#◜blackberry: desires / shipping.◞

[doughiestwarriors]

   blackberry cookie tags !

◜blackberry: inbox / replies.◞ ◜blackberry: behavior.◞ ◜blackberry: headcanon.◞ ◜blackberry: in character.◞ ◜blackberry: mirror / faceclaim.◞ ◜blackberry: isms.◞ ◜blackberry: playlist.◞ ◜blackberry: aesthetics.◞   ◜blackberry: desires / shipping.◞ ◜blackberry: attire.◞

◜blackberry cookie / v. main.◞ 🇷​🇪​🇸​🇵​🇪​🇨​🇹​ 🇴​🇷​🇩​🇪​🇷​ ﹠ 🇱​🇴​🇦​🇹​🇭​ 🇲​🇪​🇸​🇸​. ◜blackberry cookie / v. alt.◞ 🇵​🇺​🇹​ 🇲​🇾​ 🇸​🇪​🇷​🇻​🇮​🇨​🇪​ 🇹​🇴​ 🇹​🇭​🇪​ 🇹​🇪​🇸​🇹​.

[iniziare]

FILL IN WITH DETAILS ABOUT YOUR MUSE AS IF THEY WERE A CHARACTER IN A DATING SIM. (🤭)

NAME — Yelan PROFESSION — (Intelligence officer tied to a certain logical governing body) Mistress of the Yanshang Teahouse, after having fully cleaned it up and turned its reputation around. And it may function as something else after hours, but shh, you wouldn't know.

WHERE THEY CAN BE FOUND — In Chenyu Village (or Fontaine), seated among its locals, engaging in casual discussions surrounding its teas, that year's harvest, tales of days gone by, or perhaps she'll be in Liyue Harbor where she could be doing similar things, much to Ganyu's eternal confusion as to how easily she indulges in such social things, despite not being an extrovert by nature. If she's been too stagnant and repetitive, or threatens to be, she'll flip a dice and possibly find herself in Inazuma. And if we're speaking work (and even outside of what's 'required' of her, then it is, of course, the Chasm.

FAVORITE FOOD TYPE — Cuisine of the... 'piquant' variety, or as some would likely describe it: food that feels like 'your stomach has descended into the deepest pits of hell'. It's not out of any sort of 'enjoys pain' or 'masochistic' type of reasoning, but simply that she grows bored of food as she does of other things. Once you try something even slightly spicy, food that isn't simply... loses more and more flavor.

FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK — Alcohol is not exactly her thing. She could indulge in it, but she's not the greatest fan of how it affects a person mentally. But, in some situations, I could see her reaching for cocktails like a kir, or a martini (simple red, or we're going fruity, like a blueberry martini to also match the aesthetic), I could also see her reaching for a vesper actually (don't sigh at me), or something more refreshing and unique like a Blueberry Lavender Fizz. Now, if we apply the same logic to her with drinks as we do with food, that she gets 'bored' because she's veered into spicy. Then we need to look at unique and bolder drinks with twists (I had to research a bit): a Blackberry Jalapeño Smash is an option, although tequila doesn't scream Yelan... hmm, perhaps a Boulevardier if we're not adding traditional spice to it, the Blood and Sand is another option when I look at the mashup of ingredients, though the dash of absinthe, while certainly daring, could be as much of a firm 'no' as it could be an intrigue. Any way, I've rambled on this more than enough.

WHERE THEY WOULD GO ON A DATE — Something simple, actually. A walk in the open air would already be nice. She's not a 'thrill seeker', she simply seeks to find something different from her usual, which something as simple as a walk when it's dark overhead, or even specifically out in the bright sun, would already be.

IDEAL GIFT — Yelan is not materialistic whatsoever, and finds the strongest appreciation in those who pique her interest. So this, I guess she has in common with Serval: your time. But outside of that, if insistent, she's quite curious by trade and nature, and comes from a nation deeply rooted in old traditions and thorough history, which is something that's very firmly rooted in her. In that light, if she gets to be exposed to something that she doesn't know, especially in presence of one she enjoys the company of? Perfect.

HOW MANY DATES UNTIL THEY KISS — Considering that she doesn't really "date", or hold desire to really 'find someone', this isn't really applicable. The one time that I have it set for her that it happened (hi hello, the ship main verse), it was on the first, but the date followed a fair bit of time in which interest kind of... simmered and grew. So it wasn't one's usual 'first date'. If we're talking physical altercations, it is definitely quite fast.

