#solstice sweep

[lancerstiler]

The waltz of the Sun and Moon

[essektheylyss]

I really need to emphasize how gutting the camera shot in the arena of Liam in profile with Matt in the background, half of his face obscured behind him, while Caleb was just listening to the messages Trent had left him. It was so goddamn eerie, and it was phenomenal.

Thematically unhinged to make you feel like this was the devil on Caleb's shoulder, the voice in his head, everything he'd managed to move away from six or seven years ago, now given voice again by this horrible Solstice that Caleb couldn't prevent. They used it with most of the messages, as well as the "Let him come." They also later used it when Caleb told Beau to make sure Luc got out safe in the event of Caleb's death, in which Marisha leaned forward into the shot (I'm not even sure it was intentional on her part considering they had to really crane their necks to see the screen, but it was just timed so perfectly) to lean forward to tell him to shut the fuck up with that line of thinking—which made Caleb dropping later absolutely HEARTWRENCHING, and the Shapechange even more cinematic in the end. It was absolutely stunning from a narrative and production perspective, and I'm a little bummed none of it was kept for the broadcast (please, guys, release the director's cut).

I do not know who crewed that show but I would like to shake their hands, because between the camera work and the direction, it was fucking phenomenal.

[benjamikaela]

This is an older piece, but I just realised I never posted it here! It's inspired by Finnish legends and superstitions around midsummer. Virvatuli or aarnivalkea are mysterious floating blue flames said to be a sign of buried treasure–or a spirit leading you astray...

Hyvää Juhannusta!

[slashmagpie]

Break Like an Artist

My fic for @hermitadaymay's Solstice Social Collaborative Fanwork Event! I was paired up with the wonderful @eydilily to create something spooky, dramatic and contemplative featuring Gem and Pearl, and it's been an absolute blast putting this together. Please go check out Eydi's art for this AU, it's absolutely gorgeous. CWs: description of a corpse, dismemberment, loss of awareness, fire/flooding/destruction, and depiction of a panic attack. Wordcount: 5.8k

There is a plague sweeping Pearl's hometown.

One by one, she watches as her friends fall to the infection, the colour and life drained out of them and leaving hollow, apathetic husks behind. Even with the devastating loss of her friends, her village, and her regular life, the worst part of this situation is not the infection.

It's that Pearl knows that Gem is the one spreading it.

[Read on AO3]

It’s a grey day in the fishing village that Pearl calls her home. Not that it’s ever not a grey day, at least not anymore. She stares out of her window at the thick encompassing fog that’s claimed the bay, at the desaturated buildings that dot the shore, and she twirls her paintbrush in her fingers. 

The canvas is blank, of course. She doesn’t remember the last time she sat down to paint and didn’t end up with a blank canvas. It must have been—months ago, at least. Back when the last monster from the depths had attacked, and not a single person had had the heart to fight back. When Tango’s house had been shattered in two, and Tango with it.

(He seems to be dealing well with the loss of his arm, at least. Or, as well as you can deal with anything, when the only things inside of you are all-consuming numbness and apathy. Pearl feels it in her chest, the yawning emptiness, and thinks that if she were to lose her arm right here and now, she also wouldn’t be able to summon the energy to care.)

She’d painted after that, though. She remembers it vividly, waking from a nightmare and running to her studio to capture lashing tentacles and inky waters and splatters of crimson blood. It’s a frenzied piece, a disturbing piece, and the moment she’d finished it she’d been filled with so much dread that she’d turned it around to face the wall and refused to look at it since.

The dread’s gone now. Along with the anxiety, and the uncertainty, and the fear. It’s all gone, and Pearl’s left sitting here, paints drying on the palette as she stares at an empty canvas.

Across the house, she hears her front door swing open and closed. A familiar voice shouts, “Pearl? Pearl, where are you?”

“Studio,” Pearl calls back, her voice flat. She continues to twirl the paintbrush as she waits for Gem to trek her way across the house to find her.

“Studio,” Gem echoes as she pushes open the door. “Oh, Pearl, are you painting again? Oh, I’m so happy for—oh.” The joy in her voice vanishes as she takes in Pearl, sitting on her stool, paintbrush raised and canvas empty. “Oh, Pearl…” 

Sympathy. Pity. Concern. Pearl can pick apart the emotions in Gem’s voice, even if she can’t feel them herself. She stares back blankly, because she can’t find it in herself to care about either aspect of the situation, whether it be her own inability to paint or the way that Gem’s looking at her like she’s a wounded animal.

“Come on,” Gem says softly, crossing the room and gently prying the brush from Pearl’s fingers. Pearl lets her. She’s not really painting, anyway. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we? A nap will do you some good.”

Pearl lets Gem help her up, lets Gem allow Pearl to lean on her for support as they make their way back to Pearl’s bedroom. It’s not like Pearl has any difficulty walking. She’s not sick, she’s not injured, she’s just…

Cold. Empty. Not quite lifeless, not in the way Mumbo had been when she’d last seen him, skin and eyes and hair all the same shade of grey-white-nothingness as he’d stared into the distance, completely unresponsive. Listless, maybe, is the better word. She’s halfway to a fate worse than death and she cannot find it in her to care at all.

She feels colder where Gem touches her. She looks down, and she’s not sure if it’s her eyes playing tricks on her, or if her skin is more desaturated where it brushes against Gem’s. She lets Gem help her into bed, lets Gem fluff the pillows and fuss around her, lets Gem sit next to her as she hands Pearl a bowl of soup (“Your favourite!”) and watches her to make sure she eats.

If Pearl were more herself, she would care about what Gem’s doing to her. Care enough to stop it, maybe. Care enough to—no, not to confront her. Every time she’d tried, the words had gotten stuck in her throat. Because she’s known for a long time who’s been behind all of this, behind the corruption leeching all colour from their village, their home, their friends—

And she’d never said anything. Too worried about Gem’s feelings. Too worried about their friendship.

…Pearl realises, as Gem goes to take the empty bowl and brushes her hands against Pearl’s, that she’s not worried anymore.

She waits quietly as Gem washes the bowl in her kitchen, chattering to fill the silence as she does, updating Pearl on their friends’ conditions. Her tone is bright and optimistic, even as her words are dour. Scar seems to be doing the same. Grian’s getting worse. Joel’s down to communicating only in broken phrases—but he should be fine. It definitely won’t be like Mumbo, or Cub, or…

Gem returns to Pearl’s room, regarding her for a long moment before bending down to give her a hug. “Get better soon, okay?” she says into Pearl’s ear. “It’s not the same doing my rounds without you.”

Pearl knows that she’s not getting better. So does Gem, so Pearl doesn’t bother pointing it out. She just nods, lets Gem withdraw, lets Gem run one last hand through her hair.

“You should rest, Pearl,” Gem says, stepping away from Pearl’s bedside. “I’m going to go check on Impy now—”

Pearl’s moving before she’s even properly registered it, grabbing onto Gem’s wrist with force, holding her in place. Gem freezes. Pearl looks up at her through strands of greasy, greying hair.

“Gem,” she says, and it’s the first thing she’s said in days, and her voice is hoarse and her throat sore from the strain.

“...Pearl?” Gem replies, and she sounds almost scared.

“Gem,” Pearl repeats, getting used to the sound of her own voice in her mouth again. “I know.”

Gem laughs. It’s a nervous, tittering sound, the laugh Pearl remembers from when they’d gotten into trouble together as kids. “Know what?” she asks, voice strained. 

“That it’s you,” Pearl says flatly. 

Gem stares at her.

Pearl stares back.

Gem swallows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. “Pearl—”

“I know you’re the one doing this to us,” Pearl says, more specific this time, choosing her words carefully, and Gem—

Gem tries to pull away.

Pearl tightens her grip. 

“Pearl,” Gem whines, eyes wide, tugging. “Let me go—”

“Why?” Pearl croaks, and Gem snaps her mouth shut.

---

Pearl’s in the midst of mixing a particularly tricky shade of green when there’s a loud, frantic knock on her front door. She sighs, setting down her brush to rest, and gets to her feet. “I’m coming, I’m coming, hold on!” she calls as the knocks continue, echoing through the house.

She pulls the door open and Tango’s there, a nervous ball of energy, just about ready to bolt. “Pearl!” he calls. “Pearl, come on, we gotta go—” 

He grabs her by the arm and drags her off. Pearl just barely manages to close her front door behind her.

“Wha—? Where are we going? What’s going on?”

“Something washed up on shore,” Tango explains. “The whole town’s there, c’mon.”

Accepting that she’s not going to get an explanation out of him, and now deeply curious about this something, she lets Tango lead her down to the shore by the lighthouse. Sure enough, the whole town is there, a chattering crowd gathered around a spot on the shore that Pearl can’t quite see. Impulse is standing on the edge of the crowd and catches sight of them, raising his arm in a wave. Tango makes a beeline towards him, ducking under the crowd, and Pearl follows behind, apologising to False and Keralis as she bumps into them.

“Did you decide what to do with it yet?” Tango asks as he comes to a halt and finally lets Pearl go.

Impulse shakes his head. “We’ve decided it’s Gem’s call,” he says. “After all, she’s the—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence as the crowd suddenly goes silent and parts for Gem, her hair wild and eyes wide behind her thick-rimmed glasses. She’s got her lab coat pulled on over her day clothes, clearly not prepared for this in the slightest. She reaches the front of the crowd and stops dead still, staring at the thing that has washed up on the shore.

Pearl follows her friend’s gaze, and sees it for the first time.

It’s a body. Of course it is. A corpse, taken by the sea and ravaged by the waves and washed ashore by the brutal bay currents. The body’s clothes are torn and sodden, the skin beneath so pale that it could practically be paper. Pearl is stricken, for a moment, with the mental image of her taking a brush to this canvas, filling it back in with colour, painting contours back into its skin, breathing life back into the body.

She shakes her head violently, banishing the thought. Where did that come from? This isn’t a canvas, it’s—

It’s a person. A person who was alive, and is now dead, washed up on the beach like a dead whale and just as much of a spectacle. His eyes are open but rolled back, only the whites showing, and his hair is white too, just as pale as his skin. It stands as sharp contrast against the dark fabric of his torn clothes, a mask wrapped around the bottom half of his face.

Pearl swallows hard and averts her gaze back to Gem, who looks just as disturbed by the body as Pearl feels. It takes Gem longer to pull her eyes away, to glance around the crowd. “I’ll—I’ll take it back to my lab,” she says. “Investigate, and—and give him a proper burial.”

The words reassure the crowd, a low chatter beginning up again. 

“Skizz, will you help me carry him?” Gem calls.

Skizz does, stepping forward from the crowd and helping Gem maneuver the bloated corpse. Pearl finds herself looking at it again, noticing dark striations in the skin, caught in glimpses between the tears in the clothing as it’s moved. 

She shakes her head again, forces herself to look away as the body is carried out and the crowd disperses. The image of the body lingers in her mind. Something settles uncomfortably in her stomach, and she wishes that she’d never opened the door.

---

Things go back to normal after that. Or, well, as normal as they get in the village, at least. False monitors the currents and warns of any incoming floods or monster attacks. Impulse and Tango work maintenance on the fishing boats that Grian and Skizz and Keralis take out into the bay. Mumbo runs the fish market. Cub and Scar come and go along the trading routes. Joel maintains security, or at least the illusion of it.

Gem hides away in her lab running experiments she never explains, and Pearl paints.

She tries to return to her usual fare, brightly-coloured landscapes with fantastical features, but something about her paintings rings hollow when she looks at them. She decides she needs a change, to switch things up and just relax, so she pulls out her paints and a blank canvas and begins with no intentions. Her movements are fluid and free and thoughtless and she falls into a flow state that lasts hours, until she blinks her eyes and awakes to find a portrait before her, a colourless face in full saturation.

The corpse’s visage, so alive she can’t believe it’s not breathing, stares back at her from her easel, and Pearl flinches like she’s been burned.

She hides that painting away, face turned towards the wall, and returns to painting landscapes. They come easier now, and for a time Pearl feels normal, as long as she ignores the canvas in the corner.

It’s Impulse who notices that there’s something wrong first. It’s not surprising that he’d be the first to pick up on it, really. Skizz is his best friend, after all. Of course he’d notice when Skizz stopped laughing, stopped joking, stopped drumming out tunes with his fingers on the side of his boat. And when Pearl sees him, she notices changes too—his skin paler, like he’s spent several weeks locked inside a basement instead of out in the summer sun, his eyes no longer their regular bright blue.

“Hey, Skizzly,” she greets brightly, trying to play at normal, throwing him a bone to grab onto.

Skizz just glances at her before responding with a flat, “Oh, hey Pearl.”

Pearl’s smile falters. “How are you feeling? Impulse told me you’re a little under the weather.”

Skizz shrugs. “Fine, I guess. Did you need something?”

Pearl swallows, something cold sinking in her guts. “No, no, just checking in on you.”

“Gem already checked on me,” Skizz says. “She said I’m not sick.”

“Gem’s not that type of doctor,” Pearl reminds him with a weak smile.

Skizz shrugs again. “She’s the only doctor we’ve got.”

Pearl tries her best not to let that unsettle her.

---

It’s not just Skizz.

It starts with him, but it doesn’t end there. Keralis is next, and then Grian. Mumbo gets sickest the quickest, going from his anxious, affable self to a nearly-unresponsive husk within a week. That scares them all, because even Skizz is still responding when spoken to, still moving when instructed to, even after nearly a month of being infected with… whatever it is that’s going around.

False gets sick without anyone noticing, sequestered away in her lighthouse until she comes into town for groceries looking like a photograph that’s been left in the sun for too long, and that’s when people really start to panic.

And that’s when Gem declares, with all the authority that being a doctor of anthropology afforded her in a tiny town with no real doctor, that she’s putting everyone into quarantine until they can determine the source of the illness. 

“I’m not sick,” Pearl tells Gem when her friend knocks on her door, dressed in full lab gear, her hair out of its usual ponytail and falling forward around her face. She’s pretty sure she isn’t, at least, having hyper-analysed the shade of blue in her eyes in the mirror every morning for the past month. 

“I know,” Gem says. “I want to—I need to—can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Pearl says, stepping aside. “Of course.”

Gem enters, heading down the stairs into Pearl’s living space and staring at the paintings on the wall. Pearl watches her for a moment before stepping closer, resting a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“What’s eating you?” she asks.

Gem snorts out a laugh at that. “I’m not a real doctor, Pearl,” she says.

“I know that.”

“They all need me to be a real doctor for them. I—” She breaks off, runs an anxious hand through her hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I need help.”

Pearl raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know how I can help,” she says. “I’m even less of a doctor than you are.”

“I know,” Gem says. “But you’re my friend, and I trust you, and I need—please?”

She stares at Pearl, bright green eyes magnified through thick glasses lenses. Pearl has never been able to say no to those eyes.

“Okay,” she agrees, letting out an uncertain breath. “Okay. What do you need me to do, Dr. Tay?”

Gem laughs again, high-pitched and anxious, and Pearl feels hot and cold all at once.

---

They do house calls. Once a day, Gem and Pearl, and sometimes Impulse, will make a round of the village, checking in on everyone. Gem brings some of her lab equipment and a notebook, where she scribbles down all the readings she takes from her instruments and any observations she makes. After the first week or so, Pearl also takes to bringing a sketchbook and a small travel painting kit, attempting to record the desaturation rate in her friends’ colours. 

It doesn’t matter which way they look at it—the situation is bad, and rapidly getting worse. Most of the town is infected now, and Skizz is approaching Mumbo’s level of deterioration. Cub fell ill two weeks ago, and Tango—

Well, he’s not quite grey yet, but he looks washed out where he sits at his table, especially next to Gem, all bright copper and ocean blue and forest green. His voice is flat, all of the emotion in it gone, and while he responds in full sentences to Gem’s questions as Pearl attempts to capture the moulded-straw colour of his hair, none of his words sound like him. 

Gem wraps up her check-in, and Pearl follows her out, paints packed away in her bag and sketchbook held carefully so as not to smudge the paint. Impulse is waiting for them outside, staring out into the bay, where a low-lying fog has been hanging for days. 

