#there are still places where you can feel the stone beneath the fields

[devilmademewriteit]

Drabble request for dbf!joel getting blown under the table or something while he's having a convo with reader's dad?!?! IDK I just love your dbf!joel!!

You Can Be the Boss

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

warnings: rough oral (m receiving); petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart); age gap; choking; hair pulling; (yall this is pure pure daddy issues FILTH, I warned you. I warned you hard).

Hi y’all ty for sending me all ur requests. ummm you guys are insane ! and so am I ! maybe more because I’m actually the one writing these ! this one is so dirty ! don’t say I didn’t warn you !

more to come hehehe. I don’t tag ppl for my smaller drabbles / fics so turn on notifs or whatevs ;)

-em<3

—

“As close as I’ll get to the darkness, he tells me to, ‘Shut up, I got this.’”

- You Can Be the Boss

—

It was still a secret, after all.

Sneaking into his apartment, late nights in alleys, abandoned cars lining the streets of the QZ… you’d managed to keep your joint intoxication with one another under wraps.

Today… today was risky. You usually waited until the wee hours of the morning to even walk by his place, let alone enter, but you’d needed to drop off a sweater that Tess had leant you the previous week, intending to leave it folded up on the doormat before bolting down the hall. Your footsteps were nervous and heavy, which led to the door swinging wide open on its hinges, a gruff “where you runnin’ off to, Angel?” and a set of rough hands pulling you through the doorway.

Then you were spread open against the tattered table cloth of his (busy) kitchen table, underwear shoved to the side, watching a hunched over Joel Fucking Miller spit on his hand and run it up down his heavy, hard length.

“Shouldn’t come here during the day,” as he’d lined himself up, “Can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

That’s when you heard the definite sound of a key twisting inside a lock. Joel’s head shot up — your eyes barely had time to widen before he was shoving you under the table, panties still twisted around your ankles.

A quick zip, then footsteps.

“Oh, sorry man—”

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“—Tess said you wouldn’t be home.”

It’s your father.

You thank God for your his poor observation skills (and the tablecloth) as Joel responds, “ah, no worries,” frustratingly non-chalant as ever.

“While you’re here though,” and your heart sinks, identifying your dad’s intention to stay, “Was wondering if we could go over the plans for our new routes. FEDRA assholes blocked off another south-east one today.”

Your blood turns to ice inside your veins as both men pull out their chairs, settling into a purely-business conversation. Joel barely hesitates, cool as ice.

Not fair that he gets to be so calm while you’re so… not.

Not fair.

If only there was a way to even out the playing field.

Crunched into yourself, you scoot closer to Joel’s calves, clinging onto his denim and doing your best to make as little noise as possible. When it’s clear, however, that your father’s far too invested in the practicalities of the conversation to suspect or inquire into or even notice anything else, your eyes wander towards the slowly softening bulge, still visible underneath Joel’s belt.

And you get an idea.

The man always tortured you, and you were well aware that what made your arrangement especially enticing — for the both of you — was the taboo-ness, the wrongness of it all.

So your pussy drips just thinking about it.

Slowly, delicately, you slide your hands up Joel’s thighs, feeling his every muscle respond, tensing, turning to stone, or jolting with electricity beneath your playful touches.

It’s hard, quietly pulling down his fly. Still, metal tooth by metal tooth, you eventually succeed, unable to hold back a smile of vindication when his cock springs up, swelling and hardening between your fingertips. Joel covers his choke with a cough.

Just as you duck down to lick a fat stripe up his cock’s dark underside, noticing how the lungs above you constrict — freezing — the conversation changes.

“You been seeing a lot of my daughter?”

Joel takes an uncharacteristically long time to grunt out a “here n’ there.”

You hold in a laugh, both at your dad’s timely question and the reaction it causes. Placing a hand at the base of him, you consider this the perfect moment to start teasing his tip with patient, innocent little kitten-licks.

“Been acting weird,” your old man continues, unphased and unassuming, “Worried she’s been gettin’ herself into trouble.”

Trouble? You’re looking at him.

Your dad’s whole “fatherly concern” (not like he’d ever shown any before) angle makes you bold. You want to make it harder for Joel to deny your father’s suspicion.

You want to make him lie through his teeth.

You part your lips, wrapping them adoringly around the entire head of his cock before gliding down, using your hand to assist you as you please every inch of him.

While he mostly manages to keep it together, his legs don’t, gently parting with desire to allow you better access.

“She-she’s a good girl, man,” Joel manages, and while his delivery borders a groan, he stays surprisingly level (your body doesn’t forget to note his praise, either, aching cunt growing wetter and wetter at his every word). “‘Bit juvenile sometimes, and reckless—” he pauses, and it’s very clear he’s not speaking to your father, “—but good—” you work every inch of him with your hands, throat, and mouth, savouring the feel of his ridges and veins, the taste of his salt on your tastebuds, “—so good.”

You freeze, scanning the room for tension as both you and Joel try to figure out if his desire-stricken tone’s given you away.

It hasn’t.

Of course it hasn’t.

Your dad continues on as if everything were normal, as if Joel’s tip wasn’t kissing the back of your throat. “Just not sure if I’m raising her right—or… or if I was much of a father at all.”

Yeah, probably not. You know, given that I’m under the table sucking your best friend’s dick.

You watch, head still slowly bobbing up and down his length, a hand carving a careful path down his leg. Joel’s fingertips breach your shoulder, his palm slowly graduates to cupping the back of your head.

And he shoves you forward, forcing every punishing inch of himself down your little, gasping throat.

“Just needs a little discipline,” your torturer responds, raising his gravelly voice to mask the definite sound of choking.

“A heavy hand.”

You huff against his abdomen. Just like that, Joel’s taken the reins of your little operation.

Like he always did. Like he always does.

“You’re probably right,” your father responds, sighing with concession. Tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes while your lungs burn for oxygen, mouth stuffed and nose pressed into Joel’s skin. He chuckles, slapping the table. “Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile, huh?”

“That’s right,” Joel responds, a soft coo, tightening his grasp in your hair and somehow forcing more of himself between your lips.

Making his point.

You hold back a whimper, nails hopelessly clawing at his jeans.

Your dad raps his knuckles against the wood, pushing his chair back to leave. Unfortunately for you, Joel doesn’t move, holding you there like a prisoner — suffocating you.

He clears his throat. “I’d walk you out, but, you know—” your eyelids grow heavy, little stars beginning to dance in your vision “—been goin’ hard recently. Wearin’ myself out.”

A huff of understanding and concurrence from the other side of the room.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, hinges squeak, goodbyes are uttered, and your father’s left you alone with his buddy again.

Joel’s chair scrapes back — he pulls you along with him, attached to him, out from underneath the table.

Finally, finally, he releases his grasp.

You jump off of him, strings of saliva trailing from your lips, gasping for air as if you were seconds from drowning.

You aim to collapse against his knees, but he quickly grabs you by the throat, presses his big thumb under your chin, and forces your wet, tear-lined eyes up to meet his.

They’re filled with a lust so dark, you wonder if just that look might swallow you whole.

“Prouda yourself?” He speaks, voice low.

Dangerous.

And you just smile, dazed, nodding. Nodding because you know where it’ll get you. Nodding because you just know how much it’ll entice him.

“‘Course you are,” he continues, softer, “Shoulda been honest — shoulda told your old man he raised a fuckin’ slut.”

Joel lifts you up, indelicately shoving you down on the table, right back in the position you’d originally started the visit in.

His eyes darken to black when he sees how wet you are, how fucked-out, needy, and unapologetic you are.

“And you know what, baby?” A deceiving coo as he lines himself up at your entrance, using his other hand to squeeze your jaw — tight.

You look at him with big, begging doe eyes, eyebrows already knitting together from the tantalizing contact.

“I’m really fuckin’ glad he did.”

And as Joel Miller roughly sheathes his cock inside your young, tight cunt, you find yourself agreeing with him.

—

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

AO3

[dawnbreaker-mylove]

𝑨𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒂𝒘𝒏

Disclaimer: This is a fanfiction of the game Love and Deepspace. Some characters are from the game, and some are original characters. The rituals and traditions aren't from any specific religion. If there are any similarities to real people, it's purely coincidental.

A/N: Zayne a bit ooc but it's for the plot, trust. Special guest at the end (＾▽＾)

‘I am the Master of Fate.’

When your eyes fluttered open again, a searing heat coursed through your body, every limb feeling as though it had been weighed down with stones. Your back ached, and your head pounded as if someone had split it with a hatchet. The sky outside was awash with soft hues of orange and red, dawn slowly approaching.

It was then you realized this was not your home.

You sat upright, heart racing as your eyes darted around. The room was big, far larger than the entirety of your house in the fields. You found yourself lying on a bed, its wooden frame adorned with intricate carvings. The mattress beneath you was so plush it felt like resting atop the clouds unlike the simple quilt you had known, which you’d always spread upon the hard floor.

Your gaze fell upon your clothes (if you can call them that). The thin silk draped over your body offered hardly any modesty, shimmering against your skin but failing to cover your pebbled skin or hide your hardened nipples. You tugged at the fabric in disbelief, trying to make sense of it all.

You scolded yourself under your breath. "Never trust a priest, nor anyone from the temples," you muttered, raking your fingers through your disheveled hair. As your hand brushed your head, something cold caught between your fingers. You froze, pulling the object free—a golden ji. The hairpin gleamed in the dim light, delicate jasmines etched into the surface. Your eyes widened in recognition, dread settling in your stomach like a stone.

“No, no, no...” You shook your head vigorously, dropping the ji onto the bed as if it had burned you. “This cannot be happening. How...?" The words stumbled out, incoherent and panicked. A wave of disbelief washed over you, the meaning of the hairpin too clear to deny. You glanced back at it, heart pounding. It was too much to process.

Then, your ears caught the faintest sound—footsteps. You stiffened, listening as they approached the door, growing louder. The door creaked open, but no one stood in the threshold. Instead, trays of food hovered in the air, as if carried by invisible hands.

“What in Heaven's name…” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, watching in disbelief as the plates floated toward you. Bowls of steaming noodles, fragrant dumplings, and perfectly cooked rice were set before you, the rich aromas instantly filling the room. You couldn't tear your gaze away from the surreal sight, hunger gnawing at your stomach despite the confusion.

Without a second thought, you sank back down onto the plush bed. All manner of decorum abandoned, you grabbed a bowl, the warmth of the food chasing away the cold shock that still lingered in your veins. You didn’t care how disgusting you looked at that moment. You ate with abandon, savoring every bite, each flavor bursting on your tongue in a way you had never experienced before.

If this was a dream, you mused between mouthfuls, you could only hope never to wake.

After downing the cup of rice wine, you noticed the door had been left ajar. Hesitation washed over you as you looked down at the thin silk nightgown draping loosely over your body, barely decent enough for wandering. But curiosity gnawed at you, compelling you to move.

Your bare feet touched the cool marble floors, each step soft and uncertain. You took in the surroundings—this place reminded you of a siheyuan, the type of home where the middle-class and nobles lived back in your village. A compound that held generations within its walls. The air here carried a faint, pleasant fragrance, drawn from the massive jasmine tree that stood proudly in the courtyard, its white blossoms filling the open space with serenity. You inhaled deeply, savoring the quiet and beauty of the scene.

Yet the silence was unnerving. Where was everyone? Who had brought you here? Questions spiraled in your mind, pushing you further into the unknown.

"Oh!" A jolt shot through you as something brushed against your shoulder, causing a nearby vase to tumble and shatter on the floor. Your breath caught—no one was there. But the shards lay scattered, evidence that something, or someone, had been close. Squinting, you made out the faintest silhouette in the sunlight, barely visible. Then, as if carried by a gust of wind, the shards were swept up by an unseen force, the invisible figure moving away with them.

"Sorry?" you muttered, shaking your head. This place was playing tricks on your senses, you were sure of it.

As you wandered deeper into the compound, you stumbled upon a large room, more expansive than the bedroom. It had the look of a study, filled with scrolls and elegant furnishings. And there, for the first time since morning, you saw a human—a man. His long hair fluttered slightly in the gentle breeze as he leaned casually on his hand, playing Go with no visible opponent. The board pieces shifted after his move, and when he won, the other pieces trembled in what seemed to be anger.

"That's rather rude," the man chuckled, clearly speaking to his invisible opponent. He gestured lazily for the game to be put away, and only then did he turn and notice you standing in the doorway.

Recognition struck you like a thunderclap. The handsome face from the temple—the man who spoke of the Master of Fate. Your mouth gaped in surprise as you pointed at him. "Y-You! What are you doing here?"

The man rose to his feet, his height only making him more imposing. His robes, embroidered in intricate blue and gold, shimmered under the soft light. It was immediately clear he was no mere traveler. "You're awake at last," he said gently, a smile tugging at his lips. "How are you feeling?"

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "I'm in shock, and you have the nerve to ask how I feel?" Your tone was sharp, though justified by your bewilderment. "Where am I?"

The man's smile remained, unfazed by your bluntness. He lifted a hand to his lips, pointing. "You have a grain of rice, just there," he said, amusement in his voice as if suppressing laughter.

Your cheeks flared with heat, and you hastily wiped your lips. “Enough of this nonsense,” you demanded, your voice sharp. “Where am I? Who are you?”

