#will they know how much she loves this blanket when she is cold and weary? will they know the love that went into the blanket?

[uncanny-tranny]

I think it's all about care, in the end. My cat is curled up on the bed I made for her, and the yarn used was made by people I never met, and the machines that they operated were invented by people who are perhaps long-dead. The electricity that courses through the veins of those machines were maintained in ways I never have witnessed, and it's about care, and pain, and care again. It's always going to be about care and community. Nothing that is built without that in the forefront of its mind will ever hope to live forever - only we will, and our care will. The only thing that will remain immortal - even with the pain even immense - is our care.

It's about care. It's about curling up on a warm blanket made by somebody who loved you enough to want you to be warm, and there won't be a shortage of that kind of care and love - it isn't a finite resource.

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[httpvomitello]

Can we get some bayverse tmnt comfort please?

Maybe all of them at the same time, not just single head cannons. they are about to knock on the window to readers apartment but they see reader stressing and studying for finals so, they leave before they notice and come back with snacks and a movie.

Absolutely no pressure to do this ask, I love your writing!

Hello, hello! Hope you like it.

(btw, I kind of read the request wrong the first time, and ended up doing it a little differently, sorry! 🫠)

Finals, Friends, and Midnight Snacks *⁠.⁠✧

The turtles rarely ventured to your apartment without some heads-up, but tonight was different. They’d been on patrol, half-bored, half-wired from adrenaline, when Mikey suggested they swing by to surprise you. You'd mentioned something about finals coming up, so it seemed like the perfect excuse to check in and maybe goof off a bit.

When they arrived, slipping through the shadows toward your window, they each prepared to knock, maybe make you jump a bit. But as Leo went to tap the glass, they all paused, taking in the sight on the other side.

You were hunched over a stack of textbooks, looking like you hadn’t moved in hours. Your hair was messier than usual, your face buried in your hands as you studied, brows drawn in frustration. There was a cold cup of coffee beside you, clearly long forgotten. The sigh that escaped your lips looked weary enough to weigh you down even further.

Mikey was the first to react, his expression dropping from excitement to concern as he turned to the others. "Uh, guys...I don’t think now’s the best time."

Leo agreed, nodding and stepping back from the window with a serious look. “She’s really stressing over these finals.”

Raph huffed softly, crossing his arms but keeping his eyes on you. He could be blunt, but even he hated seeing you like this. “She’s practically in zombie mode. I don’t get it... why go that hard for some stupid test?”

Donnie sighed, unable to hide his sympathy. “Because she cares about doing well, Raph. Finals aren’t a joke.”

The four exchanged glances, each thinking about how much they’d wanted to see you, maybe make you smile, only to find you buried in a mountain of notes and responsibilities. There was no way they’d let you stay like this.

“Alright, new plan,” Leo declared quietly. “We come back with supplies, something to help her get through the night.”

Raph raised an eyebrow, trying to hide his own worry behind a scoff. “So… what, we just turn into delivery boys now?”

Leo shrugged with a grin. “If it means she gets a break, then yeah.”

Raph rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, instead muttering a half-hearted, “Fine, but let’s make it fast.”

With that, they melted into the shadows, Leo leading them through the city toward their destination: the perfect supply run.

At the lair, Leo was all business. “ Mikey, you grab any snacks she might like. Donnie, brain food, whatever you can find. Raph, grab some comfort items, maybe a blanket or something.”

Mikey saluted, diving for the snack aisle. He grabbed armfuls of treats, throwing them into a basket. Chips, candy, anything that looked like it could bring a smile to your face. After a moment, he slowed down, his mind returning to the way you’d looked, so exhausted and serious. This wasn’t just about goofing off, he realized; this was about letting you know they were there for you, no matter what.

Meanwhile, Donnie scanned the shelves for anything resembling “brain food.” He knew you well enough to know you’d appreciate the thought, so he made sure to choose carefully, grabbing a few bags of almonds, dark chocolate, and even a couple of healthy energy bars. As he glanced at a box of herbal tea, he picked that up too, maybe it would help you wind down once you finally took a break.

Raph was skeptical at first but softened when he remembered the rougher days he’d had in training and how a little comfort had made all the difference. He ended up grabbing a cozy fleece blanket and some hot cocoa packets, grumbling to himself as he realized how badly he wanted you to be comfortable, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

In no time, they were on their way back, their arms full of items. When they arrived at your window again, they moved carefully, setting everything down.

Mikey took charge of the snacks, arranging them in a small pile on your windowsill, topped with a quick doodle he’d made of himself, Leo, Donnie, and Raph giving you enthusiastic thumbs-ups. He even threw in a cartoon bubble reading, “Good luck, dudette! We got your back!”

Donnie placed his carefully chosen snacks and the herbal tea beside Mikey’s arrangement, tucking in a small note with some quick, helpful study tips he’d jotted down from memory. “Remember to pace yourself! You’ve got this,” it read in his neat handwriting.

Raph, with an eye-roll but a soft smile he tried to hide, placed the blanket and hot cocoa packets near the snacks. He didn’t write a note, but he knew you’d get the message: Take it easy, even if he’d never say it out loud.

And finally, Leo tucked everything into a neat little arrangement, glancing over at you, hoping you’d look up and see the care package before they had to go.

The four of them lingered a moment longer, watching you as you continued to study, unaware of their presence. They couldn’t help but smile as they each thought about what they’d done and how much you meant to them. After a few quiet seconds, Leo signaled for them to leave, and they slipped back into the night, feeling a sense of satisfaction at knowing you’d have something to lift your spirits.

An hour or so later, you looked up from your notes, rubbing your eyes and stretching, feeling every ache from hours of study. Deciding you needed a break, you turned to get some water, only to freeze when you spotted the arrangement on your windowsill.

Your heart skipped a beat as you took it all in: the snacks, the blanket, the tea, and each little personal touch that told you exactly who had left it there.

Mikey’s doodle made you laugh, and Donnie’s note was filled with genuinely helpful advice. You smiled at the cozy blanket, feeling a warmth in your chest that chased away some of the stress you’d been carrying.

You gathered everything and made yourself some hot cocoa, smiling softly as you glanced out the window, wishing you could thank them. But as you wrapped yourself in the blanket and sipped your cocoa, you felt their support, even if they weren’t there in person.

A while later, you sent a selfie to the group that Mikey created, showing you lying in the little nest they prepared for you.

“Thank you, you guys are amazing!”

[exrellian]

Replaced MC AU

I’m pumping this out cuz I’m motivated! Still in third person

TW: the brothers being mean, MC getting bullied-

Part Two!

Everything is Changing

Mammon was the first to fall for Amelia, then Levi, Asmo, and Beel followed quickly

Satan, Lucifer, and Belphie were… weary about the new girl, the three found it odd how quickly their brothers fell for Amelia, seemingly forgetting MC completely

“Hey Beel, Hells Kitchen has a new menu item, it looks delicious! Want to go try it together?”

“Sorry, Amelia and I are going to try it in a couple minutes”

MC shrugged it off, happy Amelia was making friends

“Mammon, I’m bored, wanna go to the casino tonight?”

“Amelia and I are going to watch some movies tonight, no can do human.”

What? MC started to feel weird about this, not really too phased by the fact that the two were hanging out, but the fact that Mammon so nonchalantly called him ‘Human’

“Asmo..? Want to go clubbing tonight?”

“Hm? Not with you, not really. Sorry!”

Oh.

What?

“Levi? Want to play Raft together? I heard a new update came out!”

“I already beat it with Amelia, it was really fun!”

“Oh? Well would you mind playing it with me?”

“Amelia used your account, so we would have to start over for you to really see the update and that would just be boring”

“Oh um… alright, I’ll just play it on my own!”

This went on for about a month before the next brother dropped

“Hey Belphie, do you still have my blanket? It’s kinda cold in my room”

“Oh, I let Amelia have it because she was cold.”

“You gave my blanket to Amelia? Why couldn’t you give her one of yours?”

“She liked yours, don’t be selfish MC, you can just go buy another.”

“Fine.”

MC left, frustrated and still cold.

It was then when the worst so far came to be.

“That will be 18 Grimm”

MC swiped his card and it… declined? That was weird, he had more than enough Grimm! He had a part time job for a while and was payed by Diavolo for hosting events at RAD too! He opened his DDD and checked his account

-143 Grimm

What!?

He puts his DDD away and pays out of pocket for the blanket before returning home in a rush and going to his and Amelia’s room. Luckily for him, Amelia wasn’t there. Grabbing his laptop and checking his bank account he sees a bunch of online purchases on various video games. He slams his computer shut and runs to Leviathans room to see Amelia and Levi playing some random gacha game.

“Are you on my account Amelia?” He tried to keep his voice low and calm but he was shaking

“Oh! I’m sorry MC, Levi said I could!”

“Did you buy anything?”

“Well yeah! I didn’t like your account so I reset it so I could get the characters I wanted! Levi said his card was attached so I could spend as much as I wanted! Wasn’t that so nice of him?”

MC was writhing

“MY card was attached to that! You drained my account completely!”

Amelia looked almost… happy?

“It was your card attached? Sorry MC” leviathans tone was disingenuous and annoyed

“Since it was meant to be your money can you just pay me back for what she spent? I was saving up for something!”

“I’m not giving you my money MC, you need to stop being so selfish. Get out of my room.”

“No! Amelia spent all my money thinking it was yours so clearly you have the money to reimburse me!”

Levi stood up and walked over to MC

“I don’t know what has gotten into you, but you are not the person I fell in love with. You are almost more selfish and self centered than Mammon. First you go bullying Amelia, then you think I have to give you money for a little mistake. Leave my room MC, I don’t want to see you.” The hatred in Leviathans eyes struck a fear into MC that he hasn’t felt since he first arrived in the Devildom, weighing his options, he left, deciding it would be in his best interest to talk to Lucifer about it. He arrived at Lucifer’s study to find it empty, he then checked his room, finding it also empty

MC [Hey Lucifer, are you home?]

Lucifer [I am in a meeting. If you need to talk meet me in my study tomorrow.]

MC [K.]

Tomorrow could not come sooner

[rainbow-rebellion]

I said I wasn’t doing supercorptober this year and then my hand slipped... oops

*content warning: implied abuse*

fly away on the breeze to freedom [ao3 here] (Prompts 1-5: Leaves, Courage, Dress, Garden, Alone)

“There is freedom waiting for you, On the breezes of the sky, And you ask “What if I fall?” Oh but my darling, What if you fly?” -- Erin Hanson

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

Thick fog swirls soft and gray along the edge of the yard, long fingers slowly snaking their way through a maze of trunks and branches to settle in a heavy blanket above the multi-colored treetops. A blue ceramic mug gripped tightly between her hands, she savors its warmth in the chill of the early morning. Wisps of steam curl off the hot liquid to dissipate in the crisp autumn air, and the rich aroma of hot chocolate wraps itself around her like a gentle hug, always her comfort drink of choice on a dreary day.

She thinks about the dress hanging in her closet, silken white, skirt layered with tulle to make it full and fluffy, bodice overlaid with intricate lace and beadwork.

She thinks about the suit in the closet opposite hers, a classic black tux with a silver vest and shiny black shoes. She thinks about the man who will be wearing it.

She almost didn’t buy the dress. It had been a rare moment of bravery that had risen from within her, but then had dissipated as quickly as the steam from her cocoa.

Her sister had pleaded with her, tried to convince her she’d be safe, that all of Kara’s family and friends would be there to protect her if she could just find the courage to walk away. But she was too scared of the consequences, too scared of ending up alone. It was something her fiancé liked to remind her of, how sad and inconsequential her life would be without him. For some reason she always believed him.

That was before though, before a dear friendship blossomed into something that promised the possibility of more. Before kind words and patient company began to heal her shattered sense of self and slowly rebuild the confidence she had lost somewhere along the way. (Not surprisingly it was a friendship he never approved of). She’s still scared of course, she’s always scared these days, but she’s also so very tired of it all, and doesn’t know how much more she can take.

The morning sun peeks through the haze to cast pockets of golden light on the changing leaves - varying shades of orange, red, yellow and green - setting the trees ablaze in a magical show of color and glowing light. The sun’s rays catch a lone leaf as it falls, floating on the breeze to land softly on the dewy grass below. She wonders if it could be that easy - if she lets go, will she land as gently? She thinks about how the trees shed their old leaves and bare their branches to the winter’s fury, comforted by the assurance of warm spring days and new life ahead of them.

A determination settles in her soul, solid and resolute. She thinks about her sister and her mother, their pleas and their promises. Maybe it’s time to finally trust them. She thinks about someone else, piercing green eyes looking deep into her own and asking Kara to think about what she wants - not what anyone else wanted or what she thinks she’s supposed to want, but what she actually wants. A whispered oath swearing to always be there for her, no matter the answer.

But she thinks she knows the answer now - she’s known it for a while if she’s being honest with herself. It’s just now she’s finally finding the courage to take the leap, knowing there will be somebody to catch her. Someone who will love her the way he never could, with soft words and gentle hands.

A cold breeze has her pulling her cardigan tighter around her body, but she can’t help the quiet smile that appears on her weary face.

When she goes back inside she stands in the living room and looks around a house that has never felt like a home. A place that should have been a safe haven, but often felt more like a prison than anything else. Four walls and a roof that she’ll be happy to be free from.

