#absynthe—minded

[fdelopera]

me when I have a wife and can go about on Sundays, I guess????

EXACTLY!!! YOU GET THE VISION!!!

[monstrousgourmandizingcats]

1994 Northeast Sectional Championship - sectionals are a step before regionals in some school sports

Oh, so it is a soccer thing! Thanks.

Would this be a level above or below states? Northeast usually implies the Northeastern United States ("Northeastern New Jersey" is coherent but unidiomatic), but the picture on the certificate is of New Jersey, and it definitely seems like 1996 is the first time WHS has won states.

[tolkien-meta-library]

Why did so many people have good additions to this, do you know how hard these tags were?

Looking back on it now, I think that one of the strangest things about The Lord of the Rings is that either 

Aragorn and Legolas managed to compose an absolutely epic lament for Boromir in the time it took to get Boromir’s body down to the river and arranged all nicely in the boat, 

or Aragon just started singing on the spur of the moment and Legolas took over for the second verse while Aragorn quickly made up the third. 

That’s some Cyrano de Bergerac wizardry right there.

[absence-minded]

Dear Poet,

I don't know how long it's been. I don't know how long it will be.

We came here when it was new

With our songs of social graveyards

I thought it would be longer before this one would be too. I knew it would come but we move so very fast

From app to app where we leave our narcissism

We met our pray and turned to ghosts

It's long since past that I would move to write you notes in the night

To turn in the bed, to open my eyes, a bother to remain

Unfinished business

Becomes dust as all before

[musicandoldmovies]

Absynthe Minded - Mixing the Medicine

[druidwolf21]

Prey drive

Leman russ/ reader

A playful joke turns into something darker

Or

A reminder that primarchs aren't quite human

(not proof read as always)

Tw: predator/prey dynamic, mild threat, sexual content,very fluffy ending

Tags:Tags: @beckyninja @moodymisty @thisuserislilsilly @jaghatai-khock @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lemon-russ @astrohymn @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @incrediblethirst @kit-williams @iluminatka16 @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @absynthe-mind

Thick coarse hair tickled your nose as you buried yourself among the pile of heavy furs, Grey and auburn strands rubbing against your skin as you slid beneath the huge oaken bedframe.

Muffling your laugh, you shuffled until you were completely enveloped under the tanned hides. The sound of approaching feet grew louder until your chamber door was thrown open with a loud bang. You clasped your hand over your mouth, a fit of silent giggles wracking your body as a pair of leather boots appear next to you, still splattered with mud and melting snow.

"Little wolf? I know you are here"

You watched as the boots slowly stepped around the bed, the floor groaning under each heavy footfall as they paced. A sharp inhale of air, and then the voice chuckled.

"Do you think you are clever? Your scent is still fresh, feilan"

A shiver ran through as he spoke. Deep and rich, the fenrisian drawl added a roughened edge to his words as Leman Russ stalked around the bed.

"Hiding from me is not a wise move"

With a squeal, large hands grabbed your ankles and hauled you out from your cover, dragging you along the cool floor.

"Not when I enjoy the hunt"

You kicked out, his fingers falling away from you with unexpected ease as you scrambled to your feet and shot off, rolling over the bed and landing on the other side as you spun to face him.

"How was your venture, my lord" you asked innocently, biting back your laughter as you watched him cock his head, his icy blue eyes trained on you.

"It went very well. we killed the beast with ease, as expected" he hummed. You could see tension in his body, even beneath the leather shirt and thick fur coat. His hands clenching and unclenching into fists as he stepped towards you only to pause as you matched his movement and stepped back.

"This is not a game you want to play, little wolf"

A shiver racked up your spine as he spoke, his voice dangerously low, almost a threat. The adrenaline from his hunt was still pumping through his taught muscle as he took another step forward, growling softly as, once again you stepped away.

"And why not?" You questioned, feigning boredom as you tugged at a loose string on your tunic, enjoying the rumble that emanated from the wolf kings chest.

"I won't be able to hold back"

He raised his hand in a calming motion as he saw your eyes dart to the open door and back to him.

"Don't. Run." He warned, chest heaving in massive breaths as he fought to maintain control.

Too late

Flashing a bright grin you leapt forward, ducking under his arm as you sprinted out the door and down the stone hall of the fang. The hair on your neck prickled as the primarch snarled, his thundering steps quickly gaining. Eyes darting back and forward you skidded round a corner, feeling his fingers brush against your shoulder as you slid into a serf access corridor, too small for an Astartes, let alone the mass of muscle and sinew that made up a primarch.

You turned on your heels, a shout of triumph on your lips to goad your hunter.

"What's wrong, Leman, can't you catc-"

You fell back with a shriek as leman slammed into the wall. Roaring, he reached him arm into the shaft, clawing towards you as his other hand ripped into the wall, tearing cement and brick away in his fervour. His eyes dark and long canines bared as his fingers brushed your cheek, desperately aching to catch his prey.

Wet heat trickled down your face from the contact, a thin red ichor that spurred him on. Your nerves were on fire, blood rushing through your veins as your body screamed at you to run. Run fast and far, get away before he catches you.

You stumbled further away from the entrance, trying to slow your heartbeat. The great wolf howled as you stepped beyond his grasp, before eyeing the service shaft and bolting away.

Crap

The aett was his home, he knew this place better than he knew himself.

Your eyes wandered to the clawed gouges in the wall. Deep and ragged, he had shattered stone and rendered metal apart in his outrage. Wiping away the blood from your cheek with a shuddering breath you took off, weaving through the tunnels until your lungs burned from the exertion, only stopping when you found a small door of rusted steel propped open by a forgetful serf.

Peering out you eyed up your next escape.

The corridor had led you to the main hall of the fang. Beneath giant, sloping ceilings a warm, stoked fire burned hot and high in the ancient carved fireplace. A few space wolves lounged on great oaken benches, nursing flagons of potent mjord as they relaxed in the warmth, some still splattered with blood from their earlier hunt or displaying new scars to their brothers.

You stepped through the door, cringing as the hinges squeaked and groaned under the movement. Wincing you looked about, feeling the heavy weighted stare of the space wolves all turn to you.

"What are you doing here so late, My lady" one drawls through a fanged grin. "Come to celebrate our success?" He brothers laugh, raising their drinks in a toast.

"Maybe later, lieutenant Halric. Im a little preoccupied right now"

Halric's amber eyes lingered on the trickle of red slowly weaving down your face, His smile widening as a young blood claw scented the air before whispering in his ear.

"Aaah I see. Trying to outrun the wolf are you, little rabbit?"

You grinned back, a biting response on your tongue to put the Astartes back in his place.

Boom

The pack hollered and howled as Leman Russ barrelled into the hall through the main doors, nostrils flared and mouth pulled back in a snarl as he casts his gaze about. The frozen winds of fenris whipping his hair about him as he lumbers in from outside, snow already melting from his broad shoulders.

"There you are"

"Run My lady!" Halric crowed as the primarch sprinted towards you, fueled by his son's cheers.

Your legs start moving before you realise, pushed forward by adrenaline as the mountain of fang and muscle gallops towards you.

Thoughts a tumbling mess as your blood hammered in your ear, you found yourself backed into a corner. The hall fell silent as Russ stepped up to you, tension thick in the air as he swept a finger through the bloody streak on your face, rubbing it between his fore finger and thumb as he looked down at you silently.

"Game over, little one" he grumbled, pupils still blown and fingers curled as he ran his bloodied fingers across his lip. Your chest was tight, muscles aching and your vision blurred as you stood in his shadow.

He wouldn't hurt you

Would never hurt you.

But the familiar look in his eye was gone, replaced by raw instinct.

And every fibre of your body was screaming at you, begging you to get away.

Dropping, you scrambled between his legs and tumbled towards the open door, ignoring the concerned shout of the space wolves as you vanished into the fenrisian forest.

"Skitja" A young blooded rose to his feet, cussing as you vanish whilst his father stood watching.

"Stay out of it" growled his brother, forcing him to his seat as he gestured at their father. "This isn't your hunt." The Bloodclaw glanced between the primarch and the door, staring as your figure dissolved into the white flurry.

"She could get lost out there" he huffed, looking about the astartes.

Halric laughed, clapping the young warrior on the shoulder as he climbed to his feet, his flagon held high to his primarch.

"Øjor va Russ!'" he bellowed, the pack chanting with him, slamming their fists on the table. "Glory to Russ!"

With a deep, bellowing laugh, Russ ran after you, your scent fresh in his mind as he inhaled the fridged wind. The thrill of the hunt pushing him forward through the night as he picked up your trail.

"If you want to get between father and his prey, be my guest" the lieutenant groaned, returning to his seat and swiping another mug from the tabletop as his lord vanished into the night.

"But trust me, she's only as lost as he wants her to be"

You clutched your tunic to your body, the steel blue wool whipping against your skin in the storm. The lining of warm wolf fur kept the worst of the cold at bay, but couldn't stop it biting at your fingers and nipping your face.

