Fratello?” The voice is barely audible through the thick door. “Secondo? Hellooooo?”

He acts faster than you even seem to realise what’s going on, gently letting go of you in favour of banging his fist against the door as rapidly as he can, trying to draw attention to you. There is barely any time to recover. The door opens after a minute and you find Terzo glancing into the room, hands still on the key in the lock.

“Oh, there you are, Secondo. Got locked inside, eh?” Then he smirks. “And with your little assistente no less. Tesoro, you look so flustered, did my brother–”

“Stai zitto,” Secondo snaps, pushing past him before his brother can get any good glimpse at the situation in and on his pants. “What do you even want down here?”

“Oh, thank you, caro fratellino, for saving us from being locked inside this room all day.”

A scoff. Secondo’s eyes find you again when you close the door of the storage room behind you and you struggle to meet his eyes. A pang of guilt, fear even, of what is going to happen now.

Terzo, completely unhelpful, looks between the two of you. “So, what happened here, eh? What did I miss?”

“Nothing, Papa,” you say quickly. “The door closed but it doesn’t have a handle on the inside. We had to use the key for something else earlier and forgot to put it back.”

“That’s not what I meant, tesoro.” Terzo glances at his brother and then back at you, furrowing his brow now that he’s seeing you both in proper lighting. There is a sudden edge of concern on his face. “Sibling, you look like you’ve been crying.”

Secondo is surprised that this is the first thing his brother comments on. You avoid both of their gazes, wringing your hands behind your back. “Oh, it’s nothing. I should probably go… I need to get back to work and I’m already late. Sister won’t be happy.”

Terzo cocks his head to the side, stopping you before you can walk out. He talks in a hushed, gentle voice, practically shutting Secondo out. “You should take a moment to calm down, tesoro, have a trip to the bathroom before you face Sister. You’re quite the mess.”

You nod at him, a grateful smile on your face, and then your eyes meet Secondo’s. A quarter of a second, nothing more, and he has no chance to convey anything with his expression. You give Terzo another pained smile and then you hurry outside.

The two man both wait for you to close the door before they face each other. Secondo has settled behind his desk by now, a healthy distance between them that seems to be the only thing keeping their tempers in check. Secondo can’t help but scowl, gripping the edge of the table so tight that his knuckles turn white. “This is none of your business, Terzo. I don’t meddle in your affairs.”

“Why did they cry?” Terzo asks, unimpressed. “What did you do?”

“Why do you ask it like that?”

“It’s usually not a good sign when someone cries after making out, fratello. Don’t think I cannot see your ruined make-up. Your little assistente looked even worse.”

Secondo almost jumps from his chair. “You think I would hurt them?”

“I don’t think you would hurt them,” Terzo explains calmly. “Not physically at least. But everyone sees how they look at you, stronzo, how you look at each other. Did you fuck up?”

Secondo breathes out a sigh, his hand relaxing as he leans back in his chair. “I don’t know.”

Terzo takes a few cautious steps towards him. “Look, I know, you’re not the type, you don’t fall in love, blablabla. But it is never too late to settle down if you find your person, you know? It may feel like giving up your freedom, but look at what you gain.”

“Aha. And what is that?”

Terzo smirks. “Someone who puts up with all of your bullshit.”

A drawn-out pause as they stare at each other.

Finally, Secondo exhales all the stowed anger, shaking his head incredulously. “I can’t believe you’re trying to explain to me how relationships work. You.”

Terzo shrugs, moving back towards the exit. “Think about it. You are going to feel so much more balanced.”

He’s halfway out the door when Secondo notices that he never told him why he was here in the first place. Thinking back, he’s not sure he’s ever seen his brother in this workshop or anywhere close to this part of the basement before.

“What did you want down here?” he calls after him.

“Huh?” Terzo turns back to him, shrugging nonchalantly. “Ah, you know, a ghoul noticed you two were trapped in there and to be honest… I’m kind of invested now.”

✦ ✧ ✦

5 Returning the Favour

A note.

You pick up the weighty envelope that someone, most likely a ghoul, had delivered to you earlier by sliding it underneath your door. The paper has your name on it in beautiful cursive, deep black ink, a green wax seal with a II stamped into it, keeping the contents safe. The note inside is written in a similar fashion, kept very brief and in neat handwriting. All it says is: My quarters, 7pm. Secondo.

Considering you spent most of the night in pure agony, this is a welcome glimmer of hope. He is reaching out and that is what matters, despite all of your doubts and anxieties telling you otherwise, obscuring the joy you should feel at the fact that things are finally moving.

You take the note and press it to your heart, sitting back down on the bed in your tiny quarters. It smells vaguely of his cologne or at least the whimsical part of you wants it to. In any case, he wrote it, thinking about you, maybe even longing for you. Your worries slowly melt at that thought, even though you’re aware you’re in love with the most unattainable man in the whole abbey.

If you had glanced outside the window in that very moment, you would have caught Secondo making his way through the gardens and to the greenhouse – a man on a mission.

He had been pondering all night what he could possible do to make it up to you, to set things right. And there is really only one thing he could think of: Food.

When you made him lunch he promised to return the favour. Another unprecedented lapse. Secondo cooks, he loves to cook, but he does not cook for his dates. It’s too intimate, too personal. His kitchen is sacred, preparing food a form of meditation after a long day. It’s a part of himself he doesn’t share with fleeting encounters.

So when he found himself in a nearby Italian market earlier, carefully choosing the ingredients for a meal, he almost felt lost. He’s bought in bulk before, he’s bought for himself before, but he’s never bought specifically for two. And most unsettlingly, it feels good.

Now, here in Primo’s sanctuary, he has almost made peace with these new developments.

Almost.

“Buon pomeriggio, fratello,” he greets the older man. “I am in need of some fresh basil.”

Primo immediately picks up his scissors. “Che fortunato. My basil plants are thriving at the moment.”

Secondo has no doubts about that. The smells inside the greenhouse are rich and aromatic, a sensory reminder of all the summers he spent in the Italian countryside, trying to connect with his roots. As much as he loves big cities with their bustling night lives, clubs and parties, exclusive bars and restaurants… this is home.

While he’s busy reminiscing, Primo moves to an array of basil plants in the corner, their oval leaves a vivid shade of green. Secondo is pleased with that. They’re going to turn his dish into the most beautiful colours and since his objective for today is that everything has to be perfect, details like that matter.

“È sufficiente?” Primo asks.

“A bit more. I am cooking for two tonight.”

Primo furrows his brow, cutting some more leaves off the delicate plant. “You have a guest for dinner? Someone special, then?”

Secondo hates that he knows him so well sometimes, but Primo is the only one who was ever even close to a healthy father figure for him. His counsel is the only one he truly values, even though he is rare to seek it out these days.

All he can do is give a curt nod in reply.

“You’re in love,” Primo states with a smile. “That is a good thing, you know?”

Secondo makes a face. “I feel like I am sick. I don’t know how people do it.”

“It will stop feeling like that at some point,” Primo explains, carefully placing the cut basil in a small basket. “You will grow to appreciate a steady presence by your side, fratello, especially when you reach my age.”

Secondo wants to reply that he doubts it, but it would be a lie to pretend he hasn’t thought about it since getting close to you. You are steady. You are smart and kind and caring, he can talk to you as well as be silent with you. There hasn’t been a single moment in all these months now in which he’s grown tired of you. And yes, that is unprecedented as well.

“Thank you for the basil,” Secondo says.

Primo gives him a gentle, brotherly smile.

✦ ✧ ✦

A tentative knock.

Secondo looks up from the counter and towards the door, his heart rate quickening in a concerning jump. Another knock, more confident this time. He chuckles to himself. You’re nervous but you don’t want him to think that you are – which is exactly how he’s feeling right now.

Before he opens, he wipes his hands on his black slacks, rights the collar of his white shirt, and then there you are. There you are.

And it’s a sight he will never forget. He’s very pleased to see that you dressed up for him. When he kisses your cheek in greeting, he catches your scent and the perfume with its sweet as well as tangy notes perfectly mirrors your character. It takes everything in him to break away again.

“Thank you for following my invitation,” he says, closing the door behind you.

A shy smile. “It sounded more like an order.”

He feels his heart plummeting and for a second there is a shadow of doubt crossing his mind. “Is that the reason you came? Because you felt obligated?”

Your eyes widen and you quickly shake your head. “No. No, I would have come either way, no matter why you want me here.”

Relief. He takes your arm and gently guides you further into the room. “I want you here because I promised to cook for you and I intend to keep that promise.”

“So, this is a dinner date?”

“Yes.”

“A date date?”

“Yes.”

Your smile is worth it, genuine and so bright that he almost forgets what he’s supposed to do. Your lips are all he can focus on when you’re so close and it’s only when he sees them form an O that he realises he’s been staring. Secondo finally pulls you into the kitchen area and motions for you to sit on a stool at his counter. It’s surreal to see you here, such different surroundings, but it’s a sight he could get used to.

“Is that fresh basil from the greenhouse?” you ask.

Secondo values a professional mise en place, every ingredient neatly laid-out ready to be used which gives you the perfect opportunity to analyse everything he’s going to use. “It is.”

“So you did guess my favourite.”

“I didn’t guess, my dove.” He looks up at you. “You’re not the only one who is observant.”

You smirk and while he’s busy filling a big pot with water to boil the pasta you take in his quarters. Naturally, they are much bigger than yours, the kitchen and living area combined into a spacious room, all dark colours, black and grey, contrasted with a few light grey touches here and there. You notice a lingering smell of incense and what you can only assume is cigar smoke. A small serving cart turned into a bar sits next to an emerald green couch with velvet upholstering. Your eyes are drawn to a carafe filled with a dark ember liquid, sitting right next to a crystal ashtray that reflects the remainders of sunlight streaming in through the arched windows.

Secondo sets the heavy pot down on the stove and the thud makes you turn your head back to him. He’s noticed you drifting off, hoping that you like what you’re seeing, that you wouldn’t mind spending time here more often. His home in the abbey has been crafted very consciously over the past decade, every item carefully curated. He’s toying with the optimal balance between luxurious and still slightly understated, comfortable.

Your face doesn’t betray your opinion but as he turns on the stove, you slip from your stool. He watches you from the corner of his eye as you join him behind the counter and tries not to let you deter him from the task at hand – salting the water, one of many steps. You come to a stop right behind him and then he feels your arms snaking around his waist, squeezing tightly as you press yourself into his back, your cheek right against his shoulder. It’s an unexpectedly tender hug, like you just need to be close to him in any way that you can, and despite your soft affection that he so struggles to accept, he’s immensely relieved to have you closer.

Secondo lets you hold him for however long you want. He can clearly imagine your squished cheek, your puckered lips, and all he wants is to spin you around and kiss you breathless. But his plan says no physicality until after dinner. He knows he won’t be able to stop once you start touching, and he has a lot to do until then, a lot to say until then. So it’s dinner first, then discussing the necessities, and then he can fuck you.

“My dove, you’re distracting me,” he says, finally adding a generous amount of salt to the water.

“Mhm.” You duck underneath his arm and hug him sideways now, your face melting into his neck. When your nose brushes against his sensitive skin it’s almost enough to make him come undone. A shiver runs down his spine and you give a satisfied hum at his reaction. “Actually, I was wondering… is it allowed to kiss the chef?”

“Ordinarily, it’s not.”

A kiss just below his ear. “And un-ordinarily?”

Fuck his plan.

He grabs your hips and pulls you flush against him, bringing one gloved hand up to cup your cheek. He stops for a second, taking in the barely visible bruises on your jaw. With the memory of what happened in the storage room clear in his mind, he feels a jolt of lust, and then his mouth is on yours. This time, he’s not as forceful, but it’s not as soft as he would wish either. He can’t help but push his tongue into your mouth at the first opportunity, tasting you and a hint of minty toothpaste. You moan softly, clinging to the front of his shirt until he’s sure he could have spared himself the trouble of ironing it.

He breaks away, staring at your swollen lips, the skin around them all red and wet with spit.

Oh, that mouth.

He’s going to lose his mind over it, slowly but surely, and he can’t help but kiss you again, slower, deeper, exploring every inch of you with his tongue.

When he breaks away this time, you smile and the way it stretches your lips, plumps the apples of your cheeks and brings out that joyful glimmer in your eyes – it feels so personal, so very intimate to him. This kind of smile should belong to him and only him.

“Are you very worried about this?” you ask suddenly, smoothing your hand over his shirt. “About us?”

A deep, long sigh. “I worry, yes. I don’t know if I can give you what you want.”

Your hand slides up his neck, softly cradling his cheek. “All I want is you, Secondo, in any way that I can.”

He smiles at the use of his name, closing his eyes as he leans into your touch. It may well be the first smile in a long time that he doesn’t even attempt to hold back, though he’s not sure if that’s true. He catches himself smiling at the mere thought of you more often than seems healthy. In your presence, his mouth does a lot of things he simply can’t control anymore.

Like kiss you again right now, fiercely, passionately, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth until you start whining. At this point, he doubts he will ever be sated. His need for you is an ever-expanding black hole and he’s teetering at the edge of being consumed himself. But he’s no stranger to uncertainty, to taking risks, as much as he hates the feeling of powerlessness. And so the next time you part, he turns off the stove despite the water almost boiling, and pulls you into his bedroom.

There should have been a conversation at some point tonight that lasted more than that one sentence of reassurance you gave him, an honest exchange of expectations, feelings and hopes, but maybe he doesn’t have to say it.

It’s a knee-jerk response, a very reactionary change of plans: Make love to you (or at least attempt it), eat dinner, then fuck you for the rest of the night.