Mike is still asleep on their bed, face down, snoring in his deep baritone. With the alcohol still in his system from last night, he’ll be out until at least noon. She gathers a few of her belongings in a small bag, only the really important things that can’t be replaced. She leaves her ring on the kitchen table with a short note, even though he doesn’t deserve her explanation. He’ll be angry no matter what, but she’s done letting him intimidate her.

She drives on autopilot to the other side of the city, to a quaint little white house with a blue door, her heart knowing exactly where it needs to be right now. She doesn’t bother with the doorbell, instead she walks around to let herself in the wooden gate to the garden in the back. That's where Kara knows she’ll find her, kneeling on the ground with her hands in the soil. Lena had bought this house in a quiet suburb after semi-retiring from her high-stress corporate career, and had taken prolifically to gardening. The multitude of flowers and abundant greenery evidence of her green thumb, all thriving, vibrant and full of life just like Lena.

She looks up when Kara enters the garden, the warm dappled light accentuating the hint of auburn in her dark brown hair, and falling across her face in a way that highlights the slight difference of color in her eyes, one a jade green, the other a hint more blue. Her gaze is soft and welcoming, but curious, tilting her head in question at the bag slung over Kara’s shoulder.

“I thought about what you asked me.”

Lena simply nods and waits patiently, though she can’t help the way her heart involuntarily skips a beat and her stomach flutters in anticipation.

“I know what I want now.” Kara takes a deep breath in, letting the tension drop out of her body when she exhales. Then a little more quietly, but steady and full of certainty, “I know who I want.”

Lena doesn’t say anything right away, but the smile on her face and the sparkle in her eyes says everything. She pats the ground next to her with a gloved hand. “Come sit with me.”

So Kara drops her bag on the small stone patio and sits down in the dirt next to her. Lena slips an arm around her and pulls her close, so Kara’s head is resting on her shoulder. She nuzzles her nose in golden blonde hair and places a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. Humming in contentment, Kara relishes the warmth of Lena’s body and breathes in her calming scent, allowing herself to finally relax and to be loved in this tender way.

Lena eventually pulls away to gaze at her, eyes full of adoration, achingly gentle but also fiercely protective, promising a hundred tomorrows each better than the next, and never one of them alone. She reaches out to grab a small plastic pot filled with orange and yellow flowers, and holds it up so Kara can see them.

“Did you know that chrysanthemums symbolize rebirth and new beginnings? They're actually revered in many cultures as a reminder of the beauty of change and transformation.” She pauses, dimples forming in her cheeks as her smile grows. Reaching out with her free hand she takes Kara’s in hers and squeezes. “Would you like to plant them with me?”

Kara can’t help but feel as light as the leaf she saw that morning, as if she herself had been carried here by the breeze, landing soft and sure, exactly where she needed to be. For the first time in a long time, when she smiles, it reaches all the way to her eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners.

“I’d like that very much.”

And as she sits side by side with Lena, working together in a little garden grown from love and filled with life, she feels the warmth of the sun break through and lift the fog from her soul.

[clockwork-ashes]

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part VIII

Find Part I here :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge, huge thank you to the lovely @bettdraws who literally deserves all the credit and whose post inspired me to start writing this. I could not stop thinking about this head canon, and it was so kind of you to let me try and make a story from it :)

And a huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO has everyone seen this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias /

Part IX >>

Elain crouched by the shores of a lake, her skirts the colour of wet dirt. The waters were dark, nearly black, and Elain was left with the impression that they were endless, no bottom to their depths. Elain reached out with her hand, the tips of her fingers creating ripples with the softest of touches. The water was so cold, Elain gasped in shock, the sound like thunder in the eerie silence. 

Elain could see the reflection of the night sky in the lake, stars winking at her like shimmering diamonds. The sky was clear, not a single cloud to be seen, but Elain frowned. She turned her attention from the waters, tilting her neck back, searching for the moon. 

Elain’s growing panic, a heavy and sinking stone, was made worse as she sensed someone approaching, soundless. 

A lone wolf howled, the wind carrying its agony. Elain felt a scream struggling to escape from deep within her chest, her throat tight – 

Elain woke up with a start, her eyes flying open, heart beating like a drum. Her unfamiliar surroundings did nothing to ease her nerves, but she slowly recalled where she was, how she had ended up spending the night in Autumn. 

Elain’s dream had been unsettling, everything sharp and so close to reality. She ran her hands through her hair, still feeling the phantom cold of the lake water on the tips of her fingers. She was reminded of the dream she had in Velaris, before Eris had come for her. 

At the time, Elain had convinced herself not to worry, that it had nothing to do with the cauldron’s curse, with the visions that had plagued her before the war. As Elain rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she came to the conclusion that something was decidedly wrong. 

With a weary sigh, Elain wondered if her abilities might be reacting to her mate’s proximity, to the bond between them.   

Lucien. 

Elain jolted in her seat, hugging the fur blanket around herself as she turned to look at the bed. The sheets were tucked under the comfortable mattress, the pillows placed carefully against the headboard, seeming as though no one had spent the night there. 

Elain would have expected to feel relief at Lucien’s absence, but was surprised at the disappointment that bloomed within her. Where could he have gone, Elain asked herself, frowning. 

Briefly, she worried that the High Lord of Autumn had simply changed his mind, had decided that she would be spared but Lucien’s life was forfeit. All she had done would be for nothing if Lucien were killed. Elain threw the blanket from her shoulders, but just as panic began to grip her, Elain dismissed the thought. There would be no point in Beron doing such a thing, she was sure. 

Elain guessed Lucien had merely gone to find Eris, or perhaps he had decided to see his mother. Elain knew from Feyre’s stories that the Lady of Autumn was brave, having risked her life under the mountain to help her sister. Rhysand had even mentioned how deeply Lucien cared for his mother, how it pained him that he was unable to see her.  

“Lucien’s fine,” she mumbled to herself, nodding as though she were confirming the thought. 

Elain blew a stray curl from where it had fallen in front of her eyes. She was a bit embarrassed with how much she knew about Lucien, considering how she never spoke with him. 

Elain collected bits of information on her mate like someone might collect rare and lovely coins. She would learn about him, feel guilty for wanting to know more, and promptly choose to go about her business as though it meant nothing to her. 

Elain could hear his heart beating through the stone. 

With a frustrated huff, Elain stood from the chair she had spent the night on. Her shoulders were stiff and she stretched her arms with a yawn. In the light streaming in through the windows, Elain looked more closely at the suite. Everything was organised, the few dresses she had brought were already hanging in the closet. 

Elain began to get ready, choosing one of the warmer dresses she had and placing it on the bed as she went about her morning routine. Elain’s mind quickly went to Cora, and she hoped rather selfishly that the other woman had not been sent back to the Night Court. 

Once Elain had prepared herself for the day ahead, she couldn’t help but curiously wander around the room, checking in every drawer, under all the pillows. She even placed her hand close to the fireplace, checking to see if the flames would burn her. Elain snatched her hand away quickly, embers flying, taking note that the fire was very much real. 

Elain’s slippers were soundless as she stepped across carpet and stone, making her way to the oak doors that led to the hallway. The gold handle was cool to the touch, and as quietly as she could, Elain checked to see if it was locked. 

With surprising ease, she was able to open the heavy door. Only a fraction, just to peak outside. Elain saw no one lingering outside the suite, no guard, although she assumed at least one would be stationed nearby. 

Elain nearly jumped out of her skin as she heard approaching footsteps, the low rumble of a man speaking. As carefully as she could, Elain shut the door once more, wincing at the soft snick of the lock falling into place. 

Out of pure interest, Elain pressed her ear to the aged wood. 

Perhaps the nobles had woken, Elain knew many lived within the Forest House, that it was large enough to be a small city, and the halls would soon reflect lively and busy streets. 

Elain bit her lip in focus, waiting patiently, her fae ears straining, but she caught the familiar timber of Eris’s voice as he spoke quietly. 

While Elain could not deny that she was very curious to hear what Eris might be saying and to whom, she stepped away from the door, knowing that in a matter of moments he would knock. 

The three short taps as Eris’s knuckles hit the wood between them still startled Elain despite how she had been expecting it. 

“Elain?” Eris’s voice followed the knocks, muffled. While not unkind, there was a sternness to his question. Elain noticed how he had not called for Lucien.

Elain waited a moment, so as not to reveal that she was standing by the doors. She straightened her skirts, taking care that there was not a single wrinkle on the fabric. She took a breath, knowing that Eris would not harm her, but still feeling a slight unease in his presence.     

Elain opened the doors, her expression pleasant. Eris looked tired, she noticed, his amber eyes dim. Elain did not dwell on it though, not as her gaze flicked past the imposing prince of Autumn and went straight to Cora at his side. 

Cora’s hair was loose, falling in pretty waves to her waist. She was lovely in a modest, dark brown dress with golden leaves stitched along the sleeves, and even though it was simple, Elain still found her beautiful. 

Elain could have hugged the other woman in relief, glad that her impulsive actions had not resulted in any harm coming to Cora. Elain was sure she would not have been able to live with herself if anything had happened to her lady’s maid, regardless if they barely knew one another. 

Before Elain could utter a word, Cora’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m so glad you’re alright.” 

The feeling was mutual, Elain flashed a sincere smile her way, but she did not get the chance to respond. Not as Eris seemed to think it would be ideal to cut their conversation short. 

Eris wordlessly walked past Elain and into the room as though it were his own. She could do nothing but shoot Cora a questioning look, following Eris further into the suite and leaving Cora to close the door behind them all. 

The heir of Autumn’s observant eyes lingered on the chair by the fireplace. Elain saw as they took notice of the cosy blanket heaped on the cushions, the flattened pillow still resting against the arm. “Slept well?” He raised an auburn brow at her, knowing exactly where she had spent the night. 

“Yes, thank you,” Elain responded politely, “the room is lovely.” 

With a mocking little tilt of his head, Eris acknowledged her words. There was a stiffness to his movements, somewhat less elegant then when she had seen him last.   

“Where’s Lucien gone?” Eris asked, glancing around the space. He seemed unconcerned, no hint of what he might be thinking on his blank face. 

Elain’s lips tugged down as she frowned involuntarily. “I wouldn’t know.” She tried to shrug off the fact that she was bothered by how Lucien had not told her, or left her a note at the very least. “He was already gone by the time I’d woken up.”

Eris took a small breath, his nostrils flaring. “Well, he hasn’t been gone long.” 

Elain wanted to ask how Eris would know such a thing, but instead she said, “I thought he might have been with you.” 

Eris scoffed, “I doubt he wants to speak with me.” 

Elain watched as Cora looked at Eris, how her eyes went to him only to quickly look elsewhere.   

“Should he really be on his own?” Elain asked, trying to keep the concern from leaking into her question.  

As Eris settled his amber eyes on Elain, she felt as if he could well and truly see inside her mind. Something flashed in his assessing gaze, and he hummed softly at the emotions he must have seen reflecting in Elain’s dark eyes. “I suppose you have a point,” he offered in response. 

With the smallest of bows in her direction, Eris turned to do the same in Cora’s, embers falling from the tips of his fingers. Elain could have sworn a blush stained the other woman’s cheeks, perhaps in surprise that a High Lord’s son would offer her such respect. 

Eris did not bother using the doors, opting to winnow. 

There was a beat of silence after his departure before Cora spoke. “Isn’t he frustrating?” 

“He’s quite literally the only ally we have,” Elain smiled in amusement, “I guess we have to get used to him.” She did not admit that she rather liked Eris, or at least, she liked the man he presented to her. 

Cora scrunched her nose as she walked further into the room and went straight to the windows, pulling the heavy curtains open all the way. She watched the falling leaves, captivated, her hands resting on the sill. “At least he’s nice to look at,” she mumbled. 

Elain couldn’t help her giggle as she followed the other woman, looking at colourful trees as far as the eye could see. 

“You’re getting married, I hear,” Cora added, still staring out the window. 

Elain breathed in deeply, taking longer than necessary to exhale. “Eris told you?”

“He didn’t have to, it’s all everyone's talking about.” Cora flicked her hair over her shoulder before turning to look at Elain. “All the servants are gossiping about it, and I even overheard some nobles whispering your name.” 

Elain’s lips parted in shock. 

Cora smiled at her, her expression reassuring, enough to comfort Elain. “Don’t look so surprised, Lucien was well-loved in Autumn and your sister is Prythian’s saviour.” 

“I’ve been told gossip spreads like wildfire in this court,” Elain breathed a small and nervous laugh. “I just hadn’t been expecting it to be so literal.” 

Cora opened her mouth to respond, but she stopped short as Lucien winnowed into the suite, golden light flaring around him. 

Cora did not jump, almost like she was entirely used to handsome men appearing from thin air. Perhaps she was, Elain wondered how old the other woman could be, assuming that after a certain age very little could be considered surprising. Elain, though, was startled, taking a step back so that she nearly bumped into the wall. 

Lucien bowed to Cora in greeting, an Autumn court custom, Elain concluded. “Lady,” he said softly, before he turned to Elain. His gaze lingered, and Elain fought the urge to swoon as he said the same to her. 

Elain bit the inside of her cheek in frustration at how she responded to his every word. Cora seemed completely charmed, and jealousy, brief and annoying, flashed within Elain. 

With a stammer Cora excused herself, almost stumbling over her own skirts as she practically ran to the door. With one last parting look in Elain’s direction, a final check to see if she was alright, Cora closed the door to the suite behind her. 

