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cressidagrey · 5 months ago

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Welcome to the World - Chapter 1

Summary:

The quickest turnaround time between finding your mate and having a kid anybody in the history of Prythian has ever managed

Warnings:

Rhys bashing, Mention of Domestic Violence, Mention of Miscarriage, Mention of Child Murder, Mention of Adult Murder, Mention of Stabbing, Childbirth, Labour

(super pretty dividers thanks to @saradika)

There weren’t many things Ciara trusted.

Her memory wasn’t one of them.

Her first memory, that one that was set in stone, that she trusted…that was waking up in a little stone cottage, an older woman at her side that was replacing the ice on her forehead.

She hadn’t understood what was happening them.

Sometimes, she still didn’t.

But Esmeray, as she had later learned was her name…she was the first thing in her new life that Ciara trusted.

Esmeray and later Garvan, who she had learned was the one who had pulled her from the snow near the mountains.

How she had come to be there…who had broken her ribs and bruised her to hell and back…she hadn’t known that for months. And even then, the memories had come to her in dreams, until she was no longer sure what was real and what wasn’t…until Esmeray had sat her down and made her talk through them all, until they had tried to write it down and make up a timeline and figure out what had happened to her.

The result of that…she hadn’t really wanted to know more until some of the pieces had clicked in place…until she just knew, deep in her bones that…that had happened.

By then she had already known that there was a child slumbering in her womb.

And she knew that whatever she did…she needed to have a safe place to raise her baby.

That was all that had mattered.

So she had stayed in Rosehall. And she started to trust that as well. Rosehall, nestled between the Illyrian mountains and the crashing ocean…between cliffs and forests. Rosehall, with its tight-knit community of Illyrians who maybe didn’t all get along but would still lay their life down for each other because they had a common goal: Survival.

And she did her best to find her place there, to make herself useful. To thank Esmeray for everything she had done for her, repay her for the kind she had shown Ciara that she hadn’t needed to but still had.

And so, as the babe within her grew and started kicking, as the days grew longer into summer and then shorter as autumn came and winter knocked…Ciara had started to…trust Rosehall.

Trust in the rhythm of Esmeray’s cottage, in her work in the seamstress shop…had realised that whatever she had been before…she had been that with the callouses on her fingers.

Ciara couldn’t even remember her name but she remembered the rhythms of needle and thread.

And still…even with Esmeray opening her house and her work for Ciara…giving her name when she hadn’t even remembered her own…even with all of that…Ciara had trusted on being alone.

Trusted on there being her and her baby and that would be it.

And then she opened the door to the cottage for lunch and there hadn’t just been Esmeray…but also the most beautiful male she had ever laid eyes on.

And between one blink and the next…everything in her body had yearned for him.

She hadn’t expected that.

A part of Ciara had trusted that there never would be any…that there wouldn’t be any male in her life. Not like that. Not as a mate, or a husband or anything of that kind.

She already had been burned once…even if she still couldn’t remember everything. What she had remembered…it scared her out of her mind.

And suddenly he was standing and she realised how tale he was, how broad his wings were and she had stumbled back in terror, unable to keep her eyes from him. She had expected him to…do something.

“Azriel. You are terrifying the poor girl,” Esmeray had snapped. And that had been that.

Azriel. Azriel. Azriel…she knew that name. This was Esmeray’s son . The one that worked for the High Lord. The one that Esmeray liked to use as the shining example that not all males were out to hurt every female they came across.

Some noise escaped her, and then suddenly, the baby twisted within her, a sharp biting pain and she couldn’t help the pained gasp that escaped her. “Ciara!” Esmeray’s hand on her elbow caught her easily, fitting herself under her shoulder to help her sit down at the kitchen table…nearer to him…nearer to her mate .

He still stared at her, hazel eyes wide, these mighty shadows swirling around the massive wings.

Shadowsinger, her mind supplied weakly.

“Azriel, sit,” Esmeray said sharply. “I can’t have you fainting either.” Like a string was cut, he sat back down, the shadows swirling around him, like they also wanted to take care of him.

Esmeray helped her out of her coat and she bit back a hiss as she could feel the baby move within her. She rubbed the side, near absentmindedly, wishing that the babe would calm.

The further she had been in the pregnancy, the more uncomfortable she had been as well.

Though it was a bit amusing to see Esmeray run roughshod over her son, who looked to be twice her size, especially as she put the bottle of whiskey in front of him, clearly trying to knock him out of the nearly frozen state he seemed to be in.

“She’s kicking?” Esmeray asked, a hand joining Ciara’s on top of her baby bump.

Oh, she was.

“It’s fine. Just took me by surprise.” Not just the kicking…also the mating bond.

“I bet,” Esmeray said, smiling at her. “Drink that, alright? Nora did tell you to take it easy.”

Nora had said that. Especially as they didn’t quite know how far Ciara was along now, but they did think that it should be any day now. She was waiting or it…waiting to wake up with labour pains. But till now the only thing she got was truly horrible back pain or a fiery, shooting sensation in her pelvis that sometimes slid apart with a sickening pop.

“At least, you won’t interrogate her now, Azriel. Or at least, I hope you won’t. She’s your mate. I take it, the Mating Bond snapped for both of you.”

She could just swallow, still staring at him as he just so managed to nod, still seemingly utterly frozen in place. shocked.

“Yes,” she agreed quietly.

She wished this hadn’t happened like that. He deserved something else. And not her, with a kid in tow. A child that wasn’t his . She loved her child more than anything, but she knew that she couldn’t expect the same from anybody else.

“Clearly, introductions are in order. Azriel. Ciara. My stray,” Esmeray introduced her. “Ciara, Azriel. My son. Who can be a tad overprotective, but he tends to mean well.” Esmeray stared at her son like she was waiting for him to disagree.

“Esmeray talks a lot about you,” she dared to say. He stared at her.

“I wish I could say the same, but she hasn’t mentioned you with a single word,” he blurted out and then looked immediately like he regretted it all.

It was a bit amusing. It soothed something inside her that he also didn’t seem to have any idea of what exactly he should do.

“A female is allowed some secrets,” Esmeray said quickly. “How about, I’ll warm up those meat pies for lunch?” And off she went bustling around the kitchen.

Another pulling pain deep in her womb, the baby kicking once again, hitting a rib. Ciara rubbed the place where she had kicked her, wondering if it was a leg or a little wing poking out.

“Are you…alright?” his voice was…hesitant like he expected her to bite off his head for daring to ask that question. “You are…wincing.”

“Yes, of course. The Baby got a foot stuck in my ribs,” she explained.

“Does it hurt?” No, she wouldn’t call it painful…it was just...

“No, it’s just not particularly comfortable,” she admitted quietly.

“It should be any day now,” Esmeray said, smiling brightly and Ciara swallowed down the anxiety she had when she even thought about the idea of giving birth.

Nora had spent months reassuring her that it was a natural process and that if the time would come, all would be well, but she still was terrified that something would go wrong. That she would do something wrong and would hurt her baby.

“She isn’t married, Azriel,” Esmeray continued and she just so managed not to flinch. Yeah, she wasn’t married…not anymore. “You were wondering it. There is no male you need to worry about.”

He still looked like he was going faint and Ciara couldn’t fault him for this.

This was probably the last thing that the poor male had been expecting when he had just been visiting his mother before her birthday.

“I…” he stuttered and she cut off Esmeray before she could try and attempt any more matchmaking.

“Esmeray. Please. I doubt this was what he…wanted.”

Probably the last thing he wanted. And Ciara would rather him turn her down flat than try and then decide that this wasn’t going to work.

She hadn’t planned on a mate. And she never would want to tie him to her when…he could very clearly have somebody without the baggage that she brought along.

Esmeray just sighed. “Ciara…tell him, why you came here,” she ordered. Ciara just stared at her wide-eyed. She couldn’t be serious! “It’s alright. Tell him,” Esmeray assured her, even as ice-cold dread filled her. “He won’t be angry,” she said, pointedly staring at her son.

Ciara felt the tears threatening to spill, felt the cold dread that crawled up her spine, the way her wings tightened behind herself, as she tried to…

“I think I killed him.” It escaped her as she stared at her mate and he looked at her with a mixture of shock and something that she could not quite place.

“You think you killed who ?” he asked her as he blinked twice.

“My husband,” she admitted shakily. She was still not sure if she had actually been successful, but she could remember the knife in her hand and how she had thrust it into his chest, the blood pouring out of him…she remembered that.

She remembered leaving him there, laying the house…she remembered leaving.

And then it went blank.

“I...I don’t remember all but…I think I was married. And he wasn’t…very nice…I lost a baby…because he…he hurt me.” She remembered snapshots of her life before…she remembered her belly round with a child even before she had ever shown with this one. She remembered the feeling of a punch to her face, a whip to her wings…she remembered all of that.

“I…I found out I was pregnant again and I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t. He had already done it once. He was going to do it again…I think he caught me sneaking out…I stabbed him. It’s spotty. I don’t…I don’t know if I am telling the truth, because I can only tell myself what I…what’s in my mind but...”

She tried to make it make sense, as the words poured out of her…But it didn’t. What must he think of her? She had killed somebody. Regardless of what she had done, she had still plunged a blade into her husband’s heart…

But he had killed an innocent, unborn life, so…

“I am sorry,” she apologised to him.

“You don’t need to apologise to me,” Azriel cut her off before she could say even one more syllable. His voice was hoarse, but he wasn’t looking at her with hatred. Instead, his gaze was heated, looking at her like he understood why she had done it.

He worked for the High Lord, Esmeray had said, she recalled and when Ciara had flinched back, out of instinct that she couldn’t place because she didn’t know about the High Lord, couldn’t remember…Esmeray had told her not to believe everything she heard. That the High Lord was a good male that tried his best.

Did that mean that the same went for Azriel?

That maybe he understood how it was to kill somebody, becasue he had done the same.

“Do you hate me?” she asked weakly.

“For maybe killing your abusive husband?” Azriel gave back, his voice bone dry. “No. It would be utterly and completely ridiculous to hate you for killing him for what he did to you. I have killed for much less. You killed to protect yourself and your unborn child.”

Oh.

Something inside her was soothed by that.

What did it mean that she was soothed by the fact that her mate told her that he had killed multiple people, not always for the right reasons? Why did something inside her seemingly start to purr like a cat at these words?

Strong. Will protect me and our young.

If she needed to put them into words, these were her instincts and she swallowed against them.

Not his young though.

“Does…Does it bother you?” she asked, needing to know now, pressing down slightly until she could feel the comforting movement of her child under her skin.

For a moment he hesitated.

“The baby?” He asked her and she nodded, holding her breath as she waited for his answer. “No. The baby is yours. That’s all that matters to me. There are only very few things that you could do that would bother me, I imagine. And your child doesn’t even come close to any of them.”

“She’s not yours.” She would never be. Her daughter would be hers, not his. And for life in a society where children were traditionally the husband’s and not the wife’s…that was…

She took in his face, the handsome arch of his brows, the dark, black hair…hazel eyes, greener than hers. The same olive skin they both shared.

“I don’t care,” Azriel promised her, his eyes fierce. And then they gentled, near imperceptively. “You think it’s a girl?” She hadn’t expected that. And she also hadn’t expected the clear delight in his voice at that.

Didn’t most males prefer a son?

“I have…a feeling,” she answered nonetheless. Since she had known that she was with child, she had just known that it was a girl. “I won’t give her up,” she told him nonetheless.

She was not.

It didn’t matter what he promised her with a mating bond. Her daughter would always be first to her. She would always be more important.

“And I would never expect that of you,” he matched her seriousness. “The only thing I want is to protect you both.”

Oh.

It was a heady promise, wasn’t it?

The protection of this male, a fully trained Illyrian Warrior. A Carynthian as his mother had told her.

Somebody that would never hurt her or her daughter, if Esmeray could be believed…

She reached out across the table, offering her hand to him.

Ciara was startled when he took it, his own hand violently scarred, belying the gentle grip of it…so gentle that she could have pulled her own from his any time.

And he wouldn’t try to stop her…she knew that in her bones.

“You should stay the night,” Esmeray said suddenly, pushing a plate with biscuits in the middle of the table, interrupting them with a bright grin and a look at their intertwined hands that made Ciara’s cheeks heat. “Though you will need to take the couch, because Ciara is using the guest room, Azriel.”

“I can…” she started to offer but both spoke at the same time

“No.”

“No. You are pregnant, you are not sleeping on the couch,” Azriel said evenly.

“I am pregnant, not ill,” Ciara pointed out drily. She could sleep on the couch. Granted it would probably kill her back but…

“I am aware of that, but you need your rest,” he gave back, brokering no argument.

“I told you he was overprotective,” Esmeray said with a sigh. “Though I agree in this case. And don’t even think about helping with lunch!” she warned Ciara.

“I can help,” she protested. She could pull her weight!

“Just like you can split the firewood in the back?” Esmeray said pointedly. “And heave the big sacks of grain for Thistle? Even after Nora told you to stop doing that?”

Better her than Garvan. Or Esmeray herself.

“Thistle?” Azriel asked curiously

“The donkey,” Esmeray answered. Who the name was just made for because Thistle was very prickly indeed.

“And Nora?”

“The midwife.”

His eyes darkened at that. “How about you let me worry about the firewood and the grains, Ciara?” He suggested drily.

His voice wrapped itself around her name and something inside her wanted to give in…

Still, She couldn’t help herself and glared at him, even when everything screamed at her that that was stupid to do.

He just raised an eyebrow at her. “I am not the one growing a child,” he pointed out, his voice gentle, reasonable. Too fucking reasonable.

“I can at least collect the eggs,” she finally said, giving in.

“If I am already supposed to tend to a donkey, I can do that too,” he gave back immediately.