Darkness was settling in quickly around you as the sun began to sink below the horizon. The snow was cold against your legs and ice cling to you as you sprinted through the thickening treeline.

The air burned your lungs with each clouded breath as you slowed, turning about in confusion. The warm light of the Aett was lost, hidden behind thick, snow laden boughs of arching trees, leaving you surrounded by darkening shadows.

Crystal flakes danced in the air, spinning slowly as a new fear crept in.

Lost in the quiet forest of the frozen death world.

Crack

You jumped at the sound as it splintered the silence. The darkness between the trees offering no respite as you peered through the gnarled trunks for the sound source.

"Leman! I know you're out there" you barked, the quiver in your voice betraying you as you tried to straighten yourself against the bitter wind. Nerves frayed and your anxiety at its peak, you flinched at the rolling laugh that echoed from the depths of the woods.

"I warned you little wolf, that you wouldn't like this game"

"I promise I won't run" you gasp backing up against a twisted oak and pressing yourself against its coarse bark in a pitiful attempt of cover.

The wet crunch of fallen pine needles beneath heavy boots had you spinning, ears straining and eye wide as you desperately searched the undergrowth and recoiling as a pair of bright, moonlit eyes appeared through the cover.

"Oh? But I rather like it when you do"

A spray of wet slurry kicked around you as you balked, caving into intuitive pressure as Leman tore free from the underbrush.

Too slow

His bruising grip clutched at your shoulder and with a strangled shriek, you were wretched backwards, slamming into his solid frame, clawing at his forearm in mad panic as he held you against him.

With a triumphant yell, the Primarch flipped you onto your back, towering over you as you shuddered. A large calloused hand rested either side of your hips as he looked down at you, his wide blue eyes trailing over your frame as he bared his canines as a large smile spread across his face.

Laying stunned beneath him, listening to the bellow of his lungs as his breath began to even out, you watched as he slowly clawed back control of himself. His iris' still swamped by his pupils as his gaze flicked over your face, lingering on the cut furrowed through your cheek.

"You scared the shit out of me" you whispered, heart still pounding as you tentatively reaching for his face. His jaw tensed when you ran your fingers through his stubble, before relaxing under your touch.

"I know" he muttered, sweeping his thumb across your cheek.

Russ leant down, pressing his face against your neck and inhaling your scent.

"I couldn't help it" he whispered against you skin as his hands moved to grip your waist, kneading into the soft plush of your hip.

You sighed as his lips moved across your throat. Titling your head, you ran your hands through his blonde hair, tangling in a braid as you pulled him towards you. He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your jaw.

"But I think you enjoyed it"

The primarch's breath was hot on your skin as his hand danced across the waistband of your trousers, now soaked with melting snow. You felt his lips curl in a smirk as he snuck below the fabric, sliding towards your core.

"I could hear your heart beating" he muttered as he ran a finger through your growing slick, coating the digit before pressing it softly against your clit. "Like a frightened little rabbit"

You crooned at the touch, arching your back towards him as he rubbed circles across your sensitive bud.

"And look at you now"

His lips crashed into yours as you writhed under his touch. He tasted wild and fresh, smoke, spice and pine overwhelming you as he ran his tongue across your lips before pushing in to taste you. You moaned into the kiss as he slid a finger inside your cunt, curling against the soft spot that made your eyes roll whilst his thumb rubbed against your clit.

"L-eman" you gasped, clawing at his shoulders as his mouth suckled against your collar, nipping and marring the skin. "Fuck I'm gonna-"

You cried out as you came, your legs shaking as Russ kept stroking your walls through your orgasm. You fell back panting as the wolf wretched the furs over his head and tossed them to the snow before ripping your tunic away. Your fingers tangled through his blonde locks as he wretched down your trousers and mouthed at your wet cunt, lapping at your slick as his calloused palms held your legs open.

"Too much" you whined, tugging on his hair as you twitched.

"We eat what we catch on Fenris" he growled, his nose brushing your overworked clit as he devoured you,

"Please, leman I cant~"

You sobbed as his tongue lathed over the pussy, thrusting into your soaked hole before twisting around your nub, building you back towards a crescendo. Russ grinned against your skin, nipping your thigh as he wrung another orgasm from your shaking body.

Leman leaned back on his knees, admiring his work as you shuddered and gasped before tugging down his own trousers. Palming his length, he leant over you again, nudging his leaking tip against your entrance.

"I've earned my prize, don't you think"

Sparks danced behind your eyelids at his size as he pushed forward, laying his hips flush to yours in one smooth movement. Your walls burned with excursion at his girth as he stretched you around his cock, your muscles twitching as they adjusted.

"Pretty little cunt takes me so well" he crooned,stroking your hips as he pulled your ass against his thighs, your legs resting against his scarred abs. With excruciating slowness he dragged himself out of your pussy, before thrusting the full length back in. You arched against the floor as he rutted into you, dragging his tip against your g spot with each luxurious clash of his hips against yours.

He leant forward, pushing you ankles by your ears. With mouth gaping open, breathy moans fell from your lips as your walls fluttered around him, squeezing his cock. You smirked slightly as he growled in fenrisian, his teeth grazing your neck as you clenched around him.

"Do you like that, my wolf" you breathed, dragging your nails down his shoulders as you clenched around him again.

"Do you like claiming this little Cunt as your prize"

With a snarl, Russ flipped you over, pushing your face down his fur coat as he held your hips in the air before slamming back in.

"I think I do" he rumbled in your ear, marking your shoulder as he fucked into you. Tears flowed freely as you, staining the bristly fur as pleasure clouded your mind.

"And I think you like knowing that my whole pack knows what I do to you, woman"

"Fuck Leman" you cried, reaching back to claw at your thigh as you knot in your gut snapped. You threw your head back as you choked, your orgasm ripping through your body.

"Like a bitch in heat" the wolf huffed, his own thrusts becoming irregular. You flushed at his words, the wet sound of your cum squelching around his member loud in your ears.

You bit your lip and crushed your eyes shut, fighting for control of your body as it turned to mush beneath his touch. His fingers dancex across every sensitive nerve and tender muscle sending ripples of pleasure through you.

"please" you whimpered.

With a broken groan leman came, pushing himself deep inside your dripping cunt as he filled you with hot spend. His hips jerked as he twitched, shooting hot ropes against your fluttering walls, spoiling out around him and dripping into the melting snow below.

As he pulled out, you collapsed onto the fur coat, groaning as you began to feel the ache. He chuckled lowly as he ran a warm, calloused hand down your back towards your ass, spreading you apart as he watched his spend drip from between your legs.

"Now that's a pretty sight" he rumbled, patting your backside before rising to his feet.

You remained silent as he gathered you in his arms, pulling you close to his bare chest. Pressing your head against the soft hair of his pec, you listened to the rhythm of his dual hearts as they echoed through his muscled chest. Absentmindedly running your hand along the map of scars along his breast you looked up to find him watching you, startling softness in his expression.

"What?"

He shook his head, clutching you close as he strode through the dark forest. His lungs sounded like billows through his ribs as he powered through the glittering snow, the light of the fang already in view.

"Leman, what?"

His blue eyes remained trained ahead as he responded.

"Just think I should make you a true mother to my sons"

He paused as he approached the doors to the Aett, the space wolves pack already howling as laughing as you approached.

"Marry me"

Your jaw dropped, fingers freezing as he set you on your feet with the heavy wet fur draped over your shoulder. You watched, dumbstruck as he dropped to his knee in front of you, taking your hand and dwarfing it in his own grip.

"Marry me" he said again.

The pack fell silent behind you, a single breath unheard as everyone waited for your response.

"I will"

There are no wolves in Fenris, is how the saying goes. But that night, in the light of a full moon, admit the soft silent fall of fresh snow, the Fang was alive with a thousand howls as the wolves sang for their king.

[thatnightlamp]

KONRAD CURZE NSFW ALPHABET

Tags : @incrediblethirst, @iluminatka16, @myns-world, @dyonys, @absynthe-mind

A = Aftercare

Silent and shaking. He doesn’t know what to do after, it overwhelms him. Sometimes he curls around you and sobs against your chest, muttering half-formed apologies. Other times he vanishes into the dark and watches you sleep from the ceiling.

B = Body Part

Your eyes. He stares into them while he fucks you, searching for fear, love, worship, anything to tether himself.

C = Cum

Hot, fast, and a little frantic. Konrad finishes like it’s being ripped out of him, shaking, growling, his body tensing as if the pleasure hurts. If he cums on you, he’ll stare at the mess with a mix of guilt and reverence, whispering apologies or licking it away like penance.

D = Dirty Secret

He’s carved your name into his skin. Over his heart. With his claws. You’ll never see it, he won’t let you, but when he touches you, his fingers tremble over that spot. Like your name is the only thing keeping his ribs from cracking open.

E = Experience

A nightmare made flesh, but a careful one. He studied what brings people pleasure the same way he studied how to break them. At first, he was cold and confused, but once he learned how to make you moan? He became addicted.