The man's eyebrows lifted slightly, as if taken aback that you hadn't yet recognized him. “I am merely a traveler,” he said simply.

“Bullshit!” you snapped, stepping forward as anger surged within you. The closer you got, the more you noticed a faint pink flush on his ears. Was he…blushing? Your frustration mounted. “I need to know where I am, so I can get home.” Probably also to look for that priest so you can slit his throat.

The man hummed, clearly amused by your fury. “You are home,” he replied, his tone as calm as ever. “Everything here is yours.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What on earth do you mean?”

A low chuckle escaped him, as if he found your bewilderment endearing. He bowed his head slightly, the golden-green hue of his eyes fixed on you with a strange intensity. “I am the Master of Fate,” he said, his voice rich with quiet authority. “The god of the mountains, and I am married to you.”

The weight of his words settled in the room, thick and suffocating like a dense fog. You let out a laugh—hollow, bitter—though none of this struck you as amusing. The god’s eyes narrowed slightly, perplexed by your reaction. “You mortals are truly curious creatures,” he murmured, his voice edged with amusement.

“Wait,” you said, raising a hand as you stifled the laughter, trying to regain your composure. “If you’re truly the Master of Fate, shouldn’t you be a dragon?”

His eyebrow arched, his expression shifting. “You doubt me?”

“That, or I choose not to believe,” you retorted, a hint of defiance creeping into your tone. “Prove it. Show me you’re really a ‘god’.”

You knew enough of the stories to realize challenging a god was folly, but your frustration overruled your caution. Instantly, you felt the change. His aura grew colder, the warmth of the room draining away as though the very air recoiled at your insolence. The silk draped on your skin offered no protection from the sudden chill.

The god’s eyes, once warm with flecks of gold, now gleamed with an otherworldly glow. His pupils shifted—elongating, narrowing into slits, reminiscent of a dragon. He took a slow, deliberate step towards you. Though he didn’t lay a finger on you, something invisible lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, your breath catching in your throat.

“You dare question me?” His voice was calm, yet it carried the weight of a storm, the power of the mountains he was said to rule. You felt small, fragile under his scrutiny, the air around you pressing down with unseen force.

His gaze flickered down to your lips then they lowered. In an instant, the intensity in his eyes softened. The golden light dimmed, and his pupils returned to their human-like shape. The invisible force holding your chin vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He stepped back, a hand covering the lower half of his face as if trying to conceal his embarrassment. His ears, you noticed, were faintly tinged with pink.

“My apologies,” he murmured, his voice no longer cold, but gentle. “I did not mean to lose my temper.”

He smoothed down his robes with a swift motion, composed once more, though you could see the faint trace of unease in his demeanor. When he turned to face you again, his usual serene smile had returned, but it carried a hint of warmth now that had been absent before.

“Let us… start over,” he said, his tone lighter, almost as if he were making a peace offering. “I am indeed the Master of Fate. But as your husband, you may call me Zayne.”

It was utterly ridiculous—this stranger, this god, claiming to be your husband. Before you could protest, his hand gently reached for your neck, his thumb brushing lightly against the scar left by the dagger. The sensation made you freeze. "It is healing quickly," he remarked, his tone soft but deliberate. "Still, I advise against overexerting yourself. The wound might reopen, and I would not want to see you hurt."

You fought to keep your expression neutral, suppressing the flutter of warmth his concern stirred in your chest. You had to remind yourself of your situation—he wasn’t tending to you out of love. To him, you were no wife, but a mortal… a pet. Gently but firmly, you took his hand away from your throat, furrowing your brows. "I appreciate your concern, Master," you replied, your voice polite but laced with underlying defiance. "However, I cannot accept being called anyone's wife, especially when no marriage has ever taken place."

Zayne’s brow arched slightly, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Is that so?" he mused, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. "But you are my wife. The ceremony at the shrine, did it not confirm as much?"

THAT WAS A WEDDING CEREMONY?!

"Oh, so you mean to tell me that being a sacrificial lamb is your idea of a ceremony symbolizing devotion and love?" you challenged, your tone sharp.

Zayne’s lips curved into a faint smirk, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Is that what you mortals think marriage is?" he mused, an eyebrow lifting. You crossed your arms, raising your own brow in return. "Is it not?"

He tried to suppress a laugh but failed, a snort escaping before he broke into quiet chuckles. The sound of it made your face flush with embarrassment, though you tried not to show it. "Is it not?" you repeated, more insistent this time, though now you felt a bit foolish for asking.

His laughter faded into a knowing smile, and he shook his head. "Marriage to a god is far beyond mortal customs of devotion."

You wanted to ask more—how all of this came to be, why he had chosen you as his “wife”—but your words faltered as a cold breeze swept through the open windows. A shiver ran down your spine, reminding you of the thin silk nightgown clinging to your skin, offering little warmth against the chill. You wrapped your arms around yourself, rubbing at your arms for some heat. Zayne’s eyes flicked to the way your skin prickled from the cold and how your nipples were now prominent.

You heard his breath hitch but before you could snap at him, he moved closer, and though his presence was commanding, his touch was careful as he lifted the silk draped over your shoulder, pulling it back into place with a certain grace. The warmth of his fingertips lingered on your skin longer than they should have, and despite yourself, a strange heat rose in your chest, contrasting sharply with the cold.

"Would you care for a change of clothes?" Zayne asked, though his gaze betrayed him, lingering far too long on the exposed skin of your chest. His eyes trailed down in a way that made your skin crawl with awareness.

You scowled, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest as heat rose to your cheeks—not from embarrassment, but irritation. “Please," you replied, your tone sharp, cutting through the air like the wind. If he weren't a god, you might have slapped him for such boldness.

Zayne, noticing your displeasure, raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips twitching upward as if amused by your indignation. "As you wish," he said, his voice smooth, though his gaze held a hint of mischief that made you even more wary.

Now that you've changed into a hanfu of rich crimson and deep azure, the intricate patterns reminiscent of Zayne’s own robes, adorned with motifs of delicate jasmines, fierce dragons, and majestic mountains. As you strolled back to the courtyard, you found yourself captivated by the vibrant plants and blossoms that surrounded you, their colors a feast for the eyes.

As you meandered along the riverbank, the gentle sound of water cascading from a nearby waterfall reached your ears, blending harmoniously with the soft rustle of leaves. You paused, captivated by the fish darting playfully beneath the surface, their scales glinting like jewels in the sun.

Then, from the corner of your eye, you caught sight of an extraordinary deer. It stood as grand as an oak tree, its coat a pristine white, glowing like freshly fallen snow. Its antlers, gilded in gold, sparkled brilliantly in the morning light. With each careful step it took, the earth beneath its hooves came alive, sending forth new blades of grass, as if nature itself rejoiced at its presence.

“The Si Ji,” Zayne said, his voice low and respectful as he approached your side. He inclined his head toward the magnificent creature, admiration evident in his gaze.

The Si Ji lowered its majestic head to drink from the river, its silken coat shimmering like polished ivory in the dappled sunlight. “It’s beautiful,” you murmured, captivated by the sight.

Zayne hummed thoughtfully beside you, nodding in agreement. “If I were to be frank,” he began, his tone contemplative, “everything in this world possesses its own beauty. It is a lamentable truth that mortals often overlook.”

You found yourself agreeing, struck by the realization. Mortals tended to take the wonders of life for granted, blinded by the weight of their daily struggles. It stirred an uncertainty within you; what was life, really? What could unfold in the next hour, or even the next breath? You wondered if the gods, beings of such grace and power, held any clarity about the uncertainties that plagued humanity. Glancing up at Zayne, you hesitated to voice your thoughts when the hint of sorrow in his eyes caught your attention. What was the source of that? Who had caused it?

Zayne caught your gaze, his brows arching slightly in curiosity. “Yes?” he asked, a gentle challenge lingering in his tone.

“Nothing,” you replied, shaking your head as you turned your focus back to the Si Ji, willing yourself to concentrate on its elegance. “So, the Si Ji,” you continued, “the one said to govern the seasons.”

“Indeed,” Zayne smiled, his demeanor brightening. “In but a few weeks’ time, it shall traverse the land, cloaking the world in a blanket of snow.”

Your thoughts drifted to your village, to the familiar faces and daily routines. You shouldn’t care; after all, they lived as they always did. You were the one who had experienced a life turned upside down overnight. Just yesterday, you were a commoner ensnared in the machinations of the temple priests. Now, you were married to a god.

"Come," Zayne called, his voice soft but commanding as he turned and began walking toward the entrance of the compound. His steps were light, purposeful, the silken folds of his robes barely stirring. You prepared to follow, but a faint splash from the river behind you made you pause.

Your head whipped around sharply, eyes scanning the water. At first, there was nothing. Then, a figure emerged seemingly out of nowhere, his presence so sudden it stole your breath. His eyes, strange and multicolored, gleamed as they locked onto yours.

“Greetings,” the new voice said smoothly, as if the river itself had spoken. You gasped, taking in the sight of him. His bare torso, covered in intricate blue markings that coiled across his skin, looked as though the heavens themselves had inked them there. His smile, though charming, sent a shiver down your spine. Most unusual was his hair, a deep shade of purple, falling in soft waves that shimmered in the light.

“My, such a fine jade,” he murmured, stepping closer and lifting your chin with a light but possessive touch. The warmth of his fingers was unsettling, his gaze lingering on your face.

You bit back your discomfort, gritting your teeth, refusing to be yet another plaything to this stranger. “Unhand me,” you said, your tone sharp like a blade. You stepped back, eyes narrowing.

“Rafayel!”

Chapter 3

[a-s-levynn]

A Series of Small Offerings

or a Sleep Token prompt list based on lyrics

A 4 part art challenge that can be an extensive several weeks long endeavour or you can pick and choose the part(s) that interest you the most.

Big or small, wonky or beyond artistic, just a scribble or a masterpiece; drawing, sculpture, drabble, full on fanfic or even a piece of music? Everything has a place here so long you enjoy creating it. No offering is too small to be a worthy one. 🫶🏻

Pick one (or even both) of the lines from the given song. Take it as literal or abstract as an inspiration as you feel fitting and let the creativity flow.

Worship. 🙏🏻

(edited version with Shelter added, a line switched for TMBTE, corrected Blood Sport lyrics)

PART I - ONE, TWO and the singles

Thread the Needle

You turn the lights down / Come on and find out or Just look at where we're lying / An invisible space

2. Fields of Elation

The daylight recedes in unison, this room / Buries the hours like death, in motion or And nobody else can pull me out / And the fields of elation, quiet and loamy

3. When the Bough Breaks

We could stay suspended / Even when the bough breaks or You don't really love, you just hate to be alone

4. Calcutta

I sweat and I ache for / Your eyes and the way you breathe or Melting skywards more than silence broken / I'm whole again for just a moment

5. Nazareth

Building you a kingdom / Dripping from the open mouth, [I'll show you] or Manifest pain at the core of pleasure / I'll see you when the wrath comes around

6. Jerico

Tread, ancient water salt / Like I sink, down like precious stones or My hands are not worthy

7. Jaws

The whites of your eyes burn / From across the room or Caged and always provoked / By prey left unattended

8. The Way That You Were

To tear that knife from what once / Would have been dead fingers or And you will no longer / Stand between collapsing walls

PART II - Sundowning

The Night Does Not Belong To God

The whites of your eyes / Turn black in the lowlight in turning divine or And the night comes down like heaven

2. The Offering

And you are a garden, entwined with all / You are the silence on sacred shores or So take a bite, I want to know

3. Levitate

And we imitate a story of perfect days / A ballad we fabricate or Will you levitate / Up where my love doesn't matter?

4. Dark Signs

And where we met, there must have been dark signs / Omens in your skies or And I hate who I have become (I might break and bend to my basic need to be loved and close to somebody)

5. Higher

And we are exhausted by all this pretending / We just can't resist the violence or When you're alone / I am granting you more than / The debt that I owe

6. Take Aim

And it sends me shivers / How you love like weapons kill or Call, won't you call out my name? / Like a curse on this world?