“You are on thin ice,” she warned him, making him laugh, his hand tightening around hers.

“Fine, not keeping you from that ,” he agreed.

By then the meat pies had warmed up, Esmeray handing out plates and cutlery, and Ciara watched the shadows still swirling behind Azriel’s wing with ill-concealed fascination.

“They won’t hurt you,” he assured her, following her gaze.

“I wasn’t worried about that,” she responded. “Do they…talk?” she wondered.

“To me? Yes,” he answered and one tendril came flowing down his ar, wrapping itself around his hand and then hers…she didn’t flinch away, just watched. The touch was velvet soft and warm. “They are just…curious.”

Curious. A curious bunch of shadows.

She let it trail up her arm, play with her hair for just a moment and then to her surprise, curl itself up on her bump like a cat. Her breath caught in her throat.

He pulled them back, she could see it as they moved from her body but she shook her head.

“Let them. They aren’t doing anything,” she assured him and he met her gaze inclining his head, letting go of her hand, so they both could eat.

The shadows stayed until they decided to wrap themselves around her hand instead, as they had lunch.

she nibbled at the meat pie, not really hungry, her appetite probably taken away by the shock she had…or maybe the incessant tugging pain she still felt in her belly, making her wince.

“Still in your ribs?” Esmeray asked her as she shifted, pressing a hand against her rock-hard belly.

She just nodded, grinding her teeth.

“Are you sure it’s just that?” Esmeray asked her drily. Ciara stared at her.

“What else could it be?” She asked. It couldn’t be…it couldn’t be…

“Any back pain?”

“Since this morning. It comes and goes,” she admitted. But it was fine! Nothing that she hadn’t had before. Granted it had never held on for this young, but she gave the fault to the fact that she had a near heart attack…

“I’ll get Nora,” Esmeray said with a chuckle, moving to stand, and Ciara stared at her, fear knotting low in her belly.

“I don’t need Nora. I am fine,” she assured her. Esmeray reached out, placing a hand on her belly and she winced as another ripple went through her, the muscle hardening without her doing anything.

“Every time your belly goes hard, it’s a contraction, sweetheart,” Esmeray said drily. “You are in labour.”

***

He could just stare at his mother at that pronouncement, who finished pulling on her coat matter of factly, leaving Ciara who had gone chalk white with…fear, her scent of nutmeg and clementines going absolutely haywire.

“Get her upstairs, Azriel,” his mother called over her shoulder. “I’ll go get Nora.”

“Of course,” he managed to bring out, anxiety seemingly pouring all over him.

Probably her side of the bond, even blunted as it was, until the mating bond would be properly accepted.

The door closed.

He forced himself to stand, as Ciara doubled over, gasping with another…contraction.

“Can you walk up the stairs or do you want me to carry you?” he asked her, hands hovering not daring to touch her. The shadows hovered too, hissing incessantly at him. They were offering any advice over childbirth that they had ever overhead, though he was quite sure that there was some stuff about foaling in there as well. He highly doubted that Ciara needed a stable with plenty of hay after all.

“It’s supposed to help,” she managed to bring out and he offered his hand to pull her to her feet, her belly knocking her off balance, until she finally stood.

Help? “With what?”

“Labour pains,” she answered. “I’ll try.”

“Walking stairs? Really?” he had never heard that before but still he followed along beside her as she started to scale the staircase, pausing every second or third step, breath caught in her throat.

“Yeah, it’s helping. Too much,” she mumbled under her breath, once more grimacing in pain and discomfort and he hovered.

“Want me to carry you?” he suggested again. It was better if they just got that over, right? He was worried that she was going to fall down and he wouldn’t be quick enough to catch her, regardless of how ridiculous that was.

“I am too…” She stared, once again, her words interrupted by her clenching her teeth, a sharp breath coming from her nostrils.

He had enough.

Even as pregnant as she was, she weighed near to nothing to him as he scooped her up as carefully as she was made out of spun glass. “You aren’t too heavy,” he assured her, quickly scaling the stairs and taking a turn to the rid to his mother’s guest bedroom.

Normally he stayed in there if he came to visit Rosehall but it had become very obvious that it had become Ciara’s room over the last few months…a half-embroidered dress thrown carefully over the back of a chair at the tiny desk tucked in one corner.. the bookcase filled with a couple of books that he had never seen, and a few carved figures made out of wood there…the crib that was already assembled, next to the bed…the quilt stretched over said bed, that was decisively feminine, made out of little squares of floral cotton…

“Sorry for taking your room,” she apologised as he put her on her two feet again, as she sat down on the bed, carefully holding her bump. She pulled up her right foot so that she could unlace the boots she wore and then needed to stop once again, breathing deeply.

He kneeled down before her, carefully taking her foot in his hand to open the laces himself. Right first. Left second.

“I only use it a few nights a year. I’ll gladly have you use that if it means that I got to meet you,” he told her calmly.

There was surprise written on her face, but something softer too.

“Do you need any other help?” he asked her as she stood. Anything that he could do to make this easier for her?

“Could you open the laces of my dress?” Ciara asked, standing to turn. He smiled and nodded.

It left her in the cotton chemise she wore underneath it, as he opened the grey woollen dress she wore over it, opening it enough that he could help her pull it over her head.

“Thank you,” she thanked him, sinking down onto the edge of her bed again, knuckles turning white as she buried them into the quilt on her bed, her eyes closing as she concentrated on the next contraction.

“You don’t need to stay,” she told him, eyes still closed.

“You’re my mate,” he responded. Of course, he would stay. At least until his mother and the midwife were back. Then he would leave if she would prefer that, giving her the opportunity to choose how exposed she wanted to be to a male that she didn’t even know. “I’ll stay until Esmeray and Nora are back. I’ll be downstairs. If you want me here, you only need to say,” he promised her.

“You don’t owe me anything. Not because of some…Oh gods,” she broke off, with half a sob or groan, he wasn’t quite sure.

He took her hand from the quilt, interlacing their fingers, giving her something to hang onto, her fingernails biting into his mangled skin. He didn’t care one fucking bit.

“I know I don’t. But the mother has decided that clearly we are supposed to fit together and I…I would like to explore that,” he admitted quietly. Azriel hated having to lay himself bare like that, but then she was the one labouring in front of a male that she didn’t even know so…he should get over himself. “If that’s…alright with you.”

She looked at him, hazel eyes tearful, but she nodded at him, still.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I want that too,” she promised him.

A shudder worked its way to her and he stared at the cold fireplace in the room.

“Are you cold?” he asked her. They could build a fire…it would probably be for the best anyway, the heating charms on the cottage weren’t doing anything. “You are shaking.” he moved to stand up, but she kept a hold on him.

“No,” Ciara managed to bring out. “I…I am terrified. Of giving birth. Of being a mother.” She admitted that so frankly and he stared at her.

“You’ll be a great mother,” Azriel assured her. Everything he had seen of her, made him think that. She would do well. It would be fine. It needed to be fine. He couldn’t allow his own anxiety to run away with him.

And it threatened to because there was no enemy for him to slay, nothing that he could fight, nothing that he could do.

“You ran away to protect your baby. You were in a horrible situation and you did everything you could so that your daughter wouldn’t be in the same,” he said quietly.

She gave a laugh, not amused in the slightest. “I nearly killed us both,” she whispered, not looking at him.

“But you didn’t, he disagreed. “That took a lot of bravery, Ciara. More bravery than some fully fledge warriors will ever have in their whole life.“

#acotar fanfiction #a pocketful of stars #welcome to the world #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic

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beamiesbuddies · 8 months ago

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Part 2: A Dream of an Autumn Garden

A few more photos of Mr. Morpheus, continuing from my post here!

As I said on the other photoset, I'm very happy & proud of him! I'm happy I decided to take my time to get him just how I wanted & edit the photos I took nicely. I hope you all love him too. Sweet dreams~

I have included a bunch of Cool Facts about how I made him under the cut if you are so inclined!

Started: Late Jan 2022 / Finished: Dec 30 2022

Approx work hours- 273 hours (worked on average every 3rd day out of 274 days; averaged 3h/session)

Times I remade something because I messed it up/wasn't happy with it: Hands- 2; Feet- 2; Head- 2.5; Body- 1; Clothes: 3

Pattern: trial, error & determination

Height: 3ft tall

Materials:

stretch jersey knit (body)

polyfill (stuffing)

brushed out acrylic yarn (hair)

star sapphire x2 (eyes)

pipe cleaner (hand armature)

wooden dowels/18 gauge wire (elbow/arm skeleton that keeps snapping I may add)

acrylic paint/pastels (shading & details)

acrylic thread (body sculpting & upper eyelashes)

stretch velvet/velvet burnout, cotton (clothes)

Fun facts:

his look was inspired by his overall appearance in the comics; I particularily like the depictions done by Jill Thompson, Mike Dringenberg & Marc Hempel!

his arms and legs are jointed in the same way as many teddy bears are: you use a washer, nut & bolt to butt-up the limb against the body internally and it gives the limbs full rotation. First time I have tried the method and it's definitely something I'll try again!

I had no idea how I was going to do the inset eyes, but I was determined to have them as some sort of stone. I had to redo his first head completely because I cut too far in! Eventually I got it to work by creating a "backcushion" with clay for the stones, and then closed and sculpted the eyelids overtop to secure them in.

You can't see in most of my photos but his eyes are star sapphire: when light hits them correctly, it causes a ✨to appear just like his eyes in the comics~!

making his hand & feet were a challenge, especially thinking about where to put the needle through to sculpt tendons, nails, etc (and also deciding how detailed to get without looking strange). I think I learned a lot tho and I'm very proud of the hands

my favorite sculpted parts are the collar bone/chest, the right hand & the nose~

because the skin is white, he gets very dirty with his black clothes, so I had to line all of them in white. He also has to soak in bleach once in a while to maintain his complexion (LOL)

A signature somehwere on his person xD

Thank you all again for your nice tags & comments so far on my work. If you guys would like for me to share some behind the scenes photos of this photoshoot, or WIP photos of me making him, let me know and if there's enough interest maybe I'll make a post down the road!

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dolls #beamies buddies #thank you all so much again for viewing him with your eyeballs! i can now rest #cloth dolls #custom dolls #crafts #also if you happen to have any questions about how i made anything feel free to send an ask!

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andromeda-nova-writing · 2 months ago

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Made with Love

Fem!ReaderWords:2200

Summary: The Sweater Curse. A superstition in knitting about a relationship ending due to reevaluating a relationship due to the hard work in making a sweater. It was something Thoma didn't put too much thought into. At least he didn't before.

AN: This is actually really fluffy fic. Don't let the summary make you think it's angst. I learned knitting for this. It's hard. Also happy early birthday @milkstore! All my Thoma fics are basically for you but this one is even more so. 🩵🩵🩵

It was two months until Thoma’s first anniversary with Y/N. There were so many times that she had been cold around him to the point of borrowing his jacket or sweater. Y/N borrowing a sweater he had made for himself was the catalyst for the two of them getting together. Which means he knew exactly what would make a perfect gift.

He had spent the last month keeping track of what colors Y/N wore the most and the style of her clothing. Using what he had gained he had gone to pick up all the yarn he needed and he couldn’t be more excited to begin the project.

He sat outside in the garden of the Kamisato Estate, his project bag filled with yarn at his side, knitting needles in hand. The cast-on felt easy to him, as he had done it countless times. With a needle in his right hand, he wrapped the yarn around his thumb before sending the needle underneath the yarn creating a loop.

He had taken measurements off of a sweater that Y/N would wear regularly. He had to be a bit sneaky to get it and he also got caught but it was worth it. He had already done a gauge swatch of the yarn earlier to figure out how many stitches he needed in order to make the body of the sweater. Thoma was so determined to get this right that he remembered to do the gauge swatch!

The last of summer’s warmth wrapped around him as he worked into the stitches letting himself get lost in the project. He had noticed the one sweater of his that Y/N stole the most was built with only knit stitches which made his work easier. No pattern to work about and every row would be the same. It would be easy to build it up fast and he could let himself get lost in the project.

But not too lost. He still had a date to go on later.

“Why don’t we just go to the fabric store and find a new button to fix up your bag?” Thoma offered getting up off the floor after looking for the lost button from Y/N’s bag.

“We don’t have to do that. I’ll just switch bags at home. I think I have a spare there anyway.” She spoke as she leaned against the wall of the estate. “Let’s just go already. I think we should still go to Ritou instead of Inazuma City anyway. It's been a while since we've gone there.”

“We were there last week together.”

“I know. I just found myself enjoying Ritou more recently.”

It wasn’t something to overthink. Just a change in date location. It was good nothing was set in stone.

“We could go for a walk on the beach there. Could be fun to collect seashells.”

“Okay. Then that's what we will do.” it was a bit different than what Y/N would normally suggest but it's not like what she suggested was a bad idea. Plus they could still go out to eat after. All he really wanted was to spend time together anyway.

Thoma had been working on the sweater for at least two weeks now. Progress was going well. He was working on it faster than he thought he would. He had even finished two whole balls of yarn. He sat inside the common area of the estate near a window, listening to the rain.

“How’s the sweater going?” Ayaka asked after walking up to him. “You said that’s for Y/N right?”

“It is. Does it look good?” Thoma asked pausing the row he was working on to hold up the sweater for Ayaka to see.

“It’s very pretty. I see her wearing that color all the time.” She examined the fabric. “Oh! That looks a lot like the sweater she borrows from you.”

“That’s the point.” He went back to working on the sweater as he talked. “It’s for our anniversary. I just wanted to make something I knew she would like and use.”

“Awww. That’s really sweet of you. Not to pry but I thought you two had a date today.”