He glances over at them, voice shaking as he asks, “How is he?”

Gem hesitates. “About the same?” she offers. 

Pearl shakes her head. “Worse,” she says, offering her sketchbook to Impulse, pointing out the differences in values between the colours she’d sampled from Tango two days ago to the ones she’d taken today. 

Impulse’s hands are trembling as he hands the sketchbook back to her. “What do we do?” he asks. “They just keep getting worse—Gem, what do we do?”

Gem’s eyes are fixed somewhere out at sea. Her expression is so scarily blank that Pearl would worry she was infected if not for how bright and vibrant she looks against the backdrop of the village. (Are the houses getting greyer? Surely not—surely it’s just the fog, and the fact that the sky has been overcast for a fortnight now—surely—)

“We look after them best we can,” Gem says. “I’m trying—every night I’m working on a cure.”

“And do you think it’ll work?” Impulse pushes.

“I have to,” Gem replies. “It has to.” 

Pearl swallows, and does not voice what all three of them are thinking: what if it doesn’t?

---

Impulse turns up one morning a shade dimmer than he had been the day before. Pearl notices immediately, her stomach lurching at the sight of him. He offers her a smile that’s smaller than his usual ones, a greeting that’s a little flatter than it would usually be. Pearl’s not sure if Gem even notices.

But Pearl notices, and her eyes sting, and she throws herself at him in a way that catches all three of them off-guard.

“Uh, Pearl?” Impulse says, stiff and uncomfortable beneath her. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Pearl mumbles against his ear.

“Pearl?” There’s a peak of distress in his voice but it’s not enough. Gem hears it, too.

“Oh no,” she breathes.

“Okay, guys, seriously,” Impulse says, pushing Pearl away. “What’s going on?”

They just stare at him.

Realisation dawns across Impulse’s face. “No.” 

“Maybe…” Gem sucks in a breath. She reaches out to take his hand and squeezes it. “Maybe you should go home, Impy. Get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Impulse protests. “I’m…” His protest crumbles under their gazes. He slumps, and Pearl knows that he would normally never crumble like that. He’d protest and fight back and keep working until he passed out on the docks and had to be carried back to bed.

“C’mon,” she says softly. “I’ll help you home.”

Impulse doesn’t protest that either. He knows, as well as the two of them do, how this ends. He knows that there’s no fighting this.

Pearl, very valiantly, does not cry about it.

---

With everyone except the two of them infected, Pearl manages to convince Gem to split the rounds, with her taking half of the houses, and Gem taking the other half, swapping halves every couple of days. Gem is reluctant, but she has no good argument against Pearl’s that this is more practical, and so she agrees.

And that’s when Pearl notices.

She thinks she’s imagining it at first, but the colour swatches in her sketchbook back up her suspicions, damning evidence she can’t ignore.

When she visits her rounds, she finds that the people she’s visiting appear to have stabilised, at least for a couple days, no greyer today than they were when she saw them the day before. And then she swaps with Gem, and notices that Gem’s half of the rotation are far paler, far less responsive, than they had been the last time Pearl had seen them. They stabilise for a couple days, and then they switch, and Pearl’s original rotation have deteriorated massively in the several days since. 

There’s really only one conclusion she can draw from that, and she doesn’t want to draw it. She doesn’t want to believe that the one responsible for this is—

The fog is a permanent fixture of the village now, blanketing the bay in a thick blanket of quiet. Pearl finds it hard to sleep, even the familiar sound of waves muffled by the mist. Kept awake into the early hours of the morning, she finds herself in the studio, a brush in hand, letting the paint take her where it will.

And where it takes her is familiar: the village, desaturated and coated in fog, dark looming shapes in the mist beyond, rising out of the ocean. And there, in the midst of the painting, a bright spot in all the gloom, is Gem, so vibrant she practically lifts off the page.

Pearl stares at it for a long, long time, and then places it face against the wall and tries her best to forget about it.

---

In all the dread, they’d forgotten something important.

The sea isn’t safe. It never has been. Growing up in the bay you learn how to weather the storms, to predict the tides, to flee from floods. You learn how to build barriers, and you learn how to rebuild once the ocean drags them down. 

Pearl knows that her village can handle the sea: she’s seen them do it time and time again over the years. Together, they move as a well-oiled machine, responding to threats from the depths with weathered ease. That’s why she doesn’t expect it, she thinks. 

There’s never been a monster attack that False didn’t warn them about.

But False isn’t capable of doing much of anything at the moment.

And so when the tentacles rise from the waves, there isn’t a warning.

Just a deafening krk-crash that wakes Pearl from a dead sleep with a bolt of adrenaline that’s nearly nauseating. She scrambles from her blankets, still in her pajamas, and rushes up the stairs to throw on her boots. It’s edging towards winter now, the weather much milder than the summer months, and though it’s not cold by any stretch of the imagination the chill of the air still makes her shiver. She grits her teeth, racing from her front door to the village proper, and there—

There’s a sea monster, dark purple tentacles reaching out to the shore, destroying everything in its wake. The fish market is half gone, and it’s awful, but it’s a relief, in a way, because nobody lives there.

“Gem!” Pearl screams into the night.

“Pearl!” she hears echo back, followed by distant footsteps, growing ever-closer. 

Gem’s face is flushed, her hair wild, her eyes wide. She’s also in her pyjamas, her lab coat that’s been ever-present for months now gone, and Pearl finds her eyes drawn to dark striations in her skin. They look like—

“Pearl,” Gem says again. “We need to get everyone out, away from the shore, up to the research centre—”

Pearl nods. “Got it,” she says. She points towards the docks and says, “I’ll head over there.”

Gem nods. “Be safe,” she says, and then she’s off again, pelting in the direction of the lighthouse.

Pearl doesn’t bother knocking as she throws Impulse’s door open. He’s still lucid enough that he’s been startled awake by the noise, though it hasn’t driven him to do much more than put his shoes on and stare out of the window at the dark shapes rearing up out of the fog.

“Impulse!” Pearl cries.

“Pearl?” Impulse says, glancing at her with dull eyes.

“We need to get people out,” she says.

There’s an extended pause, then, “Okay.”

“Can you get Skizz?” she asks. “Tango, too, maybe? I need to go to the beach, help everyone down there.”

Another extended pause, then a nod. “I can do that,” Impulse says. He moves too slowly, not driven by the same panic flooding Pearl’s veins, but it’s good enough. It has to be. Pearl doesn’t have time to consider the alternative.

She goes racing off for the beach. She throws open Keralis’ door first, relieved that he is, at least, wearing underwear when she drags him from his bed and into the night. She leaves him there while she grabs Grian from his hut, and then takes them both by the wrists, pulling them along behind her while she races for the cliffside.

It feels like hours that she races back and forth, grabbing her friends from their homes and dragging them in various states of comprehension to the safety of the cliff before running back into the danger zone. Grian’s hut is gone, and so is a large portion of the road. The tentacles have taken a chunk out of the farms further up the coast. Gem’s been taking the people she rescues a different route up to the research facility, the path that Pearl’s taking cut off to her by debris.

Once she’s got everyone on her side of town, she collapses panting on the grass, her lungs aching with the strain. There’s a fire somewhere down on the shore, someone’s lantern knocked astray by swinging tentacles. Her eyes burn just from looking at it.

A voice says, “I got him.”

Pearl looks up.

It’s Impulse, manhandling a colourless, greyscale Skizz.

Pearl goes cold.

“Where’s Tango?” she asks.

Impulse blinks. Slowly. Too slowly.

“Oh,” he says. “I’ll go get him.”

Pearl shakes her head, rocketed up to her feet by panic once again. “No, I’ll go,” she gasps. “You stay here.”

And then she’s off running again, beelining for Tango’s house, praying to any higher power that will listen that she’s not too late. Her lungs ache. Her legs burn. She can’t quite catch her breath. She’s shaking.

And then she’s knocking down Tango’s door, grabbing him from his bed against the far wall, dragging him away—

The roof coming down sounds like thunder, like the sky split open and gutted for parts. Pearl goes down hard, stars bursting behind her eyes, her breath coming out empty and then as a whine. She blinks, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark, for her ears to stop ringing, and that’s when she hears it.

It’s—not a scream. More of a whimper, or a wail, stretched out and awful and pained and punctuated by short, desperate gasps. It goes straight to her stomach, straight to making her sick, and she doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to move.

But, god, she has to, doesn’t she?

She wiggles her fingers, her toes, and lets out a deep groan as she pushes herself up onto her hands and knees. The world has narrowed in on itself, the open air of Tango’s house reduced to a crawlspace, and she shuffles down it, rubble and debris tearing her skin open and leaving bloody red marks on desaturated wood. It is a far cry from the blood she finds, practically brown with how much colour has been leeched from it. 

“Oh, my god,” she chokes. “Tango…”

Tango just moans in response. She can’t tell if he’s pale from blood loss or pale from the infection, but either way it has the effect of making him look half dead. He’s half buried beneath the rubble, body jerking with what she can only assume is pain, barely felt beneath the weight of numb apathy.

“I gotta get you out of here.” The words taste acrid against her tongue. Or maybe that’s the smoke. She can’t tell. “I’ve got you.” She grabs Tango by his good arm and grimaces. “It’s gonna be okay.”

It’s not a reassurance for him. Not really. Pearl’s familiar enough with his condition by now to know that he can’t really care about being okay at this point.

It’s more for her as she does her best to get leverage in the small space and pulls. 

When Tango screams, she knows it’s completely involuntary, an animal howl of agony that stops her short. Pearl gasps, tears on her cheeks, head spinning. “Please, no,” she begs, and she doesn’t know if she’s talking to him or the higher power that’s been ignoring her for weeks. “No, no, I gotta—I—”

“Pearl?”

“Gem!” Pearl cries. “Gem, please, I need—it’s Tango—he’s—”

“I’ve got you,” says Gem’s voice, familiar and close as footsteps pound across rubble. There’s a series of grunts and clunks as rubble shifts, and then there’s light pouring into the crawlspace, which is no longer so much of a crawlspace. Gem stares at the two of them, Pearl in tears on her knees and Tango half buried and lying in his own dull blood. 

“Okay,” she gasps out, and she sounds terrified. “Okay,” she repeats, steadier this time. 

Pearl wants to be relieved, but she’s just on the other side of hysterical. Gem’s holding an axe, which she must have used to clear the rubble, and she steps forward with it held between white knuckles.

“Hold him still,” she tells Pearl.

Pearl swallows. “Gem?” she whispers.

“Please.”

Gem glances down at Pearl, and god, she never has been able to say no to that, has she?

She shuffles forward, puts her weight against Tango, holds him still. Squeezes her eyes shut.

It doesn’t make it any better.

It doesn’t stop her from hearing the sick crunch of the axe cutting through bone or the blood-curdling scream Tango lets out.

It doesn’t stop her from feeling the sudden lack of resistance as she pulls Tango’s bleeding body away from the rubble, leaving his arm behind.

---

Pearl manages to hold it together until they’re able to get Tango safe and stable. Once the wound has been cauterised and disinfected and bandaged, and he’s left sitting with a mostly-unresponsive Skizz and an Impulse who’s just aware enough to be awkward about how little he feels for his friend, she walks away from the town’s refugees on the hillside until she can no longer hear them, and they can no longer hear her. She stands for a moment, surveying the damage below, the sun rising over the sea and the flooded streets and destroyed buildings, and she sucks in a breath that knocks her to her knees.

The panic attack comes in quick half-breaths and waterlogged wails, her hands gripping at her hair and pulling it hard enough to hurt. The world blurs around her as she chokes on saltwater and bile, her ears ringing with screams and funeral bells. When the hands settle on her shoulders she barely feels them—only feels them when they rise to her wrists and untangle her fingers from her hair.

“—earl? Pearl. Look at me. Come on, I know you can do it.”

“Ge-em,” Pearl chokes out. “I can’t—I—”

“I’ve got you,” Gem soothes. She takes Pearl’s hands in hers, squeezes them tight, real and grounding. “See, come on, that’s it. Breathe with me.”

Pearl blinks tears from her eyes as she tries to time her breathing to Gem’s. She’s not very good at it, her heart too quick and Gem’s too slow, but it helps, dragging her down from the high of panic. 

“That’s it,” Gem breathes. She lets go of Pearl’s hand, reaching up to push the hair out of Pearl’s face, cupping her cheeks in her palms. “See? Nice and calm. Everything’s fine, see?”

“Yeah,” Pearl agrees, and the words feel hollow. Her panic feels hollow, somewhere above her body, her soul sunken to somewhere below her knees. She sucks in a breath, lets Gem wipe tears from her eyes with her thumbs.

Gem is so bright. A searchlight in a storm, a ray of rising sun through the dark. The world seems to grey around her. 

Pearl reaches out, splaying her hand against Gem’s cheek, a clumsy echo of Gem’s own reassuring, grounding touch. Gem is still so bright, vivid enough that Pearl doesn’t think any paint could capture it. 

And Pearl, held in comparison, is grey and dull. A shade, drained of life.

She swallows. Lets out a shaking breath. Looks up into Gem’s green eyes, sees the fear and regret in them, and can barely summon her own panic or hurt in return.

“Oh,” she says, and the word falls like a stone, plunging into the depths.

---

Pearl lets out a breath. “It was the body, wasn’t it?” she asks, loosening her grip. “The one that washed up. It did something to you.”

Gem swallows. She pulls away, holding onto her own wrist where Pearl had dropped it, clutching it to her chest. “I’m so hungry, Pearl,” she whispers. “I fade so fast now. I need… I need…”

“You’re going to kill us.” Gem flinches at the words. “You know that, don’t you, Gem? You’re going to kill us. You are killing us.”

“I just need your colours,” Gem replies, a whine in her voice. “I just…”

“What happens when we’re gone, Gem? What happens when you’ve taken all the colours? What happens then?”

Gem stares at her. There are tears in her eyes. They don’t quite fall, but Pearl can feel them drip into her hollow heart. There’s an ocean between them now and Pearl doesn’t have the wits to cross it. She doesn’t care enough to cross it, and she doesn’t feel enough to care about that. 

“I have to go and check on Impy,” Gem repeats, her voice thick. “I’ll see you later, Pearl.”

“You won’t,” Pearl calls after her as Gem hurries for the door.

Gem doesn’t reply, just slamming the door shut in response.

Pearl sits in bed for a long time, staring at the wall with hazy vision. Her thoughts are muffled under the thick fog that chokes the village, and so when she finally stands, she’s not entirely sure why. She lets her body carry her back to her studio, picks up a canvas from against the wall, and places it on her easel. She sits down in front of it and stares.

Gem’s face stares back at her, the only alive thing in a dead and colourless world.

[duch-z-bramboroveho-pytle]

I've seen this post resurfacing a little lately so I'm putting this short psa out there

This is not a plague nurse. This is Lucka from bohemia, displayed in Ethnographic Museum of the National Museum in Prague

Other view with Barborka next to her.

Traditions vary from town to town but from my very small research, some would go from house to house and sweep the entry hall with goose feather to bless the house. Other areas had Lucky with a giant knives. They would usually go around the saint day of saint Lucy (13th of december) or winter solstice.

Other types

If anyone more educated would like to add more info and resources, please do!

[naturistgirl]

NAKED SNOW WALKING AND THE BIRCH MOON

The first new moon after the Winter Solstice has various names. Some call it the Ice Moon, others the Snow Moon. Here in the High Pennines the snow has been plentiful and deep. The weather feels exceptionally icy. Here in the Britain however it is rarely ever far below freezing. We have a mild climate compared to say, Continental Europe or the Northern States. It's a great time for naturism!