7. Give

I'll tear the fibre from the filament / I'll be the limit of your light again or Want to give you all that I can give / All my darkest impulses

8. Gods

No more teeth to bite with / No more smiling faces i am alone again or Like fire from the heavens / Tearing me asunder beside you

9. Sugar

We still know how to feed / We still know how to bleed or Let me wrap the chains / Addicted to the pain, oh

10. Say That You Will

Is that a glint in your eye? / Is that a blade in your palm? or In this light you are mine

11. Drag Me Under

And I know the gods will abandon the heavens just to find us or Hold me beneath the surface (And I know the angels tonight are as lost for words)

12. Blood Sport

Even if the sky cracks in mourning / And the heavens just won't open up for me or Tangled with what I never said / You say it doesn't matter

13. Shelter

When it rains, you don't take shelter / You don't take signs from God or And as you become part of my waking rituals, I can tell / You gather up all of my demons

PART III - This Place Will Become Your Tomb

Atlantic

Crumble like a temple built from future daughters / To wasteland when the oceans recede or So flood me like Atlantic, weather me to nothing / Wash away the blood on my hands

2. Hypnosis

Lift, oh, lift me out / Of my own skin or Split my skin, no / Just make me bleed

3. Mine

We balance fire in the earth we walk / Will never stop me reaching forth or With colors over all the wasted years / Eternity will bring you near

4. Like That

New weapons to snap those final strings / Just to watch me fall back or Push down into membranes and layers / Creating a slow dissection

5. The Love You Want

Too many swallowed keys / Will make you bleed internally someday, oh or Now keep the freakshow talk / To a careful minimum

6. Fall For Me

In a city of ice there are burning cathedrals / Turning the skies into glass or And I feel like I'm losing touch with what I am again / And slowly I remember why I cannot pretend

7. Alkaline

It's too late for me now, I am altered / There is something beneath or I see in a different light / The objects of my desire

8. Distraction

'Cause I am broken into fractions / Oh, and I am driven to distraction or Something much more than I could ask for

9. Descending

Create, release or My love withers and chokes in perfect awe

10. Telomeres

And we go beyond the farthest reaches / Where the light bends and wraps beneath us or Through death / My arms are open

11. High Water

When the mouth of infinity / Buries its teeth in me or Wash me clean again before I pull myself beneath the waves

12. Missing Limbs

The blessings rain on battles in the heaven's arms or 'Cause it still makes my blood run cold / To remember what I did before

PART IV - Take Me Back To Eden

Chokehold

A sacred guardian or Even if I can't sleep / Oh, and though we act out of our holy duty to be constantly awake

2. The Summoning

A taste of the divine or Take me past the edge / I want to see the other side

3. Granite

Between the second hand smoke and the glass on the street or Never mind the death threats / Parting at the door

4. Aqua Regia

Following a bloodtrail, frothing at the maw or Between the pain and the way you look / I'm stuck in a time where the mountains shook

5. Vore

You have become the voice in my head or Will we remain stuck in the throat of gods? / Will the pain stop if we go deeper?

6. Ascensionism

Your reflection, your bitter deception / Setting you free or With one eye on the door, other eye on a rail / Other, other eye following a scarlet trail

7. Are You Really Okay?

I was trying to hold back the darkness or But I, I don't believe you when you tell me you are fine

8. The Apparition

I wake up to a suicide frenzy / Loaded dreams still leave me empty or Just let me go or take me with you

9. DYWTYLM

Do you pull at the chains? / Or do you push into constant aching? or Do you ever believe / That we can turn into different people?

10. Rain

Refracted in light, reflected in sound or And I know, I know, I am what I am / The mouth of the wolf, the eyes of the lamb

11. Take Me Back To Eden

We dive through crystal waters, perfect oceans / But no one told me not to breathe or I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired / Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher

12. Euclid

The night belongs to you / This bough has broken through or The whites of your eyes / Turn black in the low light

Thank you so much if you took any part of this on or just read through it.

Never forget, that the most important thing is that no matter what,

Worship 🙏🏻

[grimoirey]

The Fool's Journey

This is the story of the Fool, as he journeys through the major arcana of the tarot.

Each card has a lesson for him, and he becomes wiser with each step.

This story will help your tarot reading and understanding of the cards!

The Fool begins his journey, a soul unmarked by the world, with eyes wide and a heart full of wonder. He steps forward with no map, trusting the winds of fate to guide him, carrying little but innocence and the will to explore. The world is a blank canvas waiting for him to paint his story.

0. The Fool

He takes a leap, unaware of the precipice beneath his feet, trusting in the unknown. In his innocence, he is limitless—yet unaware of the trials that lie ahead. His journey is one of both folly and wisdom, for it is through experience that he will come to know himself.

1. The Magician

The Fool encounters the Magician, a figure with eyes as sharp as lightning and hands that shape the unseen forces of the universe. The Magician shows him the tools laid before him—the sword of air, the cup of water, the pentacle of earth, and the wand of fire. "Everything you need, you already possess," the Magician whispers. "The power to manifest lies within you." The Fool feels a flicker of possibility, learning that creation starts from belief and will.

2. The High Priestess

The Fool then crosses paths with the High Priestess, veiled in moonlight, standing between the pillars of wisdom and mystery. She does not speak, but her silence is louder than words. She beckons him to look inward, to the quiet places of his soul, where the answers lie hidden beneath the surface. "Not all knowledge is found in the world," she tells him in the language of dreams. "Some truths live in the stillness between breaths." Here, the Fool learns to trust his intuition, to listen to the whispers of his own spirit.

3. The Empress

Walking through lush fields, the Fool meets the Empress, the earth incarnate, her presence a song of life and creation. She is the mother of all things, her hands nurturing the seeds of the future. She teaches him about the cycles of growth, about the art of nurturing both the world and himself. "To create is to love," she says, as the earth blossoms at her feet. In her warmth, the Fool learns the lessons of abundance, of receiving and giving with open hands.

4. The Emperor

In the realm of structure and order, the Fool encounters the Emperor, seated upon a throne of stone. The Emperor’s gaze is steady, his rule absolute. He teaches the Fool about boundaries, about building strong foundations to protect what is important. "Discipline is not the enemy of freedom," the Emperor tells him. "It is the means by which you can uphold your dreams." From him, the Fool learns that while spontaneity is valuable, structure and control are needed to truly thrive.

5. The Hierophant

The Fool then finds the Hierophant, standing in a sacred temple. With one hand raised to the heavens and one pointing to earth, he bridges the divine and the mundane. He teaches the Fool the wisdom of tradition and the importance of shared knowledge. "The teachings of the past are your foundation," he says. "They connect you to something greater, a lineage of wisdom." The Fool learns the value of guidance, of learning from those who came before him.

6. The Lovers

The Fool walks further and finds himself standing before two figures—the Lovers. Their union speaks of harmony, of choice, and the balance between dualities. From them, he learns the power of connection, both with others and within himself. "True love is a mirror," they tell him. "It reflects your soul and teaches you who you are." Here, the Fool begins to understand that love, whether romantic or divine, is both a gift and a challenge, demanding vulnerability and trust.

7. The Chariot

The road before the Fool becomes rough, but soon he meets the Charioteer, who rides a chariot led by two opposing forces. The Charioteer teaches him the lesson of willpower, of steering through life with determination. "Victory is not won by force alone," he says. "But by balancing strength with patience, and will with wisdom." The Fool learns that to reach his goals, he must master himself as much as the path ahead.

8. Strength

The Fool next encounters a woman gently taming a lion with her bare hands, the embodiment of Strength. She shows him that true strength is not brute force, but a quiet resilience, a courage born from inner calm. "To master others is power," she tells him, "but to master yourself is true strength." From her, the Fool learns to embrace his inner strength and to approach life with compassion and grace.

9. The Hermit

On a quiet mountain, the Fool finds the Hermit, cloaked and holding a lantern. The Hermit walks the path of solitude, seeking wisdom not in the world, but within. He teaches the Fool the importance of reflection and introspection. "The answers you seek are inside you," the Hermit says, lighting the way with his lantern. "Sometimes you must walk alone to find them." In the silence, the Fool begins to understand the value of solitude and inner guidance.

10. The Wheel of Fortune

The Fool’s journey leads him to the Wheel of Fortune, a great wheel turning endlessly with the cycles of fate. Here, he learns that life is ever-changing, a dance of highs and lows. "Nothing is permanent," the Wheel says as it spins. "Fortune turns, and so must you." The Fool realizes that he cannot control everything, but he can learn to move with the rhythm of life’s unpredictability.

11. Justice

The Fool is then met by Justice, holding scales and a sword. She stands for fairness, truth, and the consequences of one’s actions. "Every choice you make shapes your future," she tells him. "Balance must be maintained." The Fool learns the importance of accountability, of weighing his actions carefully, knowing that justice will always prevail.

12. The Hanged Man

As he continues, the Fool encounters the Hanged Man, suspended upside down yet serene. The Hanged Man teaches him the power of surrender and the value of seeing things from a different perspective. "Sometimes you must let go to move forward," the Hanged Man says. The Fool learns that not every struggle is solved through action, and that patience and sacrifice can reveal deeper truths.

13. Death

The Fool is then faced with Death, not an ending, but a transformation. He learns that life is a cycle, and with every death comes rebirth. "Do not fear change," Death tells him. "For it is through letting go that you are reborn." The Fool realizes that to grow, he must release the old to make room for the new.

14. Temperance

Emerging from transformation, the Fool meets Temperance, a figure blending water between two cups, symbolizing harmony and balance. She teaches him the art of moderation and the importance of integrating opposing forces within himself. "Harmony comes not from extremes," she says, "but from finding the middle path." The Fool learns the value of balance, of tempering his passions with wisdom.

15. The Devil

The Fool soon encounters the Devil, a figure that represents materialism, temptation, and bondage. The Devil teaches him about the chains he creates for himself through fear, addiction, or unhealthy desires. "Your chains are self-imposed," the Devil tells him. "You are free to break them whenever you choose." Here, the Fool learns about the power of liberation, that he must confront his shadows to reclaim his freedom.

16. The Tower

Suddenly, the Fool faces the Tower, struck by lightning, crumbling to its foundation. In a moment of chaos, he watches as everything he thought he knew is shattered. "Sometimes destruction is necessary for growth," the Tower says. The Fool learns that upheaval, though painful, clears the way for new beginnings.

17. The Star

After the storm, the Fool finds solace in the Star, a serene figure under a starlit sky, pouring water into the earth and a pool. The Star represents hope, healing, and inspiration. "After destruction comes renewal," she tells him. "Trust in the light that guides you." The Fool feels a deep sense of peace and faith, knowing that the universe holds his path, even in darkness.

18. The Moon

As night falls, the Fool enters the realm of the Moon, where shadows blur reality. The Moon teaches him about illusions, dreams, and the unconscious mind. "Not everything is as it seems," she warns. "Beware of your fears and delusions." The Fool learns to navigate his inner landscape, understanding that confusion and uncertainty are part of the journey.

19. The Sun

Emerging from the night, the Fool is greeted by the Sun, shining brightly with warmth and joy. The Sun symbolizes clarity, success, and vitality. "After darkness comes the light," the Sun tells him. "Revel in your achievements and share your light with the world." The Fool basks in the radiance of self-awareness, feeling the energy of life renewed.

20. Judgment

The Fool then hears the call of Judgment, as an angel blows a trumpet, awakening the dead. He is asked to look back on his journey, to reflect on his choices and how they have shaped him. "Now is the time to rise to your higher calling," Judgment says. The Fool understands that this moment of reckoning is about embracing his true self, leaving behind past mistakes, and stepping into his future with clarity.

21. The World

At last, the Fool reaches the World, where a figure dances within a wreath, encircled by the four corners of the earth. Here, the Fool understands that his journey, though filled with trials and transformation, has brought him to a place of unity and completion. The World speaks of fulfillment, of harmony between the inner and outer realms. "You have learned the dance of life," she tells him. "Now, you are whole, and the world reflects your growth." The Fool realizes that his journey has come full circle, but with each ending comes the promise of new beginnings. He has not reached the end, but a new level of understanding—ready to begin again, but wiser now, and deeply connected to the cosmos.

[heyitsmechuey]

When it Rains, It Doesn’t Always Pour (Rauru x Reader)

Rauru x Reader Fluff Shot - No content warnings

It’s Rauru just being Rauru (or at least my perception of him; soft and sweet, and very convincing in his ways when he wants to be ;) I haven’t wrote for a while, and this is my first time writing for TotK, but there really isn’t any spoilers in this one! I did proof read but please understand there still may be errors Word Count: 742 words

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

Heavy rain padded softly on the stone railing beneath your uncovered arms, effectively dampening them as you looked longingly toward the fields of Hyrule where small pools formed within the courtyard. It wasn’t supposed to rain today, but it did, and now more than ever you felt anxious and trapped within the castle’s hard, stone interior - your only saving grace being the balcony for a moment to reflect, fearing the dreariness. A soft sigh left your lips as you cupped your chin in your hand, accepting the defeat that going out to explore the lands with your husband was now out of the question.

You felt like a child being punished, and thought yourself childish too, for acting so sombre over an uncontrollable aspect. At least 10 minutes passed, staring into a landscaped void and feeling sour in your own thoughts. “The time will not pass any faster if you watch it, you know?” The sound of his soft gravelly voice snapped you from your depressive state, and the chuckle that followed made you forcibly pout as you spun your heels around, looking upwards at the playful features he displayed for you. He didn’t seem bothered by cancelled plans at all. His regal capabilities surfaced as he chose to carry out other duties earlier that day, but now what was left was a lover - playful but wise. You sighed again before attempting to justify yourself. “I know...”, your confession came slow as your gaze studied the floor, “but we had plans..” His hands came from where they rested behind his back, to folding over themselves once again in the front, waiting patiently for you to have your moment. When your eyes darted back up to check him, a pitiful smile let him know that you were okay and visibly, he loosened up and took gentle but determined steps forward. When he held his hands out, you instinctively followed, placing your own on top of large, outreached palms. Taking a moment to run your thumb over the faint lines, you let out a puffed laugh as he visibly shuddered under your touch; like it was the only thing keeping his heart beating. He studied you, then proceeded trail his hand up to your cheek and moved your sullen gaze to align with his. It didn’t matter what time of day it was, Rauru had a natural, calming charm at all hours, and he was smart enough to know how to get you to forget the little irritations with ease - with love. “Come, we can make new ones.”

He brushed lightly at the locks in your face, dampened by the rain that rode the wind. On the second sweep, he leaned in closer until warm breath against cold skin was tickling you,

“I can prepare some tea and then we can have a moment to ourselves for once.”