“Raincheck. It’s fine though. It's not the best weather for a date anyway. There’s always next week anyway.” He shrugged it off.

“That’s true. I guess this makes it a bad time to ask to learn then.”

Thoma thought about it for a second. “Well, I could use teaching you as a way for me to start the back panel. Let me go grab some things. I’ll be right back.”

It had been a month of working on the sweater. The front panel had been completed and the back panel was a little over halfway done. He was supposed to be starting the sleeves already. He didn’t slow down from taking time to try to teach Ayaka. He actually got a lot done while showing her what to do.

He was stressed out. Dates were canceled, cut short, or plans were completely thrown out into something different. Normally this wouldn’t bother him too badly. People get busy and that’s okay. This was different though.

There had been one day last week when he had run into her on a trip to Inazuma City. It was like she was trying to avoid him once he had yelled out her name. Perhaps she was already trying to avoid him. It wasn’t like he had done anything wrong. He had done nothing but treat her with the love and respect that she deserved.

Was it wrong to question her when she had done the same? Had. That's the word he kept getting stuck on as of late. He never even got an explanation of why she was so busy as of late.

Maybe that’s what made him so concerned. It didn’t help she kept turning down any trips to go to any fabric stores together. He could have sworn he saw her leave one the other day. She left with Itto of all people. It didn’t make sense to him. They didn’t talk or hang out before from what he knew.

Were they friends and he just didn’t know? But she would have told him. She would always happily tell him of the things she did with her friends. Thoma really didn’t want to think the worst. Y/N was his girlfriend for almost a year. Someone who he trusted so much. To think that she would betray him in such a way felt too harsh.

Thoma stopped his stitching and looked down at the back panel of this sweater he had been working on. Oh no. Had he caused this?

When he was first learning knitting he was told how it was a bad idea to make a sweater for your partner. The sweater curse is what it was called. A superstition he thought could be easily avoided by waiting for the right person and knowing he was secure in the relationship. Thoma wasn’t one to believe in curses of the paranormal or rational kind.

But this was a rational curse. Maybe he should have taken it more seriously. Were there signs she wanted the relationship that he hadn’t noticed? If there was he hadn’t noticed.

“Is everything alright?” Ayato asked the question bringing him out of his internal worries.

“I’m not too sure.”

This was wrong. So many levels of wrong. Why did he take his lord’s offer to track his own girlfriend down with the Shuumatsuban? This had to be an invasion of her privacy and trust. He should just walk away before anyone notices that he is here.

“Yo! My bro! What are you doing here?” Itto had greeted him from the entrance to the fabric shop. He had always been friendly despite the imposing figure he had. Too much care for others to purposefully cause any pain. Yet Thoma was here not knowing if his warm greeting was full of lies.

“I just came to pick something up.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He was missing a few things to finish up some projects that were just lying around. Now it would be weird if he left right away.

“We should totally go get some food first. When was the last time we had a meal together? My treat!” Itto offered placing a hand on Thoma’s back trying to lead him away from the fabric shop.

Thoma moved back away. “I need to get this done now. I have a bit of a list of things to get done today. Maybe next time.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you need and I’ll grab it for you. That would knock your list down so fast.” Itto kept trying to stand in Thoma’s way.

“I appreciate the help but I got it.”

“You know this store is kind of the worst. I think there’s a better one in Ritou. Why don’t I show you it?” Itto looked as if he was thinking off the top of his head just to keep Thoma out of the store.

Thoma forced a smile trying to stay calm but Itto’s behavior only made him more worried about what was going on. “Another day. I need to go in now.” He dogged past the oni trying to stay in his way making it into the fabric shop.

Itto followed behind with worry on his face. He tried so hard to keep Thoma out. He had one job!

Inside the shop towards the back, Y/N was sitting in the back next to Itto's Granny. She had a cloth in her hand and was moving a needle back and forth. “You know I'm still worried he won't like it.”

“With how much you improved you shouldn't doubt your skills now. I bet he'll love it just cause it's from you.” She comforted Y/N. “It's going to be a wonderful anniversary present.”

Thoma’s face went red. He shouldn't have walked in here. He started walking backwards hoping not to be noticed by either of them. He walked back into a standing filled with different buttons and threads knocking it down and falling with it as well.

The two of them stood up quickly. Itto was already getting ready to help Thoma up. Y/N looked down, frowning that her boyfriend, who normally she would have been happy to see, was in the same store as her.

“I'm sorry. I did try.” Itto apologized as Thoma stood on his feet.

“You did your best. Let's give them some space.” His granny spoke before going outside with Itto. The shop owner shook their head before getting up to leave as well.

“You were supposed to be at the estate right now. What are you doing here?” Y/N asked before placing the quilt down on the table carefully.

“I just uh,” he bent down real quick, grabbing a button. “Needed this. I'm off to go pay for it now.”

A frown filled Y/N’s face.

“I'm sorry. I just really got worried because you were acting differently. I thought I knitted myself into a curse and I got worried you didn't want to be with me and were starting to pull away.” He rambled. “I didn't want to believe it so I had to figure out what was going on.”

Y/N walked straight up to him and gave him a kiss shutting up his rambles. “You're cute you know that?”

His face was already red with embarrassment but felt even hotter now. “I think you've told me that.”

“I was trying to surprise you by learning how to make a quilt for you for our anniversary. You could have told me you felt neglected. I'm sorry. I never wanted to do that.” Y/N apologized as she pulled him into a hug.

“I should be the one apologizing. You were just trying to do a nice thing for me and I was thinking that you were just over m-” another kiss to shut him up. He pulled back with a smile attached to his face. “It's hard to speak when you keep doing that.”

“That's why I keep doing it. I must have been neglecting you if you keep rambling like this. If I let you go on any longer you might just tell me what you were knitting. I want it to be a surprise.”

Thoma let out a laugh. “Okay. That's understandable but I feel bad. I ruined your gift.”

“You have no clue how much I wanted to tell you. There are only so many times I can hear Itto tell me it's cool or his Granny telling me it's pretty. The compliments aren't enough unless it's from you.”

It was her turn to be shut up with a kiss. It quickly turned to Thoma peppering her face with kisses. “You have no idea how much I love you.”

Y/N laughed with each kiss tickling her face. “I love you too. You wouldn't be here if you didn't. Love makes you people do dumb things.”

Thoma thought for a second thinking about the offer Ayato gave him just to help figure out what was going on. He would tell her a little later. “Yes, it does.”

#thoma x reader #thoma #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 1 year ago

Text

Hello, Mr. Monster (Seven. Sacred)

Summary: Eros and Psyche inspired Soulmate!AU, Morpheus x female OC/reader

Master list

Chapter warnings: emotional distress, anxiety, recall of threat of assault/brainwashing, explicit smut A/N: My treat! Happy Halloween! Only about half this beast is edited, but I gave myself permission to break the no-fic-til-first-draft-is-finished rule if I could complete it by Halloween, soooo... ENJOY! Happy to talk inspo music/plot/scream in harmony in comments and asks.

Chapter 6: Sacred

She wasn’t wearing shoes.

She didn’t entirely realize until she left the palace. The grand castle released her easily, giving her a side door to slip through as she tried escaping herself, and she hesitated when soft dirt replaced smooth stone. The fae’s work stripped a lifetime of callouses. A week ago, she could walk across gravel barefoot. Now… She could go back, admit defeat and finish dressing properly. But she couldn’t deal with any more of Gwen’s concern, and the urge to run boiled from her stomach up the back of her throat. Maybe it would burst out as a scream. Maybe she’d just vomit on her own toes.

No going back.

Something would catch her if she turned around, and she wouldn’t stop until the sensation drained away in sweat, blood, and tears.

Maybe she’d trip and earn herself some new scars.

She didn’t actually run, but she walked quickly, like she had any idea where she was going and had a schedule to keep.

The sunshine welcomed her, wrapping warm as her shawl around her shoulders, but she kept her eyes on the path, looking for loose stones to dodge or signs of other travelers. But she found no footprints. Heard no breaking twigs ahead or behind. No voices carried on the faint breeze. The world felt a little too perfect, as if it froze when she left her room, holding its breath as it waited for her to pass by. Too still. Like it might startle her if the clouds skidded along like normal clouds usually did. The blue overhead felt careful. Intentional.

The path led her to the edge of a river – or a lake – maybe a vast moat around the palace. She couldn’t see a way across, and she hesitated on the bank, toes curling into the grass as fingernails folded into palms. She wasn’t ready to stop. She needed to keep going. This wasn’t where she sat and cried. She had to burn out the panic, and she desperately needed a way across the water so she could escape into the green hills beyond.

Chewing on her lip, tasting blood, she squinted at the flecks of sunlight glinting on the water’s surface and tried to guess how deep it was. Impossible to guess. But it looked placid enough. Her was still wet, after all. A little more water wouldn’t hurt her.

She stepped from the bank, expecting a cold plunge, but she found sand barely an inch below the surface. Looking again, she could just make out a submerged path ready to help her ford the river, and she tried very hard not to question if it was there before she stepped on it. More than a little afraid it would disappear halfway through, she sprinted across the open water, splashing her clean clothes and making a terrible racket in the pristine stillness. Although the water wasn’t perfectly still, her steps left great ripples that carried the secret of her flight to both shores and beyond. Round whispers revealing her route, rolling off like a bell’s peel to tell the invisible something where she’d fled.

Her beautiful skin crawled, and she didn’t stop until she’d hidden herself in the green shadows beyond the far bank. Pine needles cushioned her steps, and she slowed to catch her breath, still moving forward, but only barely as the wood’s sap and moss filled her senses.

Her heart beat so fast it hummed, and the old ache stirred sharp and deep behind her ribs.

She was missing something. She needed something. She’d been hurt in ways her simple human magic couldn’t mend, but if she pulled the shawl even tighter, everything would be fine. The soft knit would hold her together like a bandage. Or a net. That shouldn’t comfort her, but it did, and she had too many battles to choose this one.

Being caught was alright so long as she was the one to trap herself.

She kept going, and her heart stewed in memories she’d hoped to leave on the floor of the bath. Things grew out of her helpless fears. Weedy jolts of terror that came back no matter how much she reasoned them away. Doubt spread like mold over every good thing. Confusion soared tall as a tree, and even the Dreaming’s determined sunlight couldn’t pierce its canopy.

She didn’t understand why Morpheus lied. And because she didn’t know that, the question her safety and future hinged on, she couldn’t banish every creeping dread that fed on its shadow. Everything she thought she knew felt fragile, and she wasn’t willing to test her assumptions’ strength. She’d thought he respected her. She’d thought her dreams could be a haven with him. She’d thought her life had changed for the better. For once.

But the fae took her for him.

Whatever she thought she knew, they clearly knew something else.

She walked on. Searching her thoughts. Wandering a strange land. Not at all ready to ask for answers.

The woods thinned into scrubby trees and thickets, fading from emerald to a yellowed olive green. Low stone walls rose and fell along the sides of the path she chose at random, bordering little fields full of pumpkins and graveyards bristling with angled headstones. Signs of structure beyond wilderness, a long-inhabited corner of a rural land, far removed from the gleaming palace with its lavender bath and magical bed.

But it was still so quiet.

Where were all the people? Dreams, nightmares, stories. The Dreaming may be vast, but it had nearly countless residents. Fin and Gwen spoke of whole villages, towns, homes full of strange, beautiful, and awful creatures crafted or invited into the Dreaming by its king. The silence rang false, and her heart snagged on a terrible idea.

The air in her lungs hardened.

She’d never left the unseelies’ court. She only walked through a vision boiled from poppy juice and desperate hopes. Maybe she still wore her wedding dress. Or maybe this was the truth of Love in Idleness. She could love her monster because she imagined he was better than he was. Her mind had broken and she found herself roving freely, left to convalesce on her own terms while in reality…

She’d come to a stone bridge fording a creek, and she practically fell back against the wall, sliding down, dropping her head to her knees.

Fucking fuck.

She’d walked so far, but the fear still had a literal chokehold.

Breathing. That mattered most. Whatever else was wrong couldn’t be fixed until she could breathe. She couldn’t even keep walking without air. Old lessons battled with her diaphragm as she tried to scold herself calm. Her old breathing exercises helped take the edge off the crushing sense of suffocation, but her nervous system hummed with tension, and she sat locked in place.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the dress, feeling phantom spider silk clinging to her skin, watching the threads stretch and tear with so little effort. Of all the things to focus on, maybe it was easiest. The only change she could easily escape. But also a reminder of the monster the fae believed her soulmate to be. Someone who would callously, willingly…

Her stomach rolled, and she lurched onto her knees. A little stomach bile came on the second, wrenching heave, but nothing followed. Not even water.

Fuck.

How long had it been since she ate? Time was so slippery in the fae realms, and gods knew how long she slept in the Dreaming. Her head pulsed as her stomach finally agreed it was overreacting, and she fell back to sit against the wall of the bridge, panting with her eyes closed against every little pain and discomfort knocking on her thoughts. They each wanted to let her know her body had been abused, and all their good intentions just made the message play on repeat, forcing her to not only face but feel everything that happened.

Sorely used.

An archaic turn of phrase, for sure, but fuck if it didn’t fit.

Her ears rang. A sure sign there was just too much happening inside. Even if she didn’t die at the hands of the fae, a rogue nightmare, or some demon Constantine hooked her into finding, her blood pressure would send her to an early grave. For sure.

Her head hurt. Her belly hurt. Her heart hurt. Now that she wasn’t walking, her feet ached, too.

It seemed like a good time to cry, but she hurt too much to do that, either.

So she sat with the pain instead.