“Hello, Elain,” he said rather formally, his hands behind his back, shoulders straight. His golden eye clicked into place, the russet one bright, the colour rich and lovely. 

Elain kept her fingers laced and her arms in front of her. “Good morning, Lucien.” 

At her words, Elain watched as he stiffened, a puppet with his strings pulled taut. Lucien cleared his throat, “Eris said you were looking for me.” 

“I wasn’t,” Elain interjected, her words clipped. She saw hurt flash across his expression, but if she had blinked she would have missed it. “I mean, I was just… I suppose I was worried, that’s all.” Elain decided to offer him some honesty, to confess her thoughts to him so that he might understand her a little better. 

Lucien nodded, his face clear of all emotions, but the bond between them suggested he was just a bit saddened, perhaps regretful. “Then I apologise, that wasn’t my intention.” 

Elain clenched her jaw as she considered apologising for being so short with Lucien the night before, but she knew well that she would not have meant it and dismissed the idea quickly. 

The silence between them was awkward, but Elain allowed herself to take her mate in, her brown eyes raking over him. Some part of her was pleased as she heard his heart skip a beat, but she knew it was just the bond. 

Elain frowned, she ran her fingers through her hair. “What do we do now?” Her question was sincere and she wondered if Lucien could feel how anxious she was now that the dust seemed to have settled. 

“I mean,” Lucien started, Elain tracked the way he licked his lips, “we do have a wedding to plan.” Her eyes widened at the suggestion until she realised it was a joke. “Or, if it pleased you,” he quickly added, “we could go to the library?” 

Elain could acknowledge that Lucien was trying, and she appreciated how he attempted to make her feel at ease. Still, Elain prayed he did not get his hopes up, that he understood where her mind was in regards to their bond.  

Elain flashed him a small, genuine smile in response. She tucked a stray curl behind her arched ear, and for the first time in years, she did not notice its faerie shape. “I wouldn’t mind going to the library.” 

She took a few careful steps towards Lucien, towards the oak doors leading outside their shared suite. Elain almost reared back as his scent enveloped her, at the feeling of wanting to press her face against his neck and breathe in deeply. She pushed the thought aside, hoping he was unaware. 

Lucien did not offer her his arm, and Elain was grateful, but a small voice inside her head urged her to reach for her mate all the same.

[dufferpuffer]

Ok anon from before here, you fully convinced me about lupin and tonks, makes total sense to me now and I love this interpretation! It also make lupin kinda a fuck boy with is pretty funny to me lol

Oh yeah. Remus doesn't sleep around the thought of intimacy terrifies him - but he has always been weak to the whims of others: either people-pleasing or running the fuck away. But he can't run from Tonks. And he doesn't want to. Shes so cool and nice and understanding and fun and gets him, really gets him...

IDK how old you are, I hope 16+ or whatever age of consent is where you are But have you ever like... gotten in a relationship with someone where you can just lose an entire weekend laying in bed with them...? Or a friend where you don't hear from them for days when the BF/GF is over - and you know they aren't doing anything much? Like Ryoji Kaji and Misato Katsuragi (Evangelion) when they were in college. A week of just smoking and snacks and sex. 'Oops I forgot to go to class again today'

That's the framework of Remadora and I don't take otherwise lol Picture this: Remus is weary after a bad Full Moon. Fatigued on a couch, groaning pathetically, wrapped in a blanket, bones hurt... He can't run from Tonks doting on him when she has time off: Fetching water, sprinkling snow on his feverish head semi-playfully. He tells her not to bother, to go do something else... but she is Tonks.

She is sweet and cheeky and charming. She is stubborn and bubbly and gentle... when he is at his worst she always cheers him up. Everything he does is right when its with her: Every joke he makes lands, every story he tells is interesting - she makes him feel like a professional flirt... somehow. How intoxicating it is, to have someone understand you effortlessly, to not have to work to feel accepted... No lies are necessary. No manipulations work. No masks fool.

Of course they end up close. Uncomfortable? Come to bed. She can probably even carry him there. Cold? She can warm him up. Snuggle up. Cut up and bruised? She can do ancient magic: kiss them better. He hurts? Well... there's easy ways to distract from the pain: He doesn't need to do much to be petted and sucked off. To relax.

And god - he feels guilty, as always. She's doing so much for him. So they kiss, they fuck - its easier to have sex when the pain is numbed a little by adrenaline and dopamine and a desire to please. ...And when the emotional high wears off he cries. He is MORE guilty. What has he done...? Has he just made a huge mistake again...? Tonk's doesn't think so - so she cares for him more. Soothes him. But that's how these things start.

Sex until they're both tired and dizzy, until they lay together sore and nap... waking up to chat, to talk about feelings and worries. Tonk's gets up to get him some water and makes herself a 'recreational' potion with her excellent Auror potion skills.

Remus doesn't do that sort of thing, but since she made it he takes a mouthful or two. Reminds him of the old days with his friends. He tells her Peter's was stronger, back in the day. Perhaps an addition of Shrivelfig...? High, giddy, comfortable but sore - they chat about what Hogwarts was like in the 70s, what it was like in the 80s... laugh about Severus as a student and as a teacher... talk about their houses, their common rooms, their friends... the differences between the two wars.

And they have more sex. Over and over. They keep interrupting each-other with affection, with touching and kissing and nakedness. They forget themselves. They forget the world. They aren't Remus Lupin the scarred Werewolf or Nymphadora Tonks the Auror: they are just together. They are their pasts and their present, their thoughts and their feelings and their heat and their sleep. Being together is just as comfortable as being alone... moreso, even.

They don't even notice it's been three whole days since they have had a proper meal. Since anyone else has seen either of them beyond a half-naked dash for a snack. Remus thinks he has been sneaky, that nobody knows. They know. (They just care less than he thinks they will - he thinks they will judge him, but all they wish is that he was quieter or used a silencing spell.) But eventually Rems recovers enough from the Full Moon to be useful again - and Moody needs Tonks to like... work.

The world becomes heavy again. Remus wonders what the hell he was THINKING... pulling a promising Auror from her mentor for so long, wasting her time with him like a couple of layabouts, risking infection - he knows his spit isn't contagious outside of the full moon but it still scares him. No. No no - while he has his health he will go and be as useful as he can - and push her away, till she forgets about him. But it hurts. He is addicted. Every night he curls up and wishes for her body heat with him, soothing his worries, numbing his thoughts... But he is toxic. Perhaps if he died in glory she could move on...

...You know. Like that. Remadora.

[thesongweave]

Kidnapped

It had started with a few sniffles, and some lightheadedness a day or so after entering Rivington.

Part I

ACT III

(sickness, kidnapping, angst)

Gale x Tav ( Alathea, "Thea" )

Thea frowned as Gale shook his head, trying to cover a cough. "Love, are you all right?" She closed the gap between them, her small, delicate hand lifting to his face - first his cheek, then his forehead. The elf's frown deepened, concern clear in her features. He was usually fairly warm to begin with, but not like this.

"Oh, no, I mean yes -- I'm fine, of course." Gale forced a smile, but there was a tiredness behind his eyes. Thea dropped her hand, only to cross her arms in front of her chest.

It was early morning; most of the camp was awake by now, preparing for the day. Most were already geared up and ready to go, already finishing breakfast. Those that weren't going with Alathea chatted amongst themselves about what they planned to do, now that they would have access to a proper city.

Thea looked Gale up and down with a critical eye and a frown. "You're catching ill."

"Am not."

"Wizard." Usually, it was a term of endearment, coming from the bard, but this time there was a bit of a stern sharpness to it. Just as quickly. Alathea softened her features, green hazel eyes full of worry. "If you need to rest, love - by the gods, stay and rest." She took his face in between her hands, tilting him just so as to look at her. "Please?"

Gale hardly had it in him to argue. He was bone-weary, his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and bricks. The wizard knew he would not be much use should there be a fight if it came down to it - he felt slow like he was moving through molasses.

"Very well - though I hardly think I'm going to do you any good from here -- "

"Gale. Love, light of my life. I will sic Jaheria and her teas on you if you do not go lie down."

That earned her a scoff and a smile before he shivered. From not far off, Jaheria could be heard with a loud, "I heard that!"

He was definitely catching a cold. Damn. Gale sighed before pulling the small elf to him, kissing her forehead. "Ever wiser than I am, it seems."

"Only when it comes to your health."

Gale grumbled incoherently, leaning forward, arms still wrapped around Thea's smaller frame, resting his too-warm forehead against hers. "What are your objectives for the day?"

"Get into the city, firstly. Get a measure of Gortash, since we procured the invite to the coronation...and find that investigator. Who knows, maybe we can even scrounge up proper lodgings for a change." Thea's eyes fluttered shut, relishing in the feel of him - it would be odd, leaving Gale at camp rather than having him at her side. But she'd rather he rest and be well than...not.

Before, it would have bothered the bard, showing so much affection for someone, especially amongst their varied group of friends. She valued her privacy as much as Gale did - but as their relationship became known, both were pleasantly surprised at how generally accepted it was by all.

So there they were, standing by the fire pit in the middle of the camp, standing in each other's arms, dragging out farewells for the day.

Thea opened her mouth to say more, but Karlach's voice boomed over her. "C'mon let's GO!" The elf looked over to Karlach and Jaheria, who were feigning (mostly) some impatience.

"Karlach, grab Halsin, would you? Gales staying back today."

Karlach tilted her head, shrugged, and jogged off to fetch the druid.

"Thea."

Her attention immediately turned back to Gale. He smiled, all exhaustion and weariness. "I love you." He murmured to her before pulling away.

"And I love you."

~*~

It was hot.

Much too hot.

Gale kicked the blanket off in frustration. Sleep had been fleeting, fitful at best. He tossed and turned, coughing.

Now he was cold.

With a grunt, the wizard pulled the blanket back up to his shoulders. He tried to settle down and get some rest.

What time was it? Cracking an eye open, sunlight poured through the cracks between the tent flap - much, much too bright. Probably midday, at the latest.

Thea and the others wouldn't be back for hours yet. Gale groaned, head and muscles aching.

Perhaps a trip to the nearby stream would do him some good. Cool off, wash away the sweat, if nothing else.

Groggily, he stood, gathering a few bathing supplies before heading out.

As he exited the tent, Wyll and Shadowheart, who had elected to stay in camp, looked up from ... well, whatever it was they were doing, to eye him with concern. Scratch and the owlbear cub, whom Thea had dubbed as 'Chubs', napped nearby.

"Thea said you were ill. Are you sure you should be up?" Shadowheart commented with a frown.

"Just...going down to the stream to wash up. I will return shortly."

"Very well." The cleric hummed, watching him go.

It was a short trip, though it felt as if it took much longer than necessary. Gale situated towels and soaps close to the bank so he could grab them as needed.

Just as he began to disrobe, a strange sensation came over him, as if he was being watched. With a frown, the wizard turned, looking about. The wooded area had grown ominously silent.

"Look at it... wallowing about in the mud." A chill ran through Gale's spine before something struck him in the head, and all went black.

[folklorianhaze]

Recuperation

Pairing: Nesta x Cassian (Nessian)

Rating: T (13+)

Tags: One Shot, Sick Character, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Cassian takes care of Nesta

Word Count: 1347

Summary: Nesta has come down with a particularly nasty head cold.

Cassian, of course, decides to nurse her back to health.

Fluffy Nessian oneshot. Post-canon. I just adore these two and was in the mood to write them a little drabble!

Read it on AO3 here!

“Go away,” came a frail, rasping voice from beneath a veritable mountain of fluffy blankets and pillows. “I feel like Death incarnate.”

Cassian reached forward and dared to lift one of the blankets, greeted by a crown of burnished golden-brown hair — kept down today instead of swept up into one of his mate’s usual intricate, elegant updos. The rest of Nesta Archeron’s face was buried so thoroughly beneath the soft fabrics that she was nearly lost entirely to him. Cocooned and comfortable, as she should be, given how thoroughly her recent bout of illness seemed to have beaten her down. Indeed, perhaps it was an indicator of just how drained she truly was feeling that she didn’t swat his hand away or struggle at all to get her blankets back as he gently lifted them away from her face.

He pressed a hand flat against her forehead, and sighed with relief. “It feels like your fever might finally be breaking,” he said. “Is Death incarnate at least an improvement from how you were feeling a few hours ago?”

Nesta groaned, but shifted her head in something that might have been a nod. “I suppose it’s not worse,” she conceded, her voice rough from coughing.

Slowly, Cassian brushed her hair back from her sweat-dampened forehead. He stroked his fingers through the waves falling past the curve of her neck, his movements repetitive, soothing.

“Shit,” he breathed. “You still sound awful. ‘M so sorry, Nes.”

To his surprise, she gave him a breathy, disjointed chuckle.

“I wonder if you’ll still be saying such things when I get my voice back properly, Cassian,” she murmured. “You’ll regret being so sympathetic when I can bark orders at you all hours of the day again.”

“Actually,” he said, ducking down to press a kiss to the top of her head, “that’s the part I’m missing the most right now.”

She nestled herself farther down into her blankets, curling up into a fetal position as if making her body as small as possible would help reduce its pain. Cassian sank down onto the bed beside her, running his hand gently along the curve of her body. Alright, perhaps he was being a little fussy; but he’d be lying if he said that seeing her like this didn’t worry him a bit. His Nesta, so powerful and unstoppable, so determined to strike down her enemies where they stood . . . his stomach twisted at the sight of her so weary. He had to hope she was on the upper end of recovering from this nasty cold, and hoped more than anything his efforts to care for her had done something to make it better.