His voice was like honey, convincing you to turn a blind eye to your worries, to take only him in, and forget that there was a problem in the first place.

You felt suspicious for that reason, catching on after years together that his hold on your heart was powerful. With an eyebrow raising uncontrollably, you had to ask: ‘Just us?’. You reflect on how long it had been just the two of you for company; whether it be chatting, reading, or playing chess to pass the time. There was a sting for loss and you cursed on Ganon for taking such tender moments from you, leaving you desperate to want your King as a partner, not a diplomat. Rauru gave a curt nod, fingers coming to rest on the small of your back, giving a delicate push to signal it was time to get out of the cold. “You have my word, my love.” You trusted his words, always, and allowed him to escort you back inside. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, closed but cocky as you gave into him his touch - a sense of accomplishment filling him as you straightened yourself up and ditched the previous sadness for a genuine better mood. His lips were soft and sweet as he placed an endearing kiss upon your head, muttering that he loves you as the two of you retreat into the warmth. You could go out tomorrow - weather permitting - but if it rained again, the thought of spending it indoors with him, didn’t sound all that bad.

[narachilde]

you and i, beneath the stars.

(gentle!blade x gender neutral reader)

scenario: you seek blade out in the alchemy commission after he disappears for some time to himself. it turns into an opportunity to deepen your bond with him.

tags: fluff..? i still don’t know how to tag this, slowburn-esque, not proofread. gentle blade, you are helping blade heal. au where he can walk around on the xianzhou without getting arrested immediately.

words: 855

notes: can be read as a standalone or as a sequel to a midnight stroll. doesn’t explicitly reference the events of that one and you definitely won’t notice if you didn’t read it but i wrote it so that if you’re coming from that one it also transitions well into this one. this one is exploring the slow but steady pace at which blade is learning to trust you. once again wrote it quickly so sorry it isn’t that long. enjoy!

it was rare that blade ever left where you were staying at on his own. he didn’t like unnecessary encounters, and your outings with him were more than enough to meet his quota for going outside on the xianzhou. but once in a while if you couldn’t find him indoors, you knew where you could look.

much of the luofu was made of stone, making it difficult to find patches of nature that weren’t strategically placed in commercial areas. but if you went to quieter commissions like the alchemy commission, you could find smaller fields of grass in tranquil corners where few frequented.

more often than not, that was where you could find blade.

you figured he would be going out on his own again soon. since your last outing, he had been quieter than usual. you knew he had a lot on his mind. and with recent events, you could tell he was particularly perturbed. so when you came back and there was no sign of him at your hideout, you went straight for the alchemy commission.

were you stepping out of line? perhaps. blade was someone tormented by betrayal. a betrayal so grand that centuries later it still lingered. it showed itself in his mind, in his demeanor, and in his skin. yet who could fault him for that? even the abundance was powerless against wounds of the heart. and for blade, those would be the only wounds that mattered for eternity. how could the gestures of a short life species like yourself possibly begin to bring comfort to the ages of pain he was handling? could you ever help him seek something other than death?

you knew the answer to that was no. no matter how impactful you were in his life, death had been his only driving goal for centuries. perhaps it was impossible to change his goal, but you could at least try to make the time he spent with you more pleasant. a time that he wouldn’t be forced to spend alone, where he could finally rely on someone again. even if he had his doubts, in your soul you knew you would never betray him. you were willing to show him your sincerity for as long as you were around him.

you found him in the alchemy commission lying atop a field of grass, gazing up at the stars. though he was known for his ruthlessness, you knew better than most that he too was no stranger to sentimentality. you approached him quietly, not daring to disturb his thoughts. despite your efforts, it was easy for him to recognize you.

“i didn’t think you’d come out here.” he commented. his voice was soft, as it usually was when he wasn’t feeling slighted.

“i’ll always come check on you.” you replied in earnest. you were learning that if you wanted him to trust you, you had to be direct- even if that wasn’t your usual way of doing things.

blade hummed in a way that told you he didn’t quite believe you, but you couldn’t blame him. after everything, it wasn’t surprising that he had trouble coming to terms with your lack of ulterior motives.

so the two of you sat in silence, staring at the stars. your gaze traveled to him every so often, lingering on his solemn demeanor. you wanted so badly to know what he was thinking. you wanted to be able to comfort him better, but you dared not to push him away. you knew he would retreat if you were too forward or too insistent. so you accepted the silence, hoping your presence was enough to somewhat comfort his pain.

time passed. as your eyes flickered to him once more, you realized he had closed his own eyes, his breathing steady beneath the moonlight. you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips- he was so gentle like this. without thinking you brought a hand to his hair, softly playing with it.

if blade was bothered, he didn’t say a word of it. instead, you were surprised when he leaned into it. it was a small movement, almost indiscernible, but you knew him. such a small movement brought you such a great joy, and you continued playing with his hair without complaint. maybe—just maybe—he was opening up to you more than you thought.

more time passed and eventually he began to sit up. trying not to reveal your disappointment, you let your hand rescind from his hair. now upright, blade stared at you with his usual gaze- soft but guarded. he opened his mouth as though he had something to say, but no words came out. he shook his head, settling for a “let’s go.”

so you got up with him, following him back to where your group was staying. what he had to say remained a mystery to you, but you didn’t miss the way he walked closer to you on the way home. and once again, you allowed yourself the privilege of hope.

a hope that maybe a deeper bond between the two of you wasn’t so far off after all.

[cleewii]

WE’VE GROWN TIRED

pairing: levi ackerman x fem!afabreader

rating: m for mature

warning (s): 18+ content, grief, death, angst, mentions of gore, unhealthy coping mechanisms, sub levi, dom reader, badly edited, hurt/comfort???

word count: 2.5K

note: i’m prolly gonna regret posting this as it is right now since i had bigger ideas for it, but it’s been sitting in my notes app for almost a year and i figure it’s decent enough as is. levi ,the loml, one day i’ll pump out an actual full length fic for you instead of this lil blurb of emotionally driven p*rn 💕

I do not permit the reposting/reuploading of my work on any platform. i do not allow the use of my work for other forms of entertainment. not even with credit

days had been spent accompanied by sleepless nights where the recollection of rain slicked fields filled his head. crimson poured across blades of grass like a grizzly wash of watercolor paint, dribbling down into the earth, which he could still taste on tounge. gritty and suffocating. He always wakes from these dreams as though he’d been pulled out of water, drinking in air like he’s been starved of it.

he has no time to dwell on the past. the sun creeps into the morning, and soon enough he’s pulling on his uniform and tightening belts into their buckles. new assignments drone on in the background of his mind, and he works like he’s on autopilot. even when the muscles in his arms and legs begin to ache, and his bones scream within the confines of his body, he does not stop, for at least that can distract him from the emptiness of the seats beside him in the mess halls, and the harrowing silence that fills the dusk.

he’s come outside to the fields to check on the stables when he’s met with a curious sight.

a stone, large and erroded, has been placed a few feet away from the grouped cavalry. blossoms decorate the space in front of it, filling the grass with shades of yellow, red, and purple, and what’s most curious of all is the girl that sits in front of it. between her fingers she twirls the thin stem of a white flower—her mind must be heavily preoccupied because she hasn’t noticed that the fibers holding the stem together have gone bruisy—the petals beginning to wilt in her hold.

she’s muttering to herself, words he can’t quite catch and doesn’t care enough to try, but it’s then that he realizes she looks familiar. that familiarity brings a memory he wishes he could wipe away from the world.

you, the girl who had cradled isabels remains, tears melding with the rain pouring down unto the gore. you’d wrapped her up with the cloak off your back, and carried her all the way back to base. the sight had sickened him in the moment, just knowing that lifeless eyes and a carcass lay rotting away beneath that bone white insignia brought acid to his tounge, but he’d said nothing, even if he wanted to yell and scream, because what on earth could a stranger want with the remains of his family? what could you possibly hope to achieve by lugging grief with you like a medal? he swallowed down the rage, and looked ahead. he never saw you again after that day, but here you are now.

he’s come close enough now to slightly make out your words, and it’s when her name slips from your tounge that you have his full attention.

“wish you could see it, isabel. m’sure you would’ve loved it….”

“what could you possibly know about what she’d love?”

the words come out of his mouth before he realizes it.

they’re bitter, angry, a sort of rage you’d spot in a wounded animal, and he looks at you as though he could pour all of his pain into you and your borrowed grief and be done with it all.

“I…” The words don’t seem to make their way past your lips. you’re stuck staring between the cold sharpness of his eyes and the empty space beside his head, flickering back and fourth like you could somehow find the words written in the air.

What you want to say is that you’re sorry.

Sorry for everything he must be feeling, sorry for the loss that life has dealt him, sorry that you had to remind him of it all. But then you realized he may be sick of the sorry’s, and then you think you want to tell him that she loved him, and you had understood that completely, even though you’d only been apart of her life for a small, precious fragment of time.

You want to tell him all of these things, even if it might make him hate you, even if it makes you hate yourself, and yet, you sit in silence. Mouth pressed thinly, eyes glossy, as though choking on your own shame.

He stomps away before the courage to respond finds you, the words dying on your tounge, and you’re left to mourn alone.

***

It’s funny, now that he thinks about. How cold and cruel your beginning was. So different, a drastic change from the exchanges the two of you would find yourselves in now.

over time he’d see more and more of you. No longer a ghost painted in grief, or a little girl crying for her friend in the mud. You’ve grown, matured into a soldier, evident by the scars in your skin, the hardened look in your eyes, and the tears that no longer come.

As much as he fought against it, he found himself drawn to you. Maybe it’s because you knew about a small part of himself, and loved her enough to honor her when he couldn’t. Maybe it’s because you fought to wedge yourself into his life, forcing him to know you, down to the atoms of your being, the endless secession of thoughts in your mind—so far and so long he had to wander the planes of your existence. Somewhere along that journey, he found himself pushing forward without your hand to guide him. He began to wonder, and soon enough he began to long, and finally, when the tension grew so thick you could cut through it with a blade, you confronted him with secrets he’d been harboring, and returned them with your own.

It’s safe to say you’ve become much more than the girl at the grave, wearing your insignia of bones.

hushed and hurried, you’re frantic in stealing away his every breath. swallowing down his frustration and yearning to take all of him for yourself, no longer reserved and eager to take up as little space in his life as possible. now, you take from him what you will and want, however much of him you can in the few minutes time allows you.

try as you might, time is an unmerciful lord.

When flowers bloom, beautiful and bright, filling the world with a spectrum of color after such bitter cold, it is hope for the future. Hope that no violent winter will fall upon the life that has sprouted, but this hope is short lived, and eventually, the clouds thicken, the world sinks into gray, and we are forced to birth anew. time holds the earth in its monstrous hands, and the joy the two of you find is picked at, threatened to be wrenched away once things have finally begun to brighten.

***

“i think there’s going to be a storm.” You glare at the darkening sky, fingers digging at the thin cotton of your shirt.

“that so?” Levi keeps his eyes on the stack of paperwork before him, the warm glow of the candle at his desk illuminating the parchment. the weather had been calm only moments ago, just before the two of your retired into his office. the pot of tea at his side is still warm.

“a bad one,” you turn. your eyes linger on his form and the shadows waltzing on the wall behind him.

his looks up. his lips pressing into a fine line.

***

It’s a shame that the light-hearted days are gone.

back then, it wasn’t all about saving the world. back then, losing didn’t mean the fall of humanity. nothing changes the weight of loss, grief continues to sit within levi’s heart like a cancer, and no matter the stakes, it’s a tumor that will never disappear, but there was a vision within it. the desperation for answers to impossible questions, there was a rhythm to it all. It made sense, and as much as he hated to admit it, the predictability was something he appreciated.

But that’s gone now.

the world has twisted itself into an unforeseeable monster, and he rides its back hoping it won’t shake him off and leave him in the dust. the day he lost his entire team was the first sign that something was coming—that the good old days were gone. long gone.

how he wishes it were the good old days again.

***

the first time you kill another person, he’s right there beside you.

he can tell that you’re scared, a fear he’s been familiar with for years, and one he could only hope, try, and then fail to shield you from. he’d never been the type to try and evade weakness, not for himself or anybody else, but for you, he’d pray to whatever god was out there that you’d never know that type of pain. even if pain made you stronger, even if it was what made you the person you were now.

***

shakey hands grasp at the plackets of his shirt, fumbling with buttons and boutonnières, almost tearing the fabric in the process.

“hey,” he takes your hand in his, pulling them away despite the way you huff. “you need to calm down.”

your shoulders rise and fall clumsily with the weight of your breaths. you’d been trying so hard to stomach down the guilt—forcing a mask of cold determined stoicism in the hopes of putting your subordinates at ease. turns out, you could handle stone hearted objectivity as well as directing your blades towards another human being.

the grip he has on your hands is so gentle you could crumble. i don’t deserve it, comes the thought, and as hard as you try to wipe it away, that voice comes to you as violently as it had long ago. your unable to meet his eyes, scared he’d see the way you’re slipping, and you know all that awaits you is the worry you wish he didn’t have to deal with.

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, letting the fabric of his shirt fall from your hands. “i….im just—“

“scared. i know.”