F = Favorite Position

He likes to see your face. Him between your legs, one hand pressing your wrists above your head, the other stroking your cheek. The contradiction of violence and worship. “Look at me,” he begs, voice cracking.

G = Goofy

Never. There is no laughter, no lightness. Sex with Konrad is a ritual. A collapse. A grave you fall into together. If you do laugh, he’ll freeze and stare, stunned and unsure how to process it.

H = Hair

Slick black, always damp at the roots. On his body, it’s fine and barely visible, his flesh is almost corpse-pale, like moonlight. Below the belt, it’s sparse, black, and neat. He shaves it sometimes, not for vanity, but to feel cleaner.

I = Intimacy

Terrifyingly intense. He cups your face with clawed hands like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. He’ll whisper, “Why are you still here?” and then fuck you like he’s trying to brand the memory into your soul. When he’s gentle, it’s trembling, hesitant, like he thinks he doesn’t deserve you.

J = Jack Off

Only when he’s desperate. Usually after a nightmare. He hates how much he needs you, so he punishes himself, harsh, painful strokes in the dark, muttering your name like it’s an accusation. He always ends up collapsing, shaking, whispering “forgive me.”

K = Kink

Somnophilia. He watches you sleep, hard and aching, and sometimes… he touches. He fucks you slow and careful, whispering apologies into your neck.

Fear kink: He thrives on your trembling, your gasps, your heartbeat racing. He never wants to hurt you, but your fear feeds his desire.

Mommy kink. If you let him call you that: instant emotional collapse.

L = Location

Dark rooms, your bed, his coffin. Places he feels safe. Or not safe, he likes fucking where he shouldn’t. One time, he took you in front of his brothers' armor displays. They all watched through dead glass.

M = Motivation

The fear he sees flicker in your eyes before it turns to trust. The way you reach for him. The way your heartbeat speeds up when he growls your name. He’s a predator who lives for the moment his prey chooses to stay.

N = No

He won’t share. Ever. Even the thought sends him spiraling into a jealous, self-loathing pit. And he won’t degrade you, not truly. He might growl like you’re prey, but he worships you, body and soul.

O = Oral

Giving. Wild. He eats you out like he’s starving, moaning into your flesh, his claws digging into your thighs to hold you down.

P = Pace

Frantic. Unrelenting. Every thrust like he’s trying to bury himself in you and never come back out. If you ask for gentle? He tries. It just breaks down when he hears you gasp.

Q = Quickie

Yes, but not casually. If he takes you against a wall, it’s because something broke, panic, arousal, anger. He’ll slam into you hard, panting against your neck, like it’s the only thing grounding him.

R = Risk

Unhinged. He’ll try anything that feels like sin. Bloodletting. Binding. Psychic connection during orgasm. He wants to feel your soul against his. He wants to haunt you forever.

S = Stamina

High, but fragile. He can go multiple rounds, but emotionally? He’s wrecked after the first. If you coax him gently, he’ll keep going until you can’t breathe.

T = Toys

His claws. His tongue. His voice. He doesn’t trust devices, he thinks they’re impure. But sometimes he’ll carve your name into a candle and fuck you beside it while it burns.

U = Unfair

Oh, he can tease, but not in a smug way. In a desperate way. He��ll hold you still, his breath shaky, whispering “I shouldn’t…” while grinding his cock against your thigh, trembling with need. He gets off on denial, yours or his.

V = Volume

Mostly quiet. Whimpers. Ragged breathing. Sometimes, when he’s close, a deep broken moan like something being torn open. He’ll bury his face in your neck to muffle it. When he cries out, it’s because he’s lost in you.

W = Wild Card

He carves your name into his armor. Not on the outside, inside, on the chestplate where it touches his heart. So when he fights, it’s with you against his skin. Always.

X = X-Ray

Lean but deceptively thick. Long enough to reach deep and brush that spot that makes your legs shake. Veins dark and raised. Tip flushed purple when he’s fully hard. He loves pushing it in slowly, watching you stretch around it.

Y = Yearning

High. Too high. He craves you like a drug, fights against it, then gives in and devours you. If you’re gone too long, he withdraws into himself, and when you return, he doesn’t even speak. He just kneels, clutches your hips, and breathes you in.

Z = Zzz

Sleeps very little. He lies beside you, staring. Memorizing. Sometimes, he rests his head on your stomach and listens to your breathing until it calms him enough to doze off.

[sillylotrpolls]

It's another "extended edition" poll! This question was first asked in June of last year, and with some recent polls breaching containment and sparking confusion for non-Silm readers it seems like an excellent time to bring it back.

I've replaced the three lowest-polling options from the previous poll and added five new ones. I had to paraphrase to get them to fit the 80-character limit, so do read the original thread for the full versions and additional jokes.

Credits in order: @absynthe--minded, @hennethgalad, @blindbrilliance, @vigilantsycamore, @finnritter, @i-am-the-inksinger, @daegred-winsterhand @maglor-my-beloved, @kanalaure, @squirrelwrangler, @what-would-maglor-do, @captainofthefallen.

[wolfythewitch]

Odysseus comm for @absynthe--minded :D

[thisuserislilsilly]

Summary: One day as a common scribe-lawyer in Cardrean goes a whole new way you were not expecting

Genre: Drama/fluff/slice-of-life

TW: Foul language, mentions of violence and some (little?) body horror

Pairing: You x Cardrean gangs

Goblin tag squad: @cardinalcanis @finchly-tintinnabulation @artemisareia

@echo-of-damnation @meervalv0 @jaghatai-khock

@druidwolf21 @beckyninja @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan

@absynthe-mind

The negotiation

The dripping of the water leak from your tight personal "home" woke you up five minutes ago and forced you to get ready for another day. You put on the thin set of clothes you wore when you slept and had breakfast. This wasn't a very big meal as you ate what little food you had rationed for the week.

The hallway quickly pressed you to be alert of your surroundings, making you almost drop the stylus and the data slate In your hands from all the pushing and insults coming your way to hurry up and get on with the sea of people going to work or coming from their cycle back to the hellhole that was their home. Your usual route took you past the monolith of the tallest building in the entire city, The Tower, as it's called. It's the main seat of the Concord, the council that was supposed to be under the Imperial governor of the world but that in reality pulled the strings of just about any business conducted on Cardrean, making the Imperium seem more like a formality than a real authority around there; you knew this well because your first days serving there as a law-scribe had been marked by the constant reminder about that same fact. You did not owned Cardrean, the Concord did. And they did not care in the slightest if a member of the Munitorum lived or died on their stay there.

Your hand went to scratch the patched up scar that had been the first thing the gang members of the High Axes had given you as a welcome to the sector where you now lived in for the past couple of years and still managed to be alive. A bitter smile ran up your face for a moment as you remembered the first day when you tried to pull your rank and assignment there by Imperial authority whenever a shopkeeper refused to bargain a plate of dried grox meat for imperial credits. You had gotten the barrel of a gun to your temple and your ass dragged into an alley where you had been taught the lessons of how to live on a world where you could be as lowly and expendable as anyone. But you weren't weak. You weren't some Imperial cog to be moved around by their whims. You managed to adapt and survive, the gun in your pants that scraped it's cold metal against your thigh was a reminder of this.

Finally, after a long but uninterrupted journey you managed to arrive at your service post; a great building a couple of blocks beside the Tower where iterators and scribes toiled their days away trying to put some order (or make reports seem legit) into the logistical nightmare that the Hive World represented for the Imperium. You were a law-scribe, meaning that you wrote down the documents, laws, and notes made by your superiors, who would be the Concord, and passed them around to other scribes to be sent to other authorities as needed. Technically the Imperium was still your superior and not the council of the four gangs dominating the planet, but as long as you had your stylus in your hand and data slate at your side you didn't give two shits of what other people thought about the fact that your pay was being delivered by other powers.

After putting your uniform in order and filling up the datapads with blank forms for new recruits and approvals for the daily flow of the planet, you finally got to the main desk, a small room with two other scribe apprentices sitting on chairs and going through some kind of logistical data while their supervisor yelled orders from the side. The woman running the desk was a tall and well-built woman that towered over you, but that somehow made her presence even more insignificant compared to yours by the constant shake of her hand and the nervous eyes that darted everywhere in the room.

"Handith" You greeted her with a little nod and a forced smile. The woman just turned to look at you for a couple of moments and gave you an almost disgusted look before turning to her work.

"Have we gotten the order for the commissars to be sent to the barracks for the next deployment?" She asked

"Commissars?" You shook your head, the smile turning into a light chuckle "They just have Gallius, and he's already dealing with a campaign in the middle of....who the sonen hell knows"

"Are you implying the Commissariat holds no jurisdiction in the matters of the regiment?" She looked up incredulously

"Implying?" You replied with the same look "I am stating, Handith, that the Concord seems to have the upper hand in any and all issues involving the regiment. Reroute those pompous bastards to the barracks but the next batch of the regiment do not go to space with them"

"That is not what-" Her bureaucratic tone was driving you crazy

"For Gallius sake, you've been here longer than me and yet you know nothing how things are being run around here!" You yelled out and the other scribes looked at you with fear and shock in their eyes. You did not care, your blood was boiling and you were getting tired of her shit.