Tagged by: @resolutepath 💙 (Do you wanna do it for Ning, by chance?) Tagging: @delusionaid (Wriothesley) @daybreakrising (Blade) @avaere (it'd be comical for Veritas, but only if you wanted to do it again) @aventvrina and anyone else who'd like to do it, feel free to say I tagged you. I'd love to read it.

[clandekariios]

Twenty Tav Questions Meme! (Dekarios fam edition)

tagged by @unhingedbutpretty and i am tagging @fiddlin-across-faerun @ofluckandmagic @karmints and @astralrogue

I. what do they smell like at their freshest? (and/or after a tenday. your choice)

Garrett: sandalwood and plum

Gavin: juniper and petrichor, earthy forests

Gale: rich wine, fresh soap, parchment and ink

Morena: rosewater and blackberry

II. what would their blood taste like to vampires?

Garrett: light and fresh, i think. like if seaside air could be a drink, that's the vibe. refreshing and invigorating, pure.

Gavin: deep and rich. like a really nice wine with sharper tones rather than fruity notes.

Gale: obviously horrid if he's got the orb, post orb i think he'd taste like a nice bourbon or something with that vibe, something oak aged and with the vibes of a nice drink in a good glass while reading a book that feels really good in your hands and has a nice leather bound cover. i am a bit too poetic about describing what he would taste like and i think that shows why i am so smitten with him oops.

Morena: something between the light and fresh and deep and rich vibes. wholesome. like it could keep you going for days and days. sunshine rays and a warm hug, like how when you eat a good soup, it makes your belly all warm and contented and you feel like you could just stay all happy and content forever.

III. how would they kiss their LI?

Garrett: depends on the situation, passionate and hungry as if he's not seen his lover in years, or slow and languid like a sunday morning and take his time to really explore them and feel them. either way, whatever the emotion they won't be thinking they aren't cherished and the absolute center of his universe. (or more than one LI, Gav and Garrett are both open to being in poly ships)

Gavin: desperately with a tinge of something melancholic. like he's always afraid if he closes his eyes his lover will disappear and he'll be alone again. constantly starving for physical affections and kisses.

Gale: again, depends on his mood or the situation. he will both express his desires and seek to help his LI express theirs through kisses. but it's either lovestruck and gentle, incredulous that he gets to kiss his LI whenever he wants, or hungry and insistent.

IV. how do they sleep with their LI (what position, does one steal the blankets, is one too hot/cold, etc)?

It's no secret i've already said these boys are the epitome of sleep cuddling. Garrett and Gale will nestle right up to their LI (or LI's) and octopus cuddle the entire night long. Gavin has never had a normal sleeping position in his life despite being a cuddler as well. He steals blankets, turns upside down, goes diagonal across the bed, and likely gives his poor LI (or Li's) quite the experience with his cold feet and sharp elbows. (But if you make any of these boys the little spoon they will immediately calm down and sleep without any flopping around or talking/walking) Garrett and Gavin sleep warm, Gale is always cold and seeking his Li's warmth or trying to steal blankets from them.

V. what does their tent area look like? where do they prefer to pitch their tent (next to water, covered on three sides, etc)?

Gavin always puts the tent next to water and covered on three sides for ventilation. They typically try as much as possible if they're traveling together to share a tent, unless the verse or thread has otherwise established that they're not traveling together. If they have seperate tents or aren't together then they all keep a pretty neat tent, without too much clutter. Gale and Garrett obviously keep a bunch of books and parchment to hand. Gavin keeps various bits and bobs around like feathers to fletch new arrows, whetstones for sharpening blades and maybe even bits of animal feed. Always space no matter what the tent looks like for any of the Dekarios creature companions to sleep or hang out.

VI. if they had a set of dnd dice, what would they look like?

Garrett: blue and gold

Gale: ivory and silver

Gavin: forest green and navy

Morena: rose quartz pink with gold

VII. do they collect anything (gems, bottles, keys, etc)?

Gavin collects grudges lmao, bounty hunters tend to do that. Gale and Garrett collect rare books and lanceboard sets/pieces. Morena collects little animal figurines for her curios cabinet.