“this is so hard, levi. i cant….” you swallow. “i dont want to keep watching it happen.” he knows what you mean without you having to explain it. he knows that weight on your shoulders, the pit in your stomach, the ache in your bones. he knows it because he’s felt it time and time again.

“i’m so tired,” your head falls against his shoulder. his hand reaches to cup the back of your head, silent as you sniffle against him.

“i know…”

***

you’re still upset; it’s present in the way you offer no words, just the sound of breathing and soft moans between the two of you.

your skin is hot against his, lips selfish with the need to kiss him again and again. You take what you want and he lets you—gives it all to you.

the undertones of frustration and anger linger in the air, neither directed at either party but still present nonetheless. it was bound to happen, with how shitty the past few days have been. the everyday had managed to leech itself into a moment where it shouldn’t have been allowed to, and the thought makes Levi sick.

not here, not now, and never with you.

“slow down….” he groans when your hips grow to a rather brutal pace.

“too much for you?“ there’s a halfheartedness to your voice. your lips brush against his ear and he can’t help but groan with it. disregarding the bite to your words, you do listen to him and slow to a steady grind, quelling the burn in your muscles while you sigh with the warmth he brings.

his hands drag from your thigh up to the flesh of your hips, thumbs digging into the divit where your skin creases with soft affection. savoring the moment, he thinks. savoring time, and nights of peace, and you. he drinks in your expressions, the curves and hard lines of your body, the softness of your skin beneath his touch, and the rise and fall of your chest that follows with every breath. his nose traces your throat, shivering as your hand follows up the back of his head and lays pressed against his cheek. “just want to make this last. don’t be a brat.” he murmurs, letting his lips feather across the skin of your jugular. “take it slow with me…”

you hum in response, and feel the aggression and frustration melt out of you. yes, there wasn’t room for any of that. never when it was just the two of you. the rest of the world, and the realities beyond your closed bedroom door falls upon deaf ears as the two of you meld into bliss.

for the first time in so long, you can feel the ache leave, and you invite him to take its place for however long he’ll allow.

if he had any say it in, he’d do it for the rest of your lives.

Your name passes through his lips as a breathless whisper, his fingers digging deeper into your skin.

“Hold on just a sec, honey.” you press kisses to the sides of his face. “M’almost there, too”

He buries himself into your neck, swallowing down a hiss when you speed up just a bit.

Fuck. You were gonna be the death of him.

“Oh, Levi,” Your fingers pull at his hair, “Fuck, you’re so good to me.”

His eyes go a bit glossy; a pretty sheen washing over his steel eyes as he lets you overcome his each and every sense. You. You. You. In every crevice of his mind he finds you, and when he pulls himself back into your arms the words come tumbling out.

“Love you…”

You trace a soft touch up the nape of his neck, letting your fingers find the soft fuzz of his undercut with a grin. “What was that?”

“I love you.” His voice breaks off a bit, feathering into a breathy groan.

“I love you too,” You kiss just below his ear, then press another to his throat, and then finally catch his lips with your own. “so much.”

maybe that’s what does it; the driving force behind the snapped knot, the crescendo in the pit of his stomach, so sharp and so hard, soothing over his bones with warm sweet nothings. He throws his head back with a broken moan as it washes over him, painting the feeling of your throbbing cunt into memory as he fills you up, so sweet and tight.

a small voice in his head tells him that was a bad idea, that he should’ve been more careful, but the weight of you in his arms, your soft mouth pressing rosette kisses to his skin forces that voice away.

it takes a minute before he finds his own. “feel better?”

“yeah,” you breathe, “much better.”

“good.”

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Hello ! Can I request an headcanon for Russia please ? Russia has been in a relationship with a human (gender neutral please) for almost a decade and one day he decides to tell them that he's a nation. After the confession his s/o decides to reveal to him that they're not human but immortal (like they were born in France at the beginning of the 19th century, so they are about 200 years old), how would Russia reacts ?

Thank you in advance, have a nice day ❤

Incoming fluffy post. I don't know why; just this ask filled my mind with clouds.

Enjoy anon~

From the outset of an innocent romance that began when you were in Tomsk. You had seen a tall and imposing giant on the opposite side of the lake looking over at you. At first, his stance toward you seemed ominous. He looked like a legend of a summer Yeti, greyish blond locks slightly rustled in the wind, ever still and watching from the foliage out at other humans that he knows whose lives are transient like that of the mosquitos other small insects that buzz incessantly in his ears. He'd been watching you for a while now since your arrival in the spring to a small cottage home built of pure stone.

Since you were new, you paid him no mind. For he only seemed to appear at random times through the first couple of months. You kept track of the times that you would see the "man beneath the trees" A fun little pastime while adjusting to the new realities of being in a new nation. It was fun and also extremely depressing at times.

You wouldn't be lonely for much longer. Though for one day, he brought his eager cat, who go overzealous and dived into the river. Somehow it swam fast over to your side of the river.

'My owner needs to be bold and get a grip. This is the only way to accomplish it.' As the Siberian Forest Cat speeds away even though it's coat was heavily laden with water from the pristine lake.

From that point on, he finally decided to talk to you. It started a decades-long relationship. That involved long nights walking through secret botanical gardens only he knew about to old war sites that carried history that he deemed essential to him. Some days would be filled with frigid silence after an argument. Others were strange where you only wanted to hold his hand, but not hear his voice. The extreme highs reached the icy tips of Mount Elbrus to the deep lows of the murky black sea. Your type of love is enduring, real, and rare.

Which is why it was easier ...yet still vexing for him because losing you would be a detriment to him, but it could also be spellbindingly exciting. He would no longer have to edit his feeling and speech with you. He could lament about his past and sing you the songs of which he sang while he was lonely.

You were in the same place where you met him when he decided to let the truth soar into the sky.

"Y/N?" He grips your hand tighter than usual. It was a polar bear grip that he had whenever he'd had a harsh truth to tell you. This action pulls you out of your mind and away from the blooming sunflower fields that were only 15 ft away from your vision. You maneuver your now worried eyes up towards his glowing lavender shades. His face is still primarily unreadable. You knew you had to depend on his subtle gestures to read him. You turned your body to face him, and you felt a little wobbly on the grassy ground that had small sprouts, lightly sweeping your snow shoes.

"Ivan."

"I'm a nation. Which means that I'm immortal and I've been alive for hundreds of years. I'm not like you at all but....You're one of the only beings to ever struggle with what love is, and I....." The words came rushing from his mouth like the Neva river reaching the Gulf. He wanted the unpleasant moment to be over in a flash. He know he'd lose you now. You'd think he's crazy, power-hungry, a mons-

A lone hand gently caresses his face to ease his fears. You're unsure of how to react to a confession like that. You don't accuse him of lies or of trying to gain some sort of tiktok fame. You simply just stay silent and allow you smile to bring the sunshine that he's always loved gleaming over his tattered soul. It was a safe haven for him.

"What's wrong sweetheart? If you're afraid you'll lose me because of the confession well consider that fear invalid."

You reached up onto your toes to give him a reassuring cheek kiss. He will in turn accept and let his cheeks go full flush. His face is as red as the last stripe in his flag.

"Y/N?" He asks again as his heart quivers, he's unsure of how to handle the host of new feelings that come along with being as free as a songbird released from it's cage.

If you got Russia of all nations to confess that he’s a nation… Holy Shit that’s a lot of emotional labor that you put into the relationship. Not only that he’s the hardest to get to confess. 

This is a topic that the two of you will have to work out over time. You’re going to be shell-shocked by the truth for a while so much so to where you do leave for a while to work out how you feel. Although during that time you reassure Ivan that you don’t hate him, it’s just a lot to consider. Since he trusts you, he doesn’t freak out about your sudden trip back to your home country. He knows that you need time to process. He’s witnessed you when you’ve been baffled and acknowledges that you need space. Although right before you leave and right after you come back, he will be high-level of clingy. So be prepared for that. You’re the longest stable and HEALTHY relationship he’s ever had so he doesn’t want to mess it up. However, since the foundation of your relationship is solid and not transactional in any manner. His confession to being a nation will draw the two of you together closer.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the day. You didn't need to. For the sturdy foundation of trust that was already built was enough for you to not worry about what he said but now you were curious as to what the real implications of his confession would be. But none of it scared you or made you anxious. For as long as you had trust that flowed freely between the two of you, nothing else mattered. You grabbed both of his thickly gloved hands and looked him dead in the eyes.

"I love you, Ivan Braganski." as a bold proclamation as if you were about to implement an immediate takeover. You rose to your feet once again and the sprouts seemed to bloom and push you upwards so that you could give him a gentle kiss.

[fritextramole]

my blood runs red

part 4 of a Dan Humphrey playlist - best heard in order

tracklist and quotes under the cut

Einstein Brain ~ Admiral Freebee

She gave me a six month sentence For not being charming towards her friends With two hands you eat One hand to greet Everything she said Sounded like a repeat

Mistakes Like This ~ Prelow

I wanna know all the dreams that you keep beneath I want the words that you whisper when I'm asleep Wanna give back the things that I plan to take And I hope that you won't care But all your makeup's running

Black Magic Woman ~ Fleetwood Mac

Got your spell on me, baby You got your spell on me, baby Yes, you got your spell on me, baby Turning my heart into stone I need you so bad, magic woman I can't leave you alone

Human ~ dodie, Tom Walker

Unzip your skin and let me have a see Paint me in trust I'll be your best friend Call me the one This night just can't end

Like or Like Like ~ Miniature Tigers

I looked like a goon, I was dressed for winter Even though it was the middle of June

There's No Way ~ Lauv, Julia Michaels

I wish I could make the time stop So we could forget everything and everyone I wish that the time would line up So we could just give in to what we want

Tired of Being Alone ~ Al Green

Honey, please love me if you will

More Than A Woman ~ Bee Gees

You got me working day and night Just tryin' to keep a hold on you Here in your arms I found my paradise My only chance for happiness And if I lose you now, I think I would die

Baby I'm Yours ~ Arctic Monkeys

I'm gonna stay right here by your side And do my best to keep you satisfied Nothing in the world could drive me away

Love to Keep Me Warm ~ Laufey, dodie

I love the winter weather So the two of us can get together There's nothing sweeter, finer When it's nice and cold I can hold my baby closer to me

The Book of Love ~ The Magnetic Fields

The book of love has music in it In fact that's where music comes from Some of it's just transcendental Some of it's just really dumb But I I love it when you sing to me And you You can sing me anything

Autumn Sweater ~ Yo Lo Tengo

We could slip away Wouldn't that be better Me with nothing to say And you in your autumn sweater

At Your Door ~ Alexi Murdoch

Well, you can take from me all you think you need And you can bury it deep, deep in the ground But I will never let you down

Love Of My Life ~ Queen

When I grow older, I will be there at your side To remind you how I still love you Back, hurry back, please bring it back home to me Because you don't know what it means to me Love of my life

Mostly Dead ~ Joseph Dubay

I can't comprehend this bed I'm in Without you by my side I get so afraid that all I'll ever do Is haunt you God, it makes me weak to think How bad I fucking want you

Shut Up Kiss Me ~ Angel Olsen

I could take it down to the floor You don't have to feel it anymore A love so real that it can't be ignored

This Must Be The Place ~ Talking Heads

You got a face with a view I'm just an animal looking for a home Share the same space for a minute or two And you love me till my heart stops Love me till I'm dead

New Song ~ Maggie Rogers, Del Water Gap

I'm young but I feel like an old man The tar in my lungs and these cold hands They held onto you

Shimmer ~ Fuel

She dreams a champagne dream Strawberry surprise Pink linen on white paper Lavender and cream Fields of butterflies Reality escapes her She says that love Is for fools that fall behind And I'm somewhere between I never really know A killer from a savior

zombie girl ~ Adrianne Lenker

Sleep paralysis, I sworn I could've felt you there And I almost could've kissed your hair

Losing My Religion ~ R.E.M.

Every whisper, of every waking hour I'm choosing my confessions Trying to keep an eye on you Like a hurt, lost and blinded fool, fool Oh no I've said too much

midnight love ~ girl in red

Say I'm not your consolation prize I can't be your second best

Impossible ~ MOTHXR

All the lies I tell myself There's so much in your blood I'm here to help you let it out I'll cut you up all night baby girl if I'm allowed I'll use the same weaponry that you used on me

Cherry Wine ~ Hozier

Calls of guilty thrown at me All while she stains The sheets of some other

Love is All ~ the Tallest Man On Earth

The future was our skin and now we don't dream anymore

Wounded Heart ~ Matt Berry

You tore through me Like fire at a grand prix And I knew you'd won

[skyfallscotland]

Can we get a longer sneak peek for Truth and Talon? Thank you

I'm honestly not sure if this is going to make the wait better or worse for you guys, but uh, you asked so... 🖤

My feet slap against stone as I sprint down the hall. I have no idea where I’m going, I just know I need to get the hell away from here. A person or two jump out of my way as I dart around corner after corner, taking no notice of anything in my desperate need to get out. 

When I come to a grand marble staircase leading down, I grip the railing tightly and try not to roll an ankle as I throw myself down step after step. This place is fucking huge and I know it’s built into a mountainside, but logically, given there’s still light filtering in below, down might mean out too. 

There’s a set of giant steel-reinforced doors that are thankfully ajar, and when I throw myself around one and into the sunlight, there’s grass beneath my feet. It’s a welcome relief given that I’m not wearing any shoes and I’m almost certain the balls of my feet are battered and bruised from the cobblestones. 