There was a heartbeat where no words were exchanged, yet you could feel her chest raising and lowering from the anger boiling inside her, but the sound of the door opening was enough to put your altercation on hold and for her to turn to see a man walk into the office.

The ribbon on his left upper arm made it impossible not to recognize the gang he was part of, the High Axes.

"Handith" He said with a little nod of his head "I need a scribe"

The woman stood up and made a quick gesture to clean her face and compose herself enough to mask the little discussion you just had been part of with her.

Handith then spin in place and gave the Axe one of the largest grins she could pull off.

"Come again?"

"I need one of your scribes, there was a little altercation between us and the Lunatics and we don't want a sonen feud the day before we are sent where Gallius wants us to be" The man set his eyes on you "They should be enough, I think"

"Of course, they are more than enough" Handith replied, a hint of jealousy in her words

"Sir, I-" You tried to reply, but the woman just put her hand on your shoulder and shoved you into his broad chest.

"Take them, I'm sure you'll find them capable" She smiled.

The man nodded and turned around, expecting you to follow him. You quickly grabbed your stuff from the desk and hurriedly followed him outside. It had started to rain, drenching your clothes was certainly not the weather you were speccing for the day, but it wasn't bothering you in any meaningful way; your escort did not seem to mind the situation one bit.

You took those little moments to really get a view of the man that you were following; he was tall, had dark hair was cut short and a beard covered the bottom part of his face, but not enough to hide his features. His eyes were the same color as his hair and he had a couple of scars that could be seen on his cheekbones and neck. He wore the standard uniform for a gang member, with some patches here and there, but nothing that seemed like trophies, that was reserved for the most distinguished members of the Axes if your memory did not failed you.

"You do know how to write, right?" The man asked with a hint of curiosity

"I do, I am a law-scribe after all" You replied

"And you do know what that means, right?" He pressed on "What a law-scribe does?"

You took a deep breath and looked at him straight into his eyes "Yes, I do, sir"

"...So...um...law of the Imperials or law from here?" It was clear he had no idea what your title meant, but was trying to play it off casually

"Both"

"Both?" He replied incredulously "You're going to have a rough time keeping up with both" You chuckled, that was certainly an understatement. "You're going to make my people's lives easier by not screwing anything up, you got me?"

"Y-yes" You stuttered as you noticed his black eyes were set on you

The both of you quickly reached the building where the High Axe had told you the altercation between the gangs had happened. Lighting a stick of yarish, he offered you one in a small kind gesture that was surprising considering how stern he had been the whole way here, you had taken it within an instant and smiled but quickly pocketed it whenever he wasn't looking; it would be a good token to trade with if you managed to resist the urge of smoking it before the day was over.

The two of you entered the old tenement that was falling apart due to years of being left in the hands of the gangs. As you climbed the stairs, you could hear the screams of people inside their apartments and the sound of gunfire, a common occurrence if not expected, but it still made you wonder what would had caused it this time, a domestic argument maybe? an intruder that had tried to rob a family but did not count with the gun they had? a deal gone wrong? In that cursed world any and all were more than viable options.

By the time you reach the fourth floor, the smell of rusted metal, yarish smoke, and human waste thickens into a sticky film on your tongue. You instinctively pull your uniform collar closer to your face, though it does nothing. The Axe doesn’t even blink, he just motions toward a door that hangs crookedly on its hinges, held together more by gang warnings spray-painted on the wall than the actual bolts.

A young woman in Tech Lunatic garb leans against the wall just outside the unit, blood crusted along her temple, but her expression is unfazed. A long steel coil twitches slowly behind her shoulder, some servo-spinal implant no doubt. She’s flanked by another Lunatic, this one bulkier, with a monocular grafted to the side of his face. Their weapons are sheathed, but the guns, you noticed, have the safety's on.

The Axe beside you tenses the muscles of his neck just slightly while stepping closer.

"Trakz. Ferro," he says, his voice calm. "Where’s your representative?"

The woman grunts. "Karnak’s inside, licking the last of his pride. We came to talk, not fight." Her eyes flick to you. "But you brought a pen-dog."

"Yeah." Your escort jerks his thumb toward you. "They’re here to put it in ink so it doesn’t go to shit the minute we leave."

"Fine. We don’t want another burn-feud starting while half our block's heading offworld."

You stay silent. Observing. Listening and writing down everything, from the gang sign that you saw outside to the odor coming from the room behind the two Lunatics, everything needed to be written down to the last minute detail if you wanted to make sure than your testimony was true if anybody doubted it later.

Inside, the room is trashed. A shattered plasteel table lies sideways, and pieces of a cogitator are scattered on the ground like broken teeth. A small man in purple-black Lunatic robes sits on a crate with his arm being rebandaged by another gang member. Blood stains the side of his face. Across from him is an Axe member nursing a busted lip and adjusting a poorly-fitted shoulder pad. Tension lingers thick in the room. It’s pride, ego, and that uneasy dance Cardreans do before they decide whether to kill each other or smoke together. The Axes in the room are all lined up behind their leader, the Tech Lunatics were only conformed by the men in the room and those you found outside; a small force you thought until you remembered how much just one gang member could do if enraged enough.

Your Axe nods for you to begin.

You flick open your dataslate, stylus at the ready and swallow some saliva.

"Right," You cough into your uniform and start, voice a notch more formal now. "We’re recording mutual agreement between the High Axes and Tech Lunatics regarding incident 77-Luna, occurred in District Verge Tenement C, fourth floor."

"No escalation of feud status," Karnak cuts in, wincing slightly. "No calls to arms. We don’t retaliate, you don’t retaliate. This shit dies here."

"Compensation?" you ask without looking up.

"Axe boy already offered six crates of cog parts and a servo-lens from one of his off-duty scouts."

"Damn right," the Axe nods. "Provided no more gear thefts or false maintenance calls come through."

"And in return," Karnak mutters, rubbing his neck, "we remove the override trigger from the area’s fuse stack. Power stays on during tomorrow and next week’s departure."

There’s a beat of silence.

Then the Axe tilts his head. Just slightly.

"That fuse stack better stay untouched," he says, voice like gravel wrapped in wire. "No 'accidental' blackouts when our boys are prepping. No last-minute shorts that just happen to trip after launch."

Karnak flinches, his gaze sharpens, jaw tightens and he flexes his only fleshy arm about to throw a punch at the Axe; you hold your breath and already calculate how long would it take for you to reach the exit of the room in case things get out of hand.

"We’re not saboteurs," he spits. "You think we want a feud now? With our own fighters on those ships?"

"You’ve done worse for less," the Axe snaps back. "Leave it up to the Lunatics to screw up a perfect plan for a couple wires and an implant"

The room goes too quiet for your liking. It feels like a bomb is ready to go off at any moment's notice.

The Lunatic with the monocular implant adjusts his stance. One of the Axe crew inside the room shifts his weight, hand lowering instinctively toward the hilt of his weapon. The air grows dense with unsaid words and almost-drawn blades.

You stay still. Eyes on your slate. Fingers curled around your stylus, like it might matter if everything went sideways.

Karnak stands slowly. He’s shorter than the Axe, wirier, but his presence fills the space. His voice is low and venomous.

"You want to throw history in my face? You want to bring up the Syra Grid incident again, you starch-fed bastard?"

"Don't need to," the Axe growls. "You just did it for me."

The woman outside, Trakz, leans into the doorframe. “Karnak. Not here. Not now.”

The Lunatic leader breathes through his nose. He looks down at the half-wrapped bandage on his arm, then back up at the Axe., sizing up how much is it worth to have a shootout there.

"No tricks," he says. "We give the power. You give the parts. That’s it."

Your stylus hovers over the confirmation field. You glance up, just once, to both gang leaders.

“Verbal confirmation?” you ask.

The Axe doesn’t blink. “Yeah we'll hold our end.”

Karnak nods, curt. “Confirmed.”

You tap the slate and push it forward.

“Thumbprints.”

They both step up. They sign at the exact same time, making absolutely sure they were in sync so none of their boys can say they "gave up first" or mock them for rushing into the deal being sealed. In the future you would remember that moment in laughter for how it stupid in retrospective it was, but at that moment your heart was pumping so hard on your chest you thought it was going to burst.

The Axe folds his arms across his chest. Karnak lifts the tin mug beside him and sips something that smells like recycled machine oil. The woman outside coughs, and the big Lunatic with the monocular clears his throat.

Still, nobody moves.

After ten full seconds, you speak.

“So…we’re done.”

Silence.

Then the Axe, without looking away from Karnak, says: “Yeah. We’re done.”

Another pause. Karnak sets down his mug and wipes his mouth.

“Then leave,” he says flatly.

The Axe raises an eyebrow. “You called the meeting. Protocol says you close the room.”

“Protocol says whoever caused the incident steps out first.”

“That wasn't us. You jumped our runner.”