We headed up to the Wild Wood on January 6th. It was an invigorating walk, uphill. We walked briskly, we had to! Walking clothes free when it is this cold is a very different experience to textile walking. In the depths of Winter, people tend to layer and muffle up. True, all those clothes DO keep you warm when sedentary; layers trap body heat. However, as you exercise, particularly when walking briskly, things are very different. Muffled up in layers, you rapidly slow down as you overheat, carrying the burden of heavy clothing. Naked, you walk briskly, unencumbered by the weight of clothes. You don't want to stop or slow down and your naked body soon acclimatises to the cold. Stepping out and climbing the hill to the wood felt refreshing, invigorating and ever so free!

The wild, wooded hills around here were once heavily mined for coal and yellow clay to make bricks. The industry left its scars for a while, even after it had gone. Nature will always reassert itself and soon, woodland returned. The countryside began to recover. One of the first trees to regenerate is birch. The Wild Wood has older trees, mainly oak, but around it's fringes, birch and alder predominate. On snowy days like this, the silvery bark of birch shines like a beacon. It isn't a long lived tree. The soil is thin and rocky here. Birch often succumbs to the ravages of winter storms. Birch has a more human life span than other trees; 80 would be a good age for a mature specimen. This tree is nonetheless a hardwood and has long been used for all manner of beneficial things.

Birch, being the first tree to grow back after devastation, has a connection to birth and new life. Baby's cradles were made from birch wood and the tree is deeply associated with fertility, renewal and re-birth. Birch twigs make good broomsticks, perfect for a clean sweep of your house at the start of the year. Cattle were herded with a bunch of birch twigs which was also thought to ensure fertility. When birch grows again in Spring, its delicate pale green leaves are heart shaped. The sap of the birch tree is also used to make a delightful wine. Britain's Queen Victoria was said to have been very fond of it!

We made our way to the very summit of the Wild Wood. Here, the woodland is denser and criss-crossed by little paths. Holly shines green and glossy amid the larger trees. There are also larch, oak, ash and sycamore. Out on the sheep pasture beyond, sheep were scraping at the snow, searching for grass. We walked the wood but saw nobody. There was only one other set of prints on the previous night's snow. We stopped to take the photographs which we have shared in this blog. Thank you to Mart, my loving husband for these. He adores naturism every bit as much as me.

The ground temperature was low and I was glad of my pink wellingtons with two layers of socks. My green wool beanie (thank you sheep) was a must; most of the heat you lose is from your head. We hope you find our photographs inspiring.

It would be lovely to see other's photographs of their own naked snow hikes. We look forward to seeing your posts. Tumblr has way too many endlessly recycled photos of naked young women on summer beaches! Give it a rest. The promotion of naturism needs contemporary photos of yourselves, enjoying your local environment as nature intended. why not write as well, describing what you do. Non-sexual nudity should, and does represent, all manner of body shapes and types. You are never too old to walk naked. You were born this way.

We receive lots of messages of affirmation from likeminded naturists. Thank you so much. I also receive some flattering yet less suitable comments and requests from others who are; how shall I put it? - not exactly passionate about naturism, more about sexy naked ladies! Let's face it, who isn't? Sex is great and I love it. It isn't however the focus of this blog.

My purpose in writing this, is to inspire you to your own naturist activities. So while it is gratifying to have you send photos of one tiny part of yourself, please don't. Most of these messages come from Tumblrs who follow hundreds of others yet are entirely empty with no avatars. Sadly, I have come to realise that these accounts are best blocked, no offence. We do welcome messages of support however as well as photographs of your own naturist jaunts and hikes. So if you want to follow me and have me follow back, post an avatar which is actually you and some real pictures of yourself in your blog. Message and tell me what motivates you to naturism! OK?

Stay naked!

Jane xx

[cressidagrey]

Looked to the Sky - Chapter 18

Summary: 

Eira Archeron was neither a Valkyrie, nor a Seer, nor the High Lady of the Night Court. She was, however, Azriel‘s mate with her own mysterious, untrained powers.

Also known as: Azriel tries to court his mate the human way.

Warnings: 

THIS IS THE LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE SEQUEL! SO READ THAT FIRST IF YOU WANNA READ THIS ONE OTHERWISE THIS MAKES NO SENSE!

Amren Bashing, Low Self Esteem and without @k-godling this would have never happened.

(super pretty dividers by @tsunami-of-tears)

The first time Azriel heard Eira play the harp...was Winter Solstice Eve. She had moved the instruments into one corner of the Living Room and was contently plucking the strings, Nyx on her lap.

Azriel watched from where he stood in the doorway as his mate strummed the harp, the sweet, lovely sounds filling the room. She gently bounced Nyx to the sound of the harp's music, Nyx's head bobbing with each movement.

Nyx was having the time of his life if his bright grin was anything to go by.

Azriel smiled gently as he watched the scene. Eira looked so...so happy, content, sitting there and playing her harp with Nyx on her lap. They were both grinning like fools, and Azriel's smile widened when Eira's gaze flicked up and landed on him.

"Happy Solstice Eve," his mate said softly, continuing the song, the last few notes ringing out in the room. It was decorated with pine garlands and dark ribbons, with little twinkling fae lights in the decorations.

He chuckled at her soft murmur, striding over to them, his gaze flickering across the living room as he moved, taking note of the way Eira had decorated the room. He knew it had been her because he had spent an evening a few days ago helping her string up the pine garlands and tying the bows she had made onto them. 

"And a very Happy Solstice Eve to you as well, my love," he replied, resting a hand on her shoulder to give it a light squeeze as he leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek. "And you, Nyxie-" he added, grinning at his nephew.

Nyx giggled gleefully at him, reaching out for him with a babble that vaguely seemed to be an attempt at a greeting.

Azriel gently plucked him from Eira's grasp and tossed him into the air in a move that was a little more reckless than usual, catching the babe again a moment later and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"I am surprised you aren't in the kitchen baking," he told Eira, who smiled as she watched him and Nyx play.

"Feyre told me to relax," she answered with a sigh. "I am not allowed to enter the kitchen on threat of no presents."

"Well, I suppose we'll have no cake this year..." he muttered with mock disappointment, bouncing Nyx a little in his arms and eliciting a giggle from his nephew.

Eira just snorted. "Have some trust in me, love. I made cookies days ago."

"Oh, did you?" he inquired, bouncing Nyx in one arm. "And where in the house did you hide these baked goods, Sweetheart?"

"Far from Cassian, hopefully," she muttered under her breath. "I have the shadows protecting them."

Azriel chuckled, the sound low and soft. "A wise choice," he agreed. "Or else Cassian would've devoured them all in five minutes."

Nyx giggled then, seemingly finding the conversation funny, and Azriel bounced him in his arms again, pressing another kiss to the baby's cheek.

"Yes, yes, Nyxie, this is all very amusing," he said with a grin, resting the baby on his hip as he glanced down at his mate, still sat by the harp. "Can you play another song, Eira?"

Eira smiled at him, a bright blush sweeping across her cheeks. "Of course," she answered, picking up the harp again, her fingers shifting to a different position on the strings.

Her fingers started to move across the harp's strings, and another sweet, lilting tune filled the room, a smile on his mate's face as she played.

Azriel listened silently, his gaze shifting between Eira - who was still blushing adorably - and Nyx, who was watching her play with wide, fascinated eyes. The baby's head lolled and bobbed to the beat of the music, his eyes tracking his aunt's fingers as they shifted across the harp's strings.

The rest of their family decided to trickle in slowly, even Varian and Amren deciding to show up.

Nyx squirmed in Azriel's arms as people began to fill the room, giggling eagerly and watching the guests with excited little squeaks and babbles.

Eira continued playing softly, nearly absentmindedly, smiling at Nesta as her sister found a seat next to her.

"Only three more days," Nesta murmured and Eira gave her a happy little grin.

"Three more days," she agreed, her excitement apparent in her voice.

Azriel heard her words, and they sent a small jolt of something - anticipation, he realised - through his chest. Three more days...

Nesta caught his eye, raising a brow meaningfully with a smirk on her face that he ignored.

"That does sound better than your screeching," Amren said suddenly and Eira's hands froze. A growl rose up in his throat. He opened his mouth to respond, but Eira was quicker than him. 

"I'd like to see you play the harp, Amren." she sniped, and oh by the stars above, the sharpness and the snark in his normally sweet mate's voice was so different, but in a...good way. It was unexpected, but he liked it more than he expected.

"Touchy," Amren answered, but it seemed more like a remark than a real complaint. She had a strangely...amused expression on her face that even Azriel could not interpret, but the look only lasted for a moment before it disappeared again.  "You gained some claws," Amren complimented.

"Amren," Rhys said in a warning tone.

"What?" Amren asked, turning to him with feigned innocence in her eyes.

Rhys just rolled his eyes, shaking his head and muttering something that sounded suspiciously like unbelievable.

"Are you done now, Amren?" Eira asked, her voice icy. "I am still waiting on an apology for last time."

"Whatever for?" Amren said with a scoff. Azriel felt the growl in his throat grow louder.

"Oh, I don't know," Eira said in a mock-thoughtful tone. "Maybe for the fact that you called me a waste? That you wanted to turn me into a weapon? Maybe for that? Maybe for upsetting me so much that I winnowed straight into Illyria and burned down a forest?!"

"I didn't say it because I disliked you," Amren said with a huff. "You're so damn...soft. Vulnerable, even.  And you have unimaginable power at your fingertips. Not using it is a waste."

A low snarl rose up in Azriel's throat, and he was considering going over there to tear the silver-eyed menace limb from limb.

Eira's hands stilled on her harp, her expression growing cold. Her eyes were like ice, glimmering with suppressed anger as she said, "Then it's a good thing your opinion of me means so little."

A smirk appeared on Amren's face. "You used to fear me," she purred. "You used to run when you saw me coming. But now...now you're a little bit more confident, are you?"

"I have more to fight for, to live for," Eira said coldly.

"Oh, yes." Amren's smirk widened. "I was wondering when you'd..."

That's how far she came. A moment later, lightning crackled in the palm of Eira's hand

"Finish that sentence, Amren." Eira hissed, and the lightning in her hand crackled and glowed, shining like silver in the light of the room.

The look on Amren's face suddenly changed as she stared, almost dumbstruck, at the lightning in Eira's hand. She was, for the first time since Azriel knew her, shocked into silence

Rhys' eyebrows rose as he took in the situation. On one hand, Feyre was giggling into Rhys' shoulder at the sight of Eira holding lightning. On the other...well, Azriel would not stand for anyone disrespecting his mate. Not when they were already pushing her this far.

A glance around the room showed that Feyre and Cassian were thoroughly interested in the scene in front of them. Nesta was watching Eira with something akin to awe, and Mor was leaning against a bookshelf with a slightly amused smile on her face.

Azriel turned his gaze back to his still-fuming mate and the shocked, nearly apprehensive Amren, the baby on his hip still babbling and giggling happily, blissfully oblivious to the scene in front of him.

"My, my, you are feisty today," Amren breathed, her composure back in place with an almost forced casualness.

"And you're far more annoying than usual today," Eira retorted.

The tension in the room was so thick, that Azriel was half-convinced that you could've reached out a hand and physically touched it.

"You have grown bold," Amren said conversationally, seemingly unbothered by the lightning Eira was still holding.

But Azriel could see the flicker of something in her eyes. Something...not quite fear, but similar. She was slightly nervous in the face of Eira's unexpected anger.

"Amren, that's enough," Feyre cut in.

Feyre's voice echoed through the room, stern and commanding. Amren's head whirled around to peer at her as Feyre stared back with a firm gaze of her own.

"No more," she said firmly, her eyes flickering between Amren and Eira.

"I just wanted a peek at her power."

Azriel's eyes darkened. Eira clenched her hand into a fist, the lightning in her hand vanishing as she muttered angrily, "Next time, I won't just give you a peek."

Amren huffed. "Are you threatening me?"

Azriel growled, low and sharp, handing Nyx to Nesta. "She isn't. I am," Azriel snapped. "Either you treat my mate with respect or we will be having a very different sort of conversation."

Amren looked up at him, a flicker of surprise in her silver eyes. It was gone the next moment, but she wisely made the choice to not say anything.

Meanwhile, Eira was still bristling, tension written across her face as she took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm herself.

"I apologise," Amren said stiffly.

Eira's eyebrows rose, startled by Amren's unexpected apology.

A tense silence followed, but it broke a moment later when Azriel said, "That is something you don't hear often, Amren."

Amren shot him a glare, but there was no real malice behind it.

A huff of agreement came from Rhys, and Feyre muttered something that sounded suspiciously like not going to get used to this.

For once, Azriel thought he had to agree with his friend. Amren actually apologising, especially to someone like Eira... He doubted they'd see that sight ever again.

It was something that much was certain.

Cassian suddenly let out a snicker, and they all turned to look at him.

"What?" he asked, grinning in their direction. "That Lightning is badass!"

Feyre chuckled as well, but it quickly turned into laughter as other people chimed in. Even Varian gave an amused chuckle that sounded surprisingly sincere coming from him.

Eira's cheeks turned a little red, as they always did when attention was focused on her.

She glanced up at him, a mixture of embarrassment and something like pleasure at the little caress, and he had to bite back a smile.

His mate, still so shy when confronted with praise or attention.

Azriel kept his gaze on her for a while longer, and his smile widened a little when she let out a shaky sigh.

Her curls were as beautiful as always, and she was dressed in a gown, silver threading winding across the dark velvet of the skirt. On every other female, the dress would've simply been pretty. On Eira, it was breathtaking.

Ours, whispered the shadows, and Azriel had to agree.

She was his in every way- his mate, his partner, his family. He wouldn't trade that for anything in the world.

"Can I...May I give you your present already? I think you can use it tomorrow," she asked him softly as the evening came to a close.

Azriel turned his attention back to her, hearing the quiet but excited tone in her voice. She truly was too sweet.

"Of course," he answered with a soft smile. "But what is it?"

Eira just gave him a smile, her eyes sparkling with excitement, and his heart started beating a little faster in anticipation. He'd never seen her this...eager about anything before.

"Something I hope you'll enjoy," she said mysteriously, standing up and grabbing his hand, tugging him to his feet. "But you have to come with me."

She led him up to her room, which was halfway packed up, most of her things already up at the House that she had christened Bluebell Cottage.

Azriel glanced around the room, a flicker of sadness going through him at the sight of the already half-emptied room.

But he had to admit, there was a strange sense of... anticipation in his chest. 

The package was soft and wrapped in red wrapping paper. Azriel took the package from her, his eyebrows rising as he felt how soft it was.

"What's in it?" he asked with a hint of curiosity and excitement.

"Unwrap it," she answered.

He let out a little hum, carefully working to open the wrapping without tearing it too much. He could feel Eira's excitement rising as he slowly worked his way through the wrapping, and his curiosity grew as well.

He could hear a few amused chuckles from the shadows, as some of them seemed to know what was in the wrapping.

A moment later, there was a pair of buttery soft, black leather gloves in his hands. He could only stare at them for a moment.

"Your hands start to hurt you more when it gets cold outside," Eira explained quietly. "I lined them with the offcuts from the second pelt you gave me. And I had them enchanted so that they were water resistant."

Azriel stared, shocked and silent, as he held the gloves in his hands. He could tell without even putting them on that they would be perfect- not just for the cold, but also fit snugly around his scarred fingers like they'd been made for him.

He could feel Eira's nerves increasing as he stared at her in shocked disbelief, almost like she was worried about his reaction.

It was an absolutely... perfect gift, and he knew that he could never ever repay her for this. That, for once, he didn't know what to say.

He had never had someone... think about him like this, someone who'd even care about something like the scars on his hands.

"Was that alright?" she asked worriedly.

"You made them for me," he said weakly, not a question.

Eira's eyes widened a little, and he realised that she thought that he was upset.

"Of course it's alright," he said quickly, staring down at the gloves in his hands.

His mate, his perfect kind and sweet and caring mate... He couldn't comprehend how lucky he was to have found her.

But Eira didn't look entirely sure, her anxious expression still on her face as she asked, "Do... do you like them?"

He tore his gaze away from the gloves and looked up at her.

"Like them?" he repeated, his voice soft and slightly awed. "Eira, they're perfect."

The anxiety on Eira's face vanished at his words, replaced with an adorable mixture of relief and excitement.