Crossing her arms over her knees, she buried her face and tried to block out this world, her monster’s world, and create her own. Simple and dark and safe. The borders only extended to her fingers and toes. It ended where the air touched her skin. Her goal was to drown out the ringing in her ears with the cycle of her breath, and if she forgot anything else existed, maybe that would be possible.

She buried herself so well in her arms and the chorus of her panic that she didn’t notice the little creature approach until it touched her. Tiny claws pricked her ankle. It felt like a cat, a determined kitten scaling her leg to perch on her knee, and she opened her eyes sluggishly, pulling out of the sticky morass of her own head to find a ruby-eyed gargoyle peering into her face. It chirred, potato-shaped head tilting in wordless question.

Golden with little wings that looked entirely insufficient to keep its pudgy baby body airborne, it lurked happily in the grey area where things so ugly they could only be cute flourished.

“I should probably warn you,” she murmured, “that I’m really shit company right now.”

The little creature warbled, like it understood and disagreed. Its claws pinched the fabric over her knee as its wings pumped, lifting him an inch into the air.

Well.

That would show her for making snap judgements.

The little darling really could fly.

It tugged, trilling louder, and she got the idea it wanted her to come along.

“I don’t have wings.” She felt like she ought to apologize, explain her shortcomings the way she’d reason with a small child. “And I don’t feel so good right now. I’ll stay here. You don’t have to.”

Dissatisfied with her decision, her little companion dropped back to her knee, croaking a long, demanding wail.

“Goldie!”

The voice carried through the fog, rattling over the stones, and her little friend perked and turned to call back. Following the direction of his attention, she realized two whole Tudor mansions stood on the opposite side of the bridge. If she’d stumbled any further, she would’ve run into someone’s front door.

She desperately needed to get out of her own head before she walked face-first into an immoveable object and broke her nose.

“Goldie?”

The creature flexed its claws, essentially making biscuits on her knee.

“I think someone’s calling you,” she suggested. The name and color couldn’t be a coincidence. Not in the Dreaming. Everything made a slanted kind of sense here, if it made any sense at all.

The tiny monster, Goldie apparently, settled belly-down, folding its wings and all in a show of blatant refusal. It wouldn’t give up the new friend. Toy. Guest. Whatever the hell she was to it.

“Goldie.” The voice was nearer. Footsteps crunched on loose stones, and a pleasantly round man, with a pleasantly full beard and a pleasantly wide-eyed face, came along from the direction of the two houses, looking the wrong way. “You’re still awfully small to be wandering off, even if you can fly so well. Now, where did you – ” He turned, saw Goldie sitting on Aisling’s knee, and blinked his wide eyes even wider. She stared back.

He remembered his manners first, rushing to welcome her. “Oh! Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”

He approached with a smile, but he hesitated when he realized her position. She must look at least half as horrible as she felt, after all, and she hadn’t moved from her folded spot against the wall.

“Are you alright?” He grasped for solutions, for answers. “Did Goldie scare you?”

Exhausted as she was by her own terrors, she couldn’t help snorting.

“No.” Hell. Her voice practically creaked. She swallowed, trying to get her dry, aching throat in working order, but she only made the ache worse. Coughing, she spluttered, “He didn’t scare me.”

“But you’re not alright.” Those big eyes flooded with growing concern, and she wondered if it was because he genuinely gave a damn or because of some nebulous rule about guests and hospitality and all that shit.

“I’m not,” she confessed. “But I will be. Eventually. I always am.”

“Well, how about some tea while you wait?” He extended a hand, and Goldie fluttered up to his shoulder, clearing the way for her to rise. Now that the cretin had backup, it seemed confident she’d follow.

And since she had no other plan, she did.

“I’m Abel.” His warm, worker’s callouses rasped along her palm and around her fingers as he helped her to her feet. “It’s been a while since we had a proper dreamer here, I’m afraid. Are you lost?”

Very.

“I don’t know. And I’m a dreamer, but I’m not dreaming.”

He didn’t keep hold of her hand as he led her towards one of the two houses – presumably his – but he hovered. He had a good face for that, and he kept near, like he thought she might fall, which was fair considering how he found her.

“Then how are you here?”

A mirror. Knives, and spiders, and that damned dress.

“It’s a long story.”

“Maybe over tea, then.”

“Maybe.” Probably not, though. She couldn’t stomach that tale in her head yet. She couldn’t hold it in her mouth long enough to taste.

The courtyard between the two houses boasted a half-forgotten kind of charm. It grew in moss over crumbling busts and fogged over the windows with just a little too much dust. Cozy neglect. Cottagecore with fewer fairylights and more fog.

Abel held the door for her, and she found a sitting room as wonderfully cluttered as the landscape outside. Books stacked in towers supported forgotten cups, and old table cloths, rugs, and scarves littered every surface. She sat at the little table where her host gestured and admired the collection of his personal history as he busied himself with the stove.

“I should really tell my brother we have a guest,” he fussed. “He’ll be terribly angry if doesn’t have a chance to meet you, I’m sure, Miss…” His hand flew to his mouth, and he murmured his apology through the gaps between his fingers. “’M so sorry. I never asked your name.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m – ”

“Let me get Cain. One introduction! Much easier. I’ll be right back.” He rushed out again, and Goldie fluttered to sit on the table, resting between her limp hands and blinking up like he wasn’t responsible for anything ever, at all, in the very least.

She ran a finger over his bumpy little head and sighed. “Aren’t you just proud of yourself?”

Goldie crooned confirmation, and she rubbed her nail along the loose threads in the tablecloth. A hundred tea stains bloomed over and across each other, but she didn’t see any crumbs from dinners past. The candle in the brass stick at the center of the table had dripped down to anchor the whole contraption in place, and she could only just see a faded red paisley pattern beneath it all.

If she were to read Abel’s cards, this would be the place. It had his rhythm: habit and footsteps and care. A place to plan the morning and end an evening.

The door’s ominously friendly groan announced the brothers’ return, and she looked over her shoulder to meet much less open eyes in a much less open face, shielded by spectacles and a mouth prepared to sneer.

But he blinked like his brother as Abel rushed to attend the kettle again, and he marched in with open curiosity.

“Well, you are a puzzle.” He made a little bow. “I’m Cain. You’ve met the dunderhead and Goldie.”

Abel set a steaming pot and three cups around the table, practically shaking with excitement. They really must not get company often. “And now she’s going to introduce herself, and we’ll all have tea while she waits to feel alright.”

Cain’s eye’s narrowed, and Aisling jolted to defuse the poisonous tension.

“I’m Aisling Hunt.”

Abel clapped, and the tension fizzled away as she tried to catch up with whatever connection he’d made. “Fine Gent’s Aisling? The witch from the Waking?”

“You know Fin?” She accepted her cup of tea, hoping for more about her friend. How did they know each other? Did they know where her friend was lurking? Were they at all like him?

Cain nodded, ignoring the cup and saucer his brother set at his elbow. “Better sort of nightmare. Reliable. Sharp. And if you’re really that Aisling, then I suppose we know why you’re in the Dreaming.”

She shuddered, an involuntary reaction she only just saved her tea from disaster by plonking it back on the table. Gossip traveled quickly in all realms, apparently, and while Fin was a considerate asshole most days, the fae hadn’t been subtle in their… gifting. She could ask how much her hosts knew, but then she’d have to listen to it. And she didn’t want to. Cain’s eye pierced her with a knowing glance, but Abel stood there in wide-eyed befuddlement, so she left them to their own assumptions and tried again with her drink.

Under any other situation, the tea would be very nice. Well-steeped, but not bitter, with a nutty note that made her think of toasted barely milk tea. In the moment, it was better than anything she’d ever tasted. Her senses sprang back from the fog of despair and remembered how nice it was to quench her thirst, how the steam opened up her sinuses, and she could smell the dried rosemary over Abel’s kitchen window. One sip was not enough. Tipping her head back, she drained it in one go and immediately decided manners were for losers, desperately holding out her cup for a refill.

Holy hell was she thirsty.

Abel quickly poured more, and Cain’s side-eye grew razor sharp.

Aisling drank another cup. And then a third. But when she lifted a fourth to her lips, a familiar hand settled on her wrist.

“That’s a great way to make yourself sick again.”

Fin.

He hovered at her shoulder, calm and constant as anything, charming as ever. Just looking up at his smirk – always welcoming her into a joke whether she understood it or not – felt like setting foot on solid land after a long boat ride. It surprised her by how steady it was, and she remembered what confidence had always felt like when they went on their adventures, dragged along by his leads and her intuition.

She hadn’t even heard him come in.

Under his guidance, she settled the cup in its saucer, and she winced an apologetic smile for her hosts.

“Sorry.”

Cain scoffed. “For what? Drinking tea? Pah.” He eyed Fin with a considerably less charitable look, hoisting the teapot in a clear invitation for yet another refill when required. “You’re a guest, and a thirsty one.”

“I’m not surprised.” Fin pulled out a chair for himself, settling a wicker hamper on the table. “You sprinted from the castle like a bat out of hell, and you slept for ages before that.”

Abel gawked like her wandering was some great accomplishment. “You’ve wandered a long way from the Heart of the Dreaming. This is the border of Nightmare.”

Although she determinedly didn’t sip the tea, she kept her heads around the cup, letting the fading heat sink into her palms and remind her she was alive. And awake.

Nightmare. That made sense. She’d never entirely trusted dreams. They felt so sweet in her sleep, but they always stung when she woke up. She found nightmares more reliable. But distance was nothing in the Dreaming. Even she knew that. If the realm’s lord and master hadn’t chosen to let her have her head and run, she wouldn’t have reached the river.

Busying himself with the basket, Fin muttered, “This one never did like to keep to one place. Here.”

He pulled out a lump of cheese and a crusty roll, setting them on a plate he magically fished from the delicate chaos of Abel’s living space.

She looked at the food distrustfully, not sure if her belly rumbled in welcome or rebellion yet. But Fin was on a mission, and he fished out a dish of strawberries next, bright as gems and so ripe she could smell them. Plucking one from the top of the pile, he sliced it into three neat pieces, offering her one on the flat of his blade with an expectant expression. He’d done the work. She shouldn’t waste it.

“The tea will settle better with a bit of food,” he advised.

Cain and Abel kept their own counsel, either riddling out what they were seeing or collecting fresh fuel for the gossip engine, she couldn’t say.

She accepted the strawberry.

It tasted like summer. Ice cream in the shade, and the riot of growing things in their prime. Sunshine and sticky hands with her bare feet in a creek.

Food really wasn’t supposed to taste like that. It took her breath away, and she hesitated, balanced on the edge of Fin’s knife between enjoying the little gift and careening back into her overwhelmed panic. Everything was a step further than she expected, or a little too perfect, or grand in ways that made her feel so, so small…

Goldie, sitting by her elbow, trilled. She looked into his ruddy eyes and held out her hand in a silent demand for another bit of strawberry, even though she hadn’t finished chewing.

Fin tipped the next slice into her waiting palm, and she offered it to the baby… whatever. Goldie seized it with a delighted gurgle and crammed it in its mouth. The sliver of berry filled much more of his mouth than Aisling’s, and his cheeks ballooned with the treat.

“What do you say, Goldie?” Abel asked.

His – pet? Child? – offered a gulp, a belch, and a croak, which was enough to satisfy Abel.

Fin shoved the third slice of berry directly in her face.

And she nearly choked. Nearly laughed. It startled her, but she put her hand to her mouth and kept everything in – chewing and swallowing emotion and food. They saying went that laughter was the best medicine, and while she was a firm proponent of the wonders of antibiotics, her inner sky cleared just the tiniest bit. The cracks were still there. Her world was still more than a little broken. But the fog of war began to lift, and she could see some of what was left. What was alright. What might be alright with a little more time.

Moss would grow on the ruins, and rain would fill the holes into ponds for frogs and water lilies.

What couldn’t be repaired could be made new.

And if she ever cleared all the clouds from that inner sky, maybe she’d find another watercolor sunset waiting for her.

Fin, watching her very carefully, cut another strawberry, and she ate it all with more confidence than the first two mouthfuls. He sliced open a roll and spread soft cheese on the two halves, giving them to her one at a time. When she reached for her tea to wash the bread down, he didn’t protest.

His posture softened until he slouched in his seat, shoulders back against the wood and one ankle propped across his knee. The little wrinkles that forecast a frown smoothed back to the edge of a smirk. All his anxiety appeared in the hollow shapes left behind as it melted.

She was sorry to have worried him, but watching him relaxed helped her more than all the tea and food in the Dreaming could. He’d decided she was safe, and in this wonky wonderland, she trusted his judgement. Fin may not betray his maker for her, but he would never be ease if he wasn’t sure all was – or would be – well.

Rapid tapping interrupted the scene a few minutes after she refused more food from Fin. Sated, pleasantly full, and breathing easily, she didn’t jump at the sound, but her heart jumped when she saw the raven on the other side of Abel’s window. She’d bet anything it was…

“Matthew.” Fin nodded to the bird but didn’t move to let him in. Instead, he turned to Aisling and asked, “Feel up for a walk?”

“Back? That’s…” The best idea. The worst idea. She thought of the castle and the entity who ruled it. He needed to be stitched back into her story. She had too many frayed ends left in the wake of the latest tear, and she couldn’t begin any real work until she saw the pattern. All her questions and accusations coiled into a lump in her throat. “A long way.”

“Oh, I doubt it.” Since his question hadn’t really been one at all, he stood up, put the basket on his arm, and pulled out her chair.

It was time to go.

Cain and Abel stood, too, and Goldie bobbed up to Abel’s shoulder, sighing like a tired toddler.

“Thank you.” She hesitated in the doorway and wondered what the rules were in the Dreaming. Did she owe them something? Did they expect a token, or a boon, or some specific words? Should she start planning a thank you card? Was there a ritual, or – no. She was overthinking it. “It was… You helped. A lot. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Abel beamed. Goldie warbled in agreement.