“Because your runner crossed our district line with active gear and no ID stamp.”

You glance between them. “I could, uh, I could leave first, if that helps.”

“No,” both of them say in perfect, simultaneous disdain.

More silence. Someone upstairs slams a door; downstairs, a baby starts wailing.

The Axe sighs and gestures toward the hallway. “Look, let’s just both leave on three. Neutral step. Peaceful. No fast moves.”

Karnak stares at him. “Like it’s a Gallius controlled barrack?”

“Exactly, like it’s Gallius barracks.”

“Fine.” He lifts his fingers. “One.”

The Axe narrows his eyes. “You start on one?”

“I said one. Don’t break the rhythm.”

“Just making sure.”

“You fucker...two.”

They both take a step.

You follow instinctively, then realize neither of them has actually turned their back yet. They’re side-stepping, like paranoid dancers in a funeral procession.

“Three.”

The moment “three” is spoken, they both immediately stop walking, still shoulder to shoulder, and glance sideways, waiting for the other to take just one more step.

You exhale sharply through your nose.

“I could draft an addendum where you both technically leave at the same time and neither surrenders ground?”

They ignore you.

Another beat passes.

Finally, the big monocular Lunatic mutters from the back, “You both look like you're about to kiss or shoot. Just pick one, yeah?”

The Axe turns and walks. Karnak follows half a second later, grumbling.

You stay sandwiched between them down the stairwell, clutching your slate like a holy relic.

Behind you, someone snickers from one of the apartment doors. A voice croaks out: “That’s how peace is made in Cardrean? Looked more like a bad date.”

You say nothing. You just make sure your stylus cap is still tight and you haven’t pissed yourself.

Small victories.

At the base of the tenement stairs, just where the cracked plascrete bleeds into puddles of chem rain, you take a half-step toward the alley exit when a heavy hand clamps down on your shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the Axe says.

You turn, stiffening a little. “Back to the scribal hall. Got work to process.”

“Good,” he says, nodding once. Then his tone sharpens. “You’re walking with me.”

You blink. “Is that… necessary?”

He gives you a look that isn’t angry, just tired. Like he’s explaining gravity to someone too stubborn to fall. “You just sat in on a de-escalation between two of the biggest posturing assholes in Verge Tenement. You think the moment we’re out of sight, there aren’t gonna be eyes wondering if that was the deal? Sending you back alone makes it look like either we don’t care, or we’re afraid. You get me?”

You do. Far too well tragically.

“This isn’t for your safety,” He flatly states, you try not to comment on it.

He starts walking, not waiting for your answer. You keep pace beside him, feeling the heaviness of every step as the tension lingers. A few pedestrians shift to the sides of the road when they see the Axe’s armband. Most don’t look directly at either of you.

Halfway down the street, he speaks again, quieter now.

“You did alright. No whining, no stammering. Fast scribe hands.” A pause. “You ever get promoted?”

You snort. “I’d have to file a request with the same people who haven’t paid me for the last four cycles. The Concord doesn’t do merit. They do utility.”

He grins, a small, dark thing. “That’s the closest I’ve heard a pen-dog sound like us.”

You glance at him. “I live in your block.” You spit out not sure why exactly. When you realize the implications, you pray to the Emperor and all the martyrs of the universe that you were telling the truth...or that he bought the lie.

"Really?" That seems to have piqued his interest "I'm Xavier; I live in the last room of the sixth floor"

"Huh, well would you look at that, I live in the third floor" You mutter amused

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, just…street-aware. You both know not to say too much out here, in open air.

When the building finally comes into view, you nod up toward it, thankful for the concrete familiarity.

Xavier slows, but doesn’t turn to leave.

“You walk in first,” he says. “People need to see who came back. Then I follow, like it was my idea the whole time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “It was your idea.”

“Exactly,” he says, deadpan.

You shake your head, take the steps up the hall, the grime and noise welcoming you home like an old stray mutt. A few scribes glance up. Handith looks over from her desk, smirking faintly at the sight of you.

Behind you, Xavier leans in just long enough to murmur low: “Next time, you come out with us, bring a second stylus. Not for writing. For stabbing. Shit’s cheaper than a knife.”

You linger there for a moment at the entrance, Xavier’s parting words still hanging in the air like smoke from a bad joke that cuts too close to truth. You let out a slow, tired sigh, the kind that starts in your spine and scrapes its way up through clenched teeth.

The Concord didn’t train you for this. Stylus in hand, they told you you’d be drafting transport manifests, not preventing blood feuds in collapsing tenements. You glance down at your slate, thumb still faintly stained from earlier. The day’s ink hasn’t dried yet, but the weight of it already feels old.

You walk back through the hall as if nothing happened; shoulders hunched, pace steady, face neutral. The chaos outside stays outside. Here, it’s back to protocol, forms, and a quiet war waged in footnotes and approvals. A junior scribe glances at you, eyes wide with a silent question. You just give him a shrug and mutter, “District Verge. Lunatics and Axes.”

He nods solemnly like that explains everything and resumes his work, not bothering you with anything else. Handith is nowhere to be seen.

Back at your desk, you slide into the rickety chair. The cushion hisses like a dying vermin beneath you. You pick up your backup stylus (the clean one) and start a new form, the gentle tap of text input resuming its place like a broken hymn in the great machine of Cardrean.

Just another day.

And you’ve already earned your break for the day.

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

I usually write Ghost fanfics but my little musical theater enthusiast brain has been buzzing since I saw Les Mis in Paris, so, there you go. Also, feels strange to write about my french little guys from a french book in english, given that I am, yes you guessed it, french, but oh well. I like my writting better in english anyway.

It's the light scraping of his chair that betrays Grantaire. He's been sitting in silence for quite a while now, content to watch Enjolras furiously scribble under the flickering light of dying candles for as long as the blond's engrossed mind will allow him.

The sudden noise puts an end to it, as it makes Enjolras look up, sharp eyes, barely dulled by the shadows underneath them, locking on Grantaire's slouched form. Impossibly bright blue flickers toward the bottle in his hand, pink lips, bitten raw in deep reflexion, pressing into a thin line. Grantaire watches mournfully as Enjolras' brow knits.

"I would have thought you'd be gone by now, Grantaire. Gone or asleep, at least. Has your liquor not knocked you uncouncious yet ?"

There isn't as much bite to the words as Grantaire expected. Enjolras' voice is steady, if not slightly strained with the exhaustion that no doubts weights on him. Stripped, for the moment at least, of his scalding enthusiasm and righteous fury, messy hair golden in what little light it catches, tie sitting as loose and askew as ever, Enjolras seems less marble, more flesh. Grantaire blinks slowly, feeling the effect of his own tiredness, huming lowly.

"It seems that today, my dear mistress absynth has left me before my eyes could close, and in such hurry that she took my legs with her. I will just sit here, if you'll let me."

Enjolras' face scrunches up as he lays his pen next to his work, careful not to smuge the still-drying ink with his sleeve.

"I do not understand how you could call mistress something that hurts you so much, Grantaire."

The disarming earnestness with which the reprimand- because it is still one - falls from Enjolras' mouth is almost enough for Grantaire to forget his wit. Almost. He reclines further in his seat with a half-smile he knows Enjolras abhors, twirling the bottle in his hand.

"You say that as if yours only ever did you good. How many times did Patria dear hurt you, Apollo ?"

The blond's expression sours further, but he doesn't snap. Instead, he gets up, leans over the table to gently pry the bottle from Grantaire's loose grasp. It was mostly empty anyway, and in doing so, Enjolras' undone collar gives Grantaire a great view of his collarbones. They're nice collarbones, and he is not strangely hypnotized by the sight, not at all.

When Enjolras drags a chair closer to Grantaire, plopping there with a deep sigh, it feels like the earth tilted on its axis just a bit. Because Enjolras is sitting right here, ankle propped on his knee while the other brushes Grantaire's, watching him with only a spark of annoyance and much more curiosity. There's a grace to Enjolras that Grantaire's wretched hands never quite managed to capture on paper, something that makes the way he rolls his sleeves just now captivating. The Musain is long closed, the backroom barely lit, shadows waiting in the corners, but Enjolras is still a vision. Grantaire's unworthy eyes are roaming, too much exposed skin, too close ; he is afraid an inch closer and Enjolras' simmering fire will melt him like those poor dying candles fighting to provide light.

"Patria hasn't hurt me."

Grantaire huffs, something both fond and painful swirling in his chest.

"No, my aplogies. You've hurt yourself for her."

Enjolras shakes his head, curls bouncing around the sculpted angles of his face. He has his stubborn face on - his everyday face, really.

"I've hurt myself for my beliefs. For the people. Such an important battle requires sacrifices. What I don't understand is how you can love something that causes you so much aimless pain so fiercly."

Saying so, Enjolras gestures toward the discarted bottle, but Grantaire feels like they're straying from the subject, like maybe Enjolras meant something else. Or maybe alcohol is encouraging his self indulgent thoughts. However Enjolras is still waiting for an answer, leaning just that much further toward Grantaire. It's dangerous, to trust him with that face up close and personal, the arch of those eyebrows, the sparkle of those dream-like eyes, the slight crookedness of that nose, sharp cheekbones and even sharper jaw, oh, and Grantaire can't bare looking at Enjolras' mouth, at the pink of perfect lips.