Lía descends from the sky like a comet, slamming into the ground, and I rush forward to scramble up her foreleg. She takes off the second I tighten my legs around her, gripping onto her scales. She hasn’t had time to get the saddle on in my panic and her scales dig into the bare skin of my thighs, but I hardly care. 

“Just get me away from here, please.” I beg her. “Anywhere.” 

“Try and breathe.” She soothes me as I hiccup, gasping from exertion and distress. I can feel her holding me in place with her power in a way she hasn’t done in months and I’m grateful, because right now I’m not sure I have the strength to keep my seat.

I see a swathe of navy-blue out the corner of my eye and snap my head around, glaring furiously. “Fuck—” Off. The second word dies on my tongue as I realise there’s no rider atop Sgaeyl’s back. Lía turns her head slightly, letting out a vicious snarl and I realise she’s angry too. 

Sgaeyl keeps her distance, leaving a dragon’s length of space between us, not reaching out to brush Lía’s wing affectionately as I’ve seen her do so many times before. “We’re beyond the wards here.” Lía says, her voice tense. “She doesn’t want us out here with no backup.” I can understand the logic in that, but I can’t help feeling watched, like she’s stalking me on behalf of her rider, and it leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

My lips part as I go to suggest any other dragon could have come, and I pause, laughing bitterly. It wouldn’t make a difference—they all fucking knew. Every single one of them other than Violet and I, have known this entire time. Hell, they all probably know my brother better than I do at this point. What a joke. 

After a few minutes flying, Lía brings us down in a field and I slide from her back, my feet sinking into the soft ground below. I’m shaking as I wrap my arms around her head, holding on desperately. “Do you promise you didn’t know?” Tears trickle down my face. 

“I would never have kept this from you, little one. The venin, yes, for reasons you’ve already assumed, but never this.” I hold on tight, pressing my face into her scales as I cry quietly. 

“I thought he loved me.” I feel broken. Completely and utterly broken. “Out of everybody, I always thought he loved me.” I suck in a sharp breath, trying to halt my sobs. “But maybe I’m just not remembering right, maybe he never liked me any more than everyone else because you don’t—” I cough, trying to clear the lump in my throat, “—you don’t do that to someone you love. I couldn’t—I’d never do that.” I can’t imagine letting Mira think I’m dead—ever.

“That’s because you’re better than him.” Lía says, nudging my chest with her head. It reminds me of a time when Xaden said something similar and the memory only makes me cry harder. I can’t believe he knew. All this time, every time I’d laid my soul bare to him and he’d just…kept quiet.

“I think he was going to tell you.” Lía says, nudging me carefully, but ‘going to’s’ don’t mean much to me at the moment. 

“I don’t care.” I tell her bitterly. He lied. I don’t care if it was by omission, he lied, when he swore to me he never would and that hurts as much as everything else right now.

[godsofhumanity]

I'm the anon who asked about Asgard & Vanaheim visuals, and I love the answer! I also want visuals about...Jotunheim, Alfheim, Svartalfheim/Nidavellir!

on it, boss 🫡👍

JOTUNHEIM

ok. Jotunheim is home to the jotuns (giants). we know a couple of famous jotuns: Gerdr (Freyr's wife), Þjazi (who attempts to get Idunn out of Asgard and make the gods start to age), and Skadi (Þjazi's daughter, Njord's wife).

from these, i feel the need to mention Gerdr and Skadi particularly, and they give us some clues about the kind of environment that Jotunheim is.

Gerdr is spotted looking lovely in her father's fields by Freyr. so, i imagine her in the sunlight, on a grassy knoll-- it's a nice, warm, sunshine-y day.

Skadi, on the other hand, is depicted as a kind of ice-warrior queen as she and Njord often argue about the weather- Njord being more of a beach boy himself and Skadi preferring colder weather.

so, what i think is this: Jotunheim experiences a harsh, icy winter, but a lovely, mild summer. it's never terribly hot. it's just like... autumn weather at the max.

i also think that it is particularly icy at the borders of Jotunheim, but as you go inwards, the ice sort-of recedes, and there's just a little bit of snow here and there, but there's plenty of grass as well.

i think the weather also reflects the type of giant-- the borders are home to the more vicious of the Jotuns, more peaceful Jotuns are inwards.

so like. at the borders, i think you get scenery more like this:

but more inwards, you get something like with a bit more snow:

Jotunheim feels like a very mountainous place. very rocky.

fashion is more like tunics inwards, but at the borders, it's furs and armor, and leather.

there isn't really anything like fancy jewellery... it's stone, and bones, and teeth, etc. it's all very makeshift. i don't see the Jotuns as a people caring too much for very shiny things like gems and diamonds and gold. they care for that stuff in as much as they can sell it to buy more valuable things like land and armor and weapons.

colour palette is something like this with a bit more blue perhaps.

ALFHEIM

since Alfheim is the home of the light elves, i think it ought to have a lot of water and glass and crystals to reflect off light such that the world is always bright and illuminated.

but where i wrote that Vanaheim was very "jewel-centric" and had a lot of gold and silver in-laid, i like the idea of Alfheim being a more "natural" Alfheim. so there's lots of white wood and natural spaces.

i think the Elves must live amongst the trees where light from both the Sun and the Moon stills seeps through the forest and illuminates it.

there would be a lot of structures like these, where the pillars are simply trunks of trees:

i think above ground, there are a lot of rivers like the image on the left, and lots of healthy, overgrown foliage. but beneath the ground, illumination might come from crystals like the image on the right:

the image on the left still is pretty dark, so try to imagine that with like. lighter colours.

as you can see, there isn't much diamonds and jewels, or even too much gold. it's mostly just natural.

the colour palette would be something like:

weather in Alfheim is cool, i think. it doesn't snow there, but it's not impossibly hot. it's just cool. you don't need furs, just long tunics.

also, search up "fantasy moon kingdom" for more ideas on Alfheim palaces :)

SVARTALFHEIM / NIDAVELLIR

home of the dark elves (aka dwarves).

okay, so i think realm is a mix of stone and forestry.

there would be a lot of mines since the dwarves are builders and i think they would need to be mining for their materials.

these mines would be dark, but there would be a few crystals and fires to light up the place here and there:

there might also be a village within the mine:

but there are dark elves who do live above the surface. and i think on top of the surface, there is a lot of forestry and maybe even some swamps:

i hate to be unoriginal, but honestly the way they did the Dwarven kingdom in the Hobbit was pretty freaking perfect to me-- i love the rock statues coming out of the mountain-face:

so yeah, lots of stone, and rock. but i also think a lot of metal, and a fair few gems and precious stones also!!

colour palette is obviously very green and brown:

weather i think can be very humid. it doesn't snow. but in the caves, it is very very cold. so i think there are a lot of cloaks for those underground, but also thinner tunics for those working above ground.

[catt-nuevenor]

Story Setting - Anadora & Abelyn

Extrovert

The ferring draws to a stop outside the grand edifice, the drive hops down from their seat, and the butterflies in my chest begin to flutter once more. Aldmirham feels so very far away.

Their hand finds mine in the dark, and gently threads our finders together.

"Remember to breathe, Darling," Ana/Abe murmurs.

The smile is there in their voice, the shadows of the ferring hide it, but I can still feel its warmth.

"Is it too late to back out?"

They stroke their thumb over my knuckle. "No, not yet. We can go back to my Fæder's if you wish."

Harrold's quiet disappointment presents itself to my mind, the doubt his eyes would hold if I wasted this opportunity after coming so far. That and having to explain to my little one why Ana/Abe and I are back so early.

"No," I sigh, my shoulder's sagging. "Just... help me not make a fool of myself?"

Ana/Abe's gloved hand cups my cheek, turning my head till I can just about find their eyes in the gloom. "You're my guest, it's a part of my duty to see you have a wonderful night. I won't leave your side, I promise."

On our first meeting, in the front room of Erda's shop, fleeting yet fond, I would have never imagined I'd be sat here with them. Not before the grand entrance of Eadoccaburh's Guild Hall, not dressed so finely, the skill and craft of the Weaver's Guild, and what's more, Ana/Abe's father in every stitch.

How the Tíd has turned.

A light tap sounds upon the ferring's roof. Our driver wants our decision. Ana/Abe lifts our joined hands and asks, "Together?"

"Together."

The Guild Hall is neutral ground, a meeting place where all the guild's and traders in the city can meet and discuss business without showing favour to another establishment. It's grand, bold, and hopelessly elaborate, a web of meeting chambers, offices, and archives, wound around a central hall with a single bell tower rising from its heart.

The early Blostma breeze nips at our heels as we descend from the ferring, hurrying us up to the lantern-lit doors, into the waiting gaze of a young man and his list.

He politely asks for our names and the names of the Guilds we represent. I let Ana/Abe do the talking.

"Your Guild Bebeódend is speaking with Freá Dægfinn, at present," the young man explains, giving us each a respectful bow. "They should be towards the southern portion of the hall."

Halfway down the polished corridor beyond, as soon as we are out of earshot, Ana/Abe whispers, "Don't worry, we don't have to attend to any of that. The lad was likely just trying to be helpful."

I let out a heavy sigh. "Good, I don't think I could stomach Guild negotiations right now."

They squeeze my hand. "Nor I, but we're not here on behalf of the Guild, we're here to enjoy our evening."

The corridor ends in a wide stone archway, intricately carved and painted with murals of golden fields and swaying reeds. Our coats and gloves are handed to three arnlings in the liveries of the city, and they scamper into a side-room to be neatly stowed away.

We pass beneath the arch and the gentle swell of music greets us as the narrow corridor gives way to the hall, its expanse and grandeur breathtaking.

There is clearly a division between those doing business and those seeking pleasure, and the split is distinctly uneven. Along the southern edge of the hall, in intimate clusters of pointed shoulders and hunched necks, stand those on task from the guilds. No doubt many a contract and alliance are being forged in their midst, sweetened with the mead and cider of the city.

Along the north, east, and western side of the hall the groupings are freer, the expressions cheerful and bright, the echoes of laughter and chatter a constant bubbling beneath the surface of sweet music coming from the small staging at the centre. Around the stage there is dancing.

Elegant couples sweep and pivot in time to the strings, their feet tapping the shining floor in time to the patter of the drums. It's quite sedate compared to the dances in Aldmirham, but there is far more co-ordination here, everyone is working towards the display entire, the eddy and flow of bodies in sweeping motion.

"Peyton/Peidyn would hate this," I chuckle, half entranced by the twirl of the dancers, guided only by the light tug of Ana/Abe's hand.

"Most likely. As would Louis/Leila. I think Lars would enjoy it, though."

"Perhaps. It is far more his rhythm."

"What of you?" Ana/Abe asks, coming to a stop beside three narrow windows that look over the Guild Hall's gardens.

"Me?"

They bow/curtsy, their beautiful clothes a sweep of midnight blue, flowing about them. "Would you care to dance, my darling?"

I glance over to those already in motion, and the dreary creep of inadequacy taints the sweetness of Ana/Abe's gesture. "I don't think I can dance like that."

"Would you like to?"

I nod, my mind conjuring Ana/Abe and I in place of a particularly dashing couple as they sweep past where we stand.

"Then, if I may?"

Ana/Abe's voice guides me back, and directly into the loving embrace of their arms.

"Everything can be taught, my darling, if a willing teacher can be found."

My throat is dry, my hands damp, and my face burns as my oh so willing teacher begins to mould my posture to the first position with naught but gentle caress.

"Are you sure?" I ask softly, beginning to see the attentions of those around us catch and come to rest upon us.

Ana/Abe hums, lifting my chin with their fingertips until our eyes meet. "Together, remember?"

"I remember."

"Then let us dance together, my darling. I'd wish it no other way."

---

Introvert

I didn't expect Ana/Abe's father to have a garden. The narrow court and close-knit web of workers always conjured up cobbles and bricks when they've talked about it in the past. It's smaller than Peyton/Peidyn's, narrow, the rear cut across by access to the garden of the neighbours.

Ana/Abe's hand is everywhere, in the twist of every vine, the placement of every herb and flower. They haven't been back here in many months, but it's clear their father strictly adheres to their original design for the space. The affection between the pair can only be understood in little pieces like this. It isn't loud and boisterous like that between the Starlings, or snarky and sweet light Lars and Louis/Leila's is. Ana/Abe and their father find their affections in the quiet of the workshop, and the peace of their little garden. It's come to be enough for them.

Harrold treats me kindly, but he's wary, watching my words and actions closely lest I show sign of planning to hurt his daughter/son. I wouldn't, I couldn't, and I hope he's coming to see that. Time and Tíd will tell, I suppose.

"Here," Ana/Abe says, placing a cup into my hands before they take the place on the bench beside me.

"Thank you."

I sip the sweet tisane within, though the detail of it slips away as Ana/Abe leans in close to my side, into an easy intimacy that makes me both sleepy and wonderfully content.

We sip and sit, letting the distant bustle of Eadoccaburh's streets rumble on in the distance, folding ourselves away in the pocket of green behind the house Ana/Abe grew up in.

"I think he likes you," they say after a time, a distant bell chiming over the rooftops to bring in the last hour before sunset.

"Your Fæder?"

Ana/Abe nods.

"How can you tell?"