"You do?" she said, her voice eager and her eyes sparkling as she watched him hold the gloves in his hands.

Azriel just nodded, gently setting the gloves down on her still-untouched bed. He had to fight back the urge to take her into his arms right there and then.

"What did you make out of the rest?" he asked her. She looked at him with wide eyes. “You made the shrug for yourself. You made me the gloves. What else did you make?”

Eira gave him a slow smile.

"You'll see," she said quietly. "Hopefully soon. And now I expect you to win that Snowball Fight tomorrow.“

Azriel raised an eyebrow, both at the change of topic and at the implication of winning that Snowball Fight.

"And what will I get if I win?" he asked, a smirk slowly spreading across his face.

Eira took on a thoughtful expression as if she was actually thinking about his question.

"I don't know," she said slowly, looking like she was considering the idea. "What do you want from me if you win?"

Azriel shrugged casually, trying to ignore the eager, almost greedy shadows.

“A Kiss.”

***

Her sister's birthday dawned bright early, mostly because Eira was already in the kitchen by dawn. It did mean that she got to kiss Azriel goodbye though, before he, Rhys and Cassian disappeared to their annual Snowball Fight...and she got to finish the finishing touches on Feyre's birthday cake.

It was a beautiful morning, one of those days that just seemed perfect, and Eira hummed to herself cheerfully as she finished decorating Feyre's birthday cake.

Despite the fact that her sister was a literal High Lady, she had insisted that her birthday be a quiet affair, no huge celebration or party, just the inner circle and the family.

"Do you...need help?" Nesta's voice came from the doorway.

Eira paused in her decorating, glancing up to find Nesta standing in the doorway.

"I wouldn't say no to the help," she answered with a smile, waving her sister over.

Nesta came over to the counter, silently watching as Eira finished the last touches on the cake.

"It looks good," Nesta said admiringly, studying the cake's smooth dark chocolate surface and the bright silver icing.

"I did stars this year," she said brightly.

"So I see," Nesta said, studying the various silver stars that had been carefully piped onto the cake's surface.

"I think I might've made it a bit too plain, though," Eira said as she looked it over. "I should've added a few more,."

"It looks good as it is," Nesta said, her expression slightly bewildered at the sight of her younger sister worrying over cake decorations. "Feyre will love it, believe me."

"Right," Eira said, taking a step back and studying the cake with a critical eye. "Yes, I think this works."

Nesta looked slightly amused at the way she was looking at the cake, almost studying it, and shook her head, muttering faintly, "You're worse than Feyre with her painting, I swear."

"You did manage to make yourself very clear to Amren though," Nesta said calmly. "I am proud of you."

"I wasn't trying to," she mumbled, heat rising in her cheeks as Nesta chuckled softly. "I was just, y'know, frustrated. I guess I spoke more than I should've."

"You don't have to apologize for putting her in her place," Nesta said, looking amused at the memory of Eira's outburst the previous day. "It was a long time coming, honestly."

"I just-" Eira paused, fiddling with the end of her sleeves.

"It just really made me angry, that she was saying all those things," she mumbled. "I never did anything to her."

"That's because you've always been nice ," Nesta said with a sigh, her gaze and voice surprisingly fond. "In a way that a lot of people tend to overlook. But Amren was pushing it yesterday, and I'm just glad you finally snapped at her."

"It was about time, in my opinion," Feyre chimed in from the doorway, where she was cradling Nyx against her chest. "Amren's been treating you like a doormat for long enough."

"You aren't supposed to be in here!" Eira complained. "Happy Birthday!"

Feyre just smiled, not bothering to look apologetic at all as she said, "Thank you. This looks great."

Nesta just laughed as well, and Eira huffed, but there was no real displeasure in her expression.

"Go away," she said firmly to her sister, shooing both Feyre and Nesta out of the kitchen. "No birthday girl of mine is going to see her cake before they're supposed to."

Feyre let out a mock-offended gasp, but obeyed anyways, ducking out of the kitchen with Nyx still in her arms.

"Spoilsport," she called out over her shoulder, grinning.

Eira just rolled her eyes, even when she was already pulling out all the makings for breakfast.

They spent most of the day playing with Nyx, before Azriel, Rhys and Cassian arrived back, Azriel with his 200th victory in tow.

The three males arrived back not long after lunch time, their clothes rumpled and hair messy from the snowball fight.

Cassian and Rhys headed for the chairs, while Azriel made a beeline for her, looking slightly predatory in a way that made her heart beat faster.

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks under his gaze, his gaze looking like he was ready to drag her off to a privatepart of the house.

She suppressed the urge to shiver, instead asking with forced innocence, "Did you boys have fun?"

"We certainly did," Azriel answered, his voice a low rumble as he closed the distance between them and gripped the waist, pulling her into his arms.

She let out a soft gasp as she landed against his chest, one of his hands resting on her hip.

"We had a wonderful game," Rhys chimed in from one of the couches, earning an annoyed muttering from Cassian.

"Wonderfully brutal, you mean," Cassian said dryly. "I swear, we were closer to frostbite than we were to a friendly match."

"Sounds like someone is just being a sore loser," Rhys said calmly, earning a scoff from Cassian.

"I am not!" he protested, looking more like a child whose favourite toy has been taken away than a centuries-old warrior.

"Want to help me in the kitchen?" she said quickly.

Azriel shot a warning glare at both Rhys and Cassian, before tightening his grip on her waist and nodding.

"Of course," he said, his voice so low that it rumbled in his chest.

They did manage it into the kitchen. And then his hands were suddenly all over her.

Azriel backed her up against the wall as soon as the door shut behind them, trapping her against the wall with his body.

The shadows swirled around them in an almost excited way, filling the room and blocking out the sounds of the voices in the other room.

"You owe me a kiss," he said, his voice a low rumble against the skin of her neck as he leaned down to press kisses against her neck. She shivered at the feeling of his lips on her skin, the heat of his body pressed up against hers. "I won."

"I guess I do," she answered breathlessly, wrapping her arms around his neck and gently running her fingers through the short, soft hair at the base of his head.

His mouth moved against her neck, his lips teasing and tempting, and she had to stifle a soft moan as his hands gripped her hips.

The shadows were almost dancing around them, swirling like they were as eager as she was. His hands were gripping her hips with a possession that made her feel almost faint with want, and the heat in her lower belly was spreading like wildfire throughout her body.

It was like a flame, igniting every inch of her body as his mouth moved up to press against her jaw, his lips brushing against her skin. She was shaking with the effort of holding back her moans, with the effort of holding herself together.

It was harder than she'd expected, with him so close, his presence almost overwhelming and his touch devastatingly good.

His mouth moved across her cheek, his breathing a low growl as he said, "I love it when you get flushed like this."

She shivered heavily, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt as he pressed his hips against hers in a way that made her pant helplessly.

And then he kissed her lips. Fitted his mouth over hers, his tongue plundering her mouth with no forewarning.

And she responded instantly, opening her mouth and letting his tongue into her mouth. Her mind was going hazy, her thoughts disappearing in an instant as she clutched at his shirt and pressed her body closer to his.

His hands were gripping at her hips like iron, forcing her body to stay still and taking as he claimed her mouth with a possessive ferocity.

She was completely at his mercy, shaking against him as he completely overwhelmed her with the force of his kiss.

His tongue was everywhere in her mouth, sweeping in and claiming her mouth as his own. She let out a desperate moan, the noise swallowed up by his mouth as his body pressed her up against the wall.

She was almost mindless with desire, her every thought and sense focused only on the feel of him against her, on the way his hands were gripping her hips and the hot, heavy feel of his body against hers.

And then he pulled back, panting. Resting his forehead against hers.

She was as flushed as he was, her lips slick and swollen from his kiss as she struggled to get her breathing under control.

His forehead was pressed against hers, the two of them just standing there, trying to catch their breath, as the shadows danced around them.

"Three days," he whispered.

"Three days," she echoed.

She rested her head back against the wall, her eyes fluttering shut as she let out a weary sigh.

Her heart was still racing, the heat in her lower abdomen aching like a throb, but they couldn't simply disappear to a private room when they were surrounded by the entire inner circle.

And she was not going to have her first time with Azriel somewhere public.

So instead, she focused on getting her breathing back under control, the heat of his body still overwhelming.

She forced her eyes open, studying his face. He was just as flushed as she was, his breathing heavy, but his eyes...his eyes were still dark and burning fiercely.

"You still owe me a solstice gift," she said with a weak grin.

Azriel managed a strained chuckle, lifting one hand up to cup her face and brush his thumb over her lip like he couldn't resist touching her.

"Indeed I do," he said, his voice still low and husky. "Let's see if we are already at the gift giving portion of the evening.

They heard the sound of laughter drifting in from the sitting room, and Azriel let out a rueful sigh, leaning his forehead against herss again.

"We should probably go back out to the others," he said quietly, his thumb still rubbing against her lip.

She almost wanted to disagree, to tell him that she wanted to stay right where they were. But reluctantly, she nodded in agreement, letting out a sigh of her own as she pushed herself off the wall.

Azriel's hands slid from her waist and hips, but he took her hand as they made their way back out of the kitchen.

They reappeared in the doorway, and Eira had to force down a flush as all of the others turned to look at them, as if they knew exactly what had been going on in the kitchen.

No one commented though, either because they didn't actually know or because they were being tactful for once, and instead, Rhys simply lifted the bottle of wine and said, "There you are. Come and sit down already."

But Azriel just led Eira over to one of the couches and sank down beside her, one arm wrapping around her shoulder to pull her closer. Not that she was resisting at all.

Eira just let herself lean against Azriel, resting her head on his shoulder and enjoying the solid warmth of his touch.

Gifts were exchanged, for Feyre's birthday and for Winter Solstice.

The wrapping paper piled up as more gifts were handed out, Nyx having more fun with the paper than his actually toys and Eira managed to find herself sitting almost on Azriel's lap with his arm still around her.

Not that she was complaining. If anything, she was simply enjoying the close contact and the heat of his body.

There were little piles of gifts before each of them. Eira was quite proud of the embroidered hair ribbons she had made for Nesta, Valkyrie white silk with little silver flames all over them, while Feyre had gotten an embroidered silk scarf. She had made other things, of course, other than the gloves she had already given to Azriel. A bright red silk dressing gown for Mor, even Cassian had gotten a new leather sheath for his daggers, while she had made a notebook cover for Rhys.

The others seemed to appreciate the gifts for the most part, with Mor giving her an overly dramatic show of affection as thanks. 

Mor herself had oviously decided to go the route of extravagance that year...with Cassian giving an offended noise at the box she handed him, glaring at it and protesting, "I don't need a face cream."

Which only made the rest of the group burst out laughing, even Amren managing a smirk.

"You certainly need something for those scars and freckles, darling," Mor said with a smirk. "I can see your skin deteriorating as we speak."

"It is not deteriorating," Cassian protested. "That's just the rugged look that I was going for."

Eira bit back a laugh at that, still staring at the dagger Cassian had given her, with a wink and the words "Not quite as cool as lightning. But I think Azriel would be happy to teach you."

She was still staring down at the dagger and the scabbard when Azriel gently leaned down to murmur in her ear, "You like it?"

His voice was a low rumble that thrummed through her body, and she almost shivered at the sound.

Eira  didn't hate it. Not as much as she had thought she would. She wasn't quite sure if she wanted to learn to fight. But maybe she didn't need to. maybe she could just learn how to defend herself.

She could feel Azriel watching her closely, and she was sure that he could probably feel the tension in her body.

But she still nodded slightly in response to his question, her eyes fixed on the dagger and scabbard in her hands. And he seemed to get the message, resting his chin on her shoulder and giving her a small squeeze.

The scabbard had been made of fine, supple leather, polished and oiled to shine like satin. But the dagger itself was the real beauty. The slender obsidian blade was polished to a mirror-perfect gleam, and when she pulled the blade out to study it, she noticed the little lightning bolt patterns carved into the blade.

"Here," Azriel said quietly. "That Solstice Gift I owe you."

Eira was only mildly startled as his quiet voice drew her back out of her thoughts, and she blinked at him in surprise.

"You really don't-" she began, but Azriel just shook his head, the shadows swirling with excitement.

"I talked them out of buying you another 3 dozen gifts, but I still wanted to give you something," he told her gently.

Eira couldn't help but feel touched that he'd gone to such trouble, even if she had been firmly telling them not to make such a fuss.

She was still speechless as he pulled a small, silk-wrapped box out of his pocket, handing it to her with an almost nervous smile on his face.

"I thought..well...I...I thought that you could use more pearls," he finally said quietly.

Eira almost gaped at his words as she stared down at the gift in her hands, her heart clenching at the thought that he'd given her pearls.

She carefully unwrapped the gift, her hands shaking slightly as she opened the box and uncovered a King's ransom in Pearls and Diamonds. A Necklace, Bracelet and a set of Hair Combs, all laid tucked into black velvet.

"No Earrings, but everything else," he said quietly.

She was literally speechless as she stared at the jewelry, her heart stuttering in her chest.

It wasn't just the jewelry that stole her breath away, but the thought and care that Azriel had taken in creating it.

He'd given her pearls. Diamonds too, but the pearls just made her throat ache.

Pearls like these very first earrings, like her engagement ring...and now there they were, ready to encircle her throat and her wrist as well.

The pearls were perfect, flawless and shining under the light like they were made of living ice. They looked smooth to the touch and more flawless than anything she'd ever seen before.

"They're beautiful," she told him, her voice a little strangled as she stared down at them. "Azriel...I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," he told her as the shadows swooped around her, like they were eager to see the jewelry on her. "Do you like them?"

It was an oddly vulnerable question, and one that made her heart flutter in her chest.

"I love them."

[fatehbaz]

Some updates from the past twelve-ish months:

-- Late 2022: Portland and its mayor (Wheeler) started a major push to ban "street camping". Headlines in major media outlets also described "Portland's first sanctioned mass homeless camp" and how "Portland moves forward with $27 million plan to build mass shelters". In December 2022, Portland-area authorities used the so-called "aggressive landscaping" tactic, installing hundreds of hostile architecture boulders to prevent sitting/sleeping. Also in December, homeless advocates and Disability Rights Washington advocates attempted to halt Spokane's (Washington) clearing of a major camp for hundreds of people, and a federal judge sided with advocates to put a temporary restraining order on the sweep.

-- January 2023: Even in the immediate aftermath of historic cold as far south as Miami and Monterrey, sub-freezing temperatures across the Deep South, and sub-zero-Fahrenheit blizzards sweeping North America for a week or longer around Solstice/Christmas 2022, convenience stores "in Texas, California, New York use classical music to shoo homeless".

-- By March 2023: "Portland Mayor Wheeler unveils first location for city-run homeless camp".

-- April 2023: San Francisco and Mayor Breed announce a major "five-year plan" costing over 600 million dollars "to cut the number of unsheltered homeless in half". (Not a plan to put people in homes or find stable housing, but just to technically put them under the roof of shelter, keeping them out of sight, therefore qualifying them for the strange designation of "the sheltered homeless".) At the same time, San Francisco opened a "long-term homeless shelter on Treasure Island", pushing homeless people onto an isolated island mostly composed of concrete and asphalt.

-- Summer 2023: In May, the city of Phoenix (Arizona) began its project to clear and eliminate its largest homeless camp, known as the Zone, a refuge for hundreds of people. During the record-breaking heat of the summer of 2023, Phoenix cleared the camp systematically, block by block. At the beginning of September 2023, as "Phoenix breaks heat record as city hits 110F [110 degrees Fahrenheit] for the 54th consecutive day", the city cleared the block of the camp where most seniors and the elderly lived.

-- January 2024: About one week ahead of winter holidays (Solstice/Christmas), the City of Edmonton pursued plans to sweep 130 homeless encampments as part of what has been described as a "shocking" eviction plan. In January, the city was clearing camps amidst sustained deadly severe weather, during a polar vortex event with temperatures of negative 50 degrees Fahrenheit and daytime highs of negative 25F. When a court case presented by Coalition for Justice and Human Rights tried to slow the sweeps, a judge sided with them and shut down the evictions.