He would lean back, put some distance between them, but he can go no further, the chair's back digging in his spine. It takes a too-long pause and a clearing of throat before Grantaire can answer.

"I believe it happens more often than you seem to believe. As you know, le coeur a ses raisons. Sometimes, the hurt isn't nearly bad enough to move on from the good. Sometimes, the hurt is so entertwined with the good it becomes one. Sometimes-"

There Grantaire's voice breaks, but he is determined to finish his sentence.

"...sometimes, the hurt is all that is deserved."

Because he's sitting so close, Grantaire can see the way Enjolras' expression crumbles at that, taking pieces of his already mangled heart with it.

"R..."

The nickname, both foreign and familiar, rolls off Enjolras' tongue with a pained accent. It's like for once, he's at a loss for words, rethoric failing him perhaps for the first time in his life. Grantaire would jest about it, if he didn't felt naked under the steel of Enjolras' eyes. Then a hand covers his, and his brain officially stops functioning, nothing but a low hum running through his head, because even when Grantaire is sure he can't anymore, Enjolras surprises him.

The stray spots of ink on Enjolras' fingers smudge on Grantaire's own when the blond tangles them together, thumb running along the veins at the back of his hand. He is warm, something that somehow always startles Grantaire. There, in the backroom of the Café Musain, as the shadows keep gaining ground, threatening to swallow them both, Enjolras and Grantaire hold hands.

"You don't deserve the hurt," Enjolras whispers after a long pause, urgency tainting his words, as if making Grantaire believe that was of the highest importance, "you don't. And if I gave you the impression that you did, then I apologize. I apologize, R."

Nothing could have prepared Grantaire for the way Enjolras then bows his head, pressing his lips to R's scarred knuckles. The touch, light, tender, unexpected, like the suspicious shine in Enjolras' eyes when he straightens, takes Grantaire completely by surprise, leaving him to stare with his jaw on the floor. He doesn't say anything, can't, really, which Enjolras seems to take as a bad omen, for his hold on Grantaire's hand slackens.

R can't let that happen, not when it feels like Enjolras letting go would shatter him, a man turned porcelain doll by the simple squeeze of slender fingers. Grantaire's hand convulsively tightens around Enjolras'. One of the candle dies, the shadows lunge closer, but they're still vaillantly held off by the last two flames burning low. Even now, Grantaire can make out the relief washing over Enjolras' face, and he doesn't need light to feel the blond matching the strenght of his grip.

It should be studied, the way Grantaire's heart manages to miss at least three beats, then jump into a frankly concerning rythm when Enjolras leans closer, free hand delicately cupping R's jaw, like he's something to hold with care, like he's worthy of a touch that's careful, a touch that admires. In his wildest dreams, Grantaire would have never imagined this : Enjolras' head tilted so he can maintain eyecontact through the dark curls tangled on R's forehead, so close they could accidentally headbutt each other at any sudden movement.

The look on Enjolras' face is familiar, something that's usually reserved for when Combeferre's migraine has him excusing himself from a meeting, or when Eponine slinks in the back of the room to pretend she's not looking for Marius with a look of utter exhaustion, when Feuilly collapses on his chair with a sigh heavier than him, when Jehan curls in on themselves instead of chatting with everyone.

Worry, Grantaire's brain supplies.

"Let me take you home," Enjolras hums, absent-mindedly brushing a strand of hair away from Grantaire's face. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to answer, his smirk somehow less convincing than he would like it to be.

"Why, dear Apollo, that is certainly an offer."

Pink spills on Enjolras' cheeks, a delicious flush Grantaire longs to know the extend of.

"I did not mean...I simply want to make sure you get some sleep."

"I know what you meant, Apollo, I'm only teasing you. I am surprised, though, i'll admit it. Do you even know where I live ?"

Enjolras nods, with the steel-clad certainty of the ones who are rarely wrong. He may even be smiling, if Grantaire's wishful eyes aren't deceiving him.

"I do. You rent a room a few blocks from here ; it is a rather short walk, but one you like to prolong by wandering through streets you needn't take."

It's said so matter-of-factly, like that little bit of Grantaire's routine is a well-known constant somewhere in Enjolras' brain. R doesn't remember ever explicitly mentionning his tendency to roam the streets aimlessly to anyone other than Bossuet and Joly, maybe Bahorel too. Unless, of course, Enjolras was paying more attentions to the conversations unrelated to the cause than Grantaire thought.

"Besides," Enjolras adds as, once more, R let the silence stretch on for too long, "I was talking about mine."

"Your-"

Grantaire might just faint at this point.

"Yes, Grantaire, my room."

This conversation feels like a fever dream. Enjolras of all people, asking Grantaire to follow him to his room, with barely enough space between them for the words to really leave the blond's mouth; it is so deeply incomprehensible Grantaire can do nothing but chuckle, now only drunk on the sheer astonishment he's feeling.

"Now you're just asking me to twist your words," he grins, leaning slightly more into Enjolras' hand, willing his shaken brain to memorize the feeling. The blond scoffs, but despite the deepening blush now spreading on his neck, he smiles, dangerously charming and charmingly dangerous.

"I'm afraid I share a wall with Combeferre, a thin one. Whatever you wanted to imply would never happen here, unless you don't mind the audience."

The laugh that spills from Grantaire's lips is crazed, whole body shaking with it. He feels like he's going insane, because there is no way Enjolras anticipated a crude joke and went along with it. Not only that, but the way he phrased it- it almost sounded like the option was only off the table because of the risk of making Combeferre an unwilling witness. No, Grantaire can't think about this, can't read into it, so he just laughs, face slipping from Enjolras' hand when his head falls back.

"Ah, Enjolras, it looks as if your humor awakens after the witching hour."

Standing up, the blond allowes himself to smile down at Grantaire, holding himself in a looser form than in the light of day.

"I didn't intended it to be half as funny as you seem to find it, Grantaire. So, what do you say ?"

Grantaire stares at the hand Enjolras extended for him, palm up. He shouldn't do this. Tonight is going better than he would have ever expected, but he and Enjolras walk a thin line, all the time. If Grantaire had to describe their relationship, he would call it whiplash-inducing, always pulling them back and forth in opposite directions. And tonight, Enjolras is hauling the both of them further than they ever went, like pulling taunt an elastic ; Grantaire should think of his poor little heart, of how it'll hurt that much more once the elastic snaps, and they're yanked back to the opposite end of their dynamic.

Instead, he takes Enjolras' hand and let him pull him to his feet. For a beat too long, they stay like this, chests almost brushing with each inhale, both aware of the importance of the moment without being able to fully grasp it still.

Then Enjolras clears his throat, taking a few steps back to collect his things. Grantaire busies himself by pushing the chairs back where they belong, keeping an eye on Enjolras as he pats his pockets for the double of the keys Musichetta let him use so he doesn't have to leave when she does.

Wordlessly, Enjolras splays a hand between Grantaire's shoulderblades when he goes to blow the remaining candles out. Suddenly plunged in darkness, they shuffle out, Grantaire following a few feet behind Enjolras. As he crosses the threshold, the blond looks back over his shoulder, eyes locking with Grantaire's.

It's colder outside than R had anticipated, goosebumps raising on his skin. Before he can do anything about it, a warm weight lands on his shoulders, and he finds himself wearing Enjolras' infamous red coat. The man in question watches him with all the intensity Grantaire dreams of, and even chuckles when R exageratedly squares his shoulders, tugging the collar up like Enjolras does when he feels especially dramatic. With a mock reverence that earns him a sigh, Grantaire is the one to offer his hand this time, adding some unnecessary flourish just because he can.

"Shall we ?"

Once again, Enjolras takes Grantaire's hand, and the world is just a tiny bit brighter thanks to that.

[jelly-and-strawberries]

Bath vs. Shower with the Eldarya Boys ♡

B A T H

Leiftan – He had imagined how it would be to share a bath with you multiple times, but he was too shy to ask. – He was afraid that you would think he was a pervert for wanting to do something so intimate. – He was elated when you first invited him to take a bath together. – Since then, you try to share a bath at least three times a week. – It's a way to spend time together and just hold each other. – Leiftan loves to help you wash yourself, but he completely melts when you do the same to him. – Sometimes, he gets carried away and starts caressing those sensible parts of your body that make you all flustered.

Ezarel – The only condition he had to become the Absynthe leader was to have his own bathroom. – He ain't playing when it comes to his bath time, he likes to take his time to relax and pamper himself. – You're the only one allowed to use his private bathroom. – The first time you shared a bath, he was really self-conscious, but he enjoyed the intimacy. – Now, he always wants you to join him in the bathtub. – He likes how careful you are when you wash his hair. – He even shares his hair products with you.