“Of course, she’s welcome,” Cain snapped, finding some unknowable annoyance in his brother’s manners. He looked back to his departing guests and nodded, slowly, almost like he was bowing. “Fine Gent. Lady.”

“Oh, I’m not-”

Fin looped his free arm through hers and tugged her off balance, moving through the door. Her confusion of thought was lost in the chaos of stumbling sideways to keep up.

“Thank you, Cain,” Fin said.

The door closed. The sounds, smells, and sensations of the outdoors crashed over her fragile senses like a wave, and she was very glad for Fin’s arm. She was… better. But still not well. The ground stayed firm under her feet, but the back of her mind whispered it would melt into quicksand at any second.

Fluttering wings and a familiar croak warned her just before Matthew came flapping in her face. “You’re awake! You’re alive! Thought you were gone forever when you didn’t come back to your van, and the boss-”

“Will explain his thoughts himself,” Fin interjected. He gave the bird a look, a suggestion or a reminder. Once upon a time he threw those her way in the Waking. When she was young and overeager to test her limits. When she ought to know better.

Matthew landed in a chaos of black feathers and clattering talons, hopping alongside as Fin led the way across the bridge. Back to forests, fields, and strange moats. Back to the Heart of the Dreaming. Whatever that meant for her. There was no rush, but Fin clearly had a direction in mind, and while he was willing to go slow, ambling rather than marching, he was on a mission.

She didn’t like the heavy feeling that realization left in her gut, full of the food he’d so carefully and considerately brought. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but there was a new authority overshadowing their old dynamic, and she just didn’t like it.

Chastised, Matthew actually held his tongue for a few minutes. But every few steps, she caught him peeping up with sharp swings of the beak to glance at her, like he was waiting for a signal to talk again. He looked so awkward, fumbling along at their pace. And earnest.

And none of this was his fault. It wasn’t Fin’s. It wasn’t the raven’s. It… probably wasn’t their master’s, either.

She offered a wan, tired kind of smile that she hoped would ease the tension. He snapped it up.

The raven cleared his throat. “You look nice?”

And she always would. No matter how sick, or exhausted, or miserable, or – The phantom tingle of the fae’s thick salve gleaming with unicorn horn rolled down her arms, and she shuddered.

“Don’t.”

Matthew immediately dropped his head. “Sorry.”

Well shit.

“It’s fine. Just – yeah.”

And with that eloquent excuse of a non-apology, the three fell into a deeper silence.

The trees swallowed the two houses and the bridge that led to them. The path unspooled ahead, under darker boughs, and after a corner or two, the edge of the forest thinned. Too quickly. A slowly as she’d run. Impossible and sensical, because what else could it have ever been.

As the castle came into view, she fought against the dream-fall sensation demanding she wake up. She knew she couldn’t, because she was already, but that didn’t stop of her mind from spinning with the alien logic of this world. She was still looking for an escape, even if she didn’t feel the need to run for one.

A bridge – which she knew for sure wasn’t there before – connected the edge of the forest to the castle’s island. A low, discreet construction entirely unlike the arching causeway she could spy towards the front gates. The Dreaming hadn’t made it a challenge to leave, but it made returning even easier.

It invited her to come home.

Fin huffed, and she caught a smirk twisting his lips before he schooled it into a more dignified expression.

“You’re expected, it seems.”

Her hand spasmed on his arm, and he patted it almost condescendingly.

“Of course,” she murmured, demanding her stomach settle and her feet move.

Fin stayed with her across the bridge, through the garden, to the door that let her out. She felt like a stray dog being returned by a neighbor after a jaunt around the neighborhood, and it took conscious effort not to let her hackles rise. Inside, the castle was as quiet as it had been before, and she wondered again if people were being kept away from her on purpose, and if so, for whose benefit.

They stopped in the first crossroads between hallways. “This is where we leave you.”

“What?” Panic fluttered like butterflies through her gut. Fin settled (most of) them with another one of his looks – teasing, mocking her just enough to assure her this wasn’t anything like she feared. It made her feel stupid. It gave her courage. “I mean – fine. Okay. Why?”

“Why do you think?” Fin pointed to the left. “If you head that way, you’ll find yourself back in the room you woke in. Gwen and Jeff will take care of you.” He pointed to the right. “If you go that way, you’ll find him. If you’re ready to talk.”

He delicately peeled her fingers off his arm, stepped back, and performed a tidy bow. Duty performed, he left her with a wink and walked back the way they’d come in, a way that now offered many more doors and turns than she remembered.

“Good seeing you, Aisling. I’ll see you around?” Matthew didn’t wait for an answer. He launched into the air and flapped after Fin. A last caw caught and echoed through the branching halls, fading until she stood alone with her decision.

The still air pulsed with her thoughts, and her bare soles stuck to the polished floor, rooting her in a whirlpool of feelings she couldn’t face long enough to name. A crossroads. Her crossroads. Another gift from the entity she’d always feared would take away her choice. Was it respect or apology?

He’d lied to her, and even if he wasn’t responsible for… everything else, how could she trust he’d finished with masks? Kindness made for a clever veil, and he’d already surprised her with the face behind one helm.

But he hadn’t destroyed her. Hadn’t let others strip her will when it could’ve suited his purposes.

Romances between gods and mortals rarely ended well, and he was beyond a god. How could she ever hope to understand that? There was no world in which she could be his equal, where he could stoop low enough to grasp her human fears. Holding hands across a chasm like that always ended in a fall. Hadn’t she been enough of a fool already?

She remembered her first dream with him. He was more honest with her then than he’d been since, and the first thing he wanted to show her was the place where he held her the way she’d always held him. For that night at least, everything made sense. Maybe not the pain, but the agonies she’d suffered almost seemed worth it.

She didn’t know what to think. If she never faced their tangled wyrd, the potential bond she’d tasted so briefly, she’d never know how to feel, either. Maybe all this would kill her, but she couldn’t live without knowing.

So, she turned right.

Maybe it was her imagination, but the coolly lit hall seemed a little brighter as she made her way from the crossroads, looking for Morpheus.

She didn’t have to go far. The hall stretched straight ahead. No side passages to distract her. No doors to tempt her curiosity. Dream of the Endless wasn’t hiding, and as he reached out to guide her steps, he shaped the world to his intent.

The hall ended, rounding a little bend and opening into a high-ceilinged room that couldn’t decide what it wanted to be. A gallery. A meeting place. Something old and new and hollow. One wall bristled with shapes emerging from grey-veined marble. Windows stretched from floor to roof, bathing the sculptures of vines, trees, rolling waves, and writhing figures with soft light at odds with the relief’s high drama. There was no furniture. Only space waiting to be filled. And a lone figure. Waiting for her.

No obstacles. No games or tests.

It could all be so, so simple.

Morpheus wore his regal grace with the same ease as his long black coat. But it failed to shroud his melancholy, and his longing wafted through the room in perfumed spirals of burning incense. She breathed it in; it stung her eyes and plucked on the frayed tatters in her chest. Sympathetic pain bloomed, and she rubbed along her sternum automatically, blinking back tears so she could trade them for words.

He broke the silence first. “I welcome you to the Dreaming, Aisling Hunt.”

Without his helm, his voice sounded so different. Incredibly. Even more beautiful, like looking up into a night sky with stars that looked back, but less like a force of the cosmos, more a man who traded in the dust that made worlds. He regarded her, and her intuition thrummed, trying to answer in ways her human body physically couldn’t.

He paused, lips parted on a thought, and the formal weight evaporated, replaced with aching strain that curled his shoulders towards her, even across the room, like a plant bending towards the sun. Strange. Unsettling. She didn’t feel like something bright in his world, but at least he wasn’t hiding behind his grotesque helm again.

“I am, despite everything, glad to have you here.”

Oh.

It shocked her back into her body. Into feet just a little cold and still bare on the floor. Into flesh she was afraid to look at in case she started crying again. The hope and horror bridged, and the most urgent question grew like a weed up her throat.

Well. If he was going to bring it up, then…

“I need to know something.” She rubbed her chest, hoping to pry loose a scrap of courage. None lingered in her heart, but a few tatters could’ve gotten caught in her ribs, and even a slip would do her. “Before this – I need to ask you something. I think I already know, but I need –” She knew how quickly words and oaths could twist under desire’s pressure, and even if she’d committed to playing the fool, even clowns had their limits, and she wouldn’t dance into another lying mirror. “You said you wouldn’t steal me away to hide in shadows, but you could send others to take me, and this place is very bright.”

His shoulders drew back, and his chin lifted. He’d offered her formal welcome and she asked for formal confirmation that he hadn’t betrayed her. She wasn’t ready to burn for him as his sun. She had to know he wouldn’t snuff her out first.

“I did not ask for you to be taken. I did not ask for you to be changed against your will. I did not ask other hands to commit such sins in my name, nor will I in future.” Angling his face down again, he offered her a glimpse at the wrath hidden there. He had not forgotten her suffering. It would not go unpunished. And just as quickly as he revealed his rage, he buried it again, stowing the knives and earthquakes for the villains who’d driven her to ask for proof in the first place. He watched her absorb what he’d said, and his voice turned feather soft. “You are my most cherished guest, and though I ask that you stay until word has spread and it is safe for you to walk the Waking world, you are no prisoner.”

Blinking, she took a deep breath. It rattled all the way down to her fingers, and she shook out her hands to banish the trembling.

“Thank you.” He gave, and he gave, and he gave. Time, space, reassurance. Her gaze roved the complicated mass of imagery covering the wall, looking for a theme. A hint. Frozen sailors reached for the land, tying sails against a wind determined to keep them at sea. Trees bloomed. Flowers fell. Fruit swelled, and snakes crept through their own shed skins as seeds burst from fallen, rotting apples. Time, loss, and rebirth without aim.

“What do you want, Morpheus?”

Had she ever actually asked him? She desperately wanted the truth. The whole thing.

“You were right.” Her own truth. An olive branch. An invitation and a plea. “Others shaped my view of you. So, now’s your chance. Tell me, so I can it from your own mouth. What do you want?”

In this moment, she was judge, jury, and executioner. No one would decide who or what she loved, and she would know the entity whose name she carried before she gave him anything else.

The air turned sharp. It cut the light like a prism, glittering in her monster’s eyes, a focus so sharp it broke sunbeams into their constituent parts. For all the black he wore, he practically glowed, a king in all ways, an open heart in more. Only here. In private. For her.

His eyebrows lifted, pinched. “I want you.” His voice was a song, weaving everything that could be beautiful between them into the simplest terms. “I want to be near you. I want to comfort you.” He approached, drawing his words out with cautious steps, hands hanging stiff at his sides. He halted, just far enough for her to feel safe, even when he spoke again, letting his lust drip into his tone, scenting his song with night-blooming jasmine. “I want to love you and make love to you.”

That was… honest. Heat rushed over her face, and she dropped eye contact like it was the source of the fire.

Fuck.

It was, actually.

When she first saw him, locked away in the cage beneath Fawney Rig, she thought his beauty was a warning, a good reason to look away and avoid him. Beautiful things were almost always cruel, but now… Well, things were different, weren’t they?

“I want you to know me.” He glanced out the window, and she instinctively did the same, looking over distant mountains and glittering bridges. World beyond worlds. “The Dreaming is a part of me. Simply by walking it, I feel you’re exploring me.”

They looked at each other again, just a little closer than before, and the hope in her monster’s eyes made him almost boyish. He was older than her planet, probably. But even an Endless must be reborn sometimes, in some ways, like the snake winding through the rotting fruit.

So, she’d met him when the water splashed over her toes. She let him comfort her when she drank the tea and ate the food of the Dreaming. Even if she hadn’t held his hand or looked in his eyes, and he was reaching for her in all but body now.

Fine.

Alright then.

She wouldn’t be anxious over a project she’d already begun.

“May I touch you?”

His smile bloomed soft and sweet. “Yes.”

Having the permission she needed from his strange eyes, his lips, the face she still didn’t know, she looked at his hands. She drew the tips of her fingers along his knuckles, a whispered touch asking for an answer, and he lifted the hand for her inspection, turning it over so she could see the creases of his palms. Invitation and vulnerability. Her touch wandered the lines, trying to read the silky flesh like a book. Palmistry had never been her forte, though, and she only found her own memories in his life and love lines.

“I know these better than your face,” she admitted. They felt safer, something secure to hold when his galaxy eyes threatened to sweep her away.

She found her courage in inches, lifting her eyes to his shoulders. His neck, his skin pale and untouchable as a reflection of the moon. Would she find the same strength in the rest of him as she did in his hands? The same possessive tenderness? The same call that felt like a puzzle coming together when she stroked his fingers, demanding and comforting as a deep breath after a dive?

Gingerly, like one or both of them was made of glass, she pressed an index finger to either side of his jaw. The barest caress drew along the edge of his face, not just feeling him, but listening to the hushed drag of skin on skin, until her two hands met, fingertip to fingertip, over the point of his chin. A sigh gusted down her wrists, along her elbows, and a rebel army of goosebumps sprang to life at his summons.

Without entirely meaning to, she looked up and met his eyes, and once she found them, they snared her.

It was entirely unfair for anyone to have actual stars in their eyes, and she read her doom in them as easily as she read her cards.

“I’d like to kiss you.”

His eyes flicked to her lips, and he shifted closer, keeping his hands to his side despite the way his want curled out to close the distance like a physical force. Well. It was his world. Perhaps it was. It found her heart and tugged.

Her own gaze dropped to his mouth, waiting to read his answer. “May I?”

“Yes.” His voice rumbled so low and strong she felt it like thunder. No hesitation.