The bedroom, unsurprisingly, is dominated by a huge four-poster bed, clad in emerald green sheets that give off a sweet scent, only overpowered by the smoky aroma of the incense burning on Secondo’s altar, the light of numerous black candles dipping the room in a warm, flickering light, heavy curtains blocking out the sun completely.

You stand in front of his bed shivering in anticipation.

“Two things,” he says, eyes fixated on yours. “First: In here, it is Papa. At least for now.”

You nod.

“Second: You will tell me immediately if I do anything that you don’t like. No shame, no judgement. You use your words to let me know what you want or do not want. Yes?”

“Yes, Papa.”

He smirks. You learn fast, but he knows that already. Secondo reaches out for your hands, taking both of them in his and bringing them to his lips, gently but insistingly kissing your knuckles. In the dim light, his features look daunting, a stark contrast to his soft mouth. His eyes meet yours, fervently, longingly, and then he drops your hands and pulls you in for a real kiss. This time, knowing he won’t have to hold back anymore, he lets his hands roam free, opening buttons, freeing every inch of your skin with deft, confident fingers, until you’re completely bare in front of him. His mouth doesn’t leave yours even as you gasp for air, sucking and licking on whatever he can reach. Ultimately, he keeps your bottom lip trapped between his teeth to allow you some air, teasing it with his tongue before swallowing your next breath yet again. Meanwhile, his hands explore the outlines of your body, big, curious hands still covered in leather, mapping out every single detail.

Shaky fingers toy with the buttons on his shirt, not managing to open any of them but trailing further down until they find his belt. He allows you to fiddle with the buckle, if only because your warm fingers graze his abdomen with every attempt to open it. When you give up and reach further down, he gently removes your hands and pulls away from the kiss.

You look at him with big eyes, whimpering softly, and he can tell that you’re nervous.

“Relax, my dove,” he says, swiping his thumb over your hot cheek. “All I want is to take care of you. Now, get on the bed.”

You do as he says, so obedient. Secondo removes his belt slowly, watching you stretch out amongst his sheets and pillows. His hand falters at the sight. You’re beautiful, a dream come true, and in that moment he is immensely relieved that he did not give into his impulses before.

With your eyes on him, he removes his shirt and steps out of his pants. He didn’t bother with underwear, so when he joins you on the bed there is nothing separating you anymore. Your skin is hot under his as he crawls between your legs, towering over your shivering form.

He can’t help but kiss you once more, licking into your waiting mouth. Your hand moves to his head, scratching softly, and he hums as he allows his lips to travel to your neck. He finds a deep purple hickey there which shouldn’t come as a surprise to him since he left it there a mere day ago but the sight nevertheless makes him proud. You’re already marked as his and when the night is over, your whole body will be.

Making true on that promise, his lips trail down your body, stamping soft, lingering kisses to your chest, your nipples, licking down to your abdomen where he stays for a moment.

“Hm, così dolce,” he whispers. “So sweet.”

“Papa,” you say.

He looks up. “Yes?”

You buck your hips slightly. “I need… I need more.”

He sits back, intense eyes circling in on you as he removes his gloves, throwing them aside. “Open your mouth, tesoro, show me that sweet tongue.”

You do, poking out your tongue slightly, and he leans back over you, sliding two fingers in between your still swollen lips. You start to suck, swivelling your tongue around his digits and he can feel his cock twitching at the sight and feeling.

“So good for me, my dove,” he whispers. “So good for your Papa.”

You moan around his digits, the vibrations sending a pang of need into his body. When you start to breathe heavily through your nose, he decides that his fingers are wet enough. His hand snakes down your body, collecting more of your arousal, and then he starts working you slowly, carefully. You whimper, demanding more, but for right now he’s not going to hurry. You’re not going to come before he’s inside of you.

He continues for a bit longer until you can feel the arousal flowing through your whole body, building up into waves that make you shiver. His fingers find your waiting hole, spreading out the combination of spit and arousal on his hand and stretching you open bit by bit. His hard cock, already leaking precum, sits hot and heavy against your thigh. Mismatched eyes never leave yours, catching ever flicker of lust and pleasure in your half-lidded eyes, even as the squelching sounds between your legs get louder and you barely manage to hold his gaze anymore.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, Papa.”

“Please what?” he demands. “Words, tesoro.”

You swallow heavily, chest heaving as your body tries to search for his, but he’s hovering just above you, propped up on one arm, massaging your insides with the other.

“I want you, Papa,” you say. “Please, I need you inside of me, need to f-feel you. Please.”

Secondo could listen to you all day and maybe later he’s going to see just how long he can get you to beg, but right now he’s too impatient, too eager, spurred on by how tight and wet you feel around his fingers. His cock is aching for friction and so he removes his hand, ignoring the disapproving whine you let out.

“Since you ask so nicely,” he says.

Cock in hand, he lines himself up, carefully pushing inside. Your head falls back into the pillows as you let out a drawn-out hum, taking him so well, inch by inch, and he feels a flutter inside of his chest at the sight. Your legs wrap around his back, heels digging into his ass, and he lets his chest sink onto yours, waiting for you to relax, to adjust. Pressed together like that, a searing wave of emotion overcomes him, deep, warm, an intense longing to never let go that is utterly unfamiliar to him. He has to unload the sudden tension in a heated kiss, feeling your moans and whimpers reverberating inside of him as he slowly starts moving.

He tries to make it last, to keep up a careful, deliberate rhythm. He really, really tries, biting his lip to hold back, but he soon has to go faster to stay sane. More desperate noises from you as his thrusts get harder and weeks of held-back need for you spill out from inside of him. Attaching his lips to the still unmarked side of your soft neck, he starts sucking, biting, trying to absorb you into him. You keen, one hand on his neck, the other tightly grabbing his shoulder for support. With a pop, he removes his mouth to take a deep breath and your expression is hazy, eyes clouded with lust. He shifts his weight onto one arm, angling your hips up slightly and you clench around him over and over again at the changed angle, crying out softly at every roll of his hips. He feels himself getting close and to his relief he can tell you’re getting there too, trembling underneath him more and more.

“Please,” you say, strangled, whimpery. “Please, Papa, I n-need to– need to come.”

He growls, bringing his hand between your bodies to help you over the edge. It’s strenuous, his arm protesting wildly, but when he feels your sticky arousal on his fingers, it’s enough to keep him going.

“Come for me,” he says. “Come on my cock, tesoro. You’ve been so good for your Papa.”

It’s all you need, two more thrusts and a few words of praise, and you tighten around him, crying out as your whole body shudders. He gives a few more laborious thrusts to draw out your pleasure before he finally changes the angle, taking the weight off his arm until he can pound into you harder, chasing his own release. His hips snap against yours, loud obscene sounds, and you whimper in overstimulation, arms wrapping around him gently as he stills. A low moan leaves his burning throat and he spills inside of you, filling you up with his seed. His hips stutter a few more times before he rolls onto his side, dragging you with him.

Heavy, panting breaths fills the sudden silence of the room. Secondo pulls you close and you settle against his chest, breathing kisses to his sweaty skin, softly licking up the column of his throat. He only hums and for a long time, you stay like this, tangled up in silky sheets and the comfort of each other. His hold on you is so tight that you don’t, not even for a second, doubt whether he meant everything that just happened, all the things he can’t bring himself to tell you yet but that you can feel so clearly even in his silence – and for now, that’s enough.

“You sabotaged my dinner plans,” he finally whispers, breathing more slowly now. “I didn’t even get to open the wine.”

You chuckle against his neck. “Would you like me to help you preparing it now?”

Secondo sighs deeply, pulling you closer. “No, my dove, give your Papa a few more minutes of this, yes?”

By the way you can feel him twitching against your belly, you highly doubt that it’s only going to be a few more minutes. He knows this too, his plans long abandoned, and when you prop yourself up to look at him, eyes full of reverent love for an old man like him, he starts to embrace all of the changes you bring into his life. Maybe Terzo was right after all, maybe it’s never too late, not even for someone like him.

Thank you for reading! I know this was very long but believe me, writing it was a pain too :D I hope you enjoyed it – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always very appreciated ♡

Masterlist – my Ao3

#secondo x reader #papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus iii #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #secondo smut #secondo fluff #soft secondo #ghost #ghost fanfiction

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mako-neexu · 7 months ago

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keypoints about Fes (Aug 3-4, 2024) in relation to Dantes/Edguda (aka notes for me after reading a hundred or so Fes tweets)

Fes Day 1

The reveal that Salieri was among the Fes costume line up was hilarious so many people were saying "Okay Jalter!! Du Haine these traitors!!" and also "Come back and enjoy the fes with us Jalter! Bill all your expenses to that stargazing yukata ojisan over there!"

This was truly Avenger class summer (marie alter was also included)

Light reading was absolutely phenomenal - the lines delivered by sakamoto maaya and nobunaga shimazaki in Expo Live were amazing in Id chapter portion!!!!!!

[link of me crying about it] [second link] [third link] [fourth about his tears]

Official ID chapter MAD was insane it 1000% showed that the song was truly the feelings of the Avenger class from the bottom of their heart especially with dantes at the last few lines / the "noise" part too was freaking Salieri's i knew it!!!!!!

Paradis Chateau d'If was said to be insanely sweetly flavor that was strong. The grape is seems to be more jam than jelly. The bottom part was said to be peach syrup itself (but also mixed with some grape). The silver pearls sprinkles are called silver dragees that make it really fancy! It was also really thick that even when the ice melts, it won't thin out or get diluted at all.

Merch of Dantes is always sold out within the hour of both days

Oyo has a new wet monte cristo art

Chaldea (sweet papa) Kitchen Voice - "Owner...? Manager...? No! No, I am neither! I am but the patron. I am the ruler of shadows with an oriental-taste who have contributed in creating this tavern with ample (financial) resources. So enjoy yourself to the fullest! I am sure there is something here that will suit your tastes... No, there certainly is. Ahh, and one more thing, be careful of the heat. Even if you are not hungry, don't be afraid to rest and cool off."

Eye mirror quetionnaire top 3 - tenochtitlan, tonelico, and Monte Cristo

Side note: binaural Live2D Goredolf was cute!! Voiced goff!!!

Royst on day 1 flag with a new work

Tsuzumuda sensei with their message flag released!! thank you for the weapon design!

Fes Day 2

9th Anniversary live with Punchline Cosplay Ojisan!

He has the omamoris, maneki neko design!!! his notebook and feather pen prop!!!!! the cross designs on the glasses, the corset!!!! the gloves!!! the 14 stones!!!!! his cape also has the sea bream pattern!!!!!! the ponytail for Monte Cristo having also purple ends of his wig!!!... his stylists and makeup artists are so cool!!! the bestt aaa

Nobu complimenting Toyonaga Oberon!!!! i love it!!!!!!!!

He also complains being picked by his team mates for who looks like they're a good teacher he's embarassed wwww

"Who is the Servant who is most likely to have the most fun at FGO Fes?" Answer: Castoria Ishtar Mash

When revealing the answer he confidently explains that edmond is having the most fun considering his chaldea kitchen voice!!

After revealing the true answer, he RIGHTFULLY!!! complains to the audience that he's the type to go all out for Master!!!! It was amazing!!!

はしゃいでるマスターを見て一番はしゃいでるのはアイツ😭

I'll make a more detailed post about this... no let's turn it into a fic

Introduction of favorability gauge from space ere-chan brought out tweets of "monte cristo's favorability is MAX from the start so let's keep stacking~" from a lot of jp users www

Usagi Routo new illustrations are about PapaFesmon about guda's future and trying and failing to deny guda's offer of food as well as nobu's day 1 performance and day2 cosplay.. the best.

Flames of Applause Ce [cries and dies]

#fgo #fate grand order #edmond dantes #jeanne alter #guda

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danikriatura · 1 month ago

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Something i wrote in 2014, that i forgot about til just now......

"Observations from a pre-apocalyptic childhood.

Everywhere looks like a scene from a damn horror movie. Not the parts where all the blood and guts are spilled all over the place, but just the whole vibe where everything feels overly vivid and dark and surreal and it always feels like some bad shit is about to pop off. It always feels like night time, even when the sun is shining full throttle.

No matter how much light there is outside, everywhere seems drenched in cold overbearing shadows. Overly fascinating predators, hustlers, freaks and outcasts hidden in plain sight run the scene, adorned in costumes signifying either an allegiance to cocaine-fuelled disco decadence, willful genocidal complicity and collusion, bombed out fatalism, pending urban guerrilla warfare, or most commonly, stale self-righteous banality.

Everywhere is dirty, sketchy, dilapidated, yellow with piss and nicotine stains, dried blood on the sidewalk, grey and shadowy, with tinny disco sounds blaring from those prefab storefronts almost sinister in their innocuousness.

Some shit really stands out. A stencilled graffiti piece spraypainted in basic black on the side wall of a bank reads "Only The Rich Build Bombs."

A crackling tinny transistor radio stays tuned to a ghostly mysterious AM radio station, playing a strangely sweet sounding pop song that i later find out is about necrophilia.*

A creepy old baldheaded white man calls out to me from a sinister store front, "come here little boy! You wanna play a game?", licking his lips, while i run away to go tell my papa.

An elephant faced man with boils and burns covering all of his face and skin minds his own affairs and runs his errands, as everyone around him tries so hard not to stare.

A polyester-decked street corner preacher with a heavy Polish accent, cheap hairpiece on his head, bellows loudly about eternal hellfire and damnation, as stoned long haired teenagers in jean jackets excitedly take in the graphic descriptions of skin burning, eyes exploding and sexualized torture at the hands of sadistic demons til the end of time, before being to told to repent, at which point they begin flashing their pale ass cheeks and flipping their eager middle fingers.