“What can I do to help?” he murmured, rubbing the curve where her neck met her shoulder in an effort to ease out any tension.

A flicker of a rueful smile touched the edges of Nesta’s mouth.

“You’re being quite the mother hen today,” she said. “I’m surprised you’re not telling me pain is weakness leaving the body or some other such nonsense.”

“Well, this is me speaking as your mate, not your trainer,” he said, smoothing a lock of her hair gently behind her ear. She leaned into the touch, made a soft noise in her throat that let him know she savored the affection. “Anyway, it’s best for you to let your body heal and rest up. Too much exercise right now would just make it worse.”

Nesta shuddered. “It’s difficult to get any rest at all when I just can’t get warm,” she groaned, pulling the blankets tighter around her body. A fitful series of coughs racked their way through her, and she added, “And my body feels so sore.”

“I know, love, I know,” he sighed, leaning down to kiss the top of her head once again. “I can draw you a hot bath, if you want. How does that sound?”

She mumbled something into the pillows that sounded like “the House can do it.”

“Alright,” he conceded, doing his best not to think too much on the House of Wind, and its unusual sentience and . . . friendship with Nesta. He supposed it wasn’t such a bad thing, having a home that cared for you and looked after you. “I should still help you to the bathing room, though. You look like you can barely stand.”

Nesta waved off his worries with an artless flap of her hand. “No, I can walk on my own. I’m not that decrepit yet, you bothersome male,” she said, though there was none of her usual bite behind the words. In fact, an amused affection gleamed in those blue-gray eyes, soft and almost reticent — a secret vulnerability, shared just with him.

She pushed some of the blankets aside, but kept one of the thinner quilts draped around her body like a cloak as she pulled herself up from bed. For a moment, she swayed on her feet, steadying herself with a hand on Cassian’s broad shoulder. His brow furrowed as he watched her in silence. When she met his concerned stare, he saw that a thin sheen of sweat lined her brow, a few wispy stray hairs sticking to her forehead. Determination lit her gaze, and with a lurch in his stomach he wondered if she still felt as if she had something to prove. As if she were fighting any sign of weakness tooth and nail, too scared to reveal herself as capable of being brought down by anything — even a cold.

“Nesta,” he breathed, the expression on his face softening. Not with pity — no, he knew she’d never forgive him if he were to look at her as if she were some fragile thing. Just love, and worry, and the instinct to hold her, support her, however he could. He reached out to stroke the line of her jaw, so proud and strong even in her most exhausted moments. “It’s alright.”

He saw the battle behind her eyes — the resolve in the set of her shoulders, the uncertainty of whether she should continue to force herself to stand tall or allow herself to be held. His warrior, fierce in everything she did. Even now, that look in his eyes reminded him of the painting that now hung in Feyre and Rhys’ river house — Nesta, holding the line, wind and snow whipping around her, at the Pass of Enalius.

Though people who didn’t know her, truly know her as he did, might have tried to say Nesta cared for nothing, Cassian understood the truth of it. The truth she would so rarely let anyone see: that she cared more than she could say, that in all things, she tried so hard. Constantly held herself up to standards she knew were nearly impossible to achieve, then berated herself when she couldn’t meet them.

But it was okay to relax, too — to let yourself feel supported by the people who love you in the times you need it. At that moment, Cassian realized how badly he wanted her to know that. Needed her to know that.

So he said again, “Nesta.” And this time, she didn’t hesitate as she let herself fold into his embrace, her arms wrapping around his waist and coming to rest against his back, with her fingers gently grazing his shoulder blades.

“I hate this,” she muttered against his chest. “I loathe feeling so weak.”

“You’re the strongest person I know, Nes,” he answered, giving her a tight, comforting squeeze. “Nothing could change that. Now, let’s get you that bath.”

And she’d been such a trooper today, been in such pain, that he didn’t argue one bit when she looked him in the eyes and responded with utter seriousness, “Yes. And two slices of chocolate cake. Possibly three.”

Cassian was true to his word. Later, when she’d at last gotten out of the tub (feeling marginally better now that her body and hair were both clean and fresh) they’d sat in bed and devoured not just those three pieces of chocolate cake, but the entire thing.

Courtesy of the House.

[i-cant-stop-fandoming-help]

I need to feed you people. Here. Heres part one of a story. Thing. For my friends' fankidronpa; danganronpa another aftermath. I came up with the name im so cool guys (extremely loud incorrect buzzer) (i am extremely sleep deprived.)

Rei single mother so cool guys. Warning for babies and a mention of pregnancy. Idk what other warnings to give.

I have no idea how any sort of mother thinks or acts when their child is an infant. I need to stop rambling and start sleeping.

Dearest Ayako; part one - infant

The drop of a pen is usually quiet– but its echo is loud in a silent room of suffering and exhaustion. Rei’s eyes were drooped and dry, bloodshot and weary. Every bone in her body ached and every movement stung.

She stared at her phone’s clock wearily, too tired to figure out how much time had passed since she began grading. Did she eat dinner? The growling of her stomach told her she hadn’t.

That didn’t exactly matter to the ginger, not when she was so tired. Her coffee was cold, and it was half past two.

Rei stumbled to her bed, collapsing onto it and struggling to crawl under the thin blankets and sheets. She was too tired to care for the cold of her room, or to try to turn on the heater. All she wanted to do was curl up and sleep— to do so for a week sounded nice.

Peace, finally. The ginger could hear her own breathing, could hear her own heartbeat and thoughts. It was nice— until it was disrupted by loud wails. Ayako, that’s right.

Rei nearly forgot about her daughter, how incompetent.

She struggled out of her bed, her legs asleep. It would be too dangerous to walk, she could fall and land on them wrong while they were like this. It wouldn’t be good if they broke, it’d be better if she crawled to the nursery.

The ginger slowly slid onto the floor, getting onto her stomach before using her elbows to support her weight and beginning to army crawl to the nursery. “Ayako,” She whispered, her eyes drooping constantly, “Mommy’s coming… it’s okay…”

Her daughter’s crying softened when she got there, the small baby holding her arms up and doing grabby-hands at her mother. A small but pleading gesture— whether it be due to a nightmare or because she was hungry.

Rei sat on the armchair by the crib, rocking Ayako back and forth and cooing softly. “What happened, Koko? Was it a scary dream?”

The tears in her baby’s eyes told her all she needed to know. It seemed Ayako was unlikely to sleep in her crib tonight.

Silent steps, careful not to bug any possible thing that could be awake. Her bed looked so comfortable, it almost made her want to belly flop onto it. Alas, she was holding her child– A fragile being who could die by any random thing.

Rei would never let any harm come to Ayako, not if she could help it. Not mentally, not physically. No harm would come to her daughter.

So she laid down carefully, still holding Ayako against her chest. “Mama will protect you, Ayako… no one will ever hurt you…”

Those were her final words before she faded into unconsciousness. Ayako still cradled close and blubbering softly as she poked her sleeping mother.

-

Part of Rei wished she hadn’t woken up. But it helped to hear her daughter’s sleepy gurgles. She was able to survive giving birth, she was able to manage raising a baby by herself. She would be able to manage anything.

“Ayako, it’s time to wake up…” She whispered, lifting up the blabbering baby and cradling her. “Let’s get you in the bath, and then you can have breakfast…”

Wide ruby eyes stared up at Rei, sparkling in awe and followed by a giggle. “ma…Ma!”

She wished that her daughter inherited her orange eyes, instead of the baby father’s red ones. Rei still loved her ex-partner deeply, but she knew what could come with those eyes. Her daughter could be bullied, called a vampire or a demon or a monster. Rei didn’t want that for Ayako.

“Goo?” The noise startled Rei out of her thoughts, and warmth filled her heart once more. Ayako was perfect, red eyes or not. The ginger leaned down, nuzzling Ayako’s forehead before kissing it.

“Mama will always love you, Ayako… I promise… No matter what, I won’t stop loving you…” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper, tears welled in her eyes as she cooed to Ayako. “You’re perfect, Mama’s so proud of you…”

Before Rei could praise her daughter more, her nose was grabbed by tiny fingers. “Wa…” Her daughter stared up at her in awe before breaking into giggles, waving her arm and pulling at Rei’s nose. “Waba! bbbbllbllbbl…”

Rei gently grabbed Ayako’s hand, forcing her to let go slowly before standing up. “Ayako, are you hungry? Mama’s hungry, too. Let’s go get some breakfast- After we both are clean.”

-

Rei’s hair was still damp when she ran out of the door, baby vest on and Ayako giggling as her mother ran to the car. “We took too long. I’ll make your breakfast at work, Okay, Koko?”

Ayako just blabbered, tugging at her mom’s ginger hair and giggling as each strand bounced back into a curl. “Ma-ma.” she repeated, over and over.

The former professor smiled at her daughter before buckling her into her baby seat, and then rushing to get into the driver’s seat. Tsurugi wouldn’t be pleased if she were late. But when was he ever? Their relationship had been sinking due to the recent killing game, the guilt had welled deep inside them both.

He had tried to go MIA twice, both times he returned out of sorrow and remorse. She had tried to ignore her pain with alcohol, but it just made it worse. The two had both gone to get help, with Tsurugi getting actual therapy and Rei going to rehab– and soon after, therapy.

But, nonetheless, there was still a strain, and when Rei fell pregnant, Tsurugi confessed all the feelings he’d been bottling up– that he felt like they were both forcing themselves to be in love, that he wasn’t prepared to be a father, and that he just didn’t think he was enough for her. She tried to comfort him, but she didn’t push. Being a parent was a big leap from dating, and she didn’t want to trap him at all.

So they mutually cut it off. She still maintained her feelings of love towards the man, but it was for the better.

“Gwa.” Ayako blurted as she shook her rattle toy, snapping her mother out of her thoughts once more. Despite the exhaustion it caused, Rei would never, could never, trade her daughter for anything.

[drhighhopess]

Cleon Week 2024

A Claire x Leon fanfiction based on the themes for cleon week (24th-30th of September), each chapter represents the day we are going off or one-shot in other words.

theme : Behind Bars

word count : 733

Chapter : 2 / 7

Type : sfw

a/n : It's been such a long week of school, I took a nap right when I got home and now I'm up in the middle of the night deciding to make the next chapter 😭 I didn't include Leon like at all, it was more about Claire and how her experiences are. I genuinely love writing about her and Leon and how they went through so much and can understand and relate off it.

Why wouldn't he go to sleep yet?

Were the words that ran through her mind. There was absolutely nothing that could've made her understand how exhausting having a child was. The restless nights were terrible. Not to mention postpartum..

Not a regret though.

The smile her baby had, it was absolutely beautiful. The nice feeling of seeing a piece of you in someone else. How sometimes her son would have her eyes, but then his dad's smile. A combination of both of them.

'I'm actually a mother.'

It hasn't fully sunk in yet, even through the nine months of hard work with adjustments. Plus, if you want to add another nine months for the actual pregnancy.

Jeez, time went fast.

Claire got up from the bed, the sound of the mattress creaking filled her ears. The soft sigh of breath left her mouth. Seeing Leon shift his body while still sleeping. Wondering how it would feel to be sleeping instead. The nice feeling of the blanket over her body, while the cold air is just right underneath. But still a sense of warmth from the piece of fabric on top of her skin. Regardless she knew she had responsibilities.

Claire went over to the crib, at the moment she was still weary about having her son inside the nursery to sleep inside. What if something happened? Would practically be the only thing in her mind. Leo needed someone inside the room with him at all times.

“Hey.. Hey.. Hey..” Claire's words came out gently. Picking up Leo, putting the baby inside her arms. Gently bouncing him on her hip.

“Are you hungry?” The redhead asked, her mouth going to give him a small peck on his cheek. Recently getting into the habit to try and really speak to him. The doctors said to have Leo talking soon he'd need to have conversations with others. It was awkward in full honestly, talking to someone without getting a reply back.

Even then they would both do what they had to for him to have the best start on his life.

Claire didn't know how hard being a mom was, at least until she was one herself. Growing up she always appreciated her mom. For the time they had together at least. She was still a kid though, she did not like every choice the woman made that affected her own life. Like getting a stepfather, her mom remarried around the age of seven. Old enough to comprehend the situation around herself. The guy wasn't.. a bad person.

Just didn't like him, if she had been honest it would probably have been that she hated that her parents divorced. She was starting kindergarten, about five years old. That didn't mean the redhead couldn't understand whether her parents didn't love each other. Especially someone her age has decent understanding. Emotions are less complex, but the ones they could understand meant a lot. Like love, not like love any adult would think of obviously.

But she knew her parents loved each other once upon a time.

She'd make sure her son would have the best childhood possible. Giving him the opportunity she never had, knowing her and her fiance already talked about it. How they were raised, being able to relate to losing a parent during childhood. Even then, she knew if something happened it wasn't in her control, considering the jobs they both work. It's already risky enough, but they could make it work.

They already are.

Her eyes went back to Leo's face, seeing how he calmed down slightly after being in his mom's arms. He rested on her hip, using her other hands freedom to pick up the bottle inside the crib. Overtime throughout the almost year since he was born he has been a constant wiggle worm. Surely loving to get around and move at every opportunity.