-- March 2024: Florida's governor signs a new law. NPR describes: "law that seeks to move unhoused people off public property altogether and into government-run encampments".

-- April 2024: The U.S. Supreme Court begins hearing a case from Grants Pass (Oregon) with major implications and potential to incite nationwide "banishment race" and "homelessness crackdown". Lower courts have previously said that city policies (like Grants Pass, Boise, and others) were "cruel and unusual" for fining and/or jailing people for sleeping on public land if no adequate accessible shelter is available. But now?

[noctis-kingfisher]

Blue Hour (iii) ⁞ Isagi Yoichi

iii. Cast Your Petals

SYNOPSIS -> Your life finally settles after a rough divorce, and all you want is to run your flower shop in peace, but when 20-year-old Isagi Yoichi starts working for you, the summer might get hotter than anticipated. INFO -> Isagi x reader, afab!reader, flower shop au, Summer Solstice Point au. WARNINGS -> 18+, NSFW, age-gap romance, reader has vaginismus, reader is 28, Isagi is 20, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, eventual questionable dubcon but not with Isagi, divorced!reader, sexual exploration, pov changes(?), she/her pronouns are used for reader, canonverse despite some age disparities and how that affects the canon timeline (just don't think about it), no use of y/n, tags are subject to change. WORD COUNT -> 1.7k

Minors and empty blogs will be blocked.

<- prev. -> masterlist -> next

Your ceiling fan remains stagnant and allows the headiness of sex to settle in a thick haze while you take the weight of Isagi’s length as far down your throat as you can manage, relishing in the drag of him across your tongue, in and out. Your pupils are blown out, blissful at the way he watches you between his bare legs, your hands splayed and dipped into his thick thighs, drool dripping down the rest of what you can’t take into your mouth.

He sucks in air through his teeth and pulls your mouth off of him with a cry that makes you wetter. “Not yet,” he pleads, his voice grating in his throat, so close to falling apart. The contrast between his doe eyes and his glistening, pulsing dick against his abdomen makes you want to ruin him even more. But before you can put your mouth on him again, he takes you as if you weigh nothing and pulls you up onto his lap, his dick pressed wetly between your bodies, a hand reaching around your backside to plunge a few fingers deep inside you. You arch with a cry, but unlike times before, this doesn’t hurt.

It doesn’t hurt—

It doesn’t—?

You gasp awake. The ceiling fan is on above your naked body, raising goosebumps along your skin. The morning rays beg to puncture your curtains as if they sense the cold in your limbs. Tentatively, your hand makes its way to your core. Soaked.

A sickening weight in your chest makes it difficult to sit up, but you take a moment to return to your senses from the vivid dream.

Drawing in a grounding breath for a couple of seconds, you hold it for five, and then let it go slowly.

You fear your sanity leaves with it.

---

Shopping while naked would’ve been less awkward than where you find yourself now. With the bouquet vase orders out of the way, you’re left to stand in the showroom with Isagi, idly cleaning in silence to busy your hands. He follows suit in tidying and organizing, but unlike you, he doesn’t appear affected by last night’s events. It’s as if they never happened. But while that would be good for you, it’s bothersome how easily you gave in to your impulses yesterday, and so an apology finds itself on the tip of your tongue.

However, the chiming of the door grants you an out. You perk up when you see it’s Jay, the delivery guy who runs most of your business packages. “Hey, you,” you greet him halfway.

Jay’s grin is bright as he enters with a pep in his step and insists on carrying the boxes to the counter for you when you reach for them. “Special delivery for my favorite flower lady. Now you’re all restocked on vases again.”

You sign the digital pad he hands you. “Thank you. I’m glad I have my favorite delivery man to keep them up.”

His happy laughter dies down abruptly while you dot your name, but when you glance up to check on him, you only see Isagi giving an overly friendly smile from behind the counter.

Jay clears his throat, wipes his forehead of the sweat accumulated from his stops, and takes the pad back when you’re done. “Anyways, Dove, I was hoping you’d have any of those lilacs in stock?”

A bowl clatters to the floor, startling you both.

“Sorry,” Isagi says and resumes sweeping.

“Uh, yeah,” you will your attention back to Jay from eyeing Isagi in confusion, “we have a good bit in stock. Did you want a small wrap?”

Jay’s big grin returns. “I’d love that. Even better if you have plum blossoms.”

“We’re fresh out, actually. You’re out of luck.” It’s Isagi who speaks up, setting down the broom and approaching the two of you while behind the counter. “But you know what would go well with those lilacs, Jay? Yellow carnations. They’d be perfect.”

His words mean well, but you can’t help the shiver that runs through you; you have a bundle of plum blossoms in the back to get rid of.

“Really? Oh, thanks, man. Uh, and your name is…?”

“Isagi,” he says easily with another friendly smile. But for as short a time as you’ve been around him, his friendliness appears rather forced.

“Right.” Jay’s eyes flit to you and back. “It’s nice to meet you. Have you been here long?”

You decide to fly under the radar and get to work on the wrap of flowers while they talk, but you overhear how awkward Jay is with Isagi. Lacing some yellow carnations around five bundled lilacs, you wrap them in the simple brown paper and tie it all together with a yellow ribbon.

Both pairs of eyes instantly land on you when you re-enter the showroom, one saying “help me” while you’d rather not interpret the other.

“Is this enough, Jay?” You break the silence.

Jay’s smile doesn’t shine as brightly as before, but he accepts the flowers gratefully. “They’re perfect. Thanks, Dove. I’ll catch you next order, yeah?”

You nod and see him off.

Isagi’s face is scrunched up in mild disgruntlement when you come back inside, and you can’t help but laugh. “What’s that look for?”

“Are you two close?” He turns around as he says it, seemingly to occupy himself, but you can practically see his pout through his words.

“With Jay? Not really,” you say honestly and join him in fiddling with what’s been organized five times over by now. “Why do you ask?”

Isagi stiffens for a moment as if caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You just… seem that way, I guess. You don’t really talk to everyone like that.”

You hum. “Like what?”

He looks aside to you. “Like happy. Really happy. Like… tulip happy.”

Ah. That reminds you, but you bite your tongue on the matter of Jay existing during the before in your life.

“Isagi…” You sigh and absentmindedly place a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry about last night. Being under the influence is no excuse—as your boss, I—” You look up at him and lose your words along the way; he’s looking at your hand on him, and his face is red. He quickly looks the other way to cover his face.

Assuming you really had gone too far, you continue, “If you felt pressured, I understand if you’d like to quit.”

Isagi gasps lightly and whips his head back around. “No, no—! That’s furthest from what I—I didn’t feel pressured at all, Ms. Sato. You didn’t do anything to make me…” he trails off and takes a centering breath to say more confidently, “I don’t want to leave you.”

Another chiming makes you jump away from him.

Mr. Kaji hobbles through the door with a hunch to his back, his cane in hand. “Well, good afternoon, Ms. Sato. It’s been so long, I don’t recognize the new face you have here.”

---

"And here you are," you say as you hand a large handful of wrapped roses to the elderly man. "I wish you and your wife a happy anniversary." You give him a parting smile that holds your condolences.

"Thank you... Oh, she'll love them. She always loved roses the most. Have a good day, Ms. Sato. And you too, young man. I hope to see you both again next year."

An ache wraps its fingers tenderly around your heart and squeezes as you watch the man leave to spend time with his late wife at her up-kept stele, which he's told you much about over the years he’s been coming to your shop. He had the edges engraved with roses to remind her, even in death, how much he loved her. There was a time when you believed your marriage would end much the same. But you're both very much alive after the end, with nothing to show for it but distance.

Maintaining that distance has done the good of keeping your peace as long as you don’t turn on the television. There are always headlines of that name you wish would vanish already. Even in strangers, his aftertaste is hard to shake, like a snake that doesn’t know how to let go once it’s coiled; he always knew how to stop someone from moving forward.

The simplicity you’ve garnered was hard-won, so you guard it. Your little shop and little life only need so many hands, but lately, your peace has woven into something knotted and all by your own making. The memories of last night’s dream resurface to remind you of this.

You rub at the drumming that starts in your temples.

A soft touch to the hand laden on the counter draws you back into the present. Your gaze drops down to see Isagi’s pinkie finger laced over yours.

After everything that’s happened, you admit it to yourself. Isagi Yoichi is attractive.

It's not that you see him as a kid. He is most definitely a man, young as he is. But the reality of him, the amount of space he takes up, and his determination to stick around are slowly chiseling away at your resolve. You’re honestly tired of having to fight at all.

His presence is oddly soft as he steps close enough to bump hips. His voice is just as soft. “He really loves his wife.” He turns to face you squarely, leaning a hip against the counter, and covers his hand over yours.

“He does.” You nod, refusing to look up at him, not after how last night went, so you watch his hand and the dips between his knuckles, how easily it is for his hand to envelope yours. The memory of this hand on your cheek during your shared kiss raises warmth to your face.

“I…” Isagi takes a moment. “I meant what I said, Ms. Sato. I don’t want to leave. Actually…” He leans down to rest his forehead on your shoulder. A surrender. “I want to continue where we left off.”

When he offers himself so easily on a silver platter like this… what do you do? The metaphorical road forks in two ahead yet again.

----------

So, did you think you were getting spicy time this chapter? ^3^

Also, you might want to keep track of all the flowers mentioned. Each one is intentional. But the yellow carnations might be a bit tricky. In Japan, they stand for unrequited love, haha. Isagi knew what he was doing.

[littlest-w01f]

Just A Bond

Helion x Reader

For @sjmxreaderweek

Sjmxreader 2025 Masterlist

Day 2 - Friends/Family

Summary: You know that your family loves Helion, but still calling him your mate in front of your parents, who are his close friends, was nerve-racking till you get caught with him.

Cw: Dad's best friend Helion, age difference, kinda heavy making out, everything is fine, this is fine

It was Winter Solstice night, you stood in front of a full-length mirror in your room, wearing your favourite dress from your mother's closet, a deep blue dress, falling off your shoulders, sparkling with stardust, your blue-black onyx hair fell over your shoulders till your waist, bracelets on hands, a gorgeous necklace set on your decolletage. You looked like your mother with your father's features.

Your thoughts drifted to the festivities that would soon start as you dusted powdered blush on your pale, freckled cheeks, the feast, your mother's birthday, and the gift exchange. You had purchased gifts for your parents and brother. Well, one other, for your mate. You heard a gentle knock on your window, and you turned and saw him, Helion, High Lord of Day. Deep brown skin shining through the usual white of his clothes, his hazel eyes locked with yours in a warmth you were used to.

Your heart fluttered at the sight of Helion standing outside your window, his warm gaze meeting yours. Even clad in his formal attire, he exuded an aura of power and elegance that never failed to captivate you. As the High Lord of Day, he was a commanding presence, yet when he looked at you, his expression softened, revealing a tender side reserved just for you.

Your breath caught as Helion's handsome face lit up with a radiant smile, his bright hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. He reached out a hand, beckoning you closer without breaking eye contact. The winter chill seemed to fade away as you stepped towards the open window, drawn to his magnetic pull.

It was something he and your father had taught each other, a part of you spoke. You quickly composed yourself, not wanting him to sense the whirlwind of emotions he consistently provoked. With a subtle nod, you brought him inside, the cool winter air clung to his garments as he stepped into your cosy room, the scent of pine and sunlight trailing behind him. As the window closed, he turned to face you, his warm gaze sweeping over your ethereal beauty.

"You look stunning tonight, y/n," He said softly, his voice a soothing melody that always made your heart skip a beat. "As beautiful as the night sky." He reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of your hair behind your ear, his fingertips grazing your skin and sending shivers down your spine.

"Aren't you supposed to be drinking with dad?" You asked instead, unintentionally ruining the moment that had formed between you, "He will question why you snuck away..."

You were never involved in the world of Court politics, busy working as a seamstress after you'd grown; you had never met him until a few centuries ago, at your first meeting when you were nearly a century and a half old. And then the bond snapped for both of you, your family's closest friend, centuries older than you.

A playful smirk danced across Helion's lips as he leaned in, his warm breath caressing your cheek. His proximity sent a thrill through you, making your pulse quicken. You couldn't help but notice how his broad chest filled out his snowy-white toga, the fabric straining slightly against his powerful muscles.

"I told him I needed some fresh air." Helion chuckled, the sound rich and melodious, and stepped closer to you, his tall frame casting a shadow on the wall behind you. "Besides, he was being boring. I wanted to see my pretty little mate instead. You’re much more fun."

His hand found its way to your waist, fingers splaying across the fabric of your dress as he drew you nearer. The heat emanating from his body enveloped you, and you felt yourself melting into his embrace. "And," he whispered, his breath caressing your ear, "I couldn't bear to spend another moment apart from you, even if it means stealing a few precious moments."

"You may be his friend but he will hurt you if he caught you with me." You whispered in his chest, "He is insane when it comes to protecting me from the 'charms of males'"

He shrugged casually, running a hand through your hair like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I’m not scared of your dad. He’s an old ass. And I'm much more fun." He chuckled, cupping your face in his hand.

He produced a small, ornate box from within his robes and presented it to you with a bow, the gesture playful. "Open it, little moonlight," he urged, his voice low and inviting. "A gift for the most enchanting female in all the Courts."

"You're just as old." You quip back as you accepted the box, your fingers brushed against his, and you felt the familiar spark of electricity course through you. You lifted the lid slowly, revealing a delicate golden clasp adorned with a glittering gemstone. "A... A hair clip?"

Helion smiled, his eyes twinkling with delight at your reaction. "Not just any hair clip, my shine. This is an heirloom passed down through generations of my family. Legend has it that the sunstone holds the essence of the sun itself, hence the name, imbuing the wearer with a radiant inner light."

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning and ancient history. You lifted the clip, feeling its weight and the smoothness of the metal beneath your fingertips. The sunstone pulsed with an inner radiance, casting a warm glow across your face. As you gazed into its depths, you could have sworn you saw flickers of golden light dancing within the gemstone's structure.

"It's breathtaking," You breathed, marvelling at the intricate craftsmanship and the mesmerizing gemstone. "Thank you, Helion. I love it."

You handed the jewellery back to him, turning on your heels, silently offering him your hair to put the clip on. Helion's fingers deftly wove through your dark locks, the strands slipping smoothly between them as he worked the delicate clasp.

The sunstone nestled perfectly among your hair, catching the dim light filtering from the faerielights in your room and casting a shimmering aura around your head. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. The sunstone seemed to absorb and reflect the colours of your hair. The effect was stunning; your locks now shimmered with an ethereal sheen, as if kissed by the very rays of solar light.

"You wear it well, my love," He murmured, reaching out to cup your cheeks gently. "The legend says this stone amplifies the natural beauty of the wearer, but I think it adorning your lovely head makes it look its best instead."

His gaze lingered on your face, drinking in every detail, the way the starlight danced in your violet eyes, the gentle curve of your cheeks, the fullness of your lips.

"I think you're biased," you teased, trying to lighten the mood, though your heart raced at the sincerity in his words. Your breath caught at the intensity of his stare, feeling the weight of his admiration and affection.

"I have a gift for you too..." You were almost hesitant now, "I didn't use my parent's money so it's not as pretty as this..."

Helion's brow furrowed in concern, his grip on your arms tightening reassuringly. "Yours is the only gift that matters to me, little moonlight. Whatever it is, I promise to cherish it more than any trinket or treasure."

His words warmed your heart, and you felt a surge of confidence. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden box. It was handmade, and the wood was smooth and polished under your fingers. You opened the box to reveal a feathered quill designed in liquid silver, something pure Night Court. "I wanted you to have something you would look at and think of me so... This seemed the best, also there was a WInter Solstice rush so I was really fast in getting it! And-"

"It's exquisite," He breathed, a genuine note of appreciation in his voice, cutting your rambling off. "You clearly put thought and care into selecting it for me." He paused, a mischievous glint entering his eyes. "Although, I must admit, I don't need any gifts to think of you at all times, I always do."