Serious regal looking Black men with wide horizontal Afros, floppy leather caps, earth toned dashikis, army jackets and faded blue jeans supervise their tables selling books, oils and incense, flanked by red, black and green flags, arguing passionately about passages in the Bible used to justify slavery, tensions between Islam and Indigenous African cosmologies, reparations, repatriation, dirty money, clean hands and alibis.

Bombed out urban mutants looking like post-fallout zombies talk shit and get smashed drinking from bottles of cheap toxic liquid, hair dyed purple and green, hacked, shaved and spiked, monster makeup on their faces, adorned in spikes, chains, black leather, boots, torn up army regalia and shredded splatter bleached black denim, stenciled with words saying shit like "Hate & War", "Burned & Bombed", "Born To Die", "No God", "Sick Pleasure", "Crucifucks", "Millions of Dead Cops", "Subhumans" and "Peopleless Buildings", deriving great pleasure from playing with pet rats and engaging in playful self-abuse, as the horrified passerby gawk at them.

A group of middle aged Italian men in custom made silk suits play dominoes and blackgamma, smoking cigarillos and drinking cappucinos, making it damn clear as unmuddied rivers that this is grown man business and any women and children had better stay clear away.

Seedy movie houses with puke encrusted floors flash shiny marquees advertising the latest horror, smut and kung fu kick 'em up and fuck 'em up flicks, as a little boy with ringlet curls bouncing on his head wishes he could get in, afford to get in, or at least figure out which back exits are best for sneaking in.

At home, there are hushed, tense and passionate discussions en espanol, about torture, disappearances, massacres, military repression, death squads, cattle prods, rubber bullets, tear gas and water cannons.

Suitcases sit piled up at the ready, as two traumatized young parents do their best to make a safe haven inside a barren makeshift room, so that their little child can have some kinda clue about some kinda shit being some kinda safe, at least for some kinda time........"

* "There's No Blood In Bone", by the Poppy Family

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the-whispers-of-death · 1 year ago

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Why Those Nicknames?

If you ever looked at the basic info posts for my COD OCs and saw their nicknames and wondered, "why?", this is for you. Just something fun. This is solely for the COD OCs that are in "The Lions" squad (Kali, Sarabi, Simba, & Nala) because there's a post about why Stone's nicknames are his.

Kali:

Mufasa- This is technically a callsign, but I put it in the nicknames section because only The Lions and Stone use it to refer to Kali. Everyone else, including me, uses Kali when referring to him.

The Phantom of the Opera- This was sorta touched upon but here's a more in-depth explanation. Kali's light on his feet, like a phantom, but he also sings (hence the opera part). During his earlier years in the Marine Corps, Kali used to sneak up on people and sing songs from the musical The Phantom of the Opera, just because he could and it sparked the nickname.

Harbinger of Death- Harbinger means a person who announces or signals the approach of something, which is fitting for Kali considering as a sniper, he kills people. But also no enemy has ever seen him and survived, hence the nickname.

Sarabi:

True Leader of The Lions- Partly because he's the one that does the most of Kali's paperwork (because Kali, despite being a captain, hates paperwork) but also because it's a play on the fact that prides of lions are usually a matriarchy. So since Sarabi's callsign is a feminine name whereas Kali's (at least in the squad) is a masculine name, people joke Sarabi should be the actual captain of the squad.

Shadow-Man- Sarabi manages to blend in the shadows somehow, he hides there and no one really knows he's there because he usually doesn't talk much. Also, some people have said he manipulates shadows when he moves (which is just to further the legend of him).

Simba:

Geek-Man- It's not because he's a math prodigy, I swear. It's because he has these "geek-outs" as he calls them, where he just info-dumps about a certain subject. It's mostly about math or animals, don't ask him about fun facts about zebras. He will talk your ear off about zebras.

Greene Day- He loves the band Green Day and if you hear him humming, it's most likely a Green Day song. Combine that with the fact that his last name is Greene, you get the nickname "Greene Day".

Chaos Himbo- You may be thinking, if he's smart, how can he be a himbo? It's the energy. He doesn't seem smart, especially not with the way he has often accidentally set a fire in the microwave by trying to microwave different things. He's also chaotic in the way he has run several times on all fours, like he's a four-legged animal. He surprisingly runs pretty well on all fours.

Nala:

Daddy Williams- He got this nickname before he became an actual father and it's because he made the mistake of saying he once had a partner (not his wife) call him "Daddy" in bed. And no one let him live that down. It's gotten to the point where his daughters call him "Papa" and yes, that was his conscientious choice to teach them to call him that.

Man with a Bunker- It's self-explanatory; he has a bunker. Everyone found out when he just said "I do have a bunker" when someone joked he'd be the type to have a bunker. It's speculated that he might have more than one bunker, but he refuses to give a distinct answer on whether or not he has more than one.

Lord of the Weapons- Just a funny nickname because of the fact that he has a bunker and is a weapons expert. Other soldiers, non-weapons experts, revel at his knowledge of weapons and the fact that he can assemble and reassemble a sniper rifle blind-folded. Yes, people have actually seen him do it. In-universe, there are videos of him doing so.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

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acourtofbooksandshadows · 1 year ago

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Alliance Maker- Chapter 10

Summary: Nesta, Cassian and Azriel are back and you all have dinner together.

Pairing: Slow burn!Azriel x Afab!Reader

Warnings: Sadness, death, power, swearing, fire and that's it I think.

Word count:1213

Masterlist Series Masterlist

“We got you a gift.” Was the first thing you heard as you sat down for dinner. You glanced at the others sitting around the table. Nesta and Cassian sat by each other, Azriel on the other side of Cassian. Lucien had just wrangled a ball from Zas and plopped down in the chair beside you.

“I don’t think it’s my birthday.” You never really knew when your birthday was. Had never celebrated one when younger. But you did celebrate the day your dad had saved you. Though that was a day that only the two of you had knowledge of. The day had also not been celebrated since before you were taken from the woods in the mortal lands. You thought of your father as you often did. Thought about hopefully seeing him again one day.

“Ember, are you ready for dinner?” You heard your fathers deep voice coming from the kitchen. You put a placeholder in your book and got up eagerly. Your footsteps were silent as you made your way through the small house. Your father was standing with his hands on his hips behind the table.

He had a wide smile on his lips as he looked at the spread he had made. There were all your favorite foods lying out on the table. An equally wide smile adorned your lips as you took in the sight before you. He pulled a chair out for you before settling in on his own next to you. Then you both dug into the food in front of you. It wasn’t much but you wouldn’t change this for the world. You’d just finished the dishes and were walking out of the kitchen when your father came into sight.

“I love you Ember.” The sentiment had a lump forming in your throat. You tried to hold back your tears but they ran down your face like a steady stream anyways. He held out his arms and you shot into them.

“I love you papa.” He ran a steady hand along the back of your head and you took in a big breath. Smoke and leather clouded your senses and your sobs grew louder. He had been a safe place for you since he saved you the night you were left for dead. He held you until your sobs stopped and then you both read in the living room by the fire in the hearth.

When your name was called you broke out of your memory. “Sorry.” You muttered the word quietly, the skin on your chest had started to heat and you rubbed at it soothingly. Until a dark tendril came to wrap around your wrist and you let out a refreshed sigh.

“After your display of power we thought it wise to get you something to help control it.” Azriel’s shadows brought a box to the table at Cassian’s words. They slid the box across the table until it sat in front of you. It looked simple, black obsidian with a few intricate designs of swirls adorning the sides of the box.

“Are you going to open it?” Nesta was becoming impatient, you brought a gloved hand up to the box and ran your fingers along the material. You were happy for the gloves lacking fingers as you felt the material that was smooth along your fingertips.

“No one has ever gotten me a gift before.” While you and your father had celebrated before it had always been with your favorite food and dessert. You had never been well off enough to afford gifts. His job as the town blacksmith was only so rewarding. You flipped over the latch that was on the front keeping the lid closed and set your eyes upon three gems as the lid rose.

You looked at them curiously and realized the resemblance to the siphons you’d seen Cassian and Azriel wore. Though the ones lying within the box were black, a beautiful obsidian, that matched the partial color of your wings perfectly. That matched the shadow wrapped around your wrist just as well. You picked one up delicately and sent a flame up through your fingertips, a gasp left your lips as you saw the flame get locked within the stone and pulse. Another wave ran down your arm into your fingers then was once again locked in the stone.

You had expected it to feel like your power was being dragged from you but instead it felt like it was being amplified and dulled all at the same time. You blinked as you realized what exactly was happening. It was being honed for use, it was building up until you needed it, building up within the stone so you wouldn’t fear losing control again. A single tear slipped down your face that another shadow was quick to wipe away. A breath left your lips as relief slowly ebbed into you. You gathered another one into your other hand and let your power slip into it. Your shoulders sagged with the weight of some of what was bottled inside your body locked itself away in the stone.

“Thank you.” The words fell from your lips as you grasped the stones within your hands. You finally looked up and Azriels eyes were studying you. Studying you in a way that made you feel small yet bigger than life all at the same time. He nodded his head at you once and you mirrored the action in return.

“Let’s eat.” Cassian’s deep voice rumpled and you were thankful for the distraction as you slipped the stones back into the box and closed the lid.

“Do you guys have a blacksmith in town? I don’t think that was on the tour today.” The question came from you after dessert had passed and the group of you sat around sipping on wine and whiskey.

Cassian had been feeding Brok and Zas pieces of food off his plate which had earned him their interest and now they wouldn’t leave the Illyrian alone. Brok had climbed into the large males lap and settled in nicely. Which was a funny sight because the hound was massive and you were surprised the chair hadn’t snapped under his added weight. But Cassian didn’t falter and had taken joy in petting the hounds head as he napped.

“We have one in town, yes.” Nesta’s eyes worked over your frame curiously and you looked at her in a bored yet mischievous manner that was so completely you.

“Why do you inquire about one?” You shrugged your shoulders at her question. Cassian and Nesta glanced at each other as they remembered the weapons she had made not long ago. How deadly they had turned in her doing so.

“Miss the art is all.” She gave you a nod, she knew how much you had helped your father around the shop and she was sure you missed the attachment to the man.

“I can take you tomorrow if you’d like?” Lucien spoke up beside you and you were going to turn and accept his offer when another voice spoke up.

“I’ll take her.” Azriel said simply and the discussion was left at that. No one dared question the order from the spymaster. His shadows danced along his skin excitedly.

A/N: Not very long but I'll make it up to you with some Az and reader next chapter. Thank you all for reading as always likes, comments, reblogs and follows are much appreciated.

Tags(open): @wolfsbane44 @moonlwghts @maddietheshoe @hyemishii @fanboyluvr @kmc1989 @acourtofinkandpapyrus @luvmoo

#alliance maker #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel imagine #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #azriel series #a court of thorns and roses #acotar #a court of frost and starlight #acofas #a court of wings and ruin #acowar #a court of mist and fury #acomaf #a court of silver flames #acosf

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library-ghoulette · 5 months ago

Text

Under the Spell - Chapter 3/?

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Pairing: Mary Goore x f!OC

Rating: Mature

Tags: First person POV, he/they Mary Goore, unnamed Sister of Sin OC, slowburn, romantic strolls through the graveyard, breaking and entering, wine tastes better when it's stolen, sexual tension, tongue-in-cheek references to Repugnant lyrics

Words: 4448

Summary: A definitely-not-a-date in the cemetery leads to a close call.

A/N: Enjoy this long chapter!

ao3 link

I tell no one about Mary accosting me in the library, but our conversation replays over and over in my head for the rest of the day. It’s there as I finish my library shift and as I grab dinner with my roommate in the dining hall. It’s all I’m thinking about when I slump behind my desk back in my dorm, pretending to make corrections to the translation that has been giving me headaches all week.

And it’s what I’m thinking about when, my roommate in the shower, I pull on jeans and a cropped black t-shirt instead of my pajamas and tuck myself into bed.

“Early night?” she asks when she comes out and finds me with my lamp turned off and the comforter pulled up to my chin.

“Yeah,” I say, throwing in my most convincing fake yawn for emphasis. “I’m really tired. Busy day.”

I lie there, doing my best imitation of sleep and listening to the sounds of her running through her nighttime routine, so antsy that I can barely hold still. Finally I hear her lamp click off and the rustling of sheets as she turns to face the wall, and when her breathing drops into the easy cadence of sleep, I dare a peek at my phone beneath the covers: almost midnight.

Am I really doing this?

Apparently so. I feel like my body is moving of its own volition, dragging the rational part of me along helplessly as I push my comforter back as quietly as I can and creep over to the window.

When I first moved in, one of the other Sisters had told me that she was jealous I got the best room in the dorms. It was one of the easiest to sneak out of after curfew, she had claimed, because of the big, old oak tree that grew near the building, and the branch that extended so close to my window.

I've never tested this claim before. But now I find myself easing the window open and throwing first one leg and then the next over the ledge. I move quickly, knowing that if I pause long enough to consider what happens if I slip and fall, I'll freeze.

At least it's a full moon tonight. There's just enough ambient light that I'm not clambering down the branches blindly. I drop down onto the grass, wipe my scraped palms against my jeans, and head off across the campus toward the cemetery.

Set up on a hill behind the Abbey, it's a peaceful place and very old, with stones worn to illegibility existing alongside newer markers. Obelisks and imposing statues nestle in among maples that blaze red in the autumn and magnolias that scent the air with a delicate, citrussy aroma in the summer. I’ve been there plenty of times, both on Papa Primo’s educational history/horticulture walks and on my own, wandering along the winding pathways to gather my thoughts.

But now, as I climb up the hill to the filigreed iron gates, I feel a chill of fear prickle along my arms and down the nape of my neck. The pale stones cast long, spidery shadows that could conceal anything, and I feel uncomfortably exposed here on the high ground, under the stark light of the moon, alone.