The kid did not like to be put behind bars.

A small breath of air left the woman's mouth. Before going to the kitchen to make Leo his bottle. Closing the door with a small creak. Letting the light that the kitchen would possess go ahead and reach their bedroom. She knew it was around time he could be put in his nursery, that couldn't stop the natural feeling of worry.

So until then, maybe just for a bit more he'd stay inside her and Leon's room.

[shmowder]

For the OC event: had an interesting (to me, at least) OC idea for a post-canon child, about 16, who was an adopted orphan (parents died from the Sand Pest) and raised by Artemy and Daniil. Growing up, she had a mix of influences that shaped her understanding of the world--she very much believes in Artemy's methods, knows some of the Kin language, and is generally more in touch with Kin culture, but Daniil also insisted she grow up well-read and with a good education, so she has a fair bit of formal knowledge too (if antiquated, given new books don't reach the town often). She comes from the Clara ending, and I think that'd give her an interesting relationship with death in general, altogether. Being a child who grew up with human sacrifice as the norm.

She's a fairly solitary girl. Keeps to herself, likes to have things to do that don't involve other people too much. She has a small tent at the edge of the Steppe, a little ways off from the graveyard, that she often stays in (sometimes for days at a time). She gathers herbs for Artemy and herself, and makes simple medicines with them (and sells them--her contribution to the household). She has a mutt that she loves dearly; it often accompanies her along her trips out to gather herbs, tend to local cows, and cuddles up with her on cold nights (and on warm nights… and hot nights, sometimes).

At home, she helps take care of the chickens, and some cleaning (she hates cleaning, though, and tries to avoid it). Daniil has been trying to teach her some of his more complicated sciences, but it mostly goes over her head. She thinks his microscope is the coolest thing, though--seeing all those little moving things is like magic to her. She loves curling up next to the couch for family story nights, closing her eyes and listening to the crackling of the fire or the dogs barking outside as one of her fathers narrates all sorts of tales. When she stays in a room, the window is always open. She has some books from Yulia's that she's borrowed a dozen times now stacked neatly on her little shelf, next to haphazardly strewn pages of plant and abstract sketches.

I also had some vague ideas of a plot for her: one day, while out in the Steppe gathering herbs, she accidentally wandered too far and ended up on the wrong stage at the wrong time. Instead of the play she was meant for, she ended up in the play set fifteen years before--the timeline we play in the game. She arrives on the first day, around the same time as Daniil.

A lot happens, but some highlights are: desperately trying to keep the younger versions of her fathers from killing each other; dealing with a Clara-adjacent situation where no one knows where she comes from and at least a few people suspect her of being a shabnak; ending up breaking Kin law by harvesting organs to sell when money gets tight and she has to keep the healers alive if they're to find a cure (she knows they can because they did in her timeline, but they can't if they're all delirious with hunger and thirst and exhaustion); the way she cuts people open with the Lines is noticed as similar to the Burakh method (because it is) and when Artemy finds out about the organ harvesting he assumes someone's impersonating him and tries to find them (ends in a confrontation); general angst.

Also had an idea for when she gets back, where after all her experiences on the other stage, she has trouble being comfortable around Artemy again (both because of how their confrontations went and because she broke Kin law), and in general now has that same faintly hollow-eyed, haunted look many bear from their time spent wearying out the plague.

I came up with this years ago and can pull apart the holes until it resembles a ratty old blanket, but this OC brought me joy and I thought I might as well share her for once. I may have named her, but I don't remember now

Who cares about the holes when you can easily see the love wooven into every stich? The warmth this blanket once provided to someone who adored it thoroughly, the memories it holds, the cold nights it chased away, soothingly drapped over your mind, a small relief.

That's what OCs are really about, aren't they? The joy they bring, the feelings the invoke, a cherished doll worn out with time and play.

You told her story just now with intimate familiarity, the story of someone who knew her personally, witness her every step, forged her path alongside her back when everything was new, uncertain and unkown. Now you walk down the same path with reassured confidence.

I love her story! I love the fact Daniil and Artemy end up together in it too. In a way, she is a symbol of love. As long as she exists in the universe, you know these two got their happy ending.

The way she describes seeing microscopic creatures move as magical is so endearing, claiming this device is the coolest thing ever, it's really the best of both worlds.

Not only does she have the childlike wonder for science and technology that Artemy lacks, but the faith and creativity necessary to believe in the extraordinary, to see the magic in the mundane and certian, which Daniil has trouble grasping.

I can't imagine what the lasting effects of meeting her parents back in time would do to her psyche. No wonder she feels conflicted around Artemy afterwards. Having just lost his father, struggling to repress his grief, only to be informed that someone out there somehow got hold of the Burakh menkhu knowledge and is attempting to replicate his surgical lines??? Yeah, he'd lose his shit and take it personally, a great disrespect on his Isidor's memory and an open insult to him.

Honestly, I'm glad it ends with her surviving that confrontation, I hope Daniil stepped in somehow bc Clara informed him ahead of time or something.

Names tell stories, I hope you find a fitting name for her, even just as a parting gift for this old hole-filled blanket, which once brought you so much joy and kept you warm. To grant a name is akin to granting a life, to humanise them.

If not, that's perfectly okay. I will call her the next Menkhu in line for now in my masterlist, or maybe Cub? Artemy's childhood nickname being passed down to his daughter seems appropriate, especially since it was Isidor who gave it to him.

She's very wonderful <33 I love her dearly.

[annachu-cannot-write]

Finding our Way Back

[published on archive 5/3 2023]

[a loz botw fanfic, link/revali, 3474 words]

We loved each other  And we lost each other  But we found our way back

Revali was flying over the snowy Hebra mountains, patrolling the area. Something that wasn't actually a duty as a Champion, but something that he liked to do when he had time. 

Usually on his nighttime flights, he spotted camps filled with either Bokoblins or Lizalfos. Those monsters were easy to get rid of with just a couple of arrows, but they would always come back, making patrolling the mountains more or less pointless. But it was at least something to keep Revali busy with. 

On this particular snowy night however, it wasn't a Bokoblin or a Lizalfos that caught the Rito's eye, but something much smaller. On the white, glistening surface of the snow covered hill lay a little figure motionless. 

Revali immediately changed course and dove down to inspect what it could be. 

Reaching closer to the small figure in the snow, Revali saw that it was a Hylian boy. But not any Hylian boy. It was Link. 

Taken aback by the sight, it took the Rito a minute before he decided to pick up the young boy. 

With a firm grip around the small figure, Revali started to flap his wings profusely, then shot up into the sky. 

~

Stopping at the landing in Rito village, he adjusted his grip on Link so that his wings were now under the boy's knees and back, and started heading towards the inn. 

As Revali walked down the wooden staircases, a couple of passing Ritos stopped to look at him. 

"Is that Link you're carrying?" 

"What ever happened?" 

But Revali ignored them, his gaze only pointed forwards. 

Upon reaching the inn, Cecili, the innkeeper, briskly walked up to the other Rito, a concerned look on her face. 

"Oh my, quickly lay him down here." 

Cecili, was indeed, used to getting weary travellers to her inn; those who hadn't dressed properly for the cold weather, or those who simply hadn't eaten enough and had worn themselves out, but none had come in looking quite as rough as Link had. 

And Revali usually wasn't the one to bring them in. 

"May I know what happened?" Cecili asked after she had tucked Link under several thick Rito blankets. 

Revali just looked at her first but with a sigh, answered the question. 

"I found him unconscious up in the Hebra mountains. Seems like the boy doesn't care for his own life… Such recklessness."

He muttered the last bit, turning to leave. 

"You mustn't talk about the poor boy like that." 

"Poor boy?" 

With a scoff, Revali left the inn and Cecili sighed as she watched him leave. 

~

Link stirred in the bed he was lying in, groaning as he felt how his body ached with every movement. He couldn't remember what he had done to be hurting this much. But it must have been something. 

Little by little, he noticed that he was lying in bed, but he couldn't remember lying in bed either. 

Where was he?

Slowly opening his eyes he realised, as he took everything in, that he was in fact in the Rito village inn. 

He certainly couldn't remember going to the inn. 

It must have been one hell of a blow to the head. 

With as much strength he could muster, Link tried to pull himself up, only to fall back onto his pillow. He let out a frustrated groan, and tried again. 

"Link! You're awake - oh you really shouldn't be getting up. You need all the rest you can get… though you also need to eat something, you must be so weak right now." 

Cecili hurried out of the inn, and Link tried a third time to sit up straight but eventually just gave in. 

Shortly after, Cecili came back with a steaming bowl of soup and sat it down on the shared table.

Walking over to Link, she wrapped one wing around the Hylians back and pulled him up. 

"Here, we'll set you down on a chair so you can have some food."

Link sat down on the little stool and looked at the bowl of soup in front of him. He could definitely feel how hungry he was now. 

"Dig in and you'll feel better in no time!" 

Cecili gave Link a smile before returning to her desk. 

The soup did indeed make Link feel better, almost instantly upon taking the first spoonful. It was almost as if the ache in his body completely vanished. 

Soup had never tasted this good. 

"Oh by the way, it was Revali who brought you here… Thought you wanted to know." 

Link stopped at that, brought his spoon down from his mouth, and stared forwards. 

That came as a surprise to him. It just wasn't the thing Revali would do.

Just as his brain started to come up with different possibilities as to why Revali had done such a thing, something caught his attention. Or rather someone. 

Who else but Revali was walking by right outside the inn just in that moment. 

Where was he heading?

Link wanted to shout out to him, but Revali was already down the next staircase. 

He pushed away his bowl and made to get up when Cecili shouted at him. 

"Where do you think you're going? I said to eat your soup, not run away." 

Link turned to stare at her. 

"Just stay one more night, alright? Then you can go find him." 

Sighing, he headed back to his bed, the soup abandoned on the table. 

~

Link was awake enough to hear the creaking of the floorboards, the loud thump and the squawk that followed it. 

Pretending to be fully asleep, he stayed still and kept his eyes shut. 

He couldn't hear anything after that and wondered if, whoever had entered the inn, had already left. Then he heard a small scraping sound, as what he imagined was one of the stools being dragged on the floor. And the sound was coming towards him. 

At this point, Link debated whether or not to open his eyes and check who it was. He didn't like being crept up on. 

But whatever decision he was going to make was cut short by a soft voice calling out. 

"Link, you absolute fool."

It was Revali. 

With all his might, Link fought the urge to open his eyes, wrap his arms around the Rito and thank him for saving him. 

But instead, he stayed still on his back, his eyes closed. 

"What were you thinking?" 

"Don't you have any self-preservation at all?" 

Even though this was the softest Link had ever heard Revali's voice to be, there was still an undertone of the characteristic sneer. 

"Making me carry you like you're some helpless little creature." 

There was a scoff with that one. 

"Don't think I wanted to… but I couldn't exactly leave you there, you would have died." 

There was silence after that and Link thought that he must have left. Though he hadn't heard any creaking floorboards. 

Suddenly, he felt something soft touch his face. He fought, yet again, the instinct to open his eyes because he didn't want the Rito to know that he had been awake this whole time. 

"Link…" 

He could hear Revali sigh as Link continued to feel soft feathers on his face and he realised that the Rito must be stroking his cheek. 

Link didn't know what had gone into Revali. The Rito was never easy to deal with, making it difficult to even have a conversation with. Always thinking he was superior to everyone else and boasting about himself every time he opened his beak. But yet here he was, talking in a soft tone, stroking Link's cheek. 

But Link wasn't complaining. 

Though he knew that this wasn't going to last. Surely, Revali only did this because he was alone and thought Link was sleeping. He would never show this side to him otherwise. 

That little thought grew on Link's mind more than he wanted to admit. 

Eventually, he fell asleep and whether or not the Rito was still there beside him, he wouldn't know. 

~

When Link woke up the next time, it was already noon. Cecili wasn't tending to her desk and Link saw this as the perfect opportunity to get away from the inn. He had already stayed there long enough. 

Getting to his feet, he realised that his body still ached, but pushed the pain aside and with a grimace finally stepped out of the inn. 

He made sure that no one saw him as he wandered up the multiple staircases, up to the little hut that was Revali's house. It was thankfully an easy task as no Ritos were nearby. Though there was no Rito in Revali's hut either. 

He must be at the Flight Range. 

Using his Sheikah Slate, he found the shrine he was looking for and teleported himself. 

Only seconds later, Link was standing at Sha Warvo and snow hit him hard in the face. 

Pulling the furry collar of his shirt up closer to his face, he started heading towards the Flight Range. 

He knew he was getting closer when he could see tiny little lights up ahead, coming from the wooden hut. 

He tried to look out over the range to see if he could spot the Rito he was looking for, but the snow blizzard made it nearly impossible to see anything. 

Link could only hope that Revali was in the hut. 

Climbing the ladder proved to be much more difficult than it usually was. With each step, Link's body protested. But Link was tired of the pain, and just pushed through it anyway. 

Finally up in the hut he could see, to his surprise, that Revali wasn't sitting by the fire either.

With a sigh, Link sat down on one of the pillows and started to warm himself up. He figured that he might as well stay here and wait for the Rito. 

And wouldn't you know it, almost immediately, a gust of wind blew in over the hut and Link could see a figure descending. 

Just then, Revali landed on the small platform, flapping his wings to dust off all the snow. 