He tucked the quill into the folds of his robe, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I have a feeling this will become a treasured possession, one I'll use often to write letters to my favorite seamstress."

You blushed at his words, at his compliment, the rosy hue spreading across your cheeks as you tilted your chin up, seeking his lips in a kiss.

Helion obliged, his mouth moving against yours with a tenderness that never failed to melt your insides. As the kiss deepened, you lost yourself in the taste of him, the press of his body against yours, the way his arms enfolded you, holding you close.

He let out a low growl of approval as you moaned for him, tugging on your hip so that your body was pressed fully against his. Lips captured in a hard, possessive kiss. One hand stayed on your hip, the other hand moving to the back of your neck to keep you close as he kissed you with reckless abandon.

His tongue delved past your parted lips, tangling with yours in a sensual dance that left you breathless and yearning for more. The taste of him - sweet, spicy, and uniquely Helion - flooded your senses, making your head spin with desire.

As the kiss intensified, his free hand roamed your curves, tracing the contours of your waist, hips, and thighs through the layers of fabric. Each touch ignited a trail of fire in its wake, leaving you trembling and needy.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, their ragged breaths mingling in the cool winter air. "Gods, I crave you," he whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with lust. "Every moment apart feels like an eternity."

Without warning, he scooped you up in his strong arms, cradling you against his chest. "Helion-" You gasped as he sat you on your vanity after moving the makeup and brushes aside. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he positioned you, his hazel eyes burning with an intense hunger as they locked onto yours in the mirror's reflection.

"Look at us," he commanded, his voice low and husky. "Beautiful, aren't we? Like two halves of the same whole, meant to be together forever." Leaning in, he nuzzled the exposed flesh, his hot breath tickling your skin as he trailed kisses along your collarbone. "Mine," he growled possessively.

"Sis, when will you- What the fuck?" Your brother stood by the door to your room, having it pushed open, to see Helion tongue deep in your mouth.

You jumped back out of Helion's arms at Nyx's voice, your eyes widening in surprise at the sudden interruption. You cleared your throat, attempting to regain composure, standing from your vanity. "Nyx..." You greeted your brother with a nod, tone measured. "Helion and I were merely…"

You trailed off, leaving the explanation unfinished as you glanced at your mate, seeking guidance on how to proceed in this awkward situation. The tension in the room was palpable, and you could feel the weight of your brother's disapproval settling over you like a shroud. There was no getting out of this, "Nyxie..."

"Don't 'Nyxie' me," Nyx's scowl deepened, his piercing blue-grey eyes narrowing as they darted between you and Helion. "Merely what, sis? Kissing an old male hidden in your room." He spat. "You know dad won't take kindly to this, especially since Helion's in your room uninvited."

"It's Winter Solstice, Ny. Please don't make a scene..." You said softly, knowing he probably would, especially when he turned on his heels, rushing down the flight of stairs that led down to the main halls, you rushed after him.

You chased after Nyx, your dress fluttering behind you as you hurried down the grand staircase, the hem brushing against the polished marble steps. The hall bustled with activity, your family drinking and talking, everything pausing as Nyx now stood in front of them, with you behind him, "Nyx..."

The scene of you and your brother standing face to face silenced the chatter of your family. His gaze swept over everyone, landing on your parents who stood near the fireplace, cups of wine forgotten in their hands. Rhysand's brows furrowed in concern while Feyre's eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise, at seeing their children in what clearly was a altercation. Nyx's glare intensified, fixing on Helion who had followed you downstairs, looking regal and unflappable despite the turmoil swirling around him.

"What's going on?" Feyre's voice spoke through the tension, gently, as she approached you and your brother. "Tell me what happened, what's wong? We can fix anything, right?"

"I've caught y/n alone in her room with Helion," Nyx declared, pointing accusingly at the High Lord of Day, then back at you, "They were fucking."

The atmosphere grew thick with unease and disbelief. Feyre's eyes flew to you, searching your face for answers, before her gaze shifted to Helion, studying him intently. Rhysand's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides as he glared at his old friend, a clear display of protectiveness towards his daughter.

"WE WERE NOT!" You yelled after him, feeling your face flush with heat and indignation. "It was just a kiss!"

"What happened, sweetie?" Feyre's voice was laced with a mix of shock and worry. She took a step closer to you, her hand extended, pleading for confirmation or denial. Her eyes bore into yours, seeking the truth in your expression. Her expression softened as she took in your flustered appearance, the way your cheeks burned, and the trembling of your lower lip.

"He's... We..." You sighed, voice shaking, barely a whisper, "Helion is my mate."

The revelation hit your family like a tidal wave, the shock and disbelief evident on their faces. "Finally something fun for Solstice, it's been decades since any drama." Nesta said through the awkward silence, a glass raised at you and your mate before she took a sip, and then her eyes met her mate's. Cassian shook his head, his face his own version of speechless, making Nesta roll her eyes and raise her hands in surrender.

While Lucien choked on his wine next to Elain, his mate rubbed soothing circles on his back. As Lucien slammed his wine down, Elain gave you a sheepish look.

Rhysand's gaze sharpened, his brow furrowing as he studied Helion more closely, perhaps wondering if there was more to this than mere infatuation. Your parents exchanged a glance, their expressions a mix of confusion, concern, and a hint of wariness, talking in their minds. Then your father turned to you, "Our office, now. We need to talk."

You nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation, and followed your parents to their private office, the dreaded office, where you usually got called when you misbehaved, well, mostly Nyx, you had been very avoidant of trouble. The heavy wooden doors clicked shut behind you, enveloping the room in a quiet solemnity. Your father gestured for you to sit, while your mother perched on the edge of the desk, her hands clasped together.

"So," He began, his voice calm but firm, "Tell us when did the bond snap?" His gaze swung to you, expectant. "And why keep it a secret from us?" The questions hung in the air, heavy with implication, waiting for you to provide explanations. Rhysand's eyes narrowed slightly, a sign of his growing concern. "Did he force you?"

"NO." Your voice rose at the accusation, "Maybe I did, I wanted us together... But he never forced me into anything."

Your father's eyes softened at your passionate denial, but the underlying concern remained etched on his face. "Okay, let's start again. When did this happen exactly?" He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "And why hide it from us, y/n? We're your family, your support system. Keeping secrets like this can lead to misunderstandings and hurt feelings. Like this."

Your mother added, "We understand the bond snapping can be overwhelming, but we're here to help you navigate it. You shouldn't have to go through this alone." Her tone was gentle, but the message was clear, they expected honesty and openness from you.

"It snapped when we first met..." You whispered, looking at your lap, eyes brimming with tears, not wanting to look at their disappointment, "I'm sorry... I... I didn't tell because he is your friend... He's been your friend longer than... Than I've been alive. You won't like it."

"That was almost two centuries ago, lovely." Your mother tilted your face up by your chin, cupping your cheeks, wiping away the tears, "Shh, don't cry. It's ok, it's just a mating bond."

"That's a significant portion of your life, y/n. Two lifetimes ago, practically speaking. You're barely 400!" Rhysand exclaimed, a note of disbelief in his voice. He rubbed his temples, massaging the developing headache. He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing, "Helion's been a good friend to our family for a long time... This bond between you two is real, and we... We accept it. As your parents, it's our duty to ensure the stability and harmony of our family, even in the face of unconventional relationships. We maybe have been his friends longer, but we are your parents first. We will always be on your side."

"You... You would...?" You whispered, looking up at your father, tears still shining in your eyes. "You'd accept us?"

Rhysand's expression softened, and he offered you a reassuring smile. "Of course, sweetie. If the Mother has given you a bond, we recognize that. What matters most is your happiness and contentment." He leaned forward, moving around to rest against Feyre, placing a comforting hand on your knee. "I do wish to snap his neck but we trust your judgment. Helion's a good male, and thinking about this, perhaps the only one I trust for someone I love like you. If this is what you desire, then we support you both. Had you been younger, things would be different, but you're grown, at the age where the number starts to blur together and you feel ageless."

"Ageless, indeed," your mother mused, her gaze distant for a moment as if recalling memories blurred together decade after decade. "So much changes, yet so much remains the same." She refocused on you, her eyes filled with warmth and acceptance. "Y/n, we want you to be happy. If being with Helion brings you joy, then we won't stand in the middle of it."

Relief washed over you, easing the tension that had knotted your stomach during the tense discussion. "Thank you, Mom... Dad," You said, your voice choked with emotion. You threw your arms around your parents, burying your face in their shoulders as you sobbed quietly, overwhelmed by the depth of their love and acceptance.

After a moment, you pulled back, wiping your tears with the backs of your hands. "I love you both so much," You managed to say, smiling through the lingering mist in your eyes. "I promise, we'll make this work. No more secrets."

Feyre and Rhysand exchanged a look, and then Feyre nodded, "Absolutely, dear. Family should always be honest with each other." Rhysand added, "And Feyre Darling doesn't want me to beat Helion's ass for kissing my daughter behind my back so I'll behave."

You looked up at them, still a little laugh leaving you lips at his quip, "You truly don't care that I ruined our family?"

"Ruined our family?" Feyre laughed, a melodic sound that echoed through the room. "Oh, darling, our family has survived countless centuries of wars, fights, and more. A little unconventional romance isn't going to change that." She reached out, taking your hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Rhysand nodded in agreement, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Besides, imagine the interesting dinner conversations we'll have now with Lucien." He chuckled, the sound infectious, helping to ease the remaining tension in the room.

"Oh no, what about Uncle Lucien!?" You gasped, your father's joke making your mind spin.

"Well, son now, since you're mated to his father..." Feyre shrugged nonchalantly, hiding a smile, she was finding this amusing. "Poor Lucien," She giggled, "He'll have to get used to calling you 'mommy' now."

You visibly cringed at her words, "Oh no, the Mother messed up our family tree." Then your eyes were as wide as saucers, "I'M AUNTY LAINY'S MOTHER IN LAW OH COULDRON."

Feyre burst into laughter at your reaction, her shoulders shaking as she held onto her belly. Rhysand joined in, his deep chuckles filling the room.

Once they managed to compose themselves, Feyre wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, grinning at you. "Well, y/n, it seems the Mother does have a sense of humor after all. Just imagine the looks on their faces when they figure out their new family titles!" She giggled, clearly relishing the thought.

She placed a hand on your shoulder, her expression turning serious once more. "But in all seriousness, we're happy for you and Helion. If the Mother deemed you two meant to be, then we respect that bond."

"Can we go back now?" You asked, sighing softly, smiling at your mom, "This is enough drama to last us decades, Aunty Nes would love this... And it is mama's birthday after all..."

Feyre and Rhysand exchanged a glance, then nodded in unison. "Yes, of course, sweetie. Go enjoy the rest of your Winter Solstice celebration with your mate." Feyre stood up, pulling you into a warm hug. "Remember, our door is always open, and we love you no matter what."

Rhysand walked you to the door, his arm slung over your shoulders. "And if anyone gives you trouble, just point them in our direction. We'll handle it." With a final squeeze and a whispered "Be happy," you left the office, ready to rejoin the festivities and face whatever came next with Helion by your side.

As you stepped back into the bustling hall, the sounds of laughter and music washed over you, mingling with the aroma of food and drink. You spotted Helion standing near the fireplace, engaged in conversation with Cassian and Azriel, he was clearly being interrogated by your Uncles, like they said they would do to your mate when you were little. His eyes found you immediately, a radiant smile breaking across his face as you approached them to save your mate.

"About time you returned," Azriel remarked with the usual soft smile that he gave you. Cassian looked genuinely relieved to see you back. "There you are, little bat," He said, ruffling your hair playfully. "I hope your parents weren't too hard on you."

Cassian's tone was deceptively casual. "We were just discussing the bond with your... mate." He emphasised the word, raising an eyebrow at the male.

Helion chuckled, unfazed by the jests. "Regardless, I assure you, our bond is genuine and strong. I wouldn't have pursued her if I didn't believe in its authenticity."

Cassian snorted, rolling his eyes. "Save it for the solstice speeches, Helion."

Helion released a pent-up breath as he turned to you, as if he too had been worried about your fate. "No worse for wear." You assured him, resting your head on your mate's muscular arm. The touch sent a thrill through you, the bond crackling with renewed energy.

Cassian raised an eyebrow at the intimate gesture, but said nothing, simply inclining his head in acknowledgment of your mate status. Azriel, ever the mysterious and stoic one, merely watched the exchange with calculating hazel eyes.

"You're their nephew-in-law now..." You whispered the now messy family dynamics, "Your friend's son-in-law. And I should talk with Uncle Luce too..."

Helion's eyes sparkled with amusement at your teasing remark. "A title I never could have imagined holding, but one I'm proud to bear for you, my beloved mate."

"Sister... I..." Nyx approached you and your mate, now looking nervous, "I didn't know you were-"

"You me, tommorow, the training rink," You cut him off, "We'll talk then. Hmm?"

"I will beat your ass little sis," Nyx smirked, the tension in the room decreasing immensely. The siblings shared a knowing look, their rivalry and banter a familiar comfort. Nyx clapped you on the back, a gesture of camaraderie amidst the familial chaos. "Nah uh, I'll beat you..."

{General - @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-angst @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith @velarisnightsky444 @minnieoo @mellowmusings @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tele86 @thelov3lybookworm @romanticatheartt @inkedinshadows}

{Week Taglist - @readinf @thorins-queen-of-erebor}

[ennawrite]

I genuinely feel like a lot of e/riels don’t understand that the ACOSF bonus chapter takes place mid ACOSF and it’s not an event that happens at the end.

If you read it in chronological order, then you would see Gwyn & Az’s friendship blossom throughout their training sessions. And you would see absolutely 0 hints between Elain & Az’s relationship moving forward after Solstice.

All of the hints and breadcrumbs are there, you just gotta quit sweeping them away 😭

[joi-ryde]

it's officially solstice month for us Northern Hemisphere folks! ☀️

we're talking languid, hot days burning into steamier nights—monsters tied to the seasons hitting their mid-year ruts with the zenith of the solar calendar in June.

what better way to celebrate the midpoint of the year than with a scribble about a horned forest god and a reader who can only hope to outrun her fate (or perhaps not?)

(this was inspired by that cunty demon deer man, you know the one)

Horned God x Reader, Part One

male!god(demon?) x fem!reader, monster romance, blood, references to cannibalism, no smut (for now...later parts smut, we're building to it)

You've been trying to escape him for hours, and all you've managed to do is run out of daylight.

Soon, you're going to be bolting through the dark, and falling into a ravine is going to kill you quicker than whatever is chasing you.

His forest domain has become a maze that confounds your sense of direction and leaves you feeling completely lost—a familiar rock there, a thicket that has already been tagged with a torn piece of your shirt.

You double over and feel a stabbing, sharp pain between your ribs as you try to catch your breath.

The god, or demon, is fucking with you. You're certain of it as you stand there sweating through a pair of jogging shorts and your ragged, grass-stained tee shirt, collecting your thoughts on what the hell you could do next to escape a grim outcome.

And what is it that makes you think you're in for a bad ending like the final girl in a slasher flick?

Well, you're a soft eighty percent certain that the cultists who snatched you off the walking trail did so with a mind to giftwrap their chosen deity (possibly a demon, but then again one person's demon is another guy's deity) a whole ass snack.

Their setup had indicated as much. You were positioned, kicking and screaming, in a summoning circle, your palm cut, and erupting out of the very fabric of reality when your blood hit the chalk marks on the ground was a seven-foot, horned entity.

But what seemed off-script from what you anticipated next (being immediately devoured) was that everyone, even the monster the cultists called a god, seemed oddly perplexed you had slipped your bindings and bolted into the undergrowth.

What's also off-script about this situation?

The god has taken a flirty shine to you little ole you during this long pursuit. His purring interest has been constant over the last hour especially.

He asks after your name, which you refuse to give him.

He wheedles you to stop running, for he so wishes to speak candidly with you. You ignore him.