Because Mary is nowhere to be seen.

Of course they’re not. This was all a joke, a ploy to get me to do something dumb and reckless, stand me up and then laugh about how gullible I was the next day. Probably along with that group of girls from the dining hall earlier. Fury rushes through me at the thought, followed by a nauseated, embarrassed certainty.

“Fuck this.”

Suddenly I’m exhausted, and there’s nothing I want to do more than go back to my room, take off this stupid outfit, and go to bed. But before I can make it more than a couple of steps down the hill, something reaches out and wraps long, cold fingers around my wrist that only tighten when I attempt to jerk out of its grasp. A scream rips out of me, and I only scream harder when the thing clutching me shouts, too.

“Shit! It’s me! It’s–for fuck’s sake, stop screaming, it’s me!”

I whirl around, fist clenched and ready to land a punch, but my form is bad and Mary catches my forearm and holds me still long enough for my fight or flight instincts to calm down.

“What– the fuck– is wrong with you?” I gasp, my breath hitching. “Sneaking up– on me–”

“I didn’t sneak!” Mary protests. “I was sitting right there, you just didn’t see me!”

He releases my wrists and runs his hands up to my shoulders, bracing me.

“You”--I still can barely breathe, but now it’s because frantic laughter is welling up in my throat–”you scared the shit out of me!”

And then we’re both laughing, and I’m not even sure why, but it feels strangely good to be standing here with them, their hands reassuring on my shoulders, giggling and alive at the threshold of so much death.

“I didn’t even think you’d come,” they say, when our laughter abates enough to speak. “You kind of left me hanging back there at the library.”

“Well, I was promised a picnic,” I say.

“Oh, yeah.” Mary steps away and retrieves something from the shadows where he was concealed—definitely sneaking—moments earlier. He holds aloft a bottle of wine and crows a triumphant “Ta-dah!”

“That’s it?” I ask, incredulous. “A bottle of wine is not a picnic.”

“Yeah, well, if you knew the efforts I went through to get this, you’d be more grateful.” They tilt the bottle in the moonlight to inspect the label. “I can’t even pronounce this, but judging by how old this is, they must have been saving it for a special occasion.”

“Did you—did you steal that out of the clergy wine cellar?”

Mary wrinkles their nose at me. “You always choose the worst words, you know that? Follow, sneak, steal. I didn’t steal it. I… liberated it.”

I cross my arms.

“It was going to waste down there in that basement,” he insists. “Now come on, let’s find a good place to crack this open before someone sees us."

Mary holds the gate open for me—so chivalrous—and follows as I lead the way along the main path.

I try to think of where to go.“There’s a really pretty mausoleum up on that rise, toward the back.”

Mary’s grin is a silvery flash in the moonlight. “Come here often, Sister?”

“Sometimes.” I shrug.

I realize that I have no idea what I’m supposed to be talking about, or what I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t even know what this is. Is this a date? Surely it’s not a date. Not that I want it to be a date, but I would know if it was a date— Wouldn’t I?

“Hey,” Mary interrupts my rumination. “Truth or dare?”

I roll my eyes. “What are you, 14?”

“What are you, 90?” They’re walking close enough to nudge me with an elbow. “Come on, humor me. Truth or dare?”

I relent. “Truth.”

“Ugh, I knew it. So boring.”

“Well fine, then. If I'm boring, I’ll just go home.” I shoot them a mischievous look and turn on my heel to head back toward the gate, only for them to hook their arm around mine and haul me back.

“Don’t you even think about it. Now let’s see, truth…” They tap the lip of the wine bottle against their chin contemplatively as we continue to walk, and I pull my arm away. “I know— How’d you get into the whole nun… habit?”

I groan. “Proud of yourself?”

“Very.”

I sigh. I consider giving a flippant answer, something guarded or even untrue, but once again what I want to say transforms into something else by the time it comes out of my mouth.

“I went to a Ghost ritual with a friend of mine about a couple of years ago. It didn’t do much for her, but I don’t know… It just made a lot of sense to me? And everyone was so nice? I ended up talking to one of the Sisters afterward, and she gave me some information, and before I knew it, I was coming to mass every week. And then I petitioned to join the order.”

I expect a snarky response, so I’m taken aback by the seriousness with which Mary asks, “Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I mean, there are parts that are hard, but I do like it. I didn’t have much direction before, so it feels good to have that now. To be a part of something bigger than me.”

I can sense Mary getting ready to ask me something else, something I don’t necessarily want to answer. “Technically that was two questions,” I say, before he has a chance to dig deeper into my spiritual life. “You cheated.”

“Alright. I pick truth.”

“I thought truth was boring.”

“I’m saving you the embarrassment of saying whatever weak-ass dare you would come up with.”

“Whatever. Um…” I’ve never been any good at this. I always say whatever pops into my head first, and it’s never something fun. Half of the time it’s something depressing that brings the mood down. “Why are you always pestering me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like today at the library. And in mass. And everywhere. And convincing me to do this!” I gesture vaguely at the entire cemetery. “Everywhere I turn, there you are.”

Mary skims a hand over the tops of the tombstones as we walk. We’re off the path now, cutting through the grass to reach the mausoleum.

“Maybe I like following you around.”

“Yeah, but why? There are plenty of”—I almost say better—”other people you could be following around instead. People who are clamoring to have you follow them around."

They huff out an exasperated-sounding laugh. “And miss out on your warmth and friendliness?”

There’s a beat of silence. I feel like I should say something, maybe apologize, but before I can, Mary says, with an edge of bitterness, “So that’s me, but what about Sister Imperator? Why is she so obsessed with you?”

“What do you mean?” I’m so surprised that I catch my boot against a footstone and stumble. Mary reaches out to catch me, just before I manage to right myself.

“I mean that I got a whole lecture after she saw us smoking together the other day. About how I was to stay away from you and not do anything to… Fuck, what did she say? Something about ‘causing any unfortunate detours from the distinguished path that you’re on’?”

“Oh.” Hearing Mary repeat Sister Imperator’s lofty opinion of me makes me feel self-conscious, the words too weighty to possibly apply to me. “She has plans for me to do some sort of special work after my novitiate ends. I don’t have all the details. But I’m taking extra classes this summer so I’ll be ready to take my temporary vows in the fall, ahead of schedule."

Mary looks confused, so I explain: “After we take temporary vows, we get more specialized training, and we have more responsibility. It prepares us to take final vows, which are more… permanent.”

Mary considers this, watching his feet as he makes his way between the stones. The silence feels ominous.

“Well?” I prompt. “No thoughts? You usually have so many of them.”

“Look.” Mary sighs and stops, looking at me full on. “I don’t want to fuck up your perfect little life or your perfect little Ministry career. Do whatever you want. All I’m gonna say is that if Imperator had any kind of big, special, vague plans for me?” He points to his chest and raises his eyebrows for emphasis. “I would be a little nervous.”

I don’t like that insinuation, but I don’t know how to counter it, so instead I just say, “We’re here,” and gesture at the mausoleum. It's the largest in the cemetery, its iron grate double doors flanked by stone columns and topped with a bas-relief of a skeleton in repose, draped in a burial shroud.

“It’s a nice mausoleum,” Mary concedes, sitting down beside me on the front step. “Solid.” They brace the wine bottle between their knees as they pull a Swiss army knife with a corkscrew from their jeans pocket.

“I like the view of the Abbey from up here,” I say, then turn my head up toward the sky. “And the stars are really clear tonight.”

The cork makes a satisfying pop as it comes free, and when I look back down, Mary is offering the bottle to me. “Didn’t steal any glasses?” I tease.

“‘Fraid not. But if it offends your delicate sensibilities…” They pull the bottle away from me, bringing it to their lips and turning it up in a long gulp that’s so indelicate, so unsuited to a wine as expensive as this one probably is, that it's downright vulgar.

“Hey! Give me that!”

I wrench the bottle away and take my own–much more civilized–sip to find that yes, this is the good stuff, rich and full-bodied and dark, and absolutely not intended for furtive drinking in a graveyard in the middle of the night.

Slightly horrified that this almost makes it better, I take another, deeper drink before passing the bottle back to Mary.

They drink again, wipe their mouth on the back of their hand, say “Ask me again.”

“What?”

“Truth or dare. I cheated when I asked you two questions, so this way we’ll be even. Ask me again.”

“Oh.” Mary’s fingers brush against mine as he hands the bottle back to me, and I feel a rush of heat in my cheeks that’s definitely just because I’m a lightweight and the wine is strong and we're drinking so quickly. “Truth or dare.”

“Dare." Mary shoots me a look that’s a dare in and of itself. I’m suddenly, vividly aware of the fact that I can ask them to do anything, and that they’ll do it.

I take another drink to stall for time, trying to think of something good. Then my eyes land on the chain and padlock holding the mausoleum doors closed. “Break in."

“Break in here?”

“Yeah. I– I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like inside.” It’s not a lie, but it sounds like one, a justification for choosing this dare when I could have asked for something else.

Mary shrugs. “Alright.” He stands, examines the lock briefly before digging around in his pocket again. He does something that I don’t see, and then I hear the metallic snap of the lock opening, and the clink of chain unwinding from around the door handles. "Piece of cake."

I was not expecting it to be that fast, that easy. “Do I even want to know why you’re so good at that?”

“Probably not!” He opens the doors wide and extends a hand to help me to my feet. “Come on, milady. Your tomb awaits.”

“Ew. Can you please never say ‘milady’ ever again?”

The mausoleum is roomier inside than I expected. A little antechamber leads to a wider space, lined with sealed crypts to the left and right. I run my fingers over the carved names—none of which I recognize—and make my way to the small stone bench set against the back wall. I sit there, under the stained glass window depicting the sigil of Lucifer surrounded by panes of red and yellow and orange, and watch Mary approach.

We sit together on that tiny bench, shoulders brushing, thighs pressed against one another from hip to knee, and my cheeks burn to be so close to him here in the gloom. I look down at my hands, suddenly too nervous to return his gaze.

But then they nudge me to get my attention, to hand over the now nearly empty wine bottle, and I do turn to face them. A tumble of dark hair, the right side of their face limned in flame, the moonlight thought the stained glass; the left side of their face lost to shadow. My breath catches in my throat.

When they speak, their voice is soft. "Truth or dare?"

I never choose dare. I've never looked at a risk and seen the potential for fun, only the potential for mishap, for embarrassment. But now, sitting here with Mary, I want to be the kind of person who does. I want to be reckless. I want to hand him control over me, even for a moment, just to see how he choose to wield that power. I want to find out what he would ask me to do, sitting here so close, surrounded by the echoes of our breathing bouncing off the marble walls.

“Truth.” It comes out as a whisper. It comes out as a disappointment.

But to my surprise, Mary doesn’t groan with annoyance. They don’t say anything snide. They just watch me watching them, their green eyes intent and inescapable. My gaze drops down to their lips, to the wide dip of their Cupid's bow. The corner of their mouth twists upward, and then they're asking me, “Just how bad do you want me to kiss you right now?”

"I—" I can barely think through the cresting wave of panic that rolls over me at Mary's words, and at the realization that I'm not denying it, I'm not getting up, I'm not going back to my room, I'm not fleeing back to everything that makes sense. That instead, I'm setting the bottle down by my foot with a tiny clink of glass against marble. I'm leaning in as Mary cups my cheek, thumb running over my jaw, pulling me closer. Everything in me that should be saying no is singing yesyesyes and I—

"Oh, fuck!"

Mary jerks away from me as a beam of light flashes through the window—a flashlight. Before I know what's happening, he's pulling me down off of the bench and to the floor, down out of the line of sight of the window. He tucks us into a space along one wall, flat on the floor, his arms wrapped around me from behind.

"What—"

Mary cuts me off with a hand clamped over my mouth and, when I struggle, shushes me sharply. That's when I hear the footsteps, swishing through the grass as they skirt one wall of the mausoleum and come around to the front. The metal grate of the double doors and the shadows are all that hide us from view.

"Did you see anyone?" Sister Imperator.

A man's voice, muffled, farther away… the groundskeeper, I think? I catch the end of his sentence as he draws closer: "—into the woods?"

A beat, then Sister Imperator again. "No. No, whoever it was, I think they're gone. No need to go tromping out there tonight."

Most of what they say after is lost to me, partially because it sounds like they're moving farther away, out into the cemetery, and partially because I'm finding it hard to focus on anything with Mary touching me.

Their body is a firm line against my back, their breath warm on the nape of my neck. They're still holding one hand over my mouth; their other arm is wrapped around my waist, all strong, lean muscle and sweat-dampened skin against my belly where my shirt has ridden up. I'm buzzy from the wine, and every point of contact feels tingly, electric.

Finally the footsteps recede completely, leaving only the hum of crickets and the sounds of the night outside, and Mary loosens his grip on me. "I think the coast is clear."

I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding and roll over onto my back. Mary grins down at me, head propped up on one hand. He leaves the other where my motion left it, resting on my hip right above the waistband of my jeans. His thumb plays idly over my skin.

"Fuck. That was really close." I think of the beam of the flashlight pouring over us through the window. It was pure luck that she didn't see us, or notice that the mausoleum was unlocked, that she didn't push the doors open and find us lying here.

What would she have done? I imagine being called into her office, her fury and disappointment as she kicks me out of the order. Would she do that? Take away everything that I've been working for? And where would I even go, if she did? The thought is terrifying, cutting through the haze of horniness that had crept over me.

"Where were we?" Mary squeezes my hip and leans in close to finish the kiss Sister Imperator interrupted, but I stop him, palm pressed against his chest. The faded logo is soft and cracked under my palm.

"I should probably get back to my dorm."