His eyes shot immediately to Link's. 

"What are you doing here?" 

He turned his gaze away from the other boy, and set down his bow and arrow. 

Link, however, continued to look at Revali, and decided to ignore his question. 

"Were you out there training in this weather?"

Revali sneered. 

"The weather stops for no one. As a champion I should be able to tackle any challenge."

Then he looked up and met Link's eyes again. 

"As should the Hero of Hyrule." 

"To think that a simple little blizzard could be the end of you -tsk tsk tsk- how pathetic."

"Maybe next time, you shouldn't be out in the mountains when you can't even handle it." 

Then it hit him. A wave of memories. 

He was up in the snowy mountains, traversing the snowy landscape, when suddenly he got ambushed by a Lizalfos. With one blow from their sword, he was sent down the mountain, his body repeatedly hitting the rock wall. 

No wonder he blacked out for such a long time. And no wonder his body still ached. 

"Thank you."

"For whatever reason?"

"For saving me." 

Revali looked at Link again, squinting his eyes a bit. 

"You would have died up there if it wasn't for me."

"I know, and that's why I'm thanking you."

"What were you doing up there anyway? You should know that the mountains are dangerous."

"I was just exploring." 

Revali let out a loud HAH. 

"Exploring?”

Link shrugged and looked away. Quietly he then asked:

"Why do you care?" 

The Rito sighed in frustration. 

"What was that?" 

"I said, why do you care?" 

Link looked up, and met Revali's gaze. 

"Why should you care if I die on a mountain?"

The Rito scoffed loudly. 

"Oh don't be ridiculous! We can't have the Hero of Hyrule rot away on some lonely mountain when there's a war to be won." 

Link, admittedly, felt a tinge of disappointment from that answer. 

But what had he expected? It's not like Revali saved him for selfish reasons. 

The Hero of Hyrule. 

That's why he saved him. 

But that couldn't be all that Revali thought of him as, could it? 

Link tried not to show the sadness that had washed over him, instead he rose to his feet. 

"I think I'm going to head off…" 

He didn't want to actually. He hoped for nothing else but Revali to soften up and be open with him, but this conversation wasn't going anywhere. 

"... Seeing as I'm a bother to you."

"And why do you think you're a bother to me?" 

Link could feel the Rito's gaze burn a hole in his back. 

"You don't need to say it with words, your body language speaks loud enough." 

With that, he jumped down the ladder, ignoring how pain shot through his body, and ignoring the Rito that was still in the hut. 

~

Yellow butterflies circled over him where he lay in the tall green grass. Flowers of white surrounded him, giving off a wonderful scent. A croak from a frog could be heard not far away. 

Link was back at the Great Plateau, a place he found comfort in. In a way, it felt safe, like it was far away from everything else. 

He would often come here when he wanted to clear his mind, and this time was no different. 

A week had passed since his and Revali's conversation at the Flight Range and he could still not get the Rito's words out of his head. 

The Hero of Hyrule. 

It wasn't like he had never been called that before, he just didn't like the fact that Revali called him that. 

Was that really all he saw him as? 

Link sighed heavily and brought up his hand to cover the sun. 

This one little thing had grown so strong in Link's mind and troubled him so much. 

How was he supposed to be focused on the task ahead of him, of aiding Princess Zelda in the fight against Calamity Ganon, when all he could think about was his stupid feelings for a certain Rito Champion? 

… 

Feelings… He had feelings for Revali. 

Then suddenly, with a force so strong, Link felt a jolt of pain from inside of him. A pain that had been there ever since he woke up on this very plateau all those months ago, but he had always tried to push away. But never before had it hurt this much. In this moment it was unbearable. 

He grasped his shirt, right over his heart, and clutched his hand so hard because he was hurting so very much. 

Just then, another jolt of pain shot through his head, causing him to scream out in agony.  

… And then all the pain he was feeling disappeared and all he could see was flashing images. A memory of old revealing itself. And he understood. 

… He had to go find Revali. 

~

Enlightened with a newfound memory, Link was back at the Flight Range, sitting by the fire yet again. 

Revali was nowhere to be seen, however Link knew he would turn up eventually and so he waited patiently. 

An hour passed and there was still no sign of the Rito. The sky had grown dark and it was getting colder and colder. Link nuzzled closer to the fire, trying to stay as warm as he could. In his mind, he went through all the things he wanted to say to Revali. He had decided it was best to just spill everything, spill his whole heart if he had to. Anything to get the Rito to understand, anything to get him to remember. 

… 

Realisation dawned on him as he noticed that it had gotten brighter inside of the hut - he had fallen asleep whilst waiting for Revali. 

Rubbing his eyes, he sat up from the uncomfortable position he had been in and immediately met the eyes of that exact Rito. 

Revali was sitting down next to him, leaning against the wall. 

"Did you sleep well?" 

Link blinked. 

"What?" 

The Rito sighed. 

"I found you fast asleep when I came back late last night. I thought it would be best to let you sleep." 

Link blinked again. Then he remembered why he was here. 

"I actually wanted to talk to you."

Revali nodded. 

"We should talk, shouldn't we?" 

Then he stood up, walked over to the little landing and extended his wing towards Link. 

"There's a place with a good view of the sunrise - I can take us there if you want?" 

Link stared at him for a second, to try and register what he had just heard. 

Then he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. 

"I'd like that." 

And so Link walked over to Revali and let himself be wrapped inside of the others wings, the smile on his face only growing wider. 

~

Revali came to a halt right next to Vah Medoh, on the highest peak in Rito Village. 

He carefully put Link down and drew back his wings. He then walked over to the very edge of the cliff formation, looking out over the soft orange sky in front of them. 

"The sunrise has always been my favourite. The stillness of it. How peaceful and quiet it is." 

He turned his head to look back at Link. 

A look on his face that the Hylian couldn't quite read. 

"I usually don't share it with anyone." 

Link fought with all his might not to break down then and there. 

Revali coughed and looked away from him. 

"Anyway, you wanted to talk to me?" 

Link took a deep breath, steadying himself, and went to sit down on the rock so that his legs were dangling off the edge. He patted the ground next to him and looked up at the Rito. 

Revali scoffed lightly, but sat down nonetheless. 

Summoning his confidence, Link uttered the words he had been so afraid of. 

"The moment I woke up at the Shrine of Resurrection, I had this strange pain inside of me. Something strong that I couldn't really understand. In a way, I felt like it was something that had been there since before I died. 

When I saw you for the first time since coming back, that pain only grew stronger. It was as if I was longing for something that I used to have. I kept pushing it away, telling myself that it didn't mean anything. 

And it was not until recently that I understood the pain I was feeling. 

…We loved each other.

…And we lost each other."

He choked out the last words, his eyes filled with tears. 

Revali softly placed his wing under Link's chin, and lifted it up, a sad smile on his face. 

"But we found our way back."

Link could only stare back at Revali, tears now streaming down his face. 

Sobbing out the words, he responded:

"Did you know?" 

"I had my suspicions, yes. But it didn't fully occur to me either until very recently."

"Then… all this pain - have you felt it too?" 

Revali turned away from Link, and looked down. 

"Yes -" 

Then he let out a dry chuckle. 

"- But I was so determined to push it away that I didn't stop for even a second to think about what it could actually mean.

… But now I know."

Revali turned to face the Hylian again. 

"And I'm happy I do."

Link, now crying violently, threw himself over the Rito in such a speed it almost toppled them both over to the side. 

But Revali steadied them with his wings, making sure they didn't both fall off the edge. 

They stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, neither of them letting go. 

"I'm sorry." 

Link's words came out muffled from where he had his face buried in the Rito's neck. 

"What could you possibly be sorry for?" 

"For leaving you back then." 

Revali grabbed Link's shoulders and looked at him straight in the eyes. 

"Link, what happened is not your fault. Neither of us could have done anything."

Link frowned, his eyes still filled with tears. 

"That's not true. I could've done something to prevent it, I should have done something, anything." 

"Link - beating yourself up over it won't change anything, what happened, happened."

Revali gave him a soft, sad smile, and then leaned in, touching Link's forehead with his. Link brought up his hands to cup them around the Rito's face. 

"It's okay." 

… 

The orange sky gleamed in the distance, slowly melting into yellows and blues as the sun rose higher. 

On the very top of Rito Village, sat a Hero and a Champion. 

For the first time in a century, they were both happy. 

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

hi!!! i re read ur peter/gwen sick fic this morning aaa i love them ☹️💞 ur writing is so good!!

do u think u could do something similar but where gwen is the one sick and peter takes care of her? thanks !! 🤘🤘

“Peter, the sooner you leave me alone, the less likely it is for you to catch whatever I’ve got and the more likely it’ll be for me to get this studying done,” Gwen sighed, wishing her voice wouldn’t whistle and rasp so painfully; it felt like she had spent most of the day gargling rocks. Setting her pencil down, she slid a heavy, aching arm out for the thermos on the other end of her desk, only for Peter to hastily snatch it up out of her reach.

“Whoa there. Listen, I know I’m one to talk and this thermos honestly smells amazing right now but you really don’t need coffee in your condition,” he pleaded.

“It’s warm, it feels good on my throat.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not gonna help you sleep! I don’t even know why you’re still up, honestly.” In return to her exasperated, obvious gesture at her textbook, he gave her an equally obvious eye roll. “You’re the teacher’s pet—every teacher’s pet. If you told them you’re sick, I’m sure they’d give you extensions to catch up once you’ve gotten some rest.”

“I’m close, okay? I’ve only got…” Gwen wavered, blinking at the page before her as she tried to crunch the numbers. Come to think of it, how long had she spent staring blearily at this one chapter? This one page? The past few hours were becoming muddled, muted by the dull pounding in her temples. “…I-I’m close,” she mumbled at last, giving up on any estimation. “You can whisk me up in your arms like any other damsel in distress as soon as I’m done.”

Taking a swig of her coffee for himself, likely knowing he would need a boost for what lay ahead, Peter then set it aside in favor of shuffling behind Gwen’s desk chair and sliding his hands over her shoulders. Against her better judgment she leaned into his strong, safe touch, struggling to suppress a shudder when he started kneading along the base of her neck and the top of her spine. She hadn’t realized how many knots of tension she had been holding there until now that he was trying to loosen them up.

“I brought some of Aunt May’s soup,” he murmured coaxingly, hunkering down to press a few slow, soft kisses into the crown of her mussed golden hair. “That’ll be nice and warm for you too but not if you keep it waiting for much longer. After that we can get you changed, get all cozy under the covers…You’d seriously rather be studying than snuggling right now?”

Pulling heavy eyelids back open, unsure of when she had closed them, she tried to muster another protest, only for a few rough, ragged coughs to escape instead. Once those first few found traction, the rest were eager to follow, ripping the air from her lungs. The pounding in her skull spiked to a dizzy thundering, her ribs rattled for mercy and Peter’s grip tightened to offer support.

“You’re okay, shh, shh,” he cooed, worry and warmth mingling in his voice. “You’re okay, just breathe.”

Easier said than done with her sinuses swimming and her chest burning with every crackly gasp. Curling in on herself, reflexive tears burning her eyes, she realized then that the answer to his question was a resounding no. She didn’t want to be here. Her back and butt were sore from staying slumped in this chair for so long. She was cold and clammy and congested and she would much rather be buried under her blankets right now. The only distress this damsel had to be in was that which she was bringing on herself. It could end at any time, if she could only bring herself to take the out her boyfriend was offering.

Whatever results she managed to cobble together definitely weren’t going to be her best work if she kept going now. As Peter had so kindly pointed out, she was top of her class; she had higher standards than this.

“…S-Soup sounds pretty good right now,” she admitted at last in a wet, weary sigh. She didn’t have to glance back at him to sense how he lit up at the words.

“Really? You’re actually gonna—Right! Yes, yes, okay! Coming right up,” he promised with another kiss to her head; although it was brief, she could feel the relief in his smile against her scalp before he bounded across the room to fish through his pack for the Tupperware, as well as a few other essentials. “Okay, we got soup, decongestants, cough syrup, painkillers, cold packs, this heating pad—”

“Since when do you come so prepared?” she sniffled, earning a laugh that somehow managed to be sheepish and sly simultaneously.

“I figured I’d need a pharmacy’s worth of weapons! Pretty sure I’ve convinced supervillains to surrender faster than a stubborn Stacy!”

[hauntedjpegcollection]

a mother's love

wc: 5281 au: dishonored au ch: nomi, matilda, jack

Nomi is eight years old when she decides her name is Nomi. It, coincidentally, is when everything in her life changes as well. Not just her name, but her home and her family. Or, rather, the lack of family. It’s Nomi and her mother now, when it was Nomi and her parents before. Nomi and her father are no longer, just like her old name is no longer. She doesn’t think her name has anything to do with it, but that the changes all line up at the same time nonetheless.

Her mother reassures her anyway that it’s nothing to do with her.

That’s his own fault. Rat bastard, she says, hand in hand with the little eight year old. Nomi knows not to repeat it, but she tucks those mean little words inside her to later think on. They have one suitcase that carries everything they own. Nomi, in her other hand, holds the stuffed rabbit she has had since she was not Nomi. It’s always been her favorite and that was never changing. One of it’s ears is half torn off and her mother would usually dutifully start about restitching it on, but they’re not home any more.