"He wants to see some of your work. That's an old Guild tradition. If someone isn't worth your time, you don't bother, but if you think they have potential, the first thing you look at is their craft."

"Potential..." I echo, glum. "That's better than nothing, I suppose."

Ana/Abe kisses my cheek. "Even if Fæder never gets beyond that, he'll accept you."

"You sound awfully certain about that."

"I am. He knows how much you matter to me."

Can they feel the heat in my cheeks, I wonder? Their smile does seem awfully knowing...

"I'm glad we came," Ana/Abe says, taking my empty cup and placing it beside theirs on the smooth flagstone beneath the bench. "But I'm looking forward to going back."

My little one misses the cat, I know that much, but I think they've enjoyed seeing a bit more of the city, and they also seem to have utterly charmed Ana/Abe's father. Yet another parental figure to utterly spoil them, as if there weren't enough of those already.

Ana/Abe laughs softly when I share my thoughts, adding their own observations to mine.

"He'll miss us all when we leave," they say, plucking a stray leaf from my shoulder as it settles there from the tree above. "But can always come back here to visit. There's a home here, but it isn't really mine any more."

"Then, do you know where yours is?"

"With you," they say, kissing the corner of my lips fleetingly. "Tíd changes and perhaps that will too, but right now, my darling? I'm happiest when I'm with you."

---

Quick little dictionary for folks on a few of the terms here, since I got a bit more into the stories terminology and lore than I'd planned.

Tíd - Tide Think of it as synonymous with time, but also associated with the sea. Where we might say Time and Tide wait for no one, folks in the Four Shores would say simply Tíd waits for no one. The reasons are a little complicated to go into here, but thems the basics.

Fæder - Father Just reviving some basic Old English here, nothing fancy.

Ferring - Carriage Fully enclosed like you would see in a Jane Austen adaptation but simpler. They're used as a form of road transport within and between the main cities, slower than a horse, but more comfortable.

Blostma - Spring Again no frills to this one.

Bebeódend - ... The simplest explanation I can give for this is that they're the Guild managers. It's their job to keep the members fed, watered, housed, and stop them from coming a foul of any other Guild in the city. Leaders, but with restricted powers.

Freá - Sir/Mr/etc In Eard (the realm in which Myrk Mire takes place) an individual is first introduced with their preferred gender of address. Freá Dægfin is Mr Dægfin, just as Lars would first be introduced to a stranger as Freá Lars, while Vyla would be Freó Vyla, and Pin, a non-binary character from the TBT project, would be introduced as Léof Pin.

I think that's everything, comment if I've missed something, or if you'd like further discussion.

---

Image courtesy of Alessia Cocconi on Unsplash

[landwriter]

ooooh i feel like i'm spinning a very fancy roulette wheel :D

i'm gonna mix it up and ask about *your* current favorite "untitled 1" WIP

<3

spinning the wheel, remembering a WIP I forgot totally to include: not my favourite, but a WIP I owe to you, and one I think you'll like! Saint Morpheus role reversal, where Dream's confession HEAVILY FEATURES themes from my 1889 unsent letter that you brought to life so beautifully! working title is Sharpen Your Knife for obvious reasons

ft. a Dream who wants to be punished for his sins, who will not beg for forgiveness because he thinks he is above begging and below forgiving. Hob who cannot say I find no sin in them but does not want to find no sin, who hears Dream confessing only to the monstrous humanity of hunger and greed that he knows within himself. Hob offering to prove to Dream he is both capable of begging and being forgiven. Dream all coiled up with tense fury and terrible want being slowly and methodically undone. here's a couple very rough-draft bits near the start:

Dream is kneeling before him. His face is a harsh, wild chiaroscuro, shadow and light flickering across it wildly as candles are snuffed by the wind and then relit by unseen hand. His eyes are bled black, swallowing any warmth that dares venture too close, and returning only the barest pinprick white gleam in the centre. He looks like a terrible god, even on his knees, but Hob knows better now. He knows the look of desire. He knows the look of apprehension. Even in candlelight, he knows it near the best.

This is the church of Dream’s design, and it is nothing like Hob’s. It is grey and rough stone, small, and in place of stained glass there are only arrow slits, and outside only darkness. There is no comfort in kneeling here. The altar is a slab of stone, radiating cold, and darkened with stains that murmur, This is not where you honour a sacrifice. It's where you make one. This is not an altar where communion wine is transmuted into the blood of Christ. This is an altar you feed with your own blood. Even dreaming, Hob can almost smell it.

Hob looks back down at Dream, who is staring at him challengingly, daring him to say something. He wouldn’t have, a month ago. He will now. “Bit different than my church, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” says Dream.

“This is how you’d revere me, love?” asks Hob. He’s bemused. He’d sort of been hoping for a bit more idolatry. Bit more golden statues.

“This is how I would confess to you.”

And Hob can understand that, can't he, can understand the urge to kneel on something rough, to confess things in darkness and not jeweled light. There’s things he’s said to Dream that he could only have said late at night, face turned away.

“I suppose we summon the benediction we think we deserve,” he says, and watches, satisfied, as Dream’s jaw clenches a little. Hob gentles a hand along his cheek and the ever-hungry part of him thrills at the way Dream’s face slackens a little at the simple touch. Mine, he thinks. This more-than-a-god is mine, and I am his.

“We will see,” says Dream. The wind howls and the candlelight across his face makes him look nothing like a human. He’s afraid. He’s hesitating.

“Confess,” says Hob. His voice is no thunder, just his, just worn and soft and commanding. But still, Dream focuses his gaze, unblinking, on Hob, and begins to speak.

---

Hob crouches before him, runs a finger from gut to sternum.

“You’d have me take a pound of flesh from you for all these sins,” he says.

Dream shivers reflexively, then raises his chin higher, as if to cover the admission of his want.

Hob raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you’d be so good, wouldn’t you,” he says, finding the rhythm of it like a familiar path beneath his feet. He steps behind Dream, trailing the flogger’s tails over one bare shoulder. “I bet you'd be perfect, my love. Stoic. Quiet.” The white expanse of Dream’s back is like a field after snow, perfect and empty and still. Hob hums thoughtfully and runs his hands over lordly shoulders. “You’d withstand it all, every cruel little tool you’ve brought here. Flail and flogger, switch and paddle. I don’t think you’d cry out even as I blooded you. Such a proud and terrible creature, you are, hmm? Your expression wouldn’t even flicker as I did it, would it?”

“It would not,” says Dream, and Hob knows it to be true.

He’s leaning further into Hob’s touch, wanting, and Hob wraps an arm around his chest, just under his neck, just on the gentle side of possessive, and holds him close. He lays a quick kiss on Dream’s nape, and then nudges up to his ear. Then he whispers, “So I suppose I’ll have to find another way to make you beg instead,” and drops the flogger with a soft thump onto the ground.

[windingpathsfic]

the father, the father, the son

(deanjackcas, 1240 words, e)

ft. spitroasting, creampie, rimming, gaping, sloppy seconds written for @dadfuckerfest fun in the son prompt "prophecy" also posted on ao3

The visions that overtake Castiel's consciousness are dizzying. Though maybe 'vision' is the wrong word, because it's not only foresight he's being granted. It's everything. It's sound, taste, scent, touch, emotion.

With Kelly's small hand in his own, her delicate fingers curled into his palm, he's transported. Lifted grace and mind from this moment to another. Taken, so gently, out of his vessel in the present day and slipped beneath the skin of his future self, an unwitting passenger of his own experience.

He's not sure precisely where he is, or when. Not sure, even, if any time is passing where he's standing with Kelly at the gate to Heaven at a playground in Arkansas, facing off against Dagon as Sam and Dean lie helpless in the dirt.

All he knows is that he's seeing brief glimpses of things as they will be. As they can be, should he let them.

It's Kelly he sees first. She's still pregnant, and she's standing in the surf, ankle deep in seawater and smiling when she glances back to where he stands at the edge of the beach. Behind him, a path leads back toward a cabin called home, at least for now. He doesn't look back.

He has the feeling as he looks at Kelly, as the wet sand shifts under his feet, and sweet scent of pine and stone and cold air surrounds him, that he could linger in this moment if he wanted. But something compels him forward. Beckons him, almost, like something greater is waiting just out of reach. Something that will make him understand that the nephilim's continued existence will be a blessing.

He lifts. Scatters from his body like ocean spray. Settles into himself again in some other time. Some other place.

A field. Waist high grass rustles against his coat and tickles his fingers as he's warmed through by the high sun, and he hears the pounding of feet moments before Sam appears. He's running, but not fearful. Not exercising. He's playing, Castiel realizes. Chasing someone or something, but only for the joy of it.

It's a pleasing sight, but it's not the thing that's truly calling him, so he leaves it behind. Floats up and out on the summery breeze until he's drawn somewhere else, clicking into place like it's precisely where he's supposed to be, and oh...

This is it. This is the future that he's been hurtling towards.

The first thing he knows is a swelling warmth, throbbing tension low in his gut, in the hard length between his thighs, enveloped by wet heat. Sensation slams into him, arousal so strong that he's certain his future self has been in this moment a long time already. He's envious at first. Wants to find some way to extract himself and go back to the beginning so he doesn't miss anything. But then the heat undulates, ripples around him, and he truly takes in his surroundings, and he knows he couldn't pull himself away from this if his life depended on it, even for a moment.

He's in the bunker, or somewhere like it. Heavy concrete walls and dim lighting and a hard, unforgiving floor, and Dean is there, leaning into his space, close but not close enough to be the source of the sensations. He's naked. Flushed and glistening with sweat as he bites his lip and meets Castiel's gaze to deliver a breathless thank you before he looks down between them, and Castiel follows his eyeline, and knows the reason for his gratitue. Because between them is a boy, maybe 20 years old at Castiel's estimation, and he's their son. He knows it implicitly, like he knows the weight of his blade in his hand. Their son. The nephilim. Jack.

His sandy brown hair is clinging to his sweaty forehead, and he's on his hands and knees, and he's gazing up at Castiel with golden-bright eyes as his mouth stretches wide around him, spit leaking from the corners of his mouth and dripping down Castiel's cock. Behind him, Dean's hips are pressed flushed against his ass, and he's rolling deep and steady as his fingers dig bruises into his sides to pull him back into each thrust.

"Fuck, he feels so good, Cas," Dean grunts out as he shoves in a little harder. The motion knocks Jack forward, forcing Castiel's cock further down his throat so he chokes a little, but he doesn't pull off. Just hums and whimpers, the sounds sending vibrations through his body and making his balls ache with the need to release as they grind against Jack's chin. "He's so- so fucking soft inside."

Reaching down, Castiel traces his fingertips over Jack's cheek where he can feel his own cock sliding under the skin. Jack's eyes glitter as a thought drifts up to him. To both of them. A projection or a prayer.

I made myself that way for you, daddy, he prays, and Dean groans, throaty and low. Castiel slides his hand down to feel his throat. Made myself your perfect hole.

"Oh, fuck," Dean pants. "Yeah, baby. You're perfect."

"Fill him for me," Castiel hears himself saying, and Dean nods, frantic as he picks up the pace. Switches from slow, heavy rolls to fast, hard thrusts that have Jack whining his pleasure into Castiel's groin.

When Dean comes it's with a heavy shudder, and he's still spurting when he pulls out, trailing the last thick pulses of cum over Jacks ass before he slumps back onto the floor with his legs spread, wet cock twitching as it slowly softens against his thigh. Jack pulls off of Castiel, then, looking up at him and licking his lips before he turns around to lower his mouth to Dean's spent cock, tilting his ass up in invitation as he swallows Dean whole.

Castiel doesn't hesitate, taking Jack's cheeks in his hands and spreading them. His hole is puffy and pink, glazed white with Dean's cum and gaping open. Waiting for him. He leans down, breathing in the heady, musky scent of his sweat and Dean's arousal, then swipes his tongue through the cum that's already leaked out. Laps it up, sucking on his rim until Jack's thighs start shaking. Fighting the urge to swallow, he savors it, rolling Dean's cum over his tongue before he spits it directly back into Jack's gaping hole, then shuffles in closer, gripping his cock and swiping it back and forth along Jack's taint before sinking inside.

He's perfect, like Dean said. Hot and wet and so, so, soft, and the sounds he's making as Cas fucks into him have him on the edge of orgasm within seconds. He pushes deep when it overcomes him. Pumps cum into him, mixing with Dean's, and he has the wild, twisted, irrational thought that they're breeding him. Making him theirs, wholly, in flesh and blood.

Dean is watching him when he pulls out, Jack slumped, satisfied and pliant in his lap, and the sight of them both makes love surge through his veins.

Being dragged back into the present, into the cold, dark of the playground, feels like losing his grace all over again. With the promise of a perfect future at the forefront of his mind, he draws on the power Jack is extending to him and destroys Dagon where she stands. Kelly was right. Jack needs to be born.

The best possible future depends on it.

[catalogue-of-lux-feli]

You're feeling a little better after your short conversation with this vivianquill. A little more chipper. A little less… alone. Usually you'd like to be alone, but you're not sure how much that holds up nowadays.

That whole thing about hopping worlds, about having the freedom to do so at will that apparently you don't have… it's bothering you, you won't lie, but it's just another thing added to the pile, at this point. You suppose knowing how to hop worlds is for people who remember how they got to their current one in the first place.