Furrowed brows, a bitten lip, an expression of almost pained disappointment. Expecting to have to argue my case, I'm surprised when all Mary says is, "Sure. I'll walk you back."

We say nothing as we straighten our disheveled clothes, as Mary chains the mausoleum doors and carefully secures the padlock so that no one would know we were ever there. We cross the cemetery, picking our way through the tombstones, and I struggle to unpick my jumbled thoughts.

I feel like I've fucked up. I feel like I need to find the right thing to say, to fix it. I feel like I'm running out o time. And I can't find my words.

But when I stumble over the same footstone as I did on our way in, Mary silently reaches out and slips their hand into mine, steadying me. And I leave it there.

We stop at the edge of campus, the dormitories just in sight. "I—" I don't know how to say it so that it doesn't sound mean, so that it doesn't sound like a rejection. "I should probably go alone from here."

The rest is unspoken but understood. How bad it would look if someone saw me walking around in the middle of the night with them, holding their hand. The understanding doesn't make me feel any better.

"Okay." Mary gives me a halfhearted smile and squeezes my hand before letting it go. "See you around."

I don't want them to go yet.

"Wait." They turn back, and I search my brain for a reasonable justification for why I called them back, and then I remember. I reach into the pocket of my jeans and find the red lighter from the day we met, hold it out to them, cradled in my palm. "I never gave this back to you."

Mary regards it with a half-smile, then folds my fingers back over the lighter, letting the touch linger. "Why don't you hold onto it for me for a little bit longer?"

And then he leans in and kisses me. It's quick and clumsy and I'm not expecting it, so it catches me on the corner of my mouth, half on my cheek. Imperfect and too fast. I want to try again, to get it right this time, but before I can say anything, Mary is already disappearing back into the night, with a a quick "'Night Sister, see you around." Melding with the shadows like he belongs to them.

My cheeks are burning when I make it back to the oak tree beside my dorm, and as I pull myself up onto the lowest branch, all I can think about is the feeling of Mary's lips on mine.

And then I hear my name called from down below, and my stomach clenches with dread. I instinctively close my eyes, as though not seeing Sister Imperator glaring up at me means that it's not actually happening.

"Could you come down here, please?"

I drop back down to the ground with a muffled thump. My ankle twists uncomfortably on landing, and I bite back a cry of pain and do my best to stand up straight under Sister Imperator's glare. "Care to explain?" she asks.

I stammer out apologies and try to think of a plausible excuse. "I- I know that it's after curfew, but I couldn't sleep because I was worrying about my Latin class, so I decided to— to go for a walk? To calm my nerves?"

She quirks a skeptical eyebrow at me. "Alone?"

"Yes, Sister."

"Did you happen to see anyone else around?" she asks. "Or hear anything strange? There was a report of a scream coming from the cemetery around midnight."

"No, Sister. I wasn't anywhere near the cemetery."

I squirm under her scrutiny, expecting her to call me on my lie, but all she says is, "Well, let's go in through the front door, shall we? No need to sneak in like thieves."

She leads, and I limp behind, sweating with anxiety as we round the building and walk in. I bid her a quick goodnight and head for the stairwell to my floor, but she calls me back.

"I don't like the thought of you wandering around at night. It's not safe, especially for a young woman." She pauses, as though giving me an opportunity to argue, and when I say nothing, continues: "So, to help your stress about your Latin class, I think perhaps you should get some extra tutoring?"

I start to voice my agreement—however reluctant—and assure her that I will stop by one of the weekly review sessions that the other summer students are organizing. But she cuts me off mid-sentence. "I will secure a daily tutor for you. Report to the library tomorrow evening after dinner. They'll meet you there."

A daily tutor? Does she intend to take away all of my free time, what little there is between class, my work duties, my library shifts, and preparation for taking my vows?

Yes, I answer myself, with certainty. She does. And there's nothing I can do about it, nothing I can say other than, "Yes, Sister Imperator."

"Very good." She gives me a flinty smile that holds no mirth but brims with satisfaction. "Sleep well."

I feel her eyes follow me all the way upstairs. I think I feel them even after I've locked the door behind me and crawled back into bed.

But my last thought before I fall asleep isn't about how much trouble I'm in. It's when will I see Mary again?

#my writing #lib ghoulette writes #mary goore fanfic #mary goore x f!OC #ghost band fanfic #repugnant band fanfic

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nin-jay-go · 11 months ago

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LIVEBLOGGING!

omg ras at shadow dojo....

"sora and jordana's unreciprocated kismesitude"

confirmed catboy can see in the dark

INTRO FUCKS WHOA

oh shit the mechanic's back as... doc oc?

OMG RIYU GREW UPPPPPPPPP

FUGIDOVE?????? HELLO??

THE SPONSORSHPI VIDEO SOBBINGGGG

"riyu cinder noxtide guardian" "yea"

lloyd?????? buddy??????

oh boy he's so sleep deprived

oh no zane passed on his prophetic visions to lloyd

HES SO SHINY WHY IS SO SHINY

the whost

i love kreel

ok WHY does riyu have eyebrows. thats not good.

HE DO A BIG STRETCHY

hi cinder.

oh his voice is familiar OH ITS ACRONIX

EUPHRASIA!!!

WHYYYYY ARE THE DESTINY QUILLS (sticks) NOT WORKING

omg destiny she/her

PERCIVAL TARTIGRADEEEEEE

I LOVE THIS SERPENTINE GIRL. SHES SO FUNNY

shatters the goodness inside you....

HEY THIS BETTER NOT HAVE HIT JAY. HEY. HEY HOLD ON.

this language looks EVIL

THE WORMS ARE BACK THE WORMSSSSS YESSSSS

the forbidden five????? hello???????????

DESTINY IS A TWITCH MOD

OH NO LLOYD IS HAVING A PANIC ATTACK

DID CINDER JUST BREAK HER LEG. HOLY SHIT

GODDDDDD SAM VINCENT'S ACTING THIS SEASON IS SO GOOD.

UHM????? DRAGON FAIRIES THAT DELIVER VISIONS????

OH THEYRE TALKING TO HIM

elemental master of SPEEEEEN

yep totally expected wyldfyre stowed away

oh no magical darkness. MAGICAL darkness. DREAM DARKNESS.

oh i like the yellow robes on wu

NO NO NO NO JAY........ NOOOO.............

SHE LOVES HIM SO MUCH SHE WAS ABLE TO BREAK OUT

WHAT. WHAT. WHAT. WHAT. WHAT. WHAT. WHAT. WHAT.

"the wasting????"

"the real jay could never forget me" cue both of us screaming

GEOOOOOO

THERE IS NO HETEROSEXUAL EXPLANATION

COLE IS THE CHEF????????????????? NO.

arin autism moment

GOOD JOB SPORT KJSHFKJKSFDHSJD

those dragons sure can master

papa's home!

oh thats actually fun, rontu is voiced by rarity's singing voice :0

oh my god the dragons are rising

THE BORDER IS GONE!!! THE FORGOTTEN GUYS CAN LEAVE!

family roadtripppppp

THEYRE HOMEEEEEEEEEE AUAUAAUUAUAUUA

I NEED THAT FROHICKY PLUSHIE

the wuorb!

BONZLE??? HUH?????

"ive rehearsed this" bonzle i love you

oh i LOVE these cagehead designs

SQUEEEE

BEYBLADE BEYBLADE LET IT RIP

SOBBINGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG AUAUUAUAUA

REALM #16 BABEYYYYY

RAS PROPHETIC VISIONS?

ARE THEY GOING TO FUCKING FORCE POSSESSION ON THOSE MONKS?????? WHAT

you lost track of the children guys

"the children are drift compatible!"

mysterium better not fuck up my magic headcanons

SIBLING BEYBLADESSSSS

well good thing none of these guys need to breathe

OH MY GOD EGALT'S EYE D:

oh no. gladiatorial combat.

DORAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

oh hey the nonbinary person's back

oh this place is PRETTY

i miss jay.

boys will be boys!

GANDALARIA... I LOVE HER

fugitives from madness is the coolest title ever

....oh... the wasting....

bonzle trans :D

ADMINISTRATION

OUHGOOFHDUFGUDFODUFGHGODU BABY KAI AND NYA. SO LITTLE. SO TINYSMALL

link... the blood moon is here... be careful.

UHM? GET TURNED TO STONE?????

ROBOT MICROAGGRESSION.

the only way to beat madness is to play by its rules!

JAY JAY JAY JAY JAY VILLAIN JAY FUCKED UP AND EVIL JAY HOLY SHIT IM GONNA AOHAIUQDGFJKHDFKJHGDKJFHGDFK

JAY. HONEY. he SO does not wanna be here

he hasn't told anyone he can lightning power.....

MY ROBITTTTTTTT THEY KILT HIM

and jay remains unseen forever. his grand reveal is Coming

RIYU FLIES NOW :DDDDD

the poor bounty. she dies so much.

THE BOUNTYYYYYY

if bonezle wasn't claustrophobic before, she sure is now

omg baby ras :00000

EUPHRASIA FUCKING DIES??????

NETHERSPACE???? THE FUCKING NETHER?????? FROM MINECRAFT???????

MIMIC!!!!!!

janet..... who is janet.... is it gandalaria's ex

ok i do not like the fact that they just put on the wolf costumes

ok there must SOME kind of supernatural shit healing that leg of wyldfyre's. that's FAST

KJHSFKJHSJDKH MAGIC MISHAPS :) MY FAVORITE :)

KJHSFJSDKGFHKJSDFKSJDH HE TURNED INTO A PUPPY

PICKS YOU UP

ok my friend just coined gandalaria x laroe. i'm calling it scimagicshipping.

HELLO????????? THE FUCKING MC ESCHER LABYRINTH??????

arin my silly billy

WHO IS YOUR MASTER RAS??????

i took a break here and my gandalaria brainrot is infecting me. i love her so much

OH MY GOD ARIN'S PARENTS ah its a hallucination

oh no. the gong. they have the masks on oh no oh fuck

oh thank god wyldfyre hates the masks

NOOOOOO BONZLE

RAS' EAR POPPING UP SO CUTEEEEEE

LIKE THE FIREBREATHING DRAGONS WE ARE IM GONNA CRYY

raine must be jumping for joy at all this cinder content

KAI?????????

OH HE"S GETTING FUCKING FORCEPOSSESSED

OH NOOOOOOO

KAI FUCKING DIES

WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU

KAI'S CORPSE ERA RETURNS

zane is always getting shit done to him

NYAAAAAAAAA

lloyd's VISIONS AGAIN

HE'S IN A FUCKING LOCATION. OH GOD HE'S IN THE MC ESCHER UNIVERSE

GET PUNCHED RAS

KAIS FUCKING STUCK IN THE MC ESCHER UNIVERSE

UH??????????????

IT ALL JUST FUCKING VANISHED????????

ok this guy is immediately pathetic

JORDANA????????

TOURNAMENT OF THE SOURCES???????

oh my god nya is now the remaining sibling :( reverse seabound

oh thank god bonzle and kai are together, they're not alone

ninja never quit :)

HEY THE OTHER FOUR ARE THERE. THEY'RE THERE.

WELL. THATS SURE A P1 SEASON

#jay.error #dragons rising spoilers

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stranger-who-writes-fiction · 1 year ago

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NBD just crying over Action Comics 1060 (in a good way but also a sad way because DC is being VERY DUMB and ending PKJ’s run in favor of a Jason Aaron Bizarro filler arc ohhhhhh how I weep bitter tears of frustration)

…Anyways, spoilers!

So 1060 is the penultimate installment of PKJ’s (stellar, spectacular, phenomenal, brilliant, top-tier) run on Action Comics and I just want to applaud him—for a lot of things, really, but in *this* specific case, I wanna stand and cheer because he’s making it EXTREMELY CLEAR that the twins (who are not actually twins) are in fact, Clark’s kids. No question, no ambiguity; Otho calls him papa, Clark refers to her as his daughter, and he’s willing to travel through LITERAL HELL to get her back.

It’s entirely possible that future writers will try to get rid of these kids, but I appreciate that PKJ has made it *very* difficult for them. XD Any retcon they’d come up with would be so messy. (Of course, saying this, I realize that the more depressingly realistic outcome here isn’t that writers actively try to erase them, but rather, will probably sideline/ignore them, trot them out for generic precocious kids stuff every now and then, and wait for the next line-wide reboot to ‘streamline’ Clark aka toss out anything mildly interesting and/or additive to Clark’s corner of the DCU.)

Right. Sorry. Salty tangent. XD

So anyways here’s some panels that tugged on my ‘Aunt Kara’ heartstrings.

‘I know sweetie. I know. It’s so hard, not knowing.’ HOW VERY DARE.

There’s also a really great page wherein Kara gets Osul to calm down by reminding him of a…I think Phaelosian legend? Or possibly Kryptonian, I know she was trying to find stuff for them in a previous issue.

(Went back and it’s actually the House of Ra fable; the House of El’s is ‘Nightwing and Flamebird’, Ra’s is ‘Red Son and Starchild’.)

I love that Lois lets Kara and Osul have that moment, that space; I maintain that while Clark has a better handle on getting what the kids went through on Warworld given that he was there, and Lois obviously has more experience with raising kids that have unique needs thanks to Jon being half alien, but *Kara* is more readily equipped to sympathize with Otho and Osul’s struggles with transitioning to Earth life, based on her current, canon characterization. (Which is, uhhhh…Woman of Tomorrow and alsoooooo…Rebirth? Maybe? WoT is def canon, the recent SG one shot visually referenced Kara’s departure from Argo.) But I digress!