He praises your courage, your steadfast resistance, and you tell him to fuck off straight to Hell where he came from. That only makes him laugh.

"Darling, are you going to keep making such a fuss about this?"

Again with the pet names.

The voice is like sticking a tuning fork between your teeth. It reverberates in your bones and strokes over your nerves at the same time as if to say 'There, there.'

It projects from no one place in the forest clearing surrounding you. It's everywhere. It's nowhere.

"I am not," you spit, "your fucking darling, asshole!"

Is he trying to scare you afresh? Does prey that is especially keyed up with fear taste better? Does terror from the chase sweeten the meat?

You've stopped being afraid and now are only working yourself into a lather of curiosity and peevish annoyance.

And then the god steps out of your goddamn shadow and looms over you. You're frozen to the spot. Your legs, burning with the strain of having run for so long, crumple under you like wet paper. You grip the long grass underneath for something to hold onto.

It's your first good look at him.

Your panicked brain registers clawed hands that are blackened velveteen fading into pale skin once they reach his corded biceps. A sharp-featured face peers down at you with lazy, amused curiosity dancing in his red eyes.

The rack of antlers sweeping high from the crown of his dark-haired head almost brushes the lowest branch of the tree you're under.

"What a temper on you," he purrs, adding with dripping emphasis, "darling."

Oh, for fuck's sake, you despair. Of course he's hot.

Outwardly, you put on the tough, unflappable act that has gotten you out of tight squeezes. "Look, I get you've got to put on the whole big and bad act, but I need you to please cut the shit and speed this up."

The horned god rests an elbow on the trunk of the nearby alder. He leers down at you with that same faint amusement, drumming his claws against the bark of the tree. You try not to look at the gouge marks even this minor contact causes. It sizzles the wood, burning it.

"I've never had a mortal ask me to speed things along. It's quite refreshing from the usual drivel."

This devastatingly attractive god has a voice like oil: smooth, slippery, and a fucking peril to let it saturate your hearing.

He's wearing a skirt-kilt thing knotted around his angular waist that reminds you of all the artfully draped cloth over statues of Lucifer post-fall from grace.

The rest of his towering body filling your vision is a leanly muscled, naked chest covered in whorls of inked markings. His appearance is as hypnotic as his voice. You're dizzy with pinning your eyes on one spot. Pale, dark, pale, dark.

You resolve that you're going to die how you have lived: running off at the mouth and meeting his unflinching eye contact with a steely glare.

"Are you usually this much of a snotty asshole when it comes to appeasing those sycophants who ring your lunch bell? Give them a little dinner theater for their trouble?"

The god lets out an airy, amused chuckle, more of a giggle, really. Look at you! You've got the seven-foot killing machine tittering like a schoolgirl.

"I've no desire to consume you," he patiently reassures, and then he crouches down to your seated level. He reaches for you with his dark claws. "Now give me your hand, please."

He asks politely, genteelly, like it's the most normal thing in the world to request you stick out your arm, and by the by, he's not here to fucking eat you. In fact, he's here to be the very spirit of politeness.

Maybe you should humor him. You're in no position to refuse. Your legs are going numb from how they're folded under you.

"Which one?"

"The one they cut, of course," he says.

An impatient waggle of his big hand reminds you you're taking too long to go along with this. You do as he says and try not to flinch when his hand, dwarfing yours, is so big that his fingers close over your wrist when he cradles it.

His tongue lolls out, he leans in, and it's then you get a look at the serrated teeth he's sporting. They gleam like a knife in the fading light of dusk, and you let out a soft, shocked sound when the dark, leonine roll of the god's tongue swipes the wound.

It's clotted since you began fleeing through the woods, but the rake of his textured tongue, rough and firm, abrades the flesh and opens it anew.

It stings, and you want to jerk your hand back, but his hold is iron. There's a contented rumble that comes from the air around you. It reverberates the ground you're sprawled across, tickling your skin and raising hairs in its wake. And then it emanates from him; alright, he's into it.

A little too into it.

A fleeting thought of him wrenching your arm from its socket so he can chew on it like a choice bone makes you want to pass out, so you hold firm and let him lave over the wound like suffering the attentions of an overly large dog.

And then the cut starts to tingle. It feels...nice. When he relinquishes your hand after a minute of therapeutic licking and ground-vibrating purring, all that's left of the wound is a fresh, pink scar.

"I might have to revise my statement," he informs you gravely, still crouched. His elbows are set into his powerful thighs and his deadly hands hang idle between them.

"Which one?" you ask, dreading his answer. You clutch your newly healed hand to your throat, instinctually guarding a weak spot that those terrible teeth could rip and tear.

"The bit about not consuming you. Frankly, you're fucking delicious, darling."

And then you see a subtle twitch at the corner of one of his red eyes—a tell.

He's joking.

You call him out on his bullshit immediately.

"Oh, fuck off, man."

He laughs uproariously, slapping his knee, and you have to restrain yourself from reaching out to shove him onto his back. He topples over in his mirth, sprawling out on his side like a lion lazing in the last rays of sunlight.

Any residual terror fades to amused annoyance. Of all the gods to summon, you get the teaser. You are, for now, safe. He can call you darling all day long if it means you keep a pulse.

"No, but in all seriousness," he sobers, digging an elbow in the springy grass so he can rest his great, antlered head on his fist. "We're in a bit of a bind, darling."

How he puts that statement to you is like you're on the same team, folding in for a huddle to discuss the next big move, and plotting out the winning strategy.

The sun dips behind the horizon and the cascade of light illuminating the forest snuffs out like a candle.

"How so?" you lean in cautiously, mindful of your proximity to his antlers. It'd be the worst to poke your eye out on one of his prongs, and you don't want to find out if him licking your eyeball will restore your sight.

"The folk back in the glade aren't winning any prizes at summoning, I'm afraid to say. The nature of their ritual they used to call me to this plane is more...carnal, to tell you true, and meant to benefit you more than them."

Oh. Oh.

"Like a sex thing?" you venture, picking at the grass beneath your hands.

"Not entirely. That particular summoning binds a bride to me, not my dinner."

(AN: Holler if you want to be tagged when I post PT. 2!)

[parkerslatte]

Finding Home | Part Nine

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of parental death.

Summary: After the night they spent together, Y/N cannot get it off of her mind, neither can Azriel. When Y/N comes home distraught, Azriel seeks answers.

Finding Home Masterlist

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The very next morning, Y/N slipped out of her apartment early, leaving a note for Azriel about her whereabouts. She wouldn’t say she was avoiding him, though she didn’t want to have the inevitable conversation they were going to have just as the sun rose in the sky. 

As Y/N walked the familiar route to the music shop, she couldn’t stop thinking back to the previous night. The way, without hesitation, Azriel had offered to help with her small problem, the way he lovingly touched her body as if he was mapping it out. The way he made her feel with just one touch. Y/N was sure that she never had that reaction to anyone before. 

When she neared the store, she tried to shake her mind of all thoughts of the shadowsinger, who was sleeping so peacefully as she left the note on the coffee table. Before she left, Y/N refrained from brushing away the hair that fell across his forehead during the night. She had always thought Azriel was attractive. Yes he was handsome, but she couldn't help but think that that wasn’t the word to describe him. Beautiful was a more accurate word. 

The smooth golden skin, littered with small white scars only noticeable when he turned a specific way. The black of his hair that held warm undertones of brown when it caught in the sun. The pools of green and light brown that were framed with dark lashes, Y/N swore she had gotten lost in his eyes one one too many occasions. The familiar scent of him that brought her comfort whenever she needed it. Whenever she smelt it she thought of her home. His hands and how warm they were when she held them. Despite Azriel first flinching away when she first brushed his scarred skin, he would now seek out her hand whenever the opportunity arose. 

She wondered what he would be doing now. Would he be awake? Has he read the note yet? Was he thinking about what happened the previous night? If so, what exactly was he thinking?

Y/N groaned. She shouldn’t be imagining what Azriel’s responses to those questions were. They were friends. Friends do not– should not think of each other that way. Although… 

“Y/N!” Eowyn, the elderly music shop owner, called to her. She was sweeping the ground outside of the shop as she waved at Y/N. “You didn’t need to come in today.”

Y/N shrugged as she approached Eowyn. “I felt guilty about not working for a few weeks. I left you all on your own.”

Eowyn waved her hand dismissively. “Nonsense. There wasn’t much to do, you know how it can be during the weeks during solstice and after.”

“Well I thought I could help around today,” Y/N said. “Stack shelves. Dust off the older instruments.”

Eowyn continued to sweep. “Be my guest.”

Y/N smiled as she entered the shop. It was small and the entire building was slightly slanted, but Y/N loved that. It gave the building character. She placed her back down behind the counter as she got to work. 

***

There was barely anything to do around the shop as Y/N sat behind the counter mindlessly tapping on the countertop. 

“Y/N,” Eowyn said, coming out of the back room. “You can go home. I am sure you’d rather be with this mystery male you are not telling me about.”

Y/N stilled. “What?”

Eowyn sat down on the other chair behind the counter. “There is a scent that lingers on you that has been there ever since Solstice.”

Y/N frowned. She had made sure to wash herself thoroughly that morning. Of course she wasn’t ashamed of what her and Azriel did at all, considering it was all she could think about. But she did not know how he felt about the whole ordeal. Washing away any evidence of what they did was most likely for the best. But Azriel was always at her apartment and his scent lingered on all of her things, so it was hard to avoid a place in her apartment where his scent didn’t linger.

“There isn’t a mystery male,” Y/N said. “But there is someone living with me currently.”

“Who is it?” Eowyn asked.

“Why does it matter–”

“I’m old,” Eowyn stated. “Let me have fun with a little gossip. I miss being young.”

“Eowyn, I’m not exactly young,” Y/N said.

“Well you’re a lot younger than me,” Eowyn said. “So tell me.”

Y/N sighed. “His name is Azriel.”

Eowyn gasped. “That Azriel. Spymaster to the court.”

“Yes, that Azriel,” Y/N said.

“Consider me intrigued,” Eowyn said. “Tell me how you met.”

“It was on Solstice night,” Y/N began. “He looked lonely on a bench and it was raining so I offered him my umbrella. He came back to my apartment and he has been there since. I have grown rather fond of him.”

“‘Fond’, is that what we are calling it these days?” Eowyn asked, an eyebrow raised. 

The sharp ringing of a bell sounded throughout the shop and Y/N’s gaze darted to the entrance. A mother and daughter stood in the threshold, an uncertain look in the mothers eye. Y/N smiled warmly at the two. 

“Hello,” Y/N greeted. “What can I do for you today?”

“I was wondering if I could squeeze my daughter in for piano classes anytime soon?” the mother asked. 

“Of course,” Y/N replied. “What is your availability like?”

The mother shrugged. “Anytime. We both have more free time on our hands recently.”

Y/N closed her small notebook. “It just so happens that today has been particularly quiet so I am available to give a lesson now?”

“Really?” the mother asked, a flash of surprise passing over her face. “That would be amazing.”

Y/N smiled at the pair and looked at the daughter standing just behind the mother. “How does that sound?”

A small smile appeared on the young girl's face as she shyly nodded. 

“Alright, if you follow me through to the back room I can get everything set up!” Y/N said. 

***

Azriel folded the blanket and placed it over the back of the couch. His shadows swirling around his shoulders. He had been trying to keep himself busy all day when Y/N was gone. He tried to complete one of the easier tasks on the list but it felt wrong without Y/N by his side. Despite the shadows not having any emotion, Azriel was sure that they were judging him as he picked up the blanket once more and folded it again.

For the whole day all Azriel could think about was the night previous. It has been replaying on his mind constantly. There were instances where Azriel thought he could feel the ghost of Y/N’s touch on his body. How he wished it were real.

Without Y/N beside him, Azriel fought the urge to secretly finish paperwork he needed to do for Rhys. Despite the basic and clear orders that he would not complete any missions for Rhys in these three months, Azriel felt the familiar itch arriving. He wanted to go on a mission, he wanted to train, he wanted to fight. It had been years since he had the urge to do that for himself rather than those around him. 

The last mission Azriel had been on was just before Solstice, just before Y/N came to light up his life. It was the longest Azriel had been on in years, lasting just over seven months. Although most of those seven months were spent with Azriel locked up behind bars after he was captured. Looking back, it was stupid of him to be caught, he was simply lost in his thoughts– a thing that had begun to happen far too regularly for Azriel’s liking. 

Nobody knew. Not Rhys. Not Cassian. Not Feyre, Nesta or Elain. The only sentient being who knew were his shadows and that was only because they had been locked up with him. The slaughter that happened when he finally broke free would turn anyone away from their meal. Azriel was sure that Elain would have passed out at just the description of what he did– she would have had a heart attack if she saw the aftermath.

Deep down, Azriel always knew that he and Elain were not a good match. They were far too different. Her aversion to violence and his crave for it some of the time was one of the long list of reasons why it would have never gone further than that brief tryst. 

As Azriel sat down on the couch his mind began reeling. How would Y/N react to violence? He thought. 

Y/N knew who Azriel was. She knew what he did and it did not seem to bother her. But would seeing it in reality change her opinion. What would happen if she were to witness the monstrosities he committed? Would she call him a monster? Would she abandon him just like many past lovers? 

No, Azriel thought. Y/N would never do that. 

Although he could never know that for certain. 

***

It was not long before the door to Y/N’s apartment was opened and she stepped through it silently. Azriel’s head snapped in her direction as she softly closed the door and locked it behind her. 

“How was work?” Azriel asked, standing to his feet. He was unsure why. 

“It was fine.” Y/N’s answer was short and brief. Very unlike her, Azriel deduced. 

Inching closer to her, Azriel ducked his head down as Y/N threw her bag down on the floor. Her eyes were glassy with tears and her face presented clear signs of distress. Azriel fought the urge to reach out to her. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice pained as seeing her in such a state hurt him. 

“It’s nothing,” Y/N waved, trying to step past Azriel. 

His hazel eyes softened. “Y/N, it’s not nothing.”

“How would you know?” Y/N snapped. 

The shadows at his shoulders recoiled at her harsh tone before slowly unwinding from Azriel’s body to wrap around Y/N. Azriel allowed them as he noted that her rigid posture slowly began to relax. Down by Azriel’s sides, his hands twitched again, wanting desperately to pull her into his arms. 

“If you want to be alone, I can return to my apartment,” Azriel suggested, not knowing how to comfort her. 

A long sigh left Y/N’s lips. “No, you can stay here. I would prefer it actually. But I’m just going to lay down for a while.”

Azriel nodded, unsure of what he should do. “Do you need anything?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, I’m fine.”

As Y/N walked away from him, Azriel felt sadness wash over him, he was unsure why. His eyebrows pulled together in concern as he slowly sat down on the couch again. Y/N watched him do so before joining him. Azriel could feel her thigh knock against his as she shuffled to get comfortable. His shadows caressed her body to comfort her and Azriel wished he were the one doing it instead. But after the previous night, he wasn’t sure where she stood with physical contact. 

The few stray tears that had escaped down Y/N’s cheeks were wiped away as she let out a long sigh, picking at her nail beds. “There was a little girl who came in for an impromptu piano lesson today,” Y/N began. “At first everything was going okay. She was picking everything up so quickly, I was beginning to wonder why she even needed lessons. But around half way into the lesson, her mother pulled me aside and thanked me.”

More tears began to fall down Y/N’s cheeks and she didn’t even attempt to wipe them away. Azriel placed his hand palm up on his thigh, an offering if she wanted to take it. 

“I asked her why she was thanking me and she explained–” Y/N cut herself off to steady her breathing. Azriel’s heart ached. Just seeing Y/N in pain was causing his own. 

“She explained to me that her feather used to teach her and they would play together all the time until he passed away a year ago– he passed away from the same sickness my own father did.” Y/N’s hand reached for Azriel’s and he laced his fingers with hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Her daughter hadn’t even touched her own piano since her father passed. She was so young, Azriel.”

Y/N couldn’t hold back her cries anymore as her whole body began to shake. Azriel pulled her into his arms, hoping that he could take the pain away from her, or at least lessen it to an extent. 