She wondered if she’d have to rise onto her toes to reach him, but he swept down to meet her, giving rather than waiting for her to cautiously claim what she’d asked for. Her eyes fluttered shut at the first caress. A soft touch expressing and savoring everything she’d allow. There was no demand, but as she pressed into the kiss, chasing the delicate friction, he answered in kind.

Little sparks carried through her blood. Through her mind. Urging something to life. Drops of sunshine calling up flowers in springtime. He tasted like traces of smoke from a campfire on a cold night. Vellum and lignin. The last breath before a jump.

When she broke away to breathe, she peered into his face, and she felt the trembling rush of standing in a high place. In the Dreaming, were the butterflies in her stomach real, too?

His hands hovered, framing her face with restrained yearning.

“May I touch you?” Gravel thickened his voice until it nearly broke, and he searched her expression with bared desperation. “May I hold you so I may feel you are well? May I love you, my little hero?”

She settled her hands over his, kissed his palm, and guided his fingers to her cheek, closing the gap he’d left for her to decide in. “You may touch me.”

He accepted her permission with open wonder, taking a full moment to rest where she’d led him, moving just enough to stroke the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. When he freed himself of the spell she’d so innocently cast, he let his touch wander – sweeping over her brow, tracing her nose, cradling her jaw. But when he came to her mouth, he lost his focus. He replaced hand with lips, jolting back after the briefest, most chaste contact when he realized he hadn’t asked permission.

She grabbed the lapels of his long coat, shaking the fear from his expression. “You can kiss me. Please. You don’t need to ask. Not tonight.”

The worried frown he’d grown melted. A smirk washed up his face, dark with promise. But he didn’t tease her. He claimed another, proper kiss instead. Free to touch her, he angled her face with careful pressure, showing her how best to deepen the pleasure of lips, and teeth, and tongues, until she was equally breathless and reluctant to breathe.

Resting forehead-to-forehead as she recovered – as she gathered air to take the plunge again – he asked, “May I hold you?”

“Yes.” Her turn to answer quickly, for an ache to strain her voice.

Long limbs twined around her, drawing her close with a hand on her back and another on his him as her monster once again set to work trying to consume her. She did finally rise onto her toes, begging for more with eager hands slipping up his shoulders to comb into his hair. He gave her too much to feel, and she couldn’t give each piece its due. His lips gliding over hers. The secure warmth of his arms. Smooth skin and soft hair. The pressure of his chest against hers.

She knew pains like this. Sensations too overwhelming and complicated to make sense of. But she’d never felt pleasure the same way, and it swept her away faster than a riptide. She’d given the sea permission to drown her, though, so it was alright. More than alright. Wonderful.

He wasn’t as cool as he’d been when she first touched him. The rosy heat didn’t blush over his skin, but it pressed out to meet her, as if he was taking inspiration from the pulse and flush of mortality. Her blood warmed her because it must. He only warmed from a desire to be near.

“And may I love you?” A kiss to her cheek. “May I?” Another just below her ear. Withdrawing to lift her gathered hands to his lips, holding her gaze, he brushed a third kiss over her knuckles. “May I?”

Almost too disoriented to answer, she nodded, running her palms over his clothed chest. “Yes. Please, Morpheus – ”

His name on her lips tore through the last of his self-control. Finally. Finally given permission. Finally near enough to touch, and taste, and take. He crushed her closer with tender, rabid affection, kisses wandering to her cheek, down her neck, and back to her lips to share her sighs.

Maybe she wasn’t the sun, but how she burned for him.

Lovely as it was, she wanted his coat off. With their lips tangled together, she struggled to ask, but she pushed at it, and he wordlessly agreed, helping her peel it away from his shoulders to drop, abandoned, somewhere behind him. Her monster’s greatest frustration with the act was the time he spent with his hands otherwise occupied, and he grabbed her back to him like they’d been separated for years, not seconds.

His hand slipped beneath the soft shirt he so thoughtfully provided when she woke, and she whimpered into his mouth, caught off guard by how good this new wave of sensation felt. Fragments of control washed away with each graze of a knuckle or press of his palm along her back, pulled away as sand in the surf.

When she released her hold on his shoulders, he left her break the kiss, his eyes somehow even darker as he watched her reach for the hem of the garment. He helped her – carefully, reverently – guiding her arms and head out of the fabric. His lips parted as he looked her over, and he reached for the bottom of his own shirt. She mirrored his performance, helping him with the simplest chore of escaping his clothes, and when he emerged from the black shirt’s depths, he reappeared with a smile. A little amused. Deeply fond.

More kisses. Cautious hands mapping new spaces. Enjoying each other slowly so the heat could grow. Shared breaths, every shudder and shift pressed into the other’s flesh. Wrapped up in each other entirely. There wasn’t room for fear or doubt; they stood much too close.

Even when Dream pulled back again, something as fiendish as it was loving in his expression, she couldn’t remember there was a room or a world beyond him.

He spread his palm wide over the center of her chest, covering the flesh between him and his mark, and he pressed down. Gravity bent to his will, an intractable urge. She fell to his desire and found herself sprawled flat on something comfortable that wasn’t a bed. But he left her no time to wonder, following her with a rain of kisses that left her dizzy. As his hands crept down, he hovered, watching for her to revoke her permission, or even the slightest hint of discomfort. But by the time he’d reached the rest of her clothes, her hands fluttered around his, trying to slip multiple layers off in one go. She wanted her pants gone as much as she’d wanted rid of his coat, and he chuckled as she kicked them off the last inch.

Once she’d escaped the last fabric keeping her from his touch, she drew him back for a kiss, this one so soft it spoke his thanks. His care.

Although he rested between her legs, he didn’t rush. He attended her breasts, plucking yelps and giggles from hidden ticklish spots, rising back to her lips again and again as she grew hotter and more desperate under his hands. They might’ve spent a hundred years hovering on the threshold, finding each other in grazes and kneading grips.

At last, he roved lower, and even as he brushed his lips over hers, his thumb rolled over her bud. Slowly, tortuously almost, he fluttered over the nub, refusing to explore further until she whimpered and writhed. He traced down her folds and groaned. She could feel how wet he’d made her, and the mortification would’ve swamped her if she couldn’t feel how excited it left him. The bulge pressing against her hip left no doubt.

His fingers sank inside, curling to pull something out of her. She gave him a moan, a fluttering thing, unsure on new wings, and he hovered with his mouth hanging open in awe, like he could catch it. Keep it. Cage it in his ribs to keep. Before, when he’d pleasured her in the dream, he had plenty to say, even when his mouth was on her. That was worship. This was communion. A true meeting, a joining without words.

He worked her open diligently. And all the while, he held her gaze, feasting on it.

Every nerve sang for him, and he coaxed her to the very edge before she grabbed his wrist. He froze, looking for pain in her expression, and she kissed the worried line between his eyebrows.

“I want you.”

She didn’t need to explain. With a look so vulnerable he almost looked hurt, he said, “You have me.”

When he pulled back this time, he took her with him, and she sat astride his lap as he worked a mark into her neck, giving her time to change her mind. His pants had magically disappeared. She wasn’t at all surprised, though she’d wanted to help take them off herself. Next time, maybe.

Next time? There would be a next time. And another next time. And all the next times she wanted.

Elated by her revelation, she all but yanked his face from her neck so she could kiss him properly. He laughed, and it tasted like elderflower cordial, rich and sweet enough to make her drunk with one sip. She ground down on his length, and his hands spasmed on her waist.

“I’m ready,” she assured him with an eager peck. “I want this.”

He shifted, arranging himself to brush her entrance, but he didn’t press. Even here, he waited for her. She sank to meet him, her grip on his shoulders seizing as she stretched. His hold moved to her back, her neck, cradling her near instead of exerting any kind of control. And she was glad. She needed it as her eyes all but rolled back into her skull.

As light kisses rained over her face, she fought to relax, to take him entirely. She only opened her eyes once she had him. Once he had her. And once she saw him, she wondered how she could ever turn away again.

It was the way he looked at her. Fathomless patience meeting desperation. All of it honed by time. He’d craved her company before she was born, and he’d wrestled back his yearning until it cut into his soul to keep from scaring her away.

He wanted to be seen, and held, and cared for, too.

A thousand adoring words bubbled up her throat, but it wasn’t the right time, so she peppered them soundlessly down his neck and along his collarbones instead.

And she moved.

The drag was almost too much. The pressure brought stars to her own eyes, and although she refused to close them, sometimes she thought they’d fluttered shut, because the push and pull of their lovemaking really was blinding. He stroked up to meet each roll of her hips, crooning as she kissed and petted and squeezed him.

They were the turn of stars, the draw of ancient voids too vast for names, and all the voiceless songs strung between worlds.

She forgot the pain in her chest. She forgot she’d ever done anything but burn for her monster. Her Morpheus.

If she wasn’t the sun, she must’ve swallowed one.

The inferno melted her from the inside out, and she all but fell apart, wrapped around him, and cheek-to-cheek, he groaned in her ear. She panted, open-mouthed, fighting for air and sense as he kept his slow, deliberate pace. He hadn’t even begun to have his fill yet, and he held her all the tighter as her quaking limbs refused to play.

When feeling eventually returned to her legs, she pulled them around his waist, anchoring herself and refusing to release him as adamantly as he clung to her. The otherworldly sensations lingered, but she remembered herself a little more, found the cognizance to appreciate who held her, who she’d accepted. Who stoked the flame, sheathed inside.

Even as he worked her up to another orgasm, a painfully soft part of her heart burst open, and affection flooded her system. It bled open and free, forcing tears to her eyes.

She was safe, and he was hers, and she –

She really had to tell him somehow. She couldn’t bear to say it, though.

She’d be worthy of his face. She’d break him out of a thousand cages. If only he’d keep her so close and secure and warm.

This time when she trembled to pieces, there was no putting her back together, and her monster graciously followed her release. He kissed her as he came, holding her still so they could feel every shudder of the end. And when he’d finished, as their breathing steadied, he tumbled with her back into something soft, never once letting her slip from his arms.

#fic: hello mr. monster #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus x oc #dream of the endless x reader

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stupidbeecandle · 2 years ago

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i finally finished my lavender socks :3

Someone posted a picture of Charlotte Stone’s lavender sock pattern here on tumblr a few years ago, and I remember thinking they were so so pretty that I wanted to learn how to knit too!

so i got the pattern, picked out three colors of yarn, some needles, and sat down to make these and I ended up making an impressive MESS. Its taken a few years but my skills finally felt up to snuff enough to try the socks and I am SO happy with how they came out :3

#knitting #socks #lavender #fibercrafts #knit #knits #yarn #purple #myart

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 9 days ago

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Celebrating the wonderful @bitchesuntitled Get Dieter Sober challenge! She’s in Gladiator II right now so this’ll be a nice little surprise for her after she meets General Acacius. Congratulations on your accomplishment DD!

🦛🦛🦛

Dieter’s life might not be as exciting as it once was, but he loves his new existence. Trading joints for knitting needles, tumblers full of whiskey for cups of green tea, nose-tingling white powder for flour to bake cookies. Late night trips to the liquor store replaced by trips to Sonic for a hot fudge milkshake.

He holds the bronze chip in his hand as his other hand grabs yours, rubbing his thumb across the opal stone sitting atop your wedding band. One year sober, one year clean. 365 days of living his own life, no longer chained to the next drink or next high.

“Congratulations baby,” you smile, giving him a kiss against the bristle of his heart patch.

“Thank you for saving my life,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you.

“No,” you smile. “You saved yourself. Now come on, we’ve got a day at the zoo.”

"And this time I won't be escorted out of the hippo enclosure," he winks, pulling you closer.

🦛🦛🦛

#dieter bravo #get dieter sober #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fic

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foragerknits · 1 year ago

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A turnip hat, fresh off the needles. Absolutely in love with how this turned out!

Edit: I forgot to mention that this was inspired by the Rad Radish socks by Stone Knits on Ravelry!

The link can be found here: https://www.ravelry.com/patterns/library/rad-radish-socks

#cottagecore #knitting #slow fashion #farmcore #knitblr #knitters of tumblr #turnip #autumn #my knits

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xxdemonicheartxx · 1 year ago

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Flight Rising flights but as art mediums:

There are some overlaps in mediums since dragons are so tight knit and far spread

Earth: tile work/mosaics, jewelry work, ceramics, stone sculpture, chalk, clay work, plaster, leather work, rain chains

Water: plaster work, woven tapestries, shell jewelry and chimes, pearl inlays, decorative sails and flags, basket weaving, sandstone carving, watercolors, mirrors and glass sculptures

Shadow: optical illusions, black and white photography, puzzle boxes, uranium glass work, maybe iron work, mycology arrangements, shadow boxes, gouache, anything that involves glowing in the dark

Light: stone carving and gold foiled painting, sometimes tapestry weaving to depict an image or scene, impressionism, oil paint, tempera, portraiture, clothing and attire, mirrors, pigment making

Plague: hyper realism, and taxidermy, ceramics, bone carvings, tattoos, ink block prints, collage art, murals, leather work, totems and large outdoor installations

Nature: floral arrangements, dye work, wood work, candle making, hot wax painting, landscaping, rain chains, wind chimes, tapestries, needle felting, carpentry, animal cosmetics (haircuts, animal safe dye, nail and claw painting, etc), apparel/clothing, pigment making

Ice: needle felting, wood carving, quilting, ice carving and sculpture, snow sculptures, knitting, the art of tea blends, dried plant arrangements, carpentry, fabric weaving, tapestries, crochet, wood burning, blanket weaving, candle making, dye work, wood turning

Fire: welding, decorative weapon smithing, glass blowing, wood burning, wrought iron, stained glass, latticed metal, terracotta, ceramics, obsidian and basalt carving, graphite, slate, charcoal

Wind: paper mache, ribbon mediums, basket weaving, sonorous sculptures, wind chimes, feathered attire, really tall and thin structures/sculptures, jade carving, blanket weaving

Arcane: resin, stained glass, welding, intricate silver work, collaborative neon work with shadow (they need that special eye for glow in the dark), crystal carving, zen gardens, bonsai art, screen printing, photography, illuminated manuscripts, clothing and apparel, gold foil work, abstract art

Lightning: bronze cast sculptures, sand sculptures (when lightning strikes the sand and turns it to stone) aluminum casts poured into ant colonies/hills, pop art, up-cycled art, photography, art that is still capable of being utilized and interacted with because people and dragons are part of the medium, assemblage art, banners and flags

#feel free to add your own this is all I could think of off the top of my head #you are also free to use this for lore purposes I’m just spit alling ideas #I understand music and writing are also artistic mediums but I was thinking tangible mediums #plus mysic and writing have their own categories and genres #fr #dragon #flight rising #flightrising #flight rising flights #flights #worldbuilding

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milkweedman · 3 months ago

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Replacement hat completed. I knit this out of a skein I spun last year. Most of the fiber is a southdown/hampshire blend I bought at a fiber fest last year. It was a large batt that I spun on supported spindles, picking the colors to create stripes as best as I could. The bits of orange/lighter brown is some unknown roving I dyed with onion skin and added in. Most of the time I'm knitting with handspun where I also prepped the fiber; there is a clear downgrade in yarn quality here lol. Makes me feel better about how long fiber prep takes--its worth it.