Speaking of the kids’ struggles…Otho is Going Through It. The stuff with Sister Shadow (AKA Norah Stone AKA evil daughter of an alt universe Bruce and Talia) trying to tempt her to the dark side by preying on her trauma/difficulty adapting to her new home and revealing a future, tyrannical version of herself is some wonderfully juicy character work, both from the perspective of fleshing out Otho AND being additive to Superman’s roster of villains; that’s something I love about PKJ’s approach to world building overall. Yes, he’s revamped some of Superman’s established bad guys (Metallo, Mongul) but he’s also added awesome new foes, like Norah Stone, and Pyrrhos.

I really hope DC lets him do like. A mini series on his original Kryptonian/House of El characters. I would honestly love to read about all these cool new, additive elements, than deal with the Luthor cameo fest over in Superman rn. XD

In conclusion: DC once again shying away from anything interesting and new with Superman in favor of the safe status quo. -_- I mean, I hope I’m wrong. I hope the new ‘Superman Superstars’ opt to build on the solid foundation PKJ has set up. But given what happened with Bendis? Creators’ absolute refusal to incorporate any of the canon he built, because they knew DC would walk it back ASAP? (And the Superman group editor openly admitting that was his number one priority as soon as he GOT THE JOB???) Just shows a complete lack of faith in your creators, and doesn’t really give me too much hope for one of the few remaining titles I look forward to each month.

…but hey, hopefully Marilyn Moonlight will be neat??? XD

(Also LET A WOMAN WRITE A MAIN SUPERMAN BOOK YOU COWARDS.)

#long post #dc comics #action comics #action comics spoilers #sg post #kinda #I was enjoying the flagship Superman title…#and then Campbell left and Williamson doubled down on Luthors XD #so yeeeeah it’s firmly back in ‘meh’ territory

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a-crash-in-time-collection · 1 year ago

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Chapter 44: Sand From The Moon

It's only been a week, maybe two, since Hat Girl had faced the Empress. Since the memories she had lost were brought back at full force. Since she realized there was someone who was suffering, if not gone, because of her. And there was nothing she could do about it now. A lot had gone through her mind in that time. Trying her best to accept that was just how things would be, now and forever. How to move on with the life she was currently living, with the knowledge of her past haunting her.

Maybe it was too soon for her to be out. Maybe she should give herself more time to rest. Maybe she was hurrying herself to get better. Maybe all that was true. But she tried to push those thoughts to the side. Because she was stuck with more worries. As she reflected on her current life compared to her old one, she found herself glancing beyond the parent. Beyond where even time pieces could access, the future. The future not just for her, but her family, her friends, and everyone that called this planet home.

She was tied to the Second Coming of the Moonjumper. She didn't know why, or how. It should just be a myth. A myth about a second version of a powerful being coming eventually. Those stories existed in myths and prophecies all the time, that it itself was nothing new. But the stone craving of her she found in those desert ruins, one that seemed to be tied, at least a little bit, to the Moonjumper legend. It frightened her. Even before her encounter with the Empress, that kept her up at night, not knowing her part in all this.

Today she was going to change that. It was another cool autumn morning, the sun was just barely starting to come up from the horizon. On most other days she wouldn't have been up so early, but she had a trip to make today. She needed to go back to the tower or the ruins and find anything else there. Anything that could help prepare her and the clan for what was going to happen. That was all she wanted, was that so wrong? If it turns out she needed to leave to keep them safe, that would be what she did.

But she couldn't know that until she got there. She adjusted her sleeves as she sat on the rock outside the orbital station, her phone screen making a small bit of light. Mr. Macbeth and her Papa will be there any minute so they could head out to the desert. The sooner the better. She glanced up at the sky for a moment, recalling that day in the tower. Recalling that figure that formed seemed to blend into the shadows. All she could really see was the cloak they had worn…

She heard footsteps as she turned around, seeing the two men approaching, talking with each other. "Perfect." She whispered as she garbed her phone. Part of her wished she could have Platinum tag along, but as much as she loved her brother, they didn't need to be getting into trouble today. Besides, he had made some plans with Van, and she wasn't going to prevent them from finally getting together. "Are you two alright?" She said as she hopping off the rock, glancing at the two of them.

"Did ya get anyt'in' to eat?" Right ask, crossing his arms as if he knew the answer. Hat Girl shook her head, she’d honestly forgotten too. "Figured." Right tossed an apple he had garbed to her.

"At least you two aren't goin' to have to deal with Snacther's voice on the way there." Macbeth sighed, adjusted the strap of the cooler bag he was bringing with them. He couldn't even focus on half of what Snather was saying even if he wanted to. He caught something about the swamp or, was it about some gem? He didn't know and frankly he wasn't sure he wanted to know. "The only good thing about it is it woke me up in time. I chose the wrong night to catch up on paperwork for the train."

"'ow do ya even 'ave paperwork for t'e train rig't now, t'e trains on our 'ome planet." Right asked, to which Macbeth just shrugged. Some of it was leftover from before he died and he just only now found it. He wouldn't be surprised if someone sneaked some fake files into his room to give him work, he knew a few people who would do that after all. Right just sighed. "W'otever, let's just get goin'. T'e sooner we get t'is done, t'e sooner we can all rest easy." He eyed his daughter.

"Wait!" A voice suddenly came through the area, the group pausing before looking over as Reginald ran up to the group. "I know the plan was just for you guys to go but, I can't help but worry about what might happen." Reginald said when he got there, looking at Hat Girl with some worry. Right took his hand and looked at him, and Reginald gave him a smile. "Don't worry," He started. "I bumped into Jaques and he said he could handle things for today. He was a leader before and he seemed to handle things well."

"Reg, t'e last time we went to the desert ya got over'eated quickly." Right said, eyeing his husband's outfits. The colors were more gray than black, but they were still dark. At least Right had an internal cooling system, Macbeth was a ghost, and Hat Girl was some heat resident alien. They were all fine with their darker tones, Reginald wouldn't be. Not that Right would be able to get Reginald to change now if he wanted too. "Are ya sure?"

"Like I said, I'll be fine- Wait, I didn't say that." Reginald said, earning a small chuckle from Hat Girl as she glanced in the direction they would need to take to get to the desert. Sure, she would rather be going now but they all just woke up, she could let their minds wake up more before they headed onto the road. Reginald got close to Right. "And besides, if the impossible happens and something bad happens." He leaned on him and held his hand. "You'll be there to save me." Right smiled at that.

"Why are married men like this." Macbeth whispered to himself, rolling his eyes as he adjusted his hat, looking up to make sure Alexsandera's faint glow was there. He found himself staring at his hand for a minute. He had gotten so used to the ghostly, dark purple that it was just normal for him now. And it was going to be until the day he moved on, if that day ever came. "Why am I having these thoughts?" He whispered to himself, Reginald and Right glancing over. "It doesn't make sense, I shouldn't be able to think this clearly at all and yet…"

"Ok, I hate to interrupt but, maybe we can banter a bit on the road." Hat Girl said after she caught herself letting out a quiet yawn. The others glanced at her, and Macbeth nodded, heading ahead of the group to be the lead, in case of the off chance they got jumped by something on the way. They had yet to see if any animals that would harm them lived in the desert after all. "You're going a little to far east there." Hat Girl chuckled as the ghost paused, looking over. "What?"

"I thought it would be the same way as the studio, both are in the desert." Macbeth said, following Reginald once he showed them the right direction. Snatcher's voice seemed to pick up in his head, seeming even more like a blur of random words and slowly getting louder. He wanted to toss a rock at the ghost but they didn't have too much time to spare. He glanced over at Hat Girl as they began to head through the woods. "Are you sure yo' ok with all this?"

"Even if we end up discovering something bad at the sight, it'll be better then if we find nothing at all." Hat Girl said as she glanced at him. Macbeth hated how he could see the logic in her statement. She was young, she shouldn't be thinking logically about things like this over a worry that it could affect the whole clan. She managed to keep a smile on her face as they kept going. "Say, you ever want to go see if we can find those Eversteads? That's what they're called right, what Jaques ran into?"

"Hattie, I'm pretty sure based on what we're told we wouldn't be able to just walk into that cave again." Reginald said, Macbeth letting out a small shiver as he thought of that night and the creatures in that cave. He was just barely able to handle the cruise, he wasn't sure if he could survive that cave, even without those creatures. Why did they exist anyway? "I still find it a little strange, that voice that Jaques mentioned. You think it could be tied with, you know what?" Reginald asked as he looked back at her, getting a nod. "Yea, me too."

Only time could really tell, they all supposed.

The heat wasn't as bad as the day they went there in the past, which considering the seasons, made sense, but it was still hot. Right Hand Man had an eye on his husband and rarely looked away as they walked through the sandy land. Reginald seemed to be doing a lot better this time, and he already had a water bottle out for when the heat would get worse, but that didn't stop the cyborg from worrying. Hat Girl hid her worry better, but she was still worried. Another reason they needed to get this mission done quickly.

There were more people here then there was the last time they came to the place. A few owls and penguins could be spotted even as the ruins just entered sight. Hat Girl thought she could even make out a Mafia in the distance as they walked up to the sight. Macbeth gave a curious hum as he scanned around, Alexsandera coming from his hat and resting on his shoulder. For the other three, it felt more empty then the last time they came here. Mainly due to the lack of the tower, now in a more ruined state.

The tower that held the stone piece that brought them back here. If anything was going to be tied to the stone, it would be in that tower.

"So, t'ere's no way t'ey're just gonna let anyone walk in and look t'rough t'e rumble." Right Hand Man said, using his robotic eye to get a better look at the ruins of the tower from the distance they were from it. He couldn't zoom in too much, but he was faintly able to make out fences blocking it off. Small metal fences that were easy to jump over, but fences nonetheless. "Could cause a distraction of sorts, but I 'ave a feelin' t'at wouldn't go well. We don't want people gettin' 'urt unnecessarily."

"It's been months since we last were here. Surely they would have gotten anything of worth that survived the collapse out of the rumble by now." Reginald said, leaning against the stone entrance as he drank some of the water just to have it in his system. He scanned, glancing ahead and saw one of the Nomads by one of the old dried up wells. "Hattie, go ahead and ask them about that." he pointed her out. "Macbeth, follow just in case."

"Alright." Hat Girl took a breath as she began to walk over, putting her most natural smile on as she did. The whole world didn't know what she went through and they didn't need a hint that something was wrong. She watched the nomad adjust a sign next to the well before giving a quick "Excuse me?" making them look over. She glanced back at Macbeth who nodded before she continued. "Hi, I'm sorry to bug you, I was just wondering. The tower, did anything in it survive the fall? It seemed pretty bad."

"Oh, you have no idea." The nomad chuckled. Clearly not having worked the day it fell since she was inside it and it was bad. She let out a sigh not too long after. "Not everything, unfortunately. Although anything surviving at all was a miracle." Hat Girl gave a nod to that statement, that gave her some hints that there were things that made it. The nomad pointed to a building nearby. "We relocated anything that survived the tower's fall in there. Or well, most of what survived the tower."

"Most of it?" Macbeth asked, walking beside Hat Girl. "What happened to the rest? Is it bein' restored somewhere?"

"I wish I could say that. One night they were in their spots and by morning they were gone! No footprints or handprints, or anything giving a hint of what might have stolen them!" She paused before looking at them. "Sorry, it's just a bit upsetting, you know?" Hat Girl gave a nod as she looked at Macbeth. It was impossible for there to be no clues, they knew that better than most people. "It was the more interesting stuff as well, with some kind of story. All that was left in their place was some sand."

"I'm sorry to hear all of that. I hope it turns up soon." Hat Girl said, before turning around and heading back to her fathers, who had started to walk over. Both gave a sigh when they saw the lack of excitement in her eyes, that couldn't be good. She glanced behind her for a moment as the Nomad left to head to another part of the ruin town, before speaking. "Someone stole some of the surviving relics from the tower. Based on the way she described them, it's what we're after."

"There's no way it's convenient." Macbeth said. "It has to be tied to the Moonjumper myth."

"Was it one of those cat's like yer friend, or could it 'ave been Snatcher or somethin'?" Right asked, Hat Girl shaking her head. It would have left footprints on the ground if it was a Lazy Paw, that's how she learn to spot them. And while she could see Snatcher taking them for one reason or another, she couldn't see Snatcher not telling them or spilling the beans to Macbeth by mistake. "Well, I 'ave no idea then, t'ose were t'e only two t'at came to mind. Do you t'ink t'ey could 'ave gotten far?"

"If they made it out of this desert at any time with those things without getting spotted, then they are really good at this." Reginald said, wiping his brow. "Despite saying that, no. I don't know why but I got this, weird feeling they couldn't have gotten far with them, do you?" Macbeth gave a nod, and the other two shrugged. "I feel like to just steal those things, I don't think they stole them just to have them or sell them."

"They had to have left something behind, right? Unless whoever it was can teleport, there has to be a hint somewhere." Hat Girl said, scanning around the area. It might just not be something they could see. Maybe there was nothing at all. But she couldn't leave empty handed like this, she had to at least try and find any clue about all this. She let out a sigh as she turned to the others. "I think the best course of action is to look around, see if we can find anything off… and I'm not the one in charge here."

"Well, those were the words I was planning to say." Reginald said with a smile. Hat Girl returned it, before letting out a sigh as she got into the cold bag for a bottle of water, shivering a bit from the remaining pieces of ice that Macbeth had tossed in to make sure the water survived the heat. Reginald, meanwhile, made a mental note in his mind, recalling the few landmarks they saw their last trip here. "Let's try to be careful, we don't know if whoever it was is still here, and if they'll be mad."

"Probably would." Macbeth said, the dweller on his shoulder nodding.