The little square room adjoining another families little square room all stacked on top of each other in a tall building squeezed between other tall buildings, is not their home any longer. Nomi has no idea if she’s meant to be upset about that or not. She’ll miss the corner she slept in, because it was right underneath the window and she liked looking at the smoggy sky and it’s sometimes twinkling stars.

But she wont miss the paper thin walls, the constant drip from the sink, or maybe even her father. Maybe she wont miss him at all. She hasn’t decided yet.

—

Even though she’s only eight, Nomi is very smart for her age. That’s what her mother says, especially when brushing through her ever growing navy dark hair. Smart, beautiful, kind. Her mother’s praise never felt empty; Nomi felt and believed every word. But it also felt like her mother was trying to quilt a blanket to cover her with. That if she said it enough, Nomi wouldn’t hear anything else that was said about her. Obstinate child, rude, sneaky, wrong.

Nomi knows to wait outside the room while her mother ducks inside to talk to the head of staff. A severe woman in a black dress with no adornments, her gray hair swept into an equally punishing looking bun. It was so tight, it looked like it peeled her skin back from her face, cut an intimidating and cruel expression. But when she had placed her hand on Nomi’s shoulder to guide her to the door, it had not been cold. It had been light, but gentle.

“Your mother will be out after her interview,” she’d said. And Nomi, who is very smart for her age, had plucked the edge of her skirt and curtsied and then turned to look elsewhere.

Because she’s eight, Nomi has no concept of how much time her mother is gone. Eventually, Nomi sits, with her legs thrown out in front of her and the rabbit sitting on her lap. Weary of it’s torn ear, she pinches the other soothingly, feeling the soft velvet of its material. It’s small, bead eyes stare at her, expressionless, offering nothing to the little girl whose whole life and name has changed in an instant.

And because Nomi is preoccupied wondering what an interview is, or why her mother had looked so nervous, she does not hear the other girl approaching at all.

“What are you doing?”

Nomi looks up and a girl her age stands there and amongst all the finery and the obvious wealth of the hallway, she is more beautiful than anything else. For a moment, all Nomi can do is sit there, holding her rabbit, with a wide eyed, open mouth stare. The girl is taller than her, as thin as a reed, with a sharp and cunning stare. Her long hair is braided to the side, but strands fall all around her face, framing a pale and angular shape. She seems less like a child, to Nomi, who is acutely aware of her round, baby face and cheeks that adults love to pinch.

“What?” she finally says.

“Hello?” The girl walks to stand directly in front of Nomi. She puts curled fists to her hips, feet stood firmly apart. She wears a little emerald dress with a neat sort of bow around the middle. Nomi’s dress is grey, to her ankles and too big on her because her mother had hastily bought it from a neighbor before they’d left. A newish dress to go with her now new name. The sleeves poke over the ends of her knuckles and she’d had to tie the back twice to not make it sag around her shoulders.

“Hi,” Nomi replies.

“What are you—Oh, nevermind. Get up, then,” the girl says with a huff and a gesture of her hands. Nomi only stares, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose to sit daintily at the tip. “You’re not busy, clearly. And I need help—and my scientist isn’t around.”

“Your scientist?”

“A man. Not tall, dark hair, glasses like yours. In a white coat usually. I’m his favorite.”

“You mean your father?” Nomi stands, using her back against the wall to make it easier, subtly trying to tuck the rabbit behind her. The girl notices of course, with eyes that are glinting and brilliant. But she doesn’t comment on it. Her face screws into a confused and annoyed expression.

“No. My scientist.” There’s a beat of silence between the two children. Nomi realizes she can’t remember the last time she talked to someone her own age. She feels a fluttering fear in her heart, a nervous and anxious broil beneath her skin. The sudden realization that this girl could judge her in a matter of seconds and deem this conversation no longer important. Nomi doesn’t want to be alone. She’s tired of waiting for her mother.

“You’re weird,” the girl decides and Nomi’s stomach turns cold and her hands go tingly. “No one talks back to me like this. Sometimes, they don’t even talk to me at all.” She turns up her pretty, long nose again, surveying Nomi with a calculating stare. She wants to rake fingers through her hair to make sure it’s untangled. She wants to pat down her dress. She wants to appear like a Nomi.

“Well, I’m Matilda. Isaac took our game of hide and seek too seriously and now I can’t find him.” A dainty and pretty hand is held out to her. Nomi stares at it a moment too long until she finally closes her own around it. Girls didn’t shake hands, she didn’t think and yet this feels right. A proper introduction.

“I’m Nomi. Who is Isaac?”

“Come on. I bet I know where he’s hiding. He thinks he’s so clever.”

Matilda doesn’t let go of her hand. Instead, she turns down the hallway and tugs Nomi along.

They spend an hour looking for the boy, who Nomi later finds was simply in his own bedroom, reading a book. They spend that entire hour talking, or rather, Nomi listens mostly as Matilda talks. She tells her all manner of things, secrets about the manor, a ghost story about a fireplace that’s big enough to walk a horse through. She tells Nomi about her mother and the mysterious suited figure that comes in the night to see her mother. She talks about the scientist again.

Nomi tells Matilda about her new name, about the window she’ll miss, and how her mother is in interview. Matilda surprises her by actually listening, hanging on to every word. She snorts and laughs sometimes or makes a comment here or there, but she listens. She squeezes Nomi’s hand sometimes and laces their fingers and then unlaces them and then stops them in front of a painting that’s as big as a grown man to talk about a hidden safe behind it. Nomi has no idea whats the truth of not.

But she’s in love, she’s absolutely head over heels, she is captivated entirely by Matilda immediately.

Her mother is in tears when the girls are finally found, sitting outside on a stone bench in a garden that is looking worse for wear as winter approaches. Her mother cries and shakes her by the shoulders and tells her never again, never run off again like that, I didn’t know where you were, what were you thinking, Nomi, Nomi, Nomi.

But the head of staff stares down at Matilda only, with not a single reprimand. Just smooth, ivory colored hands folded in front of her. One swift glance to Nomi and then back to Matilda—and Nomi’s mother has the job.

—

At thirteen, Matilda complains enough that Nomi is the only one allowed to do her hair. She’s not yet actually at the age where she’d be taking over a lady’s duties like this, yet it doesn’t matter. Matilda, she found in the five years she’s lived on the Rhoades estate, usually gets what she wants.

“I don’t know how you’re so good at that,” she pouts. Matilda’s mother has imported dye to make her hair this beautiful, rich, red color. It also makes it shiny and soft, makes it a bit slippery, which makes designs with it difficult. Nomi ignores the difficulty, like the reality of it doesn’t matter in comparison to the reality that Matilda, well, she gets what she wants. And if she wants Nomi to braid her hair into something beautiful for the little dinner party her mother is throwing, it happens.

“You’re too lazy to do it yourself, so I’ve learned well,” Nomi teases, a pin between her teeth as her pale fingers make quick work of the intricate knotting braid. Matilda snorts, undignified and entirely unladylike. She’s started wearing more bold dresses, things that have cut outs along the arms, sheer lace and dark velvets. Heavy necklaces that accentuate her slim, delicate throat.

Nomi wears the exact same black dress Agathi wears. It’s high around her throat, with a row of buttons down the back. Nomi liked its simplicity. And she liked matching the head of staff, the single most intimidating woman that Nomi had ever know, besides Matilda’s own mother. Jaqueline Claire Rhoades stares at them from a painting across the hall, Matilda’s door open to allow the sounds of staff getting ready for the night through into her wide open, luxurious room.

“Why would I do it when I have you?” Matilda twists suddenly, turning so she can look up at Nomi. A strand of hair falls to her cheek. She looks mischievous and pretty and Nomi decides to leave that strand, like a suggestion to Matilda’s furiously strange side. She might be the only daughter to a wealthy and terrifyingly influential woman, but she was also, to Nomi, a wicked little girl.

And her best friend.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Both girls jump in surprise, whirling to face the sudden intrusion at the door. And at the sight of him, Nomi’s hands twitch and she tucks them nervously behind her back. A warmth on her cheeks makes her uncomfortable, ears full of a faint ringing sound for a moment as Matilda’s oldest brother stands there. Well. Leans there. His shoulder to the door frame, an ankle crossed over the other. He looks bored and annoyed, with an annoyed look on his handsome face.

Leo and Isaac look remarkably like Matilda, as though they were triplets instead of siblings. Only, where Nomi could spend a whole day with Isaac, she has avoided Leo as much as she can. Something about being around him makes her stomach hurt. Makes her hands feel clammy and awkward and her awareness of her pores and hair and teeth feel stark and evident. That’s why her hands stay behind her back, to prevent her from checking to make sure all of her is presentable. She does not know why she even cares what Leo thinks of her at all.

“Aren’t you done yet?” Matilda mocks in a deep, brusque voice. Leo’s cheeks flare a pretty red color. His voice had started to crack and deepen, his awkward entry to adulthood evident in the way his hands were suddenly too big and his voice didn’t stay in one octave. “Go away, Leo. If you hadn’t interrupted, Nomi would be done. Barging your way into a room, demanding attention, that’s not how you get a girl to notice you.”

“Matilda,” Nomi grinds her teeth together and Leo, looking as stormy as he did boyishly beautiful, stomped out into the hallway and slammed the door shut behind him.

“He’s been trying to grow a mustache for a year,” Matilda comments, examining her nails as Nomi resumes her work. Its cathartic, almost rhythmic.

“Only for a few months or so,” she hums, standing back to admire her work.

“Caught,” Matilda replies in a sly hiss, turning fully around in the ornate wooden chair to stare triumphantly at Nomi’s burning face.

—

Nomi is fifteen and spending the night in Matilda’s bed, as usual. They girls have stolen romance paperbacks from the expansive and beautiful Rhoade’s library. They keep a candle lit, each of them taking turns holding it while the other holds the book and reads aloud passages that make them blush and snicker. Nomi sighs wistfully over handsome knights with big swords and Matilda rolls her eyes at it all, but secretly makes Nomi read her the second novel of a rouge like serial.

They stay up too late, their legs entwined, their heads bent together as they whisper. Nomi isn’t meant to be sleeping in Matilda’s bed anymore. In fact, it was strictly forbidden, in the way things are strictly forbidden to girls of Matilda’s stature. Many things changed in the last year alone, the sort of parties she went to, the kinds of dresses she wore, what sort of paint she was allowed to use on her face and who could be her friend and who couldn’t.

Nomi had tried to keep up with it all, but that part of Matilda’s life was not for her. She was the girl who braided her hair—she was not meant to be more than that. It scared people that sometimes, she was more than that. There was a bridge between them that was wider than just money. It was nature for Matilda to be above Nomi, yet here she was, in the girls bed, petting her hair softly and reading about a thief who stole a maidens heart in the night.

So, the assassin is not aware there are two girls in the bed that night, because Matilda is meant to be alone. It is meant to be easy, something quick and savage and ruthless. A knife in and out and the Rhoade’s only daughter a candle flame snuffed in the night. And the assassin liked killing young girls, he’d taken the job for cheap, because he found their eyes prettiest when they died. The assassin is not aware that the one girl is still awake and staring at him in the dark, her pretty eyes still open and seeing him.

The blade is luminescent against moon light that pours in through the same window he’d crawled through. It’s long and curved, with a hook at the end, something she’d seen the cooks use to gut the fish. Nomi, for a wonder, feels no fear in that moment. Only an intense knowing that permeates her entire body. That knife was going to go into Matilda’s stomach and that assassin was going to carve up to her heart, and then pluck it out like fish guts.

“No,” she manages to gasp in a breathless voice as it descends—and then Nomi is leaping up. She is surging forward from the bed with her hands and grasping the knife in both of them. She makes no sound, almost an eerie lack of it as she stares into the assassin’s night black eyes.

The blade is sharp and cuts through the meat of her hands like butter. She feels the curved tip touch bone and she still makes no noise. Nomi isn’t sure she remembers how, her only thought is no. No. No. Not Matilda. Not her. I won’t let you—she’s mine. No. And the pain is overwhelming, like her hands are in boiling water, it arcs through her veins and along her entire body. She moans at the feeling, the only sound she makes as he saws the knife, but her grip doesn’t relent. It is caged iron around the blade.

“Bitch! You bitch, let go!” The assassin’s voice is a wasp nest hiss, his eyes wild and furious. He yanks her entire body around, throwing her to the floor, but he can’t get the knife from her grasp. He raises a fist, as if to punch her in the face and Nomi knows if he does that will be that. She won’t be able to hold the knife and he’ll get to Matilda. He’ll get her.

“Fuck you,” she snarls in a voice that is low and raspy and deathly cold, her foot whipping out to connect to the assassin’s inner thigh. He grunts with the pain and it’s enough to make the blow glance off her temple and connect more with the ground. White hot blood pours down Nomi’s forearms. It almost feels like nothing, it’s almost—

The mans hand wraps around her throat and squeezes so hard she almost loses consciousness from the pain.

“Get off her!”

Matilda’s scream is everything Nomi isn’t. It’s loud and shrill and scathing, like a flaying knife. She’s screaming more, repeating herself (get off her, get off her, get off her) like a demoness. Nomi watches with eyes black at the edges as Matilda pounces onto the mans back. Her sharp nails claw across his face, causing him to howl. But it’s the hairbrush in her hand that’s turned into a real weapon; it’s made of ivory. Perhaps real whale bone, how pretty it is. And it’s handle is a sharp point.