The body is a 2 row repeat that I'm sure is some kind of common rib but I don't know the name. Cast on a multiple of 3. Round 1: knit all. Round 2: knit 2 purl 1, repeat to end. Repeat rounds 1 and 2.

I tried several different crown designs for this and disliked all of them, but I'm happy with what I ended up with--I divided the stitches into 3 sections and did CDD at the end of each needle, every other row. Right near the end (after adding the colorful yarn) I did k2tog at the start of each needle as well bc I was really running out of yarn.

The colorful yarn is some scrap I found and used on a whim, but I think it works well. It's some of my really early hand blended and dyed yarn (the blue is the one color I didn't dye).

I also got a little fancier with the icord (switched colors every other row--looks awesome !) And the tassel has colored segments rather than being random, which I also really like. It won't really be seen as the headrest of my powerchair would be in the way but oh well. I can still show it off.

Lastly, I sewed a smooth river stone onto the very end of the crown to help weight it, as it's a slouchy hat but knit quite rigidly, so it needs something to hold it down. Works well. It was brought to my attention that this could result in worse head injury if I hit my head right where the rock is (I think that would be quite a feat given where it sits on my head) which doesn't bother me at all but should be factored in if you want to do something similar. Maybe I will sew a felt pad there to help cushion ? That would probably be wise.

Anyway, yay, new hat !! I really loved my old hat which fell out of my bag on the way home from work a couple months ago, but I love this new hat too. Hopefully I won't lose it for a while.

#knitting #spinning #handspun yarn #knit hat #hand dyed #southdown hampshire blend

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arendaes · 9 days ago

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All Roads Lead to Here

Reposting this here in its entirety as I'm migrating away from AO3. I know I already spammed this one a bit but...I'm quite proud of it, so I'm not really sorry.

(Thank you again to @ashsktchm for this beautiful comm!)

Fandom: Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous

Words: 5,339

Rating: Mature to be on the safe side

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence (in one part)

Ship: The Commander/Daeran/Woljif

Characters: The Commander, Daeran Arendae, Woljif Jefto, Cayden Cailean, Original Male Characters, and cameos by a few WOTR characters

As you come to, you become aware that there are a few things off with your current situation. The stone beneath you is hard and damp, not the typical spot you would have laid down if you could help it. The air is cool and moist as well, in an unpleasant, musty sort of way. It was undercut with the smell of fish and rot, enough to turn even your normally strong stomach.

Then there’s your body. Your head aches, as do all your muscles and joints. There’s a spot on your lower abdomen that burns with the itch of skin newly knitted back together. What have you done to get yourself in such a sorry state?

Then you remember - you died.

Your eyes snap open, breathing in short, panicked gasps as the memories start to come back. Kjelle, the cathedral, the Test…

Leaning up on shaky arms, you take in the surroundings. It still looks like you’re in a rime-covered village. The buildings around you are caked in frost and falling apart, shadows dancing in the gloom. The sound of crashing waves catches your attention, and you turn to see a dark sea to your left, waves lapping at the shore. If you didn’t know better, you would believe you were actually in the Land of Linnorm Kings. But you do know better, and somehow, that makes the corpse of the monster in front of you all the more frightening. Lamashtu is a creative one, that was for certain.

Slowly, you manage to get your trembling legs underneath you. The world swam for a moment, then focused. Resurrection was never an easy process, and yours had been especially rough. In fact, as soon as you remember how this was possible, you begin to look frantically around. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you spot the wayfinder, mere inches from your feet.

Picking it up, you note that the aeon stone had dimmed, its orange coloration barely visible. Its power was expended, at least now. What a power it was too…had your father known what it could do when he gave it to you? It must be worth a fortune…

That thought reminds you of Woljif. You smile as you think of him, and it grows when your memory throws Daeran into the mix. Your loves…then it hits you. They have no idea where you are, and you just died. You’ve been gone far too long, and they must be worried sick. You need to get out of this place, you need to find them, and you need to put this whole dark chapter of your life behind you.

Your eyes land on the corpse of the beast, taking in each of the needle-sharp teeth in that ancient, monstrous head. Now that you know the source of Kjelle’s nightmares, you feel the barest stirrings of pity. They promptly die as you remember everything he’s done. Not just tonight, but for all the years of your unfortunate acquaintance.

You will get out of here, and you will live the happy life he sought to take away from you. But first, as you reach into the monster’s mouth and yank one of its fangs free, you realize you need to tie up a loose end.

****

A light breeze blew in, ruffling the lace curtains that had graced the window since her childhood. Ariadne dared a glance outside, a wistful smile playing on her lips as she looked out into the garden below. It was in full bloom, but the presence of more than a few gold leaves on the trees and bushes hinted at the coming autumn.

Throughout the garden, a host of leshy ran. Some had a yard of decorative white ribbon that they were entwining through the bushes, others had stools and chairs lifted above their heads, carrying them towards the center of the garden. Daeran was standing there, commanding them with a grin on his face that she was fairly sure she should be concerned about, especially if the wry look on Woljif’s face was anything to go by. But she couldn’t find it in herself to care - it was their wedding day, and all she could think about was how handsome they both looked.

That turned out to be a problem, however, as she was still staring out the window, a dopey smile on her face and dressed in nothing but her shift when a knock came from the door. “Ariadne? You finished in there?” Seelah’s voice sounded through the thick wood, nearly making her jump out of her skin. Rushing across the room, she threw the door open to find her friend standing there on the threshold. Gone was her armor and sword, replaced with a very fine red dress, but her bright smile that Ariadne had missed dearly was on full display.

“Seelah!” Ariadne said, then threw herself at her. The paladin laughed as she caught her in a hug, not the least bit concerned at her indecent state. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Of course! I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Plus, your husbands-to-be were very insistent that we come.”

“We?”

On cue, a figure materialized out of the space to their left. Arueshalae smiled shyly at Ariadne. “I’m here too…”

Ariadne pulled back from Seelah, beaming at the two of them, making a futile effort to hold back the tears of joy that pricked in the corners of her eyes. Not too long ago she thought there was a chance she’d never see them again. It made the surprise of their company all the more pleasant.

Seelah raised a brow as she stepped back. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I hope your dress is a bit more... substantial than that."

"Of course it is," Ariadne said, wiping the tears away with a laugh, "True to form, I've been procrastinating."

"I'd say it's not surprising you'd be late on the biggest day of your life, but..." Seelah's grin changed from incredulous to sheepish, "I'm not sure I'd call it that. I mean, you did save the world."

"They're both big days, in different ways," Ariadne moved back into her room as she said this. As the two of them followed, she added, "Though in terms of effort, they aren't even on the same level."

Seelah's smile was at odds with her furrowed brows. "Meaning?"

"Meaning...the choice I'm making today is the easiest one I've ever made, by far."

****

Especially when compared to another choice you made recently.

Despite feeling like a lifetime had passed, it was only a few short weeks ago that you were pacing back and forth in the apartment you'd rented in Absalom. From his vantage point on the sofa, Daeran shot you a withering look."My darling, when I went through such painstaking lengths to decorate this apartment, one thing I didn't consider was if you'd be wearing paths in the carpet. If I had, I might have picked something a bit less expensive."

Such a comment normally would have earned a retort from you, and indeed you were primed to deliver when you caught the glance he shot the full wine glass on the table beside him. A hint of apprehension, maybe even fear, crossed his face. You're not sure if he realized it as he pulled his back from it, but that combined with the fact his skin still hadn't returned to the healthy bronze shade you were used to did nothing to assuage your nerves. Or your guilt.

Your eyes roam over Woljif, who's draped himself across Daeran, his head resting on the arm of the other end of the sofa. Despite his efforts to cover them, you can still make out the dark bruises about his wrists and neck. Unlike your other lover, he doesn't seem concerned with the state of the furniture. Instead, his eyes intensely watch you stride back and forth, mouth set into a grim line. Such a serious expression doesn't suit him, and again the guilt multiplies. It's your fault he's like this, just like it'll be your fault if Daeran becomes a teetotaler.

Then you stop in your tracks. Such self-flagellation is beneath you, you thankfully realized. It is not your fault that both of your fiancés have had attempts made on their lives. You know exactly whose feet to lay the blame at.

"I have to go to him," you say, every word taking monumental effort to make it past your lips. It is not a revelation you enjoy, nor is it well received by your lovers.

"Chief, that's the first dumb idea I've ever heard you come up with," Woljif says, propping himself up on an arm.

“Agreed.” Daeran finally seems to overcome his reservation about the wine glass, picking it up and downing half of it before he continues. You would be relieved, if it weren’t for the fact that it was your willingness to put yourself in danger that prompted it. “That madman cannot be trusted to act in good faith where you’re concerned. Given his expressed desire to kill you in the past, I’d say there’s a distinct possibility his current promise of a truce is a bald-faced lie.”

Both men exchange a dark look. You knew neither of them would dare try to outright forbid you, but the urge to do so was plain on their faces. "I have to," you insist, steeling yourself against their glares. Then you soften, your voice barely more than a whisper, "If I don't, he'll keep coming after us. After you. I don't want to lose either of you."

That last part comes out more pleading than you would have liked, but it has the desired effect. Both of their guards drop. Neither are one for outward displays of emotion, even now, but the way Daeran's eyes shine and Woljif's posture loosens tell you everything you need to know. You already knew they didn't want to lose you just as much as you don't them, but all three of you know you're the one who stands the best chance at making these attacks stop.

"Fine," Daeran finally says, devoid of its usual acidity, "But we need to put a plan in place to pull you out of there if things go south."

Woljif nods, the gleam in his eyes sharpening. "And a way to make sure this doesn't happen again."

You smile shakily with a bravado that for once you do not feel. "I guess it's a good thing I have a plan then, huh?"

****

Even without diligently checking the clock, Ariadne knew when it was time. Daeran had seen to that, the opening chords to a wedding march filtering into her now open window as she arranged the flowers in her hair and checked that all the buttons in her dress were in place.

“This is it, then,” she whispered to herself, appraising her appearance in the mirror, “Sure you don’t have any second thoughts?” Her reflection said nothing. Why would it? Of everything that had happened in her life, what she was about to do might be the one thing she’d never doubted. Satisfied with her appearance, Ariadne nodded once to herself, grabbed the bouquet Arue had left sitting on her bed, and hurried out of the room and down the steps.

Her father was standing by the door leading out into the garden, staring out of it with a pensive expression. He flashed her a smile as she approached, though she couldn't help but feel it was a bit strained.

"I did always dream you'd get married in this garden," he said as he turned, casting an affectionate glance over her. His features softened as he did so. "When I met that Count of yours, I had my doubts that my dream would become reality."

"You didn't need to worry about that," Ariadne said softly, lacing her arm through her father's. "If Daeran had tried to plan for a different venue, I would have put my foot down. But I didn't have to - he's actually quite amenable when you know how to get through to him."

Marius shot her a skeptical look. "More like you have him wrapped around your finger. The rest of us aren't so fortunate."

"Well, yes, that's what I meant by knowing how to get through to him."

"So, this is it, then. You'll go out there, marry your thief and your count, and go back to Mendev to live happily ever after?" He sighed, resting a hand on hers. After looking into her eyes for a moment, he added, "I've only ever wanted you to be happy. I didn't realize it was possible to feel so sad about you achieving that."

Squeezing his fingers, Ariadne pulled him close, rising up on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek. She then had to quickly look away, wiping her cheek as she mumbled, "Oh. So this is where all the emotions are going to come out."

"I'm afraid so. Your mother and I didn't have our own families, so I wasn't aware of what a terribly soppy occasion a wedding could be. I do wish she could have been here to see this..."

They stood there for a moment, the memory of her late mother hanging in the air. It was broken when movement caught their eye - Elvandir was in the doorway, looking between them with his own bittersweet expression. "It looks like everything's all set up. Are you two ready?"

Ariadne and Marius exchanged one last look before they straightened. With a nod, Elvandir left, then a moment later the music shifted.

"Just know that if you ever change your mind, you'll always have a place here," her father said as they started walking out the door.

"I won't," Ariadne replied, the slightest heat of rebellion in her voice. She glanced towards her father as they stepped out into the garden. "But I'll still visit all the same."