"W'otever happens, t'ey'll 'ave to get t'rough me first." Right felt a hand on his shoulder. "Ya want me to tone it down, I guess?" Right asked as he turned to Reginald, getting a nod. Hat Girl let out a small chuckle as she glanced around. She needed to be alert at all cost, she couldn't let anything leave her sight. This was her one chance, she couldn't let it get pass her. "Hattie, try and stay wit' t'e group." Right called, making her paused. she didn't even notice she started walking.

"Sorry! It just happened." She chuckled as she went back to them. Reginald began to walk in the direction of where he recalled one building. It was bigger than the rest, maybe some town hall? Or a church? It was hard to tell exactly. He didn't know what the people who lived here did. Or how contented they were to subcon, if at all. Hat Girl glanced behind them at time, taking some breaths. "This is all going to be worth it guys, I promise." She held her own hand. "We're gonna find something, I'm sure of it."

Macbeth gave Hat Girl a worried glance. He didn't like how she was acting about all this. It was good they were looking for answers, but still.

"Kid," He said, drawing her attention to him. "We're all going to be fine, even if we don't find anything. You don't need to worry. If there's any group that has a chance of taking on some deity, it's the clan." Hat Girl didn't respond, just glanced ahead. Macbeth let out another sigh, he had to at least try.

In the hour that they searched and researched areas, they found nothing. Not a single clue to the location of the items, or even what those items were. It was frustrating, especially for Hat Girl. There couldn't be nothing here! Should she have come back here earlier? Would there be clues then? She didn't know and she would never know. She did her best to hide how she was feeling, but her footsteps got a bit more heavy against the ground. Her breath slowly became more shaking. Her eyes would dart to every light crack in every surface.

It became clear to the others, especially her dads, that this wasn't going well and if they let her keep stressing like this, something bad was going to happen. Reginald was able to convince her that a break was in order, even though Reginald intended to leave once she had cooled off. He could check the news to see if anything came up at the station. So they went to the oasis, the sight just as clear and perfect as the day they were last here. Before Hat Girl was even aware of the stone.

Back when the world made just a little more sense. Back when there were no memories. No Moonjumper myth to worry about.

"Righty, don't think of taking my gloves off this time, I have something ready for you if you do." Reginald said as he sat under one of the trees, giving Right a smug look. Right just gave a shrug in response. Hat Girl let out a small chuckle, although it had less energy than usual. It almost seemed like it was a fake one. Reginald glanced over at her. "Hattie, you can sit in the shade if you want. It's cooler under here." Reginald said, waving her over despite the fact her back was turned.

She shook her head, and Right walked up to her, making sure to give her a little space between them as he sat down. "Are ya feelin' well? Over'eated or 'ungery?" He asked her. He didn't want to start with 'are you ok', the answer people gave was usually yes. She shook her head, and let out a sigh as she reached into the water, allowing it to wash over her hands. "We'll find w'ot we're lookin' for." He said. "'and If we don't ‘ere, we'll find t'em somew'ere else."

"I…know I shouldn't be getting so upset and moody over the most realistic outcome." Hat Girl admitted with a sigh. She glanced at her reflection as she pulled her hand from the water. Even with the ripples she could see the faint red forming around her eyes. She didn't let it. She took a breath to try and calm down, but something about that made her even more annoyed. "I just- I don't know if I can explain it all. I just want to learn what's going to happen so I can make the right call."

"Well, how do you know that seeing what might happen and trying to prevent it won’t just lead to that happenin'?" Macbeth asked, getting a small and quick glare from Reginald and Right. Hat Girl turned to him, not out of anger, but in confusion. He walked over, keeping his gaze focus on Alexsandera as they floated over the water. He needed to be ready to act if something happened. "I'm not sayin' that to be mean. It's just somethin' that happens a lot in stories, who says it can't' happen in real life?"

"I ‘ate it w'en ya make good points." Right Hand Man sighed, looking down at the ground. "It feels like our life is one crazy novel now anyway."

"Well, you make good points sometimes too." Macbeth shrugged as Alexsandera floated back to him, resting around his arm as he turned to Right Hand Man. "Sometimes." Right gave him another glare, but it faded when he heard Hat Girl chuckle.

"Please never change guys." She said as she glanced over. Her smile faded again, never change… How simple the idea seemed, yet it felt impossible. "I don't want you all getting hurt." She spoke, more to herself than the others. She reached up to her hat and put it in her lap. "I just want us to get home and not have to worry about this. But it feels like no matter what I do I won't be able to escape whatever fate lays ahead. Or worst..keep you all safe from any harm my involvement might bring…"

The group was silent for a moment, allowing her to try and process her thoughts some more. Reginald got out from the shade, walking up to his daughter. "Hattie…" He said as he sat down beside her, the alien letting out a sigh as she met his eyes. "You worry about the clan because you care for them, like they care for you." she gave a nod, she knew that was true. "Worrying is a good trait to have, to an extent. And you're allowed to feel worried. So much is happening and who knows what will happen next."

"That doesn't mean you should let it take you over completely." Macbeth stated, pausing as he glanced around. He had no idea why, he just felt, strange all of the sudden. Not that it was time to worry about him. "I know it's hard not to let worry, guilt, anger, sadness, all that consume you. Trust me on that." Hat Girl have him an odd look at that as he tossed a stone across the oasis’ waters, just to not have to look them all in the eyes. "And I know, whatever happens, we will let it."

"We all 'ave issues Macbeth, ya don't need to be focusin' on yourself in this." Right stated, to which the ghost just shrugged. Fair point. Right paused as Hat Girl began to stand up, Reginald backing up to give her more space. She dusted some of the sand off her outfit as she took a look at the sky above. Right waited for a minute before walking just a little bit closer. "Look, no matter w'ot 'appens from all this, we 'ave yer back. Ya don't need focus on yer fears alone."

"Your words and ideas are helpful, they really are, and I appreciate them." Hat Girl said as she turned to face all three of them. "It's just.. I just wish I could have known more. Could have figured it all out that day in the tower. Or, who was even…" She paused, having turned to face one of the view buildings that were nearby. That hint of red, peeking from beyond the stone wall. "That's them." She whispered, just loud enough for the group to hear. "The figure in the tower when it collapsed."

"You think they could've…" Reginald asked as he walked up to her, trying his best not to look where she was looking, to make it less obvious. She gave a nod, looking at him and reaching for his hand. The fear of the moment came back to her for a bit. Right glanced ahead, locking onto the figure with his vision. Their facial details seemed blurred under the hood, but it didn't matter. "Righty, I know what you're thinking, but I don't think-" The cyborg raced ahead. "Why are you like this at times!" He said, taking a breath before going to race after him.

"Oi, ya 'ave a lot of exlapin' to do!" Right shouted, anger in his voice. The figures reaction was a little delay, maybe from the shock of being spotted, but they raced off. Unfortunately for them, their red cloak was easy to spot amongst the desert and it was easy for Right to keep his eyes on them, eventually turning on his flight mode just to catch up to them. "Don't try 'nd run from me!" He shouted as he managed to grab the cloak and dug his feet into the ground, expecting to take the figure down with him.

"Papa!" Hat Girl called when she saw him catch them… Only for the cloak to seemingly fold onto itself a bit. Hat Girl could tell that from where she was. There seemed to be some sand falling to the ground, but no sign of anyone inside. Right looked both shocked and angry when they came up to him, Hat Girl going up to the cloak and glancing at it for any patterns on it. "Wait a second… there's still sand inside." She noted as she glanced at the hood.

"Can you please let my cloak-"

The group let out a collective shout of surprise. The sand inside the cloak shot forward a bit, seemingly out of fright. Some magic aura covered Right's hand and forced it to let go, some of the falling sand rising into the cloak.

"Macbeth, are t'ey doin' illusion magic or somethin'?" Right said, the ghost giving him a confused look on how he should know. Right let out a huff as his arm changed into a blaster, aiming it at the figure as he walked over. "We need answers and know ya 'ave t'em." He reached with his human hand and tossed the hood of the cloak. "Ya.."

He didn't really know what he was expecting considering the little he and the other saw. Granted, he doubted any of them were ever expecting to come across someone like this. There was just sand. Sand floating around in the vague, faceless form of a human head. Hints of what seemed to be magic seemed to appear for a brief moment. At first, Right thought it might have been a spell to cover their features, but if he squinted he could faintly see through the sand of their head.

The figure backed up a bit, glancing around to see if anyone else had spotted them. That was when the group saw the figure didn't have legs. Some of the figures sand reached back for their hood, forming into hands as it covered their head. They glance at the group of toppats for a minute, silent. Like they had never been in this kind of situation before and didn't know what to say about themselves. Hat Girl stepped forward, and the figure glanced at her. Or at least move their head in her direction, they had no eyes so who knew how they were even seeing.

"You came back here…" They said. Their voice was a little odd. It had a faint echo effect to it. And there was something just…off with how it sounded. They were clearly speaking aloud but their voice almost felt like it was going through their heads more than the actual world. If Macbeth wasn't so used to someone's voice ringing just in his head, he would have assumed it was in there. "I don't understand. There was no reason for you to come back here. Not after what happened and with everything…"

"So you do know about my daughter's place in all this." Reginald asked, taking his hand and moving Right's blaster down. The figure of sand just looked at him, falling silent. Did they not talk to anyone? Reginald wouldn't have been surprised, if they had he would have thought he heard about this being sooner, but no one had mentioned it. No one beside Hat Girl may have even seen them. Speaking of which… "Who are you? Why didn't you help her when the tower was collapsing?!"

"I-I should have, I'm sorry I didn't! I just, didn't know what to do. I was so worried about being seen that thought didn't cross my mind." The figure spoke, looking back at Hat Girl. Despite not having features, Hat Girl could tell they meant it, and were sorry. There was just something about the way they spoke and moved, and the aura around them. Reginald gave a nod as he sighed, wiping his brow. "My name is Autiomaa. I… lived here for years. It's the only place I ever known."

"I guess you hide from the people who made this a tourist sight?" Hat Girl asked, getting a nod from Autiomaa. Hat Girl couldn't help but think of how lonely that must be. Were they scared the people would do something with them? She couldn't say. Although, considering when she last saw them, there were still questions going through her mind. She took a breath. "Do you know anything about the Moonjumper myth? The one about the second coming of the Moonjumper? Anything about it?"

"Don't try 'nd lie about any of t'is." Right spoke, keeping his gaze on the sand creature as their cloak lifted a bit. "She didn't come all t'is way for nothin' after all."

"I wish I could tell you your story, I really do. But just because I was technically the Moonjumper doesn't me I-" they paused, having seen the looks in the group's eyes. It was stunned but filled with surprise. Autiomaa sighed. "When the original Moonjumper died, his… 'being' was split into four, and spread across the world, forming their own beings. I am one of the four, mostly made of what remains of the Moonjumper's magic. However, I have very few memories from him. I…wish I had more I could say, believe me."

"So… That means the stories are true then." Macbeth said, Alexsandera looking up at him. He shouldn't say he was surprised, he had a feeling they were real with all the evidence that recently came up. But deep down he had hoped it was all just one big conscience, that there was no need to worry at all. Autiomaa's mere existence, if they were telling the truth, was the last nail in the coffin. "Do you know about the other pieces? Where we might be able to find them? Do they know more?"

Autiomaa didn't answer right away. Just glancing at the sand below them, as if conflicted in how to answer. Hat Girl decided to take a different approach. "You were the one to steal the relics from inside the tower, right?" She asked, to which Autiomaa gave a sheepish nod. Hat Girl walked up to them and placed a hand on their shoulder. The cloak denting from the faint and sudden pressure of her hand. "Those relief told parts of what's going to happen when the Second Coming arrives, right?"

"Maybe? I can't say for sure." Autiomaa said, letting out a sigh with a hint of frustration. The sand below them shook a bit, making her step back. Autiomaa floated back, a hand of sand forming and resting on their featureless face. "The Moonjumper, he saw his death before it happened. I know that. And he saw what was going to happen, he saw you." Hat Girl held in a gulp. "But it's all so blurry to me. And he never told anyone. Maybe he write it down, but he likely never gave all the details." They looked back up at her. "Those relics are all guess work. Everything with the future is."

"I suppose that's to be expected." Hat Girl sighed. She was upset inside, she just wanted to know what was going to happen. But was there any hope of that if a piece of Moonjumper himself couldn't remember what's going to happen. Who's to say any of the Moonjumper pieces knew that much anyway? Maybe they were all as clueless as Autiomaa and really, who could blame them? "Is it possible for us to at least see them?" She asked, drawing her hand away from them. "To get any clue we can?"

"I don't see why I couldn’t allow that." Autiomaa said, after a moment of hesitation. They could tell this had been bothering her, they really could. But they couldn't do much to help. Autiomaa glanced into the distance nearby, a ways away from the ruins. A single stone stood tall there, Autiomaa floating in the direction of that before turning around to face the group again. "There's a hidden tunnel over there. It was where I was born. It's where the relics are kept now."

"Well, let's get goin' then." Right said, walking ahead of the group. "If we're goin' to learn anythin' of use from t'is trip, t'e sooner t'e better."

"Of course sir." Autiomaa said, following behind him. Right paused and gestured for Autiomaa to go ahead, the sand figure shaking their head, but going anyway. Right still had a faint look of mistrust in his eyes, he still couldn't be sure that this being was being truthful about their origins. They seemed kind, but he knew how easy kindest could be an act. More than anyone. "So… How was the trip here?" Autiomaa asked as they glanced back. "I'm sorry, I normally just speak with myself."

"It's fine, no need to worry." Reginald said, offering a smile. There was some unease in him as well, but as long as Autiomaa didn't try anything, it would be fine. At least that's what he told himself. He glanced at Hat Girl as she took a drink of water, she seemed to be feeling a bit better. On the surface, at least. Reginald reached over and adjusted her hat a bit. "See, everything is going to be fine." He spoke to her. "I'm sure we won't have to worry about this much longer."