You can't help thinking about your house-to-be, too. You're wondering at the shape it might take, the little flourishes you could put on it. You still don't know if you can do it. But you want to try now.

Unfortunately, your color pallet is currently limited. And by quite a bit. You have two colors of wood, one kind of stone, some metal you can't even refine yet, and the bamboo, which you still haven't figured out how to work with yet. You really need some more choices.

You need to do some exploring.

You pack most of your belongings away in the chest by your bed, keeping some melon and onions with you to eat on the way, and when the sun rises the next day, you begin your journey.

As it turns out, there's a sort of meadow area not far from where you've settled. Maybe this would've been a better place to set up shop, logically speaking. Plenty of land to farm and way more plants to find, and it's a nice lush green. But you can't find it in yourself to care.

You do find some sheep. You feel bad about killing more of them, but you need something to sleep on if you're going to get any real distance away from your home base, and you don't have any tools actually meant to shear them.

Using the stone axe goes about as well as the wooden one your first time, but at least this time you're intentional about it, and you have a better tool, so it's quicker.

Sorry buddy.

You're able to fashion the wool into a sleeping bag, which should suffice while you're out here. You can't help but think it's a little plain, though, so with some flowers growing nearby, you manage to work a good color into the fabric.

It's barely noon, though, and you don't need it just yet, so you roll the sleeping bag, stash it away, and keep moving.

You don't know when you started being willing to put so much effort into aesthetics, between this sleeping bag and, well, the whole journey for new materials, but since that effort doesn't need to go into scraping by anymore, no point in arguing it. Besides, it gets you much prettier things, and you're hardly upset about that. It makes you wonder, though.

You spot quite a few animals along the way - cows, pigs, more sheep, even a few horses. You have half a mind to bring them back to your base, but aside from the fact that you don't know how to get them there, you're not so sure they'd like it there, always on the sand, with no grass to eat. Maybe later you could build up a dirt patch for them….

Not long after, you find yourself at a ledge exposing the stone beneath the dirt. Well, you say stone a little loosely.

You're not actually sure what this stuff is. You… you really like it though. Especially with the materials surrounding it, and the way the blue stone seems to almost sparkle…. Maybe you could make your home from these? Or at least in part.

You can't mine the whole area out right now. You're still on a journey. You do take a few chunks to experiment with, though, and you mark where you are on your map. You're definitely coming back for this.

You also find… this.

A short, carved stone pillar, just sat on the ground. You're not quite sure what it is, let alone where it came from. It certainly looks man-made, but it's sitting out here alone in a field, miles away from anyone or, really, anything.

You reach out to brush some dust off of it, to get a better look at it. The moment you touch it, runes that you hadn't noticed were carved along the sides light up, and a faint energy emanates from it. More than that, you feel what you can only think to describe as a link form between you and the stone pillar.

What.

What?

Was that magic? Is this thing magic?

Is magic real here??

[sprnklersplashes]

whumptober, day 25: buried alive (ao3)

Taddmakker’s field is an expanse of rocky soil in the west of the city, with plots rented out by the poorer citizens of Ketterdam trying to make some extra coin, or by merchants leasing them out to those poor suckers. Calling it a field feels too generous, given the near-grey colour of the ground beneath them. Almost nothing grows here. 

Light is scarce in this part of Ketterdam, away from streetlights and the stars choked by the thick fog, and so the field is lit by the weak glow of their bonelights. The place spreads out around them, the soil its rocky fingers to the farthest corners of Jesper’s vision. When he shines his light in front of him, all he’s met with is endless grey, the yawning mouth of the creatures from his childhood nightmares. And Wylan is here somewhere, trapped beneath the dead ground.

“Kaz?”

“Zenik?” he says in response, turning to Nina. The girl nods, a spark in her green eyes, and then, hands spread, she takes a long, slow breath. Her eyes close, her lips twitch as if she was about to say something but retreated. She breathes slowly, again, and again. Behind her, Matthias stands ready, his features masked by the darkness. She spreads her hands further, wider, reaching out to some unknown force. Perhaps its his imagination, but Jesper swears the air turns colder.

“Where is he?” she whispers. Her face screws up. “Where is he?”

Jesper turns in a circle again, his bonelight casting shadows around them. He sends out a message of his own, where are you Wylan as a stone-like weight sinks in his gut. He’s not like Nina, can’t reach through the ground to the bodies below, but he sends it anyway.

Wylan where are you.

Behind him, Nina gasps, her green eyes snapping open and shining like emeralds. Matthias’ hand comes around her shoulders, steadying her, but he’s barely touched her before she declares,

“I know where he is.” Then, she looks around them with frantic eyes, distracted by a sound they can’t hear, and says, “They know where he is.”

“Then let’s go.” 

Five shadows race across the rocky field, five hearts pound in a horrified, delirious rhythm. Nina leads them, still muttering under her breath as they follow her through plots and empty land, jumping over tree roots and smashing through fences. Jesper can’t tell how long they’ve been running for, only that when they stop, his side is burning and the taste of iron burns on his tongue. But they’ve stopped, all panting, and all looking at the same plot before them.

The soil is fresh, he realises. Anyone from a farm could tell that. 

“He’s… he’s here,” Nina says. Without a word, Jespe and Matthias step in front of her and pull the shovels from their back. Jesper tries not to think about it, to pretend like he’s back on the farm and digging up a plot of land. But with each heap of dirt he shovels out of the way, all he can think is Wylan, Wylan, Wylan, and that he could be buried beneath the earth. Or that he might not be, and they could run in circles all night with him waiting below; trapped, suffocating and slowly slipping away from them.

He gasps and tosses another heap of dirt over his shoulder, sweat running into his collar.

Kaz, Nina and Inej take the bottom part of the plot, and their five heavy breaths mix into one. Five people, one crew, falling further and further into the earth.

“I hit something!” Inej cries out. Jesper doesn’t stop, he won’t until Wylan is in his arms, but when he dares glance up he sees Inej diving down, clawing away at the soil. When she shines her bonelight on it, what she finds it the stained wood of a crate. Based on the colour, it can’t have been down here long.

His heart skips a beat.

“Keep going,” Kaz orders, though none of them have stopped. Their bodies sink lower the more they dig, their clothes caked with soil and chips of wood, stones wriggling beneath their cuffs and collars. Pain flashes through their arms, their lungs burn from the long run. Each one of them feels their bodies begging no more, each one in danger of hitting the ground, but something else pushes them all to keep going, that they don’t stop until-

“We’re hit it!” Matthias declares. Most of the soil clear away, they see the wood in front of them, and as Kaz and Inej clear the last of it, they find that they’re standing atop a long wooden crate. In the Barrel, they’re normally used to transport weapons. But clear everything out… you could fit a body in here.

“Get out of the way,” Kaz orders. “Jesper!” He looks up, and a coil of rope lands in his arms. He ducks down and feels in the dark until his hand closes around the metal loop on the side of the box. After a sharp tug to make sure, he jumps upon the side, grabs ahold, and pulls it. The silence roars in his ears, the utter lack of a movement from inside the box.

Perhaps he’s bound he thinks desperately. Perhaps they drugged him. 

Perhaps they’re too late. 

The box lands on the ground with a callous thud. As the others rush around the plot to their side, Kaz finds a heavy iron padlock and immediately curses, lockpicks flashing silver against his gloved palm.

“No need,” Jesper says. His voice burns, and when he grabs the lock, an amber linesnakes across it. A low hiss rises and then dies, and then the lock is falling apart in his palm, and he’s pulling the latch and wrenching the lid open and then-

Then he can’t breathe.

Wylan is there. Sickly-yellow bruises mark his skin, one on his cheekbone already turning violet. Someone shoved a rag into his mouth. In the bonelight, he sees Wylan’s teeth resting above it. And he’s so still, he’s so still. He doesn’t even flinch, not even when raindrops splatter against his cheeks.

Jesper slings his arm around his shoulders and drags him out onto the soil, bracing his head with his palm. When he pulls the gag out of his mouth, he finds it soaked, and when he shines the light on it he finds what look like teeth marks against the crimson fabric.

Jesper tosses the thing behind him and turns to Wylan. Inej lets out a soft gasp, her eyes wide. Jesper freezes for a moment, unwilling to look as it won’t be real if he doesn’t. When he does look though, he wants to shoot something. Possibly himself.

Wylan’s nails are caked in scarlet and brown. Small flakes fall from his fingers. The nails on his right hand are almost torn completely off. Around is wrists is the remnants of a rope, the skin marred by angry reds and purples. His shirt is littered with woodchips 

Slowly, Jesper looks to the box again. On the inside of the lid are vertical flashes, paler in colour than the rest of them. His heart stops.

He tried to claw his way out. The light flickers, and Jesper realises that it’s actually just him, trembling. Wylan’s fingers are bleeding. Because he tried to claw his way out of that box. 

Slowly, he slides his hand into Wylan’s. He squeezes it, trying to force some warmth onto his icy skin. He doesn’t squeeze back.

Beside him, Nina gasps, her face set in pure horror.

“He’s not breathing.”

Jesper barely has time to process it before Matthias is pulling Wylan away from him and laying him on the ground. He jerks towards him, not thinking, but Inej’s hands are on his shoulders before he can do something stupid. She pulls him against her chest, her hand running through his curls. Whispers of “it’s all right, it’s okay” creep across his cheek. He hears, he understands, but he can’t hold onto them. Not with the scene unfolding before him.

Matthias presses his hands down on Wylan’s chest in hard, steady pulses, his voice gruff as he counts. He pulls Wylan’s mouth open and presses his mouth to his, forcing air into his lungs. He returns to his chest, the compressions still steady but coming down harder, as if Matthias can shove life back into him with sheer will. He mutters too, between each push. Prayers in Fjerdan, asking his god to give Wylan strength. Pleas to Wylan, begging him to come back.

“Come on, kid,” they hear him mutter. His breath forms in white smoke and he pushes down on Wylan’s chest. “Come on kid. Don’t leave us now.”

The droplets on Wylan’s face aren’t just rain now.

Beside Matthias, Nina twists her hands and strikes them forwards, searching for her lost power to restart Wylan’s heart. Saints knows if she can now that parem has twisted her power to the dead rather than the living, but she’s trying. She won’t let Wylan become one of the bodies she animates.

Inej presses her face into Jesper’s shoulder, her tiny frame shaking against his. In one motion, Jesper wraps their arm around her and presses her into his shoulder. He won’t take his eyes off Wylan, but he leans his head into Inej. Saints knows she needs it as well. 

Matthias pumps again, so much force that Wylan’s head jerks against the ground. Hope sparks before Jesper can stop it, leaping like a match from a flame. But it’s nothing, just a result of Matthias’ strength against his body. His body flops lifelessly with each push, the only reaction he gives.

Minutes keep passing and passing, and all Jesper can do is watch with his heart in his throat. Inej presses into his side, one hand pressed to her mouth. Jesper isn't sure whether it's to comfort herself or him, but he presses his hand against her shoulder. She's trembling beneath his touch.

Kaz is beside them, his expression barely visible in the low light. But when Jesper dares to look away from Wylan, he finds rage building like a thunderstorm behind Kaz's eyes. Should it be comforting to know that Wylan will be avenged?

Maybe. But he doesn't want to even entertain it.

The rain falls harder as they watch, lashing mercilessly upon the ground. Eventually, Matthias leans back, face red and chest heaving. Nina wobbles and falls into his chest, muttering words they can’t hear and Jesper realises; they can’t give any more. It’s done. They did everything and it… it wasn’t enough was it?

For a moment, absolutely nothing happens. Time doesn’t pass. No-one even breathes. 

Then, Wylan gasps.

It’s a soft, tiny thing, a dandelion in the wind, but it’s there. Jesper dives to his side and wraps his hands around his shoulders, feeling that wonderful sensation of Wylan’s figners grazing his leg. His breathing gets quicker and quicker; he coughs and coughs and shudders against Jesper’s chest and when he gasps and his eyes fly open, Jesper weeps. Openly, proudly, with his full chest. Because he’s back.

His scream pierces the air, desperate and heavy, and he gasps again, filling his lungs with the cold night air. Blindly, his reaches through the dark and Jesper takes it, the cold from his palm biting his skin. Jesper kisses it, rubs to warm him up.

“Jes,” he whispers. His voice is hoarse from disuse and Jesper doesn’t want to think what else, not now. Everyone who did this to him will pay in due time. But now, Jesper is holding him against his chest and kissing his hair and whispering, “I’m here, it’s okay, I’ve got you, It’s okay.” Wylan is shaking and then he’s sobbing and Jesper holds him and rocks him, combatting the stream of apologies tumbling out of Wylan’s mouth with sweet nothings and promises of protection.

No-one can say anything then; no-one can. They sit in the messy aftermath of their terrible close call, each one expecting the other shoe to drop, for Wylan to slump and the little heat in his body to fade. But he doesn’t. He just keeps gasping and coughing and clinging to Jesper, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He rucks his head in the space beneath his chin and its only then that hot tears get Jesper’s collarbone.

“It’s okay. I'm here.” He pushes down all the thoughts of vengeance and just holds him, reveling in the way he shakes against his chest. Whoever did this will get what’s coming to them, amplified sixfold, but he refuses to think about revenge now. Instead, he strokes Wylan’s hair and says again, because it’s the only thing that matters now; “You’re okay."