"That's my girl," her father replied, his familiar grin finally gracing his lips. "But please - leave the Count at home for any impromptu visits. Birthdays and holidays will already be enough as it is."

****

The world swims as you come to. Even after you fully regain consciousness, your surroundings continue to rock in a sickening display, and it takes you a moment to realize why. The chasm below you is dark and uninviting, and you have to fight the urge to struggle against the person that holds you. With a hiss, you close your eyes again.

"I do not recommend trying to fight me," says a cool voice, one that you had dreaded hearing again for a long time, "It is a very long fall."

"I didn't take you for such a bore, Kjelle," you say before thinking better of it, "Of all the ways you could have crossed the Starstone Chasm, you chose a simple fly spell?"

"I would also recommend keeping your mouth shut, Ariadne," Kjelle spits back, "That mouth of yours might cause one to lose their temper, and thus, their grip."

You hate the lance of fear that shoots through you at the threat. You hate that it works even more. You keep your mouth and your eyes clamped shut for the rest of the flight, which is blessedly, horribly short. It was only when you feel solid ground beneath you, dumped unceremoniously on your ass by your once-lover, that you dare to open either again.

"Huh, so you weren't lying," you say, glancing up at the looming building in front of you. Normally, the arrival by an aspirant to the Starstone Cathedral would have been met with the cheers of crowds of well-wishers and those who made a sport of watching would-be gods potentially fall to their deaths. Nothing but eerie silence greets you now, the distant toll of bells and shouting punctuating the wrong aura of the city. Absalom is under attack, and the people you love more than anything are all out there in the city. Your stomach twists with worry. You should be there with them, trying to find a way to fight back against the undead, demonic horde attempting to siege the city. Instead, here you are - held captive by the man you fear more than anything, all because of your own overconfident stupidity.

Kjelle looms in front of you, glaring. "Remember our deal, Ariadne. You help me ascend, I'll let you and those two worms you call fiancés go. Otherwise, I will be forced to end you, and when I am god, your lovers will continue to pay the price for your actions."

So this was it, then. You had no choice but to right something you didn't consider a wrong, or the men you loved would suffer. You let your eyes drift skyward one last time, the plea you wish to voice dying on your lips. You knew your god could hear you - that they were all watching what was about to unfold with bated breath, most like. But you also knew better than to expect divine intervention where you were going. For once, you were well and truly on your own.

****

Evening had fallen, and the reception was in full swing. Seelah and Arueshalae were not the only surprise guests - Sosiel and his own fiancé Aron had managed to make it. They brought with them one of the newest vintages by Yumillian, and it was fairly late into the evening when Ariadne retired with the four of them to a table near the dance floor.

As Aron set about pouring glasses of the questionable wine, Ariadne glanced over to where her husbands were still dancing. Woljif had been intent on showing Daeran he’d finally gotten the steps to his favorite dance down, only to stumble into their husband’s arms a few seconds in. Now they swayed in the middle of the floor, both of their faces flushed, the collars of their jackets loosened, the content curves of their lips mirrored on her own.

“What say you, Ariadne?” Sosiel’s voice drew her back to her present company. As he handed her a glass of wine, he asked, “What effect do you think we’re in for this time?”

The liquid sloshing in the glass was light and bubbly, but the scent that wafted up to her as she swirled it was faintly briny. With a wrinkle of her nose, she shrugged and said, “Only one way to find out!” before downing it in one gulp.

The taste was even more salty than the scent had suggested. It was like she had walked down to the pier and dunked her glass into the waves. The cough that racked her body was so powerful it took her a moment to realize her vision was warped. No, actually - her vision was fine, it was the world that was warped. A column of water had enveloped her, wreathing her in a distressingly warm embrace that she had no choice but to relax into.

The effect lasted only a few moments, and when the wave finally dissipated Ariadne breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone else at the table looked just as chagrined, Aron flicking damp sleeves and Seelah shaking water out of her ear.

“Can’t say I’ve ever experienced anything like that before!” the paladin said, grin splitting her face, “I don’t think I want to ever again either.”

“Agreed. Sosiel, please give Yumillian my regards. And suggest that he keep trying, because that was not it.” Ariadne laughed as she picked up another glass and tossed the contents into a nearby bush, praying the leshy that called it home would be spared its dastardly effects. The glass was barely empty a second before it was refilled, this time the liquid a dark amber that gave off a familiar sweet scent that was most certainly not wine.

Sosiel frowned. “Well, that’s a new trick. I though the seamantle would be enough of a show for Yumillian…”

Ariadne shook her head, bemused expression at odds with the nerves suddenly twisting her stomach. “This isn’t Yumillian’s doing. It looks like someone crashed my wedding.”

A shadow fell across the table at that, and the group turned to find a man who was, by all appearances, an unassuming mercenary. They all stood as the Accidental God grinned cheekily. “Don’t get up on my account! Just dropping by to pay my respects to one of my favorite followers. Now, what are we drinking?”

****

That brings us back to where we were, at the beginning. You’d woken up in the Starstone Cathedral, sore all over and shaken from your brush with death. It took you very little time to get your bearings and chart a course of action. You left the illusion of the fishing village behind, abandoning the supplies you’d all brought. There’s one thing you’ve had yet to realize, a shroud of anger cloaking one crucial detail from you.

It was the resolution to see this through that drives your body forward, the long fang of the Lamashtan monster gripped in your fist your only anchor to the world as you follow the winding halls to the last chamber. Almost…almost…

The room comes into view far sooner than you expected. Good, because Kjelle was indeed there, mere inches from the Starstone. Later, you would ponder that the likeness of it you saw in paintings and drawings were startlingly accurate, yet still managed not to do it justice. It was bigger than one would think, the air surrounding it heavy and somber. It was an artifact that demanded respect, and even Kjelle couldn’t deny it. He is staring in awe, one arm outstretched as his goal is finally, finally within his grasp.

And you would insure he got no further. Perhaps it’s because you’d already been offered divinity once, but you find it easy to resist the aura of the Starstone. You have only one wish at this moment, and you were the only one who could see it through.

Kjelle never sees you coming. In three quick strides you’re behind him, but his greed has clouded his senses. You’re not sure he even understands what happened when, with all your might, you shove the fang through his back, all the way through to the other side. Bright red blood bursts forth, spraying the corpses of those who had been judged unworthy before him.

A startled gurgle escapes him as he freezes in his tracks. You can’t see his face, but his head lowers slowly, as if he can’t believe what just happened. Readjusting the grip on your now bloodied weapon, you pull it out with a loud squelch. He sinks to his knees, barely having time to turn his head to see you lifting the fang with two hands before you bring it down upon his neck. Blood sprays again. This time, you do see his eyes widen as the light leaves them, his face forever frozen with a dawning realization that it was all over.

For several long moments, the chamber is filled with the sound of your own ragged breathing, your vision tunneling in on Kjelle’s corpse. Then you close your eyes, forcing yourself to take a long, deep breath. When you open them, the chamber has changed. There’s no blood, no fang in your hand. Instead of kneeling on the ground, Kjelle’s body is on the pile of corpses surrounding the Starstone - the only reason you even know it’s him is because you recognize the armor, all black leather and white fur.

Confusion shoots through you, your fingertips buzzing with a power you recognize but are terrified to name. This isn’t right. Why did his body look like that? You had killed him before he touched the stone, didn’t you?

Didn’t you?

The silence was broken by a slow clap. You turn towards the sound of solemn applause, not surprised at all to find me standing there.

“I have to hand it to you, Ariadne,” I say, pushing off where I’d lean against the wall, “Of all the ways to pass the Test, you certainly picked the most memorable. And bloody.”

“I didn’t…I mean, I didn’t want…” The truth is catching up with you, the feeling you’d been trying to ignore growing inside of you. It was like it had been that day on the ramparts, when you’d hung the Sword of Valor and changed the tide of the crusades, only amplified a hundredfold. After all, the Starstone promises true godhood, not the facsimile Areelu offered.

As it starts to set in, something else rises in you as well. “No!” you shout, turning to me, “I didn’t touch the stone, he did! I don’t want this!”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m afraid. The stone pulled both of you into the Test, and there’s only two ways to leave - death, or apotheosis.”

“I’m not dead,” you say, voice shaking.

“No, you’re not. And you’re no longer in the stone.” I say, as firmly as I can manage. But I have never been good at being a stoic, detached god. When I see the panic flash in your eyes, your shoulders shaking and tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, I can’t help but want to comfort you. To help you however I can. But I also have to make sure you are certain this is what you truly want. After all, it won’t do to have you cursing me in your prayers one day.

“Have you ever considered just giving in? Divinity isn’t that bad, all things considered. I’m sure you’d find things to fill the time with no problem, creative and principled as you are. It feels an awful lot like fate keeps putting it in your path for a reason.”

“I don’t want to be a god.” Your voice is resolute, mouth set into a determined, grim line. “I want to go home. I want to marry my fiancés. I want to live - and die - as a mortal. I’ve never been afraid of that. Give your godhood to someone else. I have no use for it.”

****

“The pride that I felt in that moment! I knew your family was a good one to bless.”

Ariadne scoffed, but a pleased smile played on her lips. “Yes, I was there for all this. It still doesn’t answer my question. Why did you crash my wedding, Cayden?”

“Does a god need to a reason to check in on their favorite followers wedding?” He grinned down at her as he started to lead her through the steps of the next dance, “And it’s the reception anyways. It’s not like I’m interrupting your vows or anything. I just showed up for the important part.”

That earned a laugh. ““I’m not sure I’ve earned that title. I don’t even cast divine spells. At least, not anymore.”

“Would you like to?”

“No. I’m fine with replicating the effects of magic, divine or not, via alchemy. It’s more than good enough for me.”

“Suit yourself,” Cayden said with a shrug, looking around. It was late - or perhaps early - and most of their guests had left. That included her fathers, who had retired barely half an hour before his arrival. She couldn’t tell if he was pleased or put out by the lack of attention.

“So, did you come here just to recount a tale we both already knew, or is there another reason you’ve graced us with your presence?”

“I told ya, I just wanted to see my favorite follower get married!” After a moment, his smirk fell, and he whispered, “And I wanted to see how you were getting on. It’s not an easy thing to reject divinity twice. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to reverse the stone’s effect. Have you noticed anything strange over the past few weeks?”

The pause that followed was a little too long. She knew that, but that still didn’t stop her from laughing off his concerned look. “Not that I’ve noticed. I’ll let you know if I notice any stray signs of apotheosis.”

“What about them?” Cayden nodded to where Daeran and Woljif sat nearby. Woljif had another piece of cake in his lap, the confection dangling precariously near the edge of the plate as Woljif himself looked ready to fall asleep at any moment. His head drifted close to Daeran’s shoulder, the allure of rest drawing him in. For his part, Daeran was watching the two of them, keen gaze looking out for even the smallest sign the god was outstaying his welcome. “Did you tell them?”

She had, despite the fact it might have been more prudent not to. They’d reacted more or less how she expected - deceptively casual, as if she’d just told them a tall tale they weren’t inclined to believe. The fact one of them had always been in the same room as her every day for the past few weeks was surely a coincidence. She’d almost find it sweet, if they’d be a bit more open as to why they were doing it. Instead, she was worried this had been a near-miss too far, and that she’d given them a complex that would last the rest of their lives.

Before she could answer, as if he’d sensed the shift in her thoughts, Daeran leaned over and whispered in Woljif’s ear. He perked up immediately, setting his forgotten snack on the table as they both rose and made their way over to them.

“Excuse me,” Daeran said in a most insincere manner, cutting in between her and Cayden. The god backed off easily, raising a brow as an amused grin spread across his face, “But my husband and I would like to dance with our wife one last time before we wrap things up for the evening.”

“I understand. Though I do believe it’s almost morning proper,” Cayden said, chuckling. With a wink and an incline of his head, he added, “Congratulations you three. And Ariadne?”

“Hm?” She turned her head slightly, attention already mostly shifted to her spouses.

“You need anything, I’m a prayer away.” With that, the god disappeared.

“What did he want?” Woljif asked, pulling her flush to one side of him. Daeran moved to her other, and the three of them swayed in tipsy delight.

“Oh, he’s still a bit wary of the aftermath of the whole Starstone debacle.”

“Ah, is that what we're calling it now? A debacle? I like it, it lightens the mood of the whole sordid affair.” Daeran sobered as soon as the quip left his lips. “Is there a reason for his lingering misgivings?”

Ariadne shook her head vigorously at the unconvinced looks on their faces. “I promise there’s not!” She stressed with a laugh, “He’s a surprising worrywart, that Cayden Cailean.”

Neither seemed to quite believe her, but nevertheless, they got over it quick enough, the three of them falling back into a gentle sway.

“Ari,” Woljif said after a while in comfortable silence, “If you were to become a god, you’d take us with you, right?”

They both leaned back, looking at her expectantly. Strangely, even though she smiled, she felt more like crying at the sight. “I just swore a vow to you both earlier, did I not? I, for one, intend to keep it until the day I die. And, should Pharasma allow it, in the afterlife as well.”

“Now, now, no need for such dramatics,” Daeran said, the pleased smile on his lips betraying how he really felt, “Let’s concentrate on upholding you to that in the here and now, yes?”

Any protestation she might have made died when he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She giggled, the sound becoming a full fledged laugh as Woljif mirrored the action.

If there seemed to be just the faintest glimmer of magic surrounding the trio as the sun rose behind them, it was surely a trick of the light.

#my writing #fic: all roads lead to here #ship: here comes throuble #oc: ariadne trias-arendae #ch: woljif jefto #ch: daeran arendae #done spamming for a while i prommy

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