"I hope so." Hat Girl said with a smile. "I mean, if the second Moonjumper is like Autiomaa, we won't have to worry."

Reginald gave a nod. Macbeth was in the back of the group, mostly paying attention to Alexsandera. They did a small ring in the air, seemingly happy. Macbeth couldn't blame them, finding out your story's legend was real, and a piece of them was still alive? Who wouldn't be excited. Especially at their age?

"Yo' enjoyin' all this, aren't you?" He asked, getting a nod.

That was all fine and good but… there was a question going through his mind. Why is it he knew Autiomaa was a part of Moonjumper before they said anything. And… why did he feel this need to hear every word, and to bow?

It took about ten minutes to get to the stone, enough time for the group to gather their thoughts, at least a bit. When they got there, Autiomaa had them take some steps back. A warm, orangey magic came from them, as the group near the stone seemed to part. A staircase came into view as sand fell below, showing the tunnel of stone. Two lights near the entrance lit up with a warm yellow glow, and Autiomaa had the group come in, before closing it again. The sand on the ground seemed to disappear.

The stone of the wall was old and dusted. The lights looked like torches, but instead of a flame at the end it was a magical gem that glowed. There were old, faint carvings on the walls. Hat Girl took glances at them as they walked through the place. They seemed to be mostly of the nomads or, at leasts what looked to be them. She shouldn't have been surprised, but still, something felt off.

"You said you were born here?" Macbeth asked Autiomaa, walking up closer to the sand spirit. They nodded as they paused, glancing into one of the nearby rooms. Macbeth glanced in, there was nothing special about the room. Just a few old vases and some sand on the floor. He gave a nod as Alexsanedra peaked in, him quietly calling them back to his hat as he turned to ask another question. "What was it like, if you don't mind me askin'. Just coming to life doesn't sound easy. I know a robot who had it rough when it happened to him."

"Robot?" Autiomaa asked as they glanced at him, tilting their head. Macbeth didn't know what to say right away, but Autiomaa sighed. "I remember being confused. All these senses I felt I had before but didn't come to me. This cloak was hanging up on the room. I used it to help me try and grab some sense of..identity I guess?" They glanced at the wall. "I can't really say much more, it was a very long time ago. I can't remember clearly." They stopped outside of another room. "The relics are in here." They said as the lights in the room glowed.

"Thank you." Hat Girl said as she walked into the room. There wasn't too much, some more stone tablets, some small statues, and a vase, but surely she could piece together the story from these. She began to look at them. She saw carvings of tophats. Of flowers and butterflies. And of moons. But nothing that was clear from the start. The statues were worn in age, and none seemed to show her. "Ok, surely I'm missing something." She whispered as she went through to look for anything she might have missed on her quick glance.

"Hattie." Reginald said with a small sigh, watching her do this. It was like she wouldn't have time to do this, or that if she didn't figure it out this second the world was going to explode. He walked over to one of the stone pieces, and waved her over. It showed a carving of what seemed to be her, and the moonjumper. The figures were just glancing at each other. "Alright, it looks like things are going well. Or, are going to go well, I suppose." Reginald said with a smile, looking at her.

"Well, at least from what we can see." Maceth said as he went to one of the statues. "The bottom of this one looks burnt."

"Fire was used to kill the Moonjumper, so that's likely a statue of the past and not of the possible future.." Autiomaa pulled their cloak closer to their being. "I don't like to think of the fire now." There was a shiver in their voice that earned a look of pity from Macbeth. He glanced back at the statue, and glanced at the one beside it, showing a shape rising. "I think that could be the Moonjumper, there's a piece of the head missing." They paused. "Are those… chains on his arms? I only just noticed…"

"I think? it's too rough to tell." Hat Girl said as she walked by Macbeth. There seemed to be what almost looked like a cuff, and a single piece of a chain still attached. But it was so stumbley, it could have just been how they stylized the outfit. Could have just been a connection point to a part of the statue that no longer exists. She gave the idea of him being captured a thought. "If the Second Moonjumper will get captured, then I suppose things would be quiet… but it doesn't explain me."

"Like I said, only Moonjumper knew what was going to happen." Autiomaa stated. "I can't find out… Unless.."

"Unless? Why are ya sayin' 'unless' now? Did the idea just come into your brian or somethin'?" Right asked, getting a sheepish nod from Autiomaa. Right let out a sigh as he looked at Hat Girl, who seemed interested. She was still looking over the relics, mumbling to herself, but she was glancing over. Right crossed his arms as he turned back to the sand creature. "Alright, w'ot do ya 'ave in mind t'en? Do ya know if it's even goin' to work wit'out harmin' someone, based on 'ow yer actin'?

"It's a spell that could show a more accurate version of the future." Autiomaa stated. "I saw it a few times in a spellbook I read but I never thought to try it. It requires someone with a personal attachment to the relic, however. You all just showed up, so none of you would have enough of a direct connection to make it work." Right went to speak but they rose a hand. "And before you say ‘why not me’, it's because it can't work on the main subject of the relics story, and since I'm techally 'Moonjumper', I count as the subject." They then mumbled “For some reason…I’d like to know more too, but nope.”

"Wait!" Hat Girl brought out her bag, taking out the stone tablet that brought her here and raced over. "I’ve had this for months now, I've been worrying over it. Is that enough of a connection?"

"It… should be.." Autiomaa gently took the stone, examining it for a moment, before handing it back to Hat Girl. They flew into the room across the hall and returned with a book floating in sand. "It shouldn't be harmful with my type of magic. The worst you might get is some dust in your eyes… But are you all sure this is a good idea?" Autiomaa glanced at them all. "It may be useless information to you. Or it could be something you cannot prevent, and therefore you will spend until that moment in dread."

"Well, if we would have said no to something like that we wouldn't have come all the way out here." Reginald sighed, looking at Hat Girl. She was holding onto the stone. She was desperate for any information that could put her mind at ease. What kind of father would he be if he didn’t allow her that. He glanced over at Right, who gave a hesitant nod, before Reginald walked up to the creature. "We'll allow it. Just, please try to be careful. We're all a family here, I don't want to lose someone."

"I doubt that's goin' to happen." Macbeth said, but looked to Autiomaa. "But please do try to be careful." Why did he feel so strangely confident in all this?

Autiomaa nodded as they began to head down the hall, the group following behind. "I'm… sorry if I'm getting you dragged into something bad." Hat Girl said as she glanced at the men with her. "I'm just… so desperate to know. I have been for awhile, I don't like hiding it. It doesn't rest easy with me… I just hope this will finally clear my mind and we can return to some form of normal. You know?" She asked as she glanced at her fathers. Reginald wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she held his hand.

"You'll be fine, we'll be fine." Right said as he glanced at her, offering her a small smile. She gave a small one in return, before glancing at the floor. Counting the footsteps in her mind. Her footsteps to her destiny, her fate. Or just her ease of mind. She didn't know. She just knew she was walking towards something. And she wasn't going to run back now. "I'm still ready to shoot the cloak if they try to backstab us." Right quickly whispered to Reginald, earning a small glare.

"I feel like they would have done that earlier if they were going too." Reginald said. "You could have a little more trust, you know that?"

Right just shook his head, before pausing as the hall got darker.

The hall eventually ended in a large room. It was empty, a fine layer of sand on the ground. Was this where it went every time the door to this place was opened? Autiomaa opened the spellbook and glanced at the page. Right peaked over the shoulder of their cloak, but he couldn't read whatever was on the page. It just looked like gibberish. It didn't seem too complicated, however, at least from what he could try and gather from it. That made him feel a bit more at ease. He backed up with a small sigh of relief.

Hat Girl glanced at the stone in her hand, and walked up to Autiomaa, holding it out to them. They glanced over at her as they allowed the book to fall onto the ground, gently taking it. She let out a small sigh, closing her eyes. Autiomaa moved some sand, carefully using it to move some hair out of her eyes. She looked up at them as they placed a sandy hand on her shoulder. Somehow, she knew they were offering her a smile. She took a step back, holding her hands to her chest as she took a breath.

The room fell quiet. Autiomaa glanced away, taking a breath.

"I… need to say this now in case I forgot to earlier." Autiomaa said as they turned to the group. "This spell, I can't promise it will show what you want. To be honest, I can't even promise it will show you what you need. This stone is filled not just with Hat Girl's fear, but of carvers who would never live to see these events, wanting to capture the signs of the Second Coming of Moonjumper, not one person in a hat." They took a breath. "There is no promise for anything of use, but I will do my best."

"That's all we can ask for." Hat Girl said, and Autiomaa nodded, their sand faintly glowing beneath the hood. They brought the stone up to their head, taking a breath. Macbeth stood in front of the group in case anything happened. Suddenly, the stone glowed and cracked, as Autiomaa forced their form through it, the sand on the floor suddenly rising and spinning. Hat Girl went to cover her eyes but found the sand was mostly behind the group. "Autiomaa!?" She called as she looked up. "Are you alright?! Are you hurt?!"

"It's ok, I heard Snatcher talk about this before." Macbeth said. "Some spells require a person to lean more into their personal sense in body, mind, magic, all that. Because Autiomaa is made of sand, they-" Macbeth paused as he turned around to face the group, stopping mid way. He didn't even notice the vague shapes forming in the sand. He just barely caught the fading form of a man. A man toppats would be able to recognize, especially him…

"Mr. Macbeth?" Hat Girl asked, looking at him before he shook his head, trying to clear it.

He glanced up in time to see Autiomaa reforming back into their cloak, seeming to try and regather themselves. They reached part of their sand, forming into a hand, up high. The stone suddenly reformed itself, and everything stopped. The sand came crashing down onto the ground. The living members of the group letting out coughs as Autiomaa slowly floated down, glancing at the stone.

Hat Girl looked at them, and raced ahead, shaking off some sand from her clothing as she went. "Did it work?!" She asked them.

"I believe it did…" Autiomaa took a breath, as if trying to gather themselves mentally. They placed the stone in her hands, and she glanced at the picture.

The picture showed her and the Moonjumper. She was standing on the right side, what seemed to be a line cutting through the rest of the right. The Moonjumper was on the ground, on his 'knees', an aura around his hand. The lines in the back seemed to show subcon forest, but something felt..odd..

"It doesn't look like anything bad." Reginald said as he glanced over his daughter's shoulder. "It's like he's showing you something with a spell maybe?"

"Maybe he's… helping us get home?" Hat Girl said, looking at her fathers. "We are slowly getting closer to getting back. But I don't think you figured out how to launch that back into the atmosphere.."

"Well… No." Right said, as Hat Girl let out a giggle. One that seemed to lack the stress. The worry. It sounded almost just like how it should sound. Almost…

"Well," Hat Girl brought out her bag, placing it on the ground. She began to place the stone back inside, but paused. "There's something on the back. It only had one image before.."

The group fell silent, as she turned it around to show them. It showed the Moonjumper, floating in a state that almost seemed surprised. There was a figure on the other side of the image, but that part of the stone was more cracked, and it was just a little harder to make out any details. They could see the faint shape of a human figure bowing. Some cloak cover most of their features. Butterflies were dotted about. The faint shape of that station was in the background.

"W'ot does t'at mean?" Right asked, turning to Autiomaa.

"I… wish I knew. I could in theory try the spell again, but considering it already did what it was supposed to do, I don't expect you would get different results.." Autiomaa looked at Hat Girl. "Like I said, who knows how accurate these images will be to what happens. I wish I could give you more."

Hat Girl let out a small sigh. "No, thank you. If both images show nothing too worrying, then that's enough for me to rest easy.." She turned to her group. "I think we're good to head back now. I don't think there's any more reason to stick around."

"One second, Hattie. Autiomaa?" Reginald turned to the sand figure, making them glance up. "I understand this place is what you have learnt to be comfortable with, but I feel like it has to be lonely." Autiomaa glanced to the side, bringing their cloak in close. "We aren't going to be here forever, but you are welcomed to stay with the clan while we are. There's so much to this world that you haven't seen."

Autiomaa was silent, glancing at the ground. Should they tell the group? About Badge, and Hydartic? About anything else they knew?

Autiomaa eventually shook their head. "This place is all I've known. I… will have to travel out of here eventually. I need to see this story's end for myself. It'll be the only way for me to know peace…" Hat Girl gave them a sad look as they glanced at the walls. "But for now, I just want to stay here, at least a little longer… I will see you again, just not today."

The faint echo of the door opening in the distance rang through the hall, the light shining in at the end. Reginald gave a nod. "If that's what you want… Thank you for your help." He offered a smile, before turning down the hall.

Hat Girl gave a quick wave before she picked up her bag and followed him, Right waiting a moment before following as well. Macbeth was about to follow, but Alexsandera floated up to Autiomaa, wrapping around their 'neck' gently. "Alex!" He called, as the dweller looked over. "I'm so sorry-"

"No, it's ok." Autiomaa said after a moment, a little bit of hand forming to gently touch the mask of the spirit. Macbeth gently reached over and took Alexsandra off. He had them rest on his shoulders, and Autiomaa let out a hum. "I feel…those strange instants you felt earlier. I feel like I have the faintest idea why…"

"What do you mean?" Macbeth asked, his tone of pure curiosity. How could this be know about that? He didn't know what to expect from an answer. Autiomaa glanced to the side, before answering.

"You know, I think a cloak of your own will suit you well."

#a hat in time #the henry stickmin collection #hat girl #hat kid #right hand man #a hat in time fanfic #henry stickmin fanfic #reginald copperbottom #copperright #henry stickmin mr. macbeth #a hat in time oc #moonjumper

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