“Normally something like that wouldn’t have bothered me,” Y/N continued. “But it's coming up to the anniversary of his death and it’s hard. That little girl reminded me so much of myself. I haven’t been able to play my fathers piano since he passed.”

Azriel did not know what to say as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. His only comfort he had to offer right now was his embrace, he hoped it was enough. 

“I just feel so alone,” Y/N admitted. “I have no family and all of my friends have their own. I am nearly five hundred years old. I should have those things. I should have a family and I feel so selfish for saying it.”

“You are not selfish, Y/N,” Azriel muttered. “Don’t ever think that. And you are not alone, you have people around you that adore you.” I love you. “Everyone you meet falls in love with you. It is hard not to.”

Y/N did not respond. She remained silent as she continued to hold onto Azriel. He wished he could find the right words. He was typically a male of few words, but he always had the right words to say if someone needed reassurance or comforting. But in Y/N’s presence, it was as if any cohesive thought left his brain. 

“I am glad you are here with me,” Y/N confessed. “I don’t think I have ever been so comfortable with someone before.”

There was a feeling within Azriel that he couldn’t describe. He knew it wasn’t love, it was deeper than that, something more meaningful– more sacred. Azriel was sure he never wanted to feel anything different ever again. 

“Why don’t we get away from the court for a little while?” Azriel suggested. 

Y/N pulled away to look at Azriel in the eyes. “Where?”

“The Summer Court. You mentioned a theatre and I am sure that there are plenty of beaches to tick off some of the tasks on the list,” Azriel said. “If you don’t feel up to it, forget I suggested it.”

A soft hand cupped his cheek and Azriel lent into the touch. A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. “I would love to do that. When shall we leave?”

“Tomorrow?” Azriel suggested. 

Y/N fully smiled. “Tomorrow it is.”

The two continued to sit together until the sun fully set. Neither of them spoke and sat in a comfortable silence. Azriel hoped that Y/N couldn’t hear his heart beating so rapidly. Normally he could control his emotions around others he liked but with Y/N he was finding it extremely difficult. He fought the urge to drop down on his knees and confess his feelings to her then and there. 

“Do you want dinner?” Azriel asked, distracting himself from those thoughts of Y/N. 

“I’m not too hungry,” Y/N replied, tilting her head to look at Azriel, her arms remaining wrapped around him. “And I was thinking about getting an early night before tomorrow.”

There were only centimetres between their lips and Azriel immediately noticed as his gaze threatened to look at them. Despite her more composed demeanour, Azriel could tell Y/N was doing the same. 

“That sounds like a good idea,” Azriel said, breathless, as if he had just returned from a full day of training. 

Y/N’s gaze dipped down to Azriel’s mouth as she unconsciously leaned forward. He moved his hand to caress the side of her face. 

“I was wondering…” Y/N spoke, but as she did so, her lips lightly brushed over his. “...if you could stay with me in my room tonight. I don’t want to be alone.”

Everything within Azriel was telling him to pull back as their breath mixed between them. Azriel could already imagine all of the ways he would kiss her, where he would kiss her to elicit those sweet sounds from her lips once again. 

Forcing himself to move away, Azriel pulled back and he could have sworn that there was a quick look of disappointment on Y/N’s face. Instead he offered her his hand. “Of course I’ll stay with you.”

A smile returned to Y/N’s face as he took the hand Azriel offered. He led her to her bedroom where she broke off to quickly change out of her day clothes and into something more comfortable to sleep in. Respectfully, Azriel turned away as he changed out of his clothes, leaving only his underwear on.

Azriel continued to face the wall until he heard Y/N crawl under the covers. He turned to find her looking at him, a shy smile upon her face. 

Once he got into the bed, Azriel noticed the nightgown Y/N wore, it was silk and displayed the soft skin of her legs, legs he knew the feeling of. 

Without thinking, Azriel pulled Y/N into his arms, his chest pressing firmly against her back. She went rigid and Azriel realised the mistake he had made. They weren’t a couple, holding her like this in her bed, her body pressed tightly against his chest, was not something he should have done. Before Azriel had the chance to pull away, Y/N relaxed and leaned further back into his arms and sighed. 

Azriel couldn’t help but smile and tighten his grip around her middle. 

“This is okay, right?” Azriel whispered into her hair. 

“This is perfect,” Y/N replied, her voice breathless. 

It wasn’t long before Y/N’s breathing had slowed and Azriel was left laying awake. He had never been more relaxed and content as he was laying in bed with Y/N. All thoughts left his head and were replaced by Y/N. It was as if she was consuming his very soul. She was the only thing he would think about. She was the only thing worth thinking about. 

“I love you,” Azriel whispered and pressed a kiss against the back of her head. 

Azriel knew she didn’t hear it but just saying it out loud completely solidified his feelings. He loved Y/N. He was in love with Y/N. 

When Azriel slept that night, peaceful dreams followed him for the first time in centuries. 

Taglist:

@justdreamstars @thesunloveschips @hijabi-desi-bookworm @mischiefmanagers @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @nightcourt-daydreaming @pinksmellslikelove @schultzlindsey5 @mell-bell @we-were-beautiful @fightmedraco @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @luvmoo @daily-dose-of-sass @applerubyy @tonysttank @just-a-social-casualty-1 @scatteredstardustt @i-m-in-loki-s-army @katlyndawn51 @witchymomfrien @tele86 @sfhsgrad-blog @judig92 @prettylittlewrites @mybestfriendmademe @aria-chikage @phoenix666stuff @acphengene @tothestarsandwhateverend @littlelunatica @darkbloodsly @impossibelle @mysticalfuncollectorus @books-and-lit @acphengene @mindofthescattered @loving-and-dreaming @shakiraa-a @lilah-asteria @krowiathemythologynerd @rcarbo1 @bugg06 @darlingoftheshadowss @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife @lsminddump @badgerstorms-art

- TAGLIST CLOSED -

[biteofcherry]

Oh boy I'm nervous lol

But, I want Steve rogers to sweep me away

✨✨✨

Usually, you didn't chance the risk and fully locked your small shop when you neared your heat.

But when Steve called and asked if he could come for the supplies, you couldn't tell him no.

Besides, you reasoned with yourself, your heat was still a few days away. Your scent was slightly spiked and you felt needier already, but it was manageable and bearable.

And maybe, just maybe, your scent would lure Steve.

He was a fine Alpha. A dreamy one.

He and his brothers lived far up in the mountains, secluded from the people and coming to town only for supplies, or rare visits; like for the summer solstice festival.

You wouldn't mind, if he got a little crazy over your scent and helped you through your heat. You surely wouldn't mind, if he decided to pin you down and bite into your mating gland as he locked you on his knot.

When Steve's sunshine smile greeted you as he walked into your shop, your body temperature rose. His scent mixed with the smell of fresh pastries that you baked, making you feel cozy and comfortable.

"As always, we need lots." Steve laughed when you confirmed with him the long list of what he and his brothers ordered.

From what you knew, the mountain Alphas were self-sufficient, but every few months they stocked on your preserves and baking goods. Which greatly improved your budged, as well made you preen that they loved your products so much.

"I've already prepared the crates." you motioned at the stock of crates and baskets you spent all morning gathering. They were now heavy as hell.

"Help me out?" Steve asked. "I'll bring the crates and you stack them in the back of the van?"

"Sure!" You smiled at him and eagerly pranced outside to where the van was parked.

They often used massive trucks when they came into town, but for the supplies they had this big van, with chains on the wheels, because high up in the mountains the ice and snow were already setting in.

As you hopped into the back of the van, deliciously decadent scent filled your nose. There were those lovely apple tones of Steve's scent, but also layers of something else.

A shiver ran down your spine as your hormones eagerly responded to the heightened stimuli.

Steve brought the first batch of crates and you pushed them to the back of the van. You worked well together and soon all of the supplies were packed in.

You secured one of the free baskets between few crates, to make sure the jars in it wouldn't wobble out, when the van's door closed.

You instantly felt another presence with you. Your heat spiked as the complex scent of sweet chocolate and burnt, slightly salty caramel engulfed you.

"Delicious morsel." A new voice purred behind you, causing you to whirl around in surprise.

"J-Johnny?" You gasped, recognizing the younger Alpha and the tattooed flames peeking from beneath his rolled up sleeves of his flannel shirt.

"Steve was right, you will be perfect for me." He licked his lips hungrily.

[starsreminisce]

The first time Lucien and Elain were together, Lucien lunged for her, cleaving through the King of Hybern's spells to reach her and whispering that they were mates.

The second time Lucien and Elain were together, Elain's eyes began to focus as soon as she learned Lucien's name.

The third time Lucien and Elain were together, Lucien felt Elain through the bond, and she immediately had a vision of two ravens coming.

The fourth time Lucien and Elain were together, Elain spoke clearly about how the queen with the feathers of flame might come, and it was Lucien who volunteered to ensure she would.

The fifth time Lucien and Elain were together, they shared a look before he turned to leave for his quest. Elain tried to stop him but ultimately let him go.

The sixth time Lucien and Elain were together, Lucien asked if she was okay when he saw the blood on her after she stabbed the King of Hybern, and Elain observed the blood on him, asked if he was okay, and gave him her second smile in the entire book when he answered he was in one piece.

The seventh time Lucien and Elain were together, during the post-Hybern War meeting, Elain smiled and said she wanted to plant more gardens.

The eighth time Lucien and Elain were together, Lucien revealed that he was moving to the Human Lands and reminded Feyre and, by proxy, Rhys that they would still need Tamlin's support as High Lord.

The ninth time Lucien and Elain were together, Lucien tried to hide his longing from Elain as she accepted his present.

The tenth time Lucien and Elain were together, it was after Solstice, and they were implied to be close together, as Nesta was sweeping the room and calling out people she was seeing right before she was kidnapped for the Blood Rite and Feyre underwent her labor.

All of Elain and Lucien's moments together have been connected to significant events in the story.

As much as I would love for them to share private and sweet moments, SJM is clearly linking them to something much larger and more important. Something that they both are not yet ready for until they decide who they want to be.

[blondejellykitty]

₊♡ ˚⊹ it's all too familiar ₊♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ percy jackson x unclaimed reader ୨୧ after meeting a talking centaur, life couldn't get much stranger. a/n: (1.2k words) sorry this took so long! x this is part two - series masterlist -

It took you a while to adjust to Camp Half Blood. The greek styled cabins, the unruly forests that surrounded the place, the sword wielding campers. It was very different from New York.

Percy had brought you to where Chiron, a wise centaur, stood waiting for you both. A grumpy looking man in a horrendous Hawaiian shirt sat at a small table reading a strange magazine written in an unfamiliar language.

It was then that you were told of the rules and whatnots of the Camp.

Unfortunately Chiron took it quite personally when you called the place a cult. The other man snorted from behind his magazine.

"That's Mr D, don't worry about him. He's always grumpy after the solstice." Percy leaned over to whisper an introduction.

You barely heard the rest of his explanation. Another whirl of visions raced through your mind. Sights of a tall handsome man, nothing like the one that sat in front of you. The memories of curses inflicted on those he despised and blessings on those he deemed worthy. The scent of wine, sweet grapes, salt and copper pinched your nose. The looks of the mad, the crazy. Their eyes blended together into one purple set. Dionysus. God of wine and insanity.

The after effects dimmed better than the previous time. A small thudding headache and a wave of dizziness affecting you. You brushed it off and let Percy continue showing you around.

You were placed in the Hermes cabin. Glimpses of a fluffy haired brunette man wearing a winged helmet. In other flashes he wore winged sandals. You saw entire lineages cursed by his hand, thieves being guided by his hand. You were overwhelmed with the amount of fast paced movement that flooded around him. Hermes. God of travelers, messenger of the gods.

As you entered,you placed the little belongings that you had left, ones you didn't particularly care if they got stolen, on the spare bed in the far left corner of the room.

The entirety of Cabin Eleven seemed to be uncomfortable about your presence there. When you'd enter the cabin or sit with them at meal times, their eyes would watch you as if they were waiting for you to do something. What it was they were waiting for, you didn't know.

You asked Percy what their problem was a week into your stay. He had said not to take it personally, they just had bad memories about having an unclaimed person staying with them. He briefly mentioned something to do with a war against Kronos.

Flashes of a blonde dark eyed man. He wore imposing armor and stood tall. Glimpses of brutal, grotesque murders, lies and schemes for revenge filled your head. You saw each of his children, one by one 'disappearing' by his hand. A burning madness and painful grief echoes harshly in your mind causing you to fall to the ground. Kronos, Titan of Time, King of the Titans.

Percy had forced you to the infirmary even after you insisted you were fine. He sat you down on an empty cot. He introduced you to their best healer. Will Solace, Son of Apollo.

Flickers of a curly haired blonde blue eyed man. You saw warm teachings of instruments. Beautiful melodies rang through in your ears. You saw plagues sweeping entire cities and guided arrows under his guidance. Flashes of oracles and prophets blessed by him. A blinding light overcame you, the sun itself you realized. Apollo, god of prophecy, archery and the sun. (among many other things, your brain reminded you)

You felt your nose trickle blood down your chin. You felt overwhelmed and your brain felt fuzzy.

"Yeah, you'll have to stay overnight. At least." Will had said as he looked closer at you. You still remember the concern that filled his eyes.

You'd stayed in the infirmary for a full week before you were returned to Cabin Eleven. However when it came to your Camp activities and meeting more people. You'd had your weird 'sights' of Iris, Athena, Ares and Nike while trying to socialize with your new peers. Which all in one day was too much for you.

So you wound up back inside the familiar infirmary. After a few more days there, you knew you should have told someone about what you were seeing. After the 'party centaurs' had visited for the day you were sure your visions weren't the strangest thing in the world. But every time you went to tell Percy, or Will, a deep feeling of dread would fill your chest and your throat would tighten. You just... couldn't do it.

Percy had been traveling to Olympus the longer you stayed unclaimed. He'd been getting more and more frustrated at the gods not keeping their promise but many of them assured him that you truly weren't their child... Which didn't make you feel much better.

After a few months had gone by you decided to move out of Cabin Eleven and permanently stay in the infirmary. As terrible as it sounds it really wasn't that bad. You were friends with Will and not that many campers actually spent long there, they usually just got the Nectar or Ambrosia that they needed and were off on their way.

You'd had visions of almost every Greek god you could name. However they seemed to continue, no longer were they brief introductions, now they were smaller memories of the spoken gods. You'd see faces of their children, their lovers' deaths. The people they'd cursed, the ones they'd bless. You'd seen their arguments with each other. Their sharing of secrets. You've seen them on Olympus, in the Underworld, in Atlantis, in the Mortal World. It left you bedridden when you saw particularly important memories of theirs. Which was the main reason Chiron allowed you to stay in the infirmary.

Percy had been so sweet and kind the entire time. He'd visit you for hours every day. He'd tell you about the activities you missed, the plans for capture the flag games. He made sure you shared your meals with him at his table. And when you weren't lying in bed you were in his cabin with him. You'd read the books he could never finish out loud together. He'd bring you his mothers famous blue cookies to share with him.

And on his birthday he'd spent the day with you. You'd given him his gift, wrapped in fishes and sea creatures with a blue ribbon. Inside was a number of different hand crafted jewelry you'd made for him when you laid bored in bed.

You remember apologizing to him, saying that you wished you could've gotten him more. You'd felt guilty you couldn't go out to the mall to buy him proper jewelry or even just a fancier gift. But you remember the way he softly told you to shut up and the way he'd hugged you as if you'd disappear.

After that day he'd taken you down to the bottom of the lake. You were scared at first but you trusted Percy with everything. It soon became a weekly event. The two of you sitting at the bottom of the lake watching the fishes swim closely to Percy, sometimes letting you touch them. It was calm under the sea, or at least it was with Percy by your side.

It wasn't until the next solstice where you were specifically asked to attend that you realized how you never wanted to leave Percy's side. It was also at that solstice that you realized that you didn't have that option anymore no matter how much you wanted it.