Nomi watches in a mute daze as Matilda shoves the point of the hairbrush into the mans neck. Over and over.

Then, the door to her room is broken open. So hard it comes nearly entirely off the hinges. Nomi’s vision continues to blacken at the edges as she watches. Matilda is pried off the man, still screaming, wild and bloody, by the very scientist she loves so much. Nomi had never thought of him as strong, yet he wraps arms around her and even though she thrashes, he moves not an inch. His glasses are askew on his face as he stares at Nomi, on the floor.

The moonlight hits his eyes and they reflect, like he is an animal in the night.

Then Nomi loses consciousness.

—

The moonlight is once again her friend, a single light across her bed. It hits her mothers face perfectly, accentuates her heart shaped face beautifully, but does not wake her up. Her eyelids flicker, as if she’s dreaming and Nomi thinks of waking her up—but she’d cried herself to this sleep. Maybe she needed the rest. Even though her mother has not left her bedside in the three days Nomi has rested.

Her bandaged hands are thick and awkward. They burn, even then. The pain has not dulled since the torn flesh has been sewed together. She’d only managed to get herself up to a sitting position by leaning on those hands and snapping her teeth together through the pain. But she was tired of laying. She was tired of not knowing anything but this little room.

Why hadn’t Matilda visited her?

Nomi isn’t sure how much time passes, because there is no clock in her room. She keeps it mostly spartan—her rabbit sits on the bedside table. She hasn’t slept with it in years. She hadn’t needed the company. She hadn’t been lonely until now. Nomi reaches out, but the bandages are so cumbersome, she couldn’t pick him up even if she tried. She feels a pinch of tears to her eyes, but ignores it.

The door creaks open.

Light from the hallway—yellow and buttery in comparison to the cool silver of moonlight—spills across the hardwood.

Jaqueline Rhoades walks in.

Whatever time she was cognizant of stops altogether. Nomi has lived in this manor, on this estate, loving this woman’s daughter for eight years. The same amount of years she’d been alive by the time her mother had been hired as a laundress. She has been in Jaqueline’s presence alone maybe only three times and not a single one of those times have they ever shared a private word.

It is not just Jaqueline, but the presence of her. The room is suddenly filled with the dense, heaviness of a powerful feminine force. Her elegance is striking, even in just a moonlit room. Her posture straight, but not tense. Nomi feels like she should say something, like she should get up from the bed and ask what the lady needs. But in her hands is a tray and on that tray is a bowl of soup and a chunk of fresh bread that still steams slightly. The woman says nothing as she slowly crosses toward Nomi’s bed. She spares the mother a look. It’s not remotely unkind, merely assessing.

Jaqueline slowly puts the tray down across Nomi’s lap and then pulls in another chair from her modest desk and sits down.

They stare at one another. Jaqueline’s children all look like her; they all have the high cheekbones, the arresting eyes, the smooth and unblemished skin. Their height must come from someone else but Nomi dare not think of him as a father. She knows very little of that situation, but she knows that no matter what DNA says, those children belong solely to the woman sitting in front of her. Nomi’s hands throb, the pain secondary to the absolute awe of this late night visit, but a constant nonetheless.

“Is Matilda okay?” Nomi bravely asks. Jaqueline tilts her head, a sheath of her pretty blond hair falling to her cheek. She does not wear it in the fashion that every other woman in her league does. Perhaps to set her apart. Perhaps because she knows that her beauty would radiate no matter how she wore her hair.

“You’re the same age as my daughter, yes?”

“Fifteen,” Nomi answers. Which feels stupid. Jaqueline knows her daughters age. But it feels good to say something, to use her voice for something other than softly reassuring her mother that she was okay. Her hands were ruined. Perhaps permanently, perhaps forever, but she was alive, wasn’t she?

She’d never braid Matilda’s hair again, not with these hands.

“I’ve heard something about you,” Jaqueline says as she reaches for a spoon on the tray. Nomi realizes with sudden surprise that the woman means to feed her. Should she refuse? She can’t possibly let the lady reduce herself to that; it is so beyond appropriate that Nomi feels briefly terrified. But when the spoon of soup is raised to her mouth, Nomi only leans forward and accepts it.

The broth is delicious and salty. It tastes so good she can’t help but sigh. She’d not even known she was hungry.

“My other staff, they tell me that you never lie.” Jaqueline rips a piece of bread from the chunk and dips it into the soup. Then she places it on the spoon and lifts it. Nomi blushes, her eyes fighting to stay on Jaqueline’s piercing and terrifyingly cool stare. She chews before answering.

“Everyone lies,” Nomi says. Her eyes go wandering to her mother, who doesn’t wake, even with them speaking. She is exhausted with the sudden awareness that she has a daughter who is now, essentially useless. No man would marry her if her hands were covered in scars and she wouldn’t be able to do laundry work. She wouldn’t be able to work much at all. The doctor had said he’d done what he could but surgery might be necessary and what money did they have for surgery?

“But you?”

“It’s not lying, if you don’t say anything at all,” Nomi offered. She opens her mouth to accept another spoonful of soup. It’s richness makes her feel relaxed, warm to the bones. Even her hands hurt less, somehow. “When something is uncomfortable enough to warrant a lie, I just stop speaking.”

“Pragmatic, I suppose.” Matilda’s mother feeds her a few more spoonfuls. They share a silence that is not companionable because they are not companions. Nomi is the daughter of a servant and Jaqueline is the woman who employees that servant. Yet their silence isn’t pained or awkward.

“You won’t lie to me when I ask why you saved my daughter, then.”

“No.” Her voice is unwavering and cool, belying the nervousness that makes her bones feel like jelly.

“Should I ask?” Jaqueline’s stare is so overwhelming that Nomi has no choice but to look down at the slowly disappearing bowl of soup, the little chunks of leftover bread. The pain in her hands truly has dwindled to a simmering fire instead of an overwhelming burn.

“I love her. She is my best friend. I didn’t want her to die. I would be all alone, if she died.”

“That’s a hint of selfishness I wasn’t expecting.” But Jaqueline is smiling when she says it. Not a smile necessarily, but the sort of sideways tilt of a red painted mouth. It’s not pleasant but nor is it cruel or angry. It’s assessing. Nomi feels like a puzzle that is quickly being solved. “You would still have your mother. Mother is God in the eyes of her children, correct?”

“I don’t read philosophy,” Nomi admits, smiling in her own crooked and tilted way. “But a mother isn’t a best friend. I would do it again. Even if he cut them off this time.” She raises her bandaged hands, feeling a bit woozy as she does. There’s a sleepiness to the edges of her. A softening of all her muscles. “Is she okay?”

Jaqueline doesn’t answer. She only continues to stare. Then she reaches out both hands and slowly tucks strands of Nomi’s navy hair behind her ears. The gentleness is disarming and it makes her close her eyes and tilt her head back. She feels the motherly tenderness as her pillow is adjusted. She feels a cool and soft hand on her brow and then on her forearm.

“Have you met the scientist?”

“I love Matilda, but she’s very selfish with her favorites,” Nomi admits boldly. And the scientist had never really paid Nomi much attention, perhaps because any time she saw him he was flitting about rooms with a nervous, high strung energy. His occasional pause to indulge Matilda in something, or to pat her head or cheek was always between the running around he did. Sometimes, there was something red on his coat, so he scared Nomi enough to not mind that Matilda kept him locked in a tight chest inside her heart.

“Would you let him look at your hands?” Jaqueline asks, setting the tray on the desk beside them.

“We don’t have money.”

“My daughters life is not measured in money, Nomi.”

A cool shiver makes her open her eyes and roll her head to the side. Nomi had expected to be met with those cool, intense eyes, but instead there is a sudden softness about Jaqueline that makes her inhale with wonder. She is still holding Nomi’s forearm. She is leaning in closer, with a mother’s pained expression of worry. In that moment, Nomi would have taken a knife for her too. She would have let anyone cut her to pieces for any of the Rhoades family.

“But if you need a transaction, I have one.” The hand on her forearm squeezes in a tender way. “He will fix your hands and you will never leave her side. Could you do that for my family?”

Nomi’s eyes close again and she smiles.

“Yes, I…” the painkillers in the soup sweep her under.

—

So Nomi is twenty six, sitting at an expensive and elegant oak dining table.

A man sits, slumped into his pork roast dinner, foam at the edges of his mouth. At the far end of the table, Matilda pokes her nose into her glass of wine and takes a healthy few sniffs. She dresses in a fashion that is so uniquely her, so sensual and somehow uncaring at the same time, with sleeves that plume transparently over her arms and a tight bodice that she hadn’t bothered to lace entirely.

Nomi has not changed out of the high necked, black dresses. She slowly peels the soft, supple velvet gloves from her hands and sighs.

“I put too much in,” she says with a dour expression to the dead man at the table. Matilda rolls her eyes and leans back in the chair, splashing her own poisoned wine across the table. The glass gets tossed behind her, but it doesn’t shatter, which makes Matilda pout a bit. A crease between her brows and a delicate pinch to her lips. Nomi snorts and then laughs.

“Well, I’m not sorry. Idiot tried to poison me first, didn’t he? Good that he went out frothing like a disgusting beast.”

“That’s an insult to beasts,” Nomi replies, rising from the table. She needs to speak to the staff to ensure that the clean up crew gets to this room before anyone else. Candles snuffed, midnight plunged into the hallway, someone to take care of—well. Another idiot in a long line of idiots that have tried to kill a member of the Rhoades family. Murder is not entirely surprising in Dunwall.

Surprising, she supposes, that they keep trying when—

The wind wheezes as a dark figure slides in through a window. He straightens and dark eyes blink at the dead man and then go severely cold. The rogue is in all black, head to toe, even a mask to cover the lower part of his face. A shock of blond hair pokes from beneath a hood—a choice he’d not entirely been the owner of. His black hair suits his job better, but what Matilda wants, Matilda gets and—

Nomi thinks its sweet that her little thief had sat still for her while she’d tested expensive overseas dye on his thick, wavy hair.

“I told you not to let him in,” Lark’s voice is a cold knife jab as he darts around the table. Matilda hasn’t moved an inch, she merely lounges with a bored expression, an arch of her dark brow.

“I didn’t realize you were my father and told me what to do?”

“Don’t say that—”

She knows this argument will last for as long as she’s in the room with them. She knows the argument will then fall to hushed voices, to intimacy she shouldn’t be around for. A cupped hand on a pale cheek, a kiss to Matilda’s slim throat, hurried words of worry, thinly concealed emotions. So instead of delaying Matilda’s romance, she swipes her gloves and makes for the door. Her scares are thin and white on her hands, and she pauses to look at them for only a moment, before she throws it open to find Agathi.

[redwolf17]

Okay, so it is Speculation Time: I think that Jaime is going to find out exactly who killed Tyrion and if Tommen goes the same way as Rosby, then that could push him over the edge... But on the other hand (har-har), he doesn't overly care about his own kids and only really cares about having Cersei to himself *shudders* And that might set her off...

(I am so glad Brienne avoided that mess. Having show!Cersei 'confront' Brienne and accuse her of being in love with Jaime was uncomfortable for everyone involved., As there was nothing really inappropriate or inherently wrong about someone like Brienne finding Jaime hot. NOW Cersei on the other hand- Big Yikes)

Not sure how Cersei is going to take Jaime's "well, we can always make another one" attitude, especially when she learns about Jaime's role in confirming the truth to Myrcella and prompting her to send that letter...

Here is my research:

JAIME POV:

"Podrick Payne. He would not leave the Imp's side, not for a moment, not even when Lord Tywin and the Queen Regent came. The poor lad finally fell asleep in the queen's arms."

Something was amiss there, but Jaime was too weary to think on it.

....

Jaime grunted as he slashed at the tree. Sweat blurred his vision, and for a moment the tree was a knight clad in pale armor. Are you the one who killed my brother? With a curse Jaime hacked and parried, then made to thrust his blade through the knight's heart- only to find himself flat on his back, his left arm throbbing in pain.

If only Jaime knew who had slain his little brother. His left hand might be pitiful, but he was still strong enough to slash a man's throat.

...

But what man? There had been hundreds on the bridge of boats, knights and men-at-arms and squires. Any one of them could have knocked Tyrion into the wildfire.

Podrick Payne might know, but Jaime doubted it. 

...

CERSEI POV:

"Cersei narrowed her eyes. The Red Viper's previous squire was Ser Daemon Sand, one of the finest knights in all of Dorne. Why tolerate a timid boy from the Westerlands? Unless... her blood ran cold. No, the boy would not have breathed a word, she had frightened him into silence, she was sure of it."

...

"The queen awoke to the sound of bells tolling the fifth hour of the morning. Her right arm still hurt; Cersei rubbed it, feeling the slick sweat upon her skin. It will snow today, that is all. Ever since the valonqar broke her arm, it pained her when the weather turned cold. Still, it would be good to see the filthy city covered in a blanket of fresh fallen snow, like the shroud they draped atop a Kingsguard when he died. No, she musn't think of that. No one knew, save a pimple faced squire who might have guessed too much. But he would never breathe a word, and if he did, who would care?"

UUUHHH JAIME MIGHT

As you can tell, I have a completely normal level of interest in your writing :P

Yeah, I’d heard the show went weird places with Cersei and Brienne and Jaime 😬 yikes.

That’s some A+ sleuthing! You caught a lot of important foreshadowing, though not all of it… 😉 🥰