Mathieu – He's another one who thought about taking a bath with you but was too nervous to actually ask you about it. – When you propose the idea of sharing a bath, he almost passes out. – He was really anxious the first time, he was worried that you would feel uncomfortable because of his prosthetic leg. – But when you sat in between his legs and put your NAKED back against his NAKED chest, all of his worries washed away. – He declared in that moment that he wouldn't be taking any bath without you in it. – He deeply enjoys when you wash his back and he gets to feel your boobs, it's the highlight for him.

S H O W E R

Lance – He has always taken showers just because it's more efficient. – He likes showering way past midnight when it's all dark and the water gets colder. – When he first joined you in the shower, it wasn't premeditated, it just suddenly crossed his mind. – He will never forget your face of surprise, he would 100% do it again. – You never really now when he's going to suddenly join you, it's more fun that way or so he says. – He doesn't protest when you wash his body or hair, but he teases the hell out of you after. – He wouldn't say no to shower sex.

Nevra – He's always in a hurry, so he prefers taking showers. – He was the one to ask you to join him in the shower, and he was pleased when seeing your reaction to his proposal. – If he's intimidating when he has clothes on, imagine when he's naked. – It was impossible not to get flustered by his gorgeous body the first couple of times you showered together. – His favorite part is when he gets to touch you with the excuse of helping wash your body. – He can't help but smile when seeing you fight your urges while he's teasing your weak spots. – He's down to have sex in the shower, especially when he knows his day is going to be packed with work.

Valkyon – He takes showers because it's more convenient, he's a big guy, and sharing a bathtub with him could be difficult. – As we know, he was kind of a womanizer, but he never did something as intimate as sharing a shower. – He was anxious the first time you joined him in the shower. –He made sure not to look at your body too much, he didn't want you to feel uncomfortable. – It was hard af, but he managed to do it, and you were deeply moved by his thoughtfulness. – He always asks you with anticipation when he wants you to join him in the shower. – He gets all flustered when you ask him to wash your hair, being the first time he has done it to someone. – Now he feels so much closer to you.

[the-trans-folk-witch]

The Green Devil of the Ozarks: The little green fairy of... moonshine?

It was 2005. I was with my grandfather in an old shop similar to "dick's 5 and 10" outside of Branson, Missouri. This is where The Green Devil caught my eye.

My grandfather frequented little old fashioned stores like this. He loved collecting all kinds of gadgets. Old movie posters, salt water taffy, and soda parlor paraphenalia. It was heaven on earth to him in this little corner of the world that was stuck in an older Ozark time. His house wasn't too dissimilar to a crackerbarrel gift shop. All kinds of wooden toys and dolls. He loved his little knickknacks. But on that day he found it. A copy of an old French absynthe poster with "the little green fairy" smirking at the viewer. He had to have it. It was being sold for $8! frame included! If only the seller knew the true value of it. Or how it's mere existence was breaking so many copyright laws.

Maurin Quina, as it's named, is a French apéritif advertisement painted by Leonetto Cappiello in 1906. The drink was made illegal soon after its creation. But this poster is now being reused today. It was not well known in the US at all back then. Not even in the 2000's. but my grandfather being a moonshiner, absynthe fan, and art history drop out, knew all about it.

My grandfather was not as religious as the rest of my family. But he sure prayed to God when he was trying to avoid the law. He was selling homemade moonshine without any sort of license or proper knowledge of sanitary practices. It was an arte form he learned from his father that I never had the pleasure of learning.

He decided to hang this new poster up in his storm cellar where he kept his aging bottles of various liquors. Over time it developed A life of its own. My grandfather would kiss his hand and place it on the poster of the little green fairy after every jar was sealed or sales were made. I Don't think he saw this as devil worship so much as just a simple good luck ritual. Not too disimilar to his high school basketball team kissing the image of their mascot before a game. He always practiced these superstitions even though he didn't seem to really believe in them.

Fast forward to today. I'm an Ozark trad witch. So of course I now work with this image as if it is the devil himself. He is a devil that rules spring and summer. Drunkenness, poison, lunacy, fairies, and nature. He is associated with law breaking, alcohol, healing, harming, and fertility. With Easter coming up He is on my mind heavily. A time I feed him red dyed eggs symbolizing the blood of christ and the blood of good Christians. I feed him this with intentions of causing those which share the eucharist to lust. Poisoning the church so to speak. I attend mass in spirit form and dip my blessed turkey wish bone down in the communion wine. The turkey is symbolic of love in the Ozarks. And the wishbone is horned like the stang, and my devil. Midnight mass on Easter is filled with drunkenness and sex. Those consuming this spiritually poisoned wine are consumed with lust for others in the church. An orgy ensues in the great house of God. Only for all members to awaken Easter morning with no memory of the incestuous rituals performed with their brothers and sisters in christ. To do such things in the house of God and not confess them (due to not remembering) is damanble. This is my goal as a witch. To bring the witches Sabbath to the church and to pervert the souls of good men.

By turkey wand and lustful stang I complete my work in the devils name.

A call to the Green Devil:

"Envy is his name. Drunkeness and poisoning are his arte. He is Lord of the little people and plants alike; come little green fairy and bring your lust and your lunacy. Green devil rise from the roots below like a serpent. Green devil come down from the tree tops like a booger in the night who takes its flight. Join me in this witching hour oh beast of the green and hear my call to the wild. By my witches flame may it be so."

Look out for a post on the black and red devils later this year. Our horned one changes with the seasons

[elronds-library]

In a Jeweled Crown

by ArvenaPeredhel (@absynthe--minded)

The King is dead, long live the King.

Explicit, No Archive Warnings

Words: 12,448

[musicandoldmovies]

Absynthe Minded - Mixing the Medicine

[druidwolf21]

Betrayal and brotherhood.

Fulgrim/ F reader (references to f reader/ferrus)

Part 1 of ?

Summary: Ferrus Manus falls at Istavan V and fulgrim falls deeper to chaos.

Spoilers for FULGRIM (a small book except is included)

Tw: canon typical violence, dubious consent (grief/rebound) swearing.

Tags:Tags: @beckyninja @moodymisty @thisuserislilsilly @jaghatai-khock @echo-of-damnation @laura-naruto-fan1998 @lemon-russ @astrohymn @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @incrediblethirst @kit-williams @iluminatka16 @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond @absynthe-mind

You look so pretty. Even now as you wept on the cold tarnished iron of the flagships floor.

Fulgrim hovered over you, watching your shoulders shake as tears spilled down your cheeks. Your knuckles clenched white, you clawed at the worn paneling and howled your grief as the Phoenician squatted beside you, running his slender fingers along your hunched back.

"I know, I know my dear" he soothed,wiping the tears from your face as electric sparked through his body at the contact.

"Ferrus, ferrus'" you sobbed over and over. With a crippled wail you flung yourself forward, clinging to fulgrims robe as you burrowed your head into his chest.

His heart soared as you nuzzled into him. Tears staining his shirt as he stroked the back of your head, cooing softly as he held you close. The dark voice that had fueled his blade just days before, howling for blood and victory as it cleaved through the sinew of his brother's neck now whispered thoughts of soft touches and hushed moans as the primarch pulled you flush against him.

"Hush now, sweet thing. I promised him I would look after you. I'm here."

"Now how did a face like yours find a sweet thing like that" Fulgrim laughed, clapping Ferrus on the shoulder as they watched you kneel to view a flower a small girl offered to you.

"Who knows" the gorgon had responded, a faint smile across his face as he watched you bend over, allowing the child to put the blossom in your hair. "No matter what I say, she still stays by my side"

"My my, Ferrus! If this lovely thing is too much trouble for the mighty gorgon, I am more than happy to take her off your hands" he brushed his silvered locks away from his face as you pressed a kiss to the child's head before she scampered away.

"She is quite lovely, if I do say so"

Fulgrim waved his hands, placating as ferrus turned to him with a scowl.

"Not likely, Fulgrim."

You turned, spotting the two primarchs and waved to them.

Fulgrim felt a sharp pain in his chest as you walked over, looking at ferrus' like had had hung the very sun above Terra before turning to him and offering a shy smile as you curtsied.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, lord Fulgrim"

He took your hand, so tiny in his and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, relishing the soft pink that flushed across your cheeks.

"oh the honour is all mine, I assure you"

The memory felt so distant now as you sat, staring into the void beyond the reinforced windows of the pride of the emperor as it jetted out of a planet's orbit.

Stepping towards you, the primarch placed a soft hand on your shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze.

"My lady?"

You looked up at him with haunted eyes flicking between his face and his hand.

"It will be ok, my lady" he hushed. Trying to ignore the rush through his veins as you slowly reached up and placed your hand over his.

"We will get through this together my sweet".

"Oh, lord Fulgrim it's beautiful!"

You squeaked in delight as fulgrim showed you his finished painting. Clean brush strokes of you, kneeling with a flower in your locks and a gentle smile across your features as the sun danced across your skin.

"You are so talented!"

You had looked up at him with sparkling eyes, mouth in a perfect O as you admired his work.

"oh really, it's nothing" he shrugged, thrilled at the way you looked at him with such pretty admiration.

"Oh but it is! You must've worked so hard!"

He focused on you as your fingers moved deftly across the canvas, sweeping over the flashes of colour.

It was like a punch in the gut when you finally turned back to him.

"We should show Ferrus!"

"Thank you, my lord"

Fulgrim looked across the table at you as you clutched the steaming mug between your fingers. The food on your plate untouched as you raised the cup to your lips.

"Whatever for?"

"Thank you for coming for me. After ferrus-" the words stuck in your throat.

"Of course, my dear" He rose from his seat, moving to your side in a few easy steps. Taking your hand in his own, he knelt by your chair and pressed his lips against your fingers.

"Will you find who did this?"

He couldn't meet your stare, opting to kiss the back of your hand again.

"You have my word"

The days stretched into a week and then 2. With each passing day, the dark want in Fulgrim grew, clawing to escape with each shared moment or silent exchange. The daemon blanketed his mind with vivid thoughts and sensations, bombarding his sense with your smell and taste.

The guilt of slaying his brother receding beneath seething jealousy and desire as as he listened to you reminiscing over memories that should've been with him.

"Horus has commanded your death, but for the sake of our past friendship I shall plead your case to him if you throw down your arms. You have to surrender, Ferrus. There is no escape."

Ferrus Manus tore his eyes from the slaughter of the loyalist forces, his teeth bared with the volcanic fury of his home world.

"Maybe not, traitor, but only dishonour holds any terror for me" spat Ferrus.

"The Emperor’s loyal warriors will not surrender to you, not now, not ever. You will have to kill every last one of us!"

‘So be it,’ said Fulgrim, launching himself towards Ferrus Manus, swinging his mighty warhammer.

"When I kill you, I'll make sure to take good care of your little wife, Ferrus"

The gorgons eyes flashed and he roared, raising his sword high as he drove the weapon down towards his traitorous brother.

Fulgrim willed the memory away as he stood at the foot of his bed, watching you twist restlessly in your sleep. Nightmares haunted you as you tossed and whined, calling for a man who would never answer you again.

2 weeks is hardly enough time to move on after all.

2 week is more than enough, take her!

He gritted his teeth, shaking his head as the voice crooned in his ear.

Take her now! make her yours, before she finds out the truth.

Images ran behind his eyes, your head thrown back, your body shaking beneath him, his name falling from your lips.

She would not be here if she didn't want you, Phoenician. Feed your desire, take what is owed you!"

"Fulgrim?"

He jumped slightly at your voice, eying you as you sat up wearily rubbing your eyes.

"Fulgrim is that you?"

The primarch's throat tightened as you slipped out from under the blanket. Wearing one of his shirts, the fabric was overlarge, slipping off your shoulder and baring your clavicles as you rubbed the long sleeve over your face.

"It is, my lady" he coughed, pushing himself off the wall and stepping over to you. His eyes trailed over you, lingering on your thighs as you perched on your knees, bunching the shirt up around your hips.

"What are you doing?"

Fulgrim swallowed dryly, struggling to silence the daemon uttering filth into his mind as he sat next to you.

"I was making sure you were ok."

You nodded, pulling at a loose thread before meeting his eye, the purple hue of his iris' almost ethereal in the darkness of the bedroom.

"I still can't believe he's gone"

After a split second of hesitation, fulgrim reached out and rested his hand against your knee. His confidence growing and the daemon now shrieking in his mind when you didn't pull away.

"I know. Whoever killed him will get what they deserve"

Yes, yeeess. Get what you deserve. You deserve this, you have earned this.

"But I promised him I would look after you"

His hand inched slightly higher, fingers ghosting across your thigh as the other reached for your face brushing a loose strand of hair away.

You stared up at him with doe eyes hidden behind fluttering lashes, a weak smile working it's way across your lips.

"I know" you leaned into his touch.

Fulgrim could hear your heart pounding in your chest as he leant towards you, cupping your cheek as his tipped your face up to meet him. Your hands reached for his chest, your palms splayed across his silken shirt.

"We shouldn't" you whispered.

"Let me look after you" he pressed his lips to yours.

Yeeeessss

The Phoenician felt you soften under his touch as his lips moved against yours, his tongue flicking against yours as he pulled you closer. His long fingers tangled in your hair as he deepened the kiss as his other hand squeezed your thigh.

Breathless you broke the kiss, doubt crossing your face as you opened your mouth to speak.

No! Take her, take her now!

Fulgrim pushed forward, shoving you flat against the bed as he hovered over you, nipping and sucking at your neck and jaw as his palm slid up your leg to your hip.

Breathless gasps left your body as he pulled the shirt off over your head, blown pupils trailing across your body before pulling his own top off. His ego bloomed as you trailed your hand along his abs, towards his lower abdomen.

"Fulgrim" you sighed.

The last of his restraint snapped as he gripped your thighs, pushing them apart as he dragged his tongue along your lower lips. He felt your hips jerk and he tightened his grip as he lapped at your slick core. He moaned against you, relishing the taste of you in his tongue and the feeling of your nails against his scalp.

"Ful-grim" you whined, grinding your hips against his face as he sucked on your clit, swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves.

Yes. savour her, devour her.

The daemon laughed as the primarch rutted his hips desperately against the mattress as he mouthed at your cunt, your slick dripping from his chin as he flicked his tongue around your entrance. Your body shuddered as you came, thighs tightening around his head as he continued to lick at your clit.

"Please, too much I -ah!"

Fulgrim slid a finger inside you, ignoring your protest as he pushed you into overstimulation. Your hips lifted from the bed as you shuddered into another orgasm, you cum coating his face as he finally pulled away.

Did he make you feel this good? Tell me this is the best you've had.

You watched through heavy eyelids as he rushed to remove his trousers. With a low growl he flipped you, seating you on top of his as he lay beneath you with his hands bruising tight on your waist.

He cock twitching, he pressed it to your slick, dragging it slowly along your clit as he pulled you down to clashed his lips to yours again.

Reaching between you, he lined himself up and slowly pushed in, swallowing your moans as he sucked your tongue and bit your bottom lip.

"Fuck" he hissed as he bottomed out, feeling your tight walls grip his length.

He watched with dark eyes as you placed your hand against his chest and began moving your hips, slowly lifting yourself up until only his tip was inside you, then dropping back down. Over and over your ground yourself on his cock, crying out as he jerked his hips up to meet you with each movement.

"No wonder the gorgon didn't want to share" the daemon hissed. "Look what he was keeping for himself"

Fulgrim groaned as your cunt clenched around him, your tits bouncing as you rode him.

"Fu~Fulgrim~"

You threw your head back as you came, you walls gripping his dick and spasming around him as you wailed his name.

Grabbing your hips, fulgrim began dragging you harshly down on him, chasing his own end as you whimpered. Falling forward on his chest, you lay against his as he used you, feeling the air being punched from your lungs and sparks lighting in your eyes as he dragged himself along your soft spot.

"I'll fill you up" he snarled, feeling his gut tighten as he edged closer. "Fill you up until you can't think any more"

He fingers dug into the flesh of your ass as you felt his stomach tighten.

"Fuck you until I'm all you can think about"

He voice had changed, gutteral and low, like two people speaking at once.

"Fuck you until you're mine"

With a snarl he pushed himself deep inside you, his cock twitching as he came. You crushed your eyes shut and shivered as you felt him pump hot ropes of cum against your walls, filling you and dripping out around him.

You motioned to sit up, yelping as he flipped you onto your back, cock still buried inside you. His eyes flashed bright in the dark as he continued to thrust against you, trapping your wrists above your head.

"Mine" he growled, voice distorted and feral. "mine MINE"

This wasn't right. This wasn't him.

Your body ached as it struggled to reach another orgasm, conceding to his touch as he twisted his thumb around your overworked clit and dragged another orgasm from you.

"Say it. Say it!"

"Fulgrim, please"

Ruin her, claim her, Break her

"Fulgrim!"

The soft touch of your fingers across his face clawed the primarch back to senses. Tears blossomed in your eyes and smeared down your face as he finally stopped, recoiling from you at what he had done.

You gasped as he finally pulled out, his spend leaking from your cunt as he leapt to his feet. Dragging the blanket over your bruised body, you peered at him through the shadows.

"My lady, I didn't- I didn't"

Reaching for his hand, you tugged him back towards the bed cautiously pulling him down to sit beside you.

"I understand"

All you could see were his indigo eyes gleaming through the darkness as you spoke. You squeezed his hand softly.

"Grief makes you lose control sometimes, I understand."

The daemon laughed "yes, grief made you fuck her like a cheap whore"

Fulgrim eyed you for a moment, releasing a shuddering breath as he placed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Do you feel like you've betrayed him?"

The primarch's hearts thundered at your words.

"What?"

You gestured at him and then yourself.

"does this...did we betray him?"

You didn't know. Didn't know the truth.

"no" he bit back, rising to his feet again and reaching for his tunic.

"I would never betray Ferrus'"