VIII. if either, are they part of the astarion/gale book club (magic & literature) or the wyll/shadowheart book club (trashy romance novels)?

Gavin doesn't really read, Morena reads shitty romance novels, and Gale and Garrett read like poetry collections and magic stuff and like, scholarly journals.

IX. if they had to be put in a “get along shirt” with a companion, who would it be?

Garrett: Minthara or Astarion maybe? he gets along with most anyone so it's hard to pick.

Gale: Mithara or Jaheira? Hmm.

Gavin: Keeps to himself and tries to interact as little as possible so idk. He tends not to itneract enough to piss anyone off but...Shadowheart? Lae'zel?

X. do they prefer speak with dead or speak with animals?

Gavin and Gale prefer speak with animals, Garrett prefers speak with dead.

XI. what are their thoughts on clowns?

No. Absolutely not. Not after The Incident TM. (gavin's eighth birthday party) Next question please.

XII. their companions are gossiping about them behind their back! who is it and what are they saying?

Gale talks shit with Lae'zel about the others anyways lmfao. But we done been knew that Gale's always getting gossipped about too. He's too wordy, too pretentious, too attractive, whatever. If it's about Gav then it's because he's too brooding and isolationist, or rude. Or he loves his raven more than everyone else. Garrett, probably that he's too personable or that he keeps trying to help everyone they come across, his big heart is gonna be our downfall, blah blah blah....

XIII. what makes them laugh? what does their laugh sound like?

Gavin is the hardest to make laugh, but if you can crack a darker joke or something that hits his funny bone he transforms entirely. Gav's laugh is rich and short and unexpected, and you'll want to hear it again but you won't because it's very hard to make happen. Garrett and Gale laugh quickly and easily, and it reaches their eyes completely, comes from deep down in the part of a person that's the most genuine. They have very melodic laughs like stanzas from a song.

XIV. do they have any inside jokes among their companions?

With each other, yes. I can also see Karlach and Garrett having in jokes, and Lae'zel and Gale, once she learns how to joke properly. Gav is a lot harder to joke with. But once you do get inside his lil shell, and learn exactly what he likes (with no little effort on your part), it's easy to make him laugh.

XV. what’s the description of their camp clothes in the inventory menu?

Garrett: "These well loved yet no less attractive attire smell of fresh ink and parchment, of long nights spent in deep thought. Above the wizard-typical scent you catch a whiff of sunshine and promise, like when you were a child having an ice cream on a hot summer day."

Gavin: "A well patched set of garments speaking of long nights in the elements, and long days spent on the hunt. They smell of damp earth, oiled blades, and adrenaline fueled sweat."

Gale: "Somehow, Gale has managed to make his clothes smell like a library. To inhale their aroma is to feel a sudden urge to speak more quietly. Or pay a fine."

XVI. what’s the description of their underwear in the inventory menu?

Gale: "Energy crackles around these. Gale wouldn't... Surely he didn't enchant his..."

Garrett: "A well kept set of silk shorts. Something about them glimmers in the right lighting."

Gavin: "The embroidery just under the waistband reads, "Did you enjoy the show?"

XVII. how do they celebrate their birthday?

At home, Dekarios birthdays are riotously large and outrageous. Every family member and friend in a ten mile radius is invited. Home cooked meals, cakes that have been worked over for days, personalized birthday gifts. Lots of good wine and good food, and good company. Usually ends with Gavin drunkenly reciting raunchy poetry while standing on a table. Otherwise, if one of them isn't home to celebrate, a simple sending spell will suffice to let them know they're thought of by their loved ones. (And that when they return, they'll get one hell of a party.)

XVIII. what modern day tv show would they binge over a weekend? do they get their LI to watch with them?

Obviously Gav would watch The Mandalorian and criticize it. Gale and Garrett would watch Merlin or some other such magic centric show. Morena would watch hella soap operas and threaten them not to disturb her stories.

XIX. do you have a playlist for your tav? if so, what’s the title + description?

not at the moment, but i am thinking about it seriously.

XX. if you were to try pickpocketing them, what would they be carrying?

You'd not likely make it far pickpocketing Gavin, but he'd likely have a few coins, hair ties, pins, probably a vial or two of some sort of poison or paralytic agent. He'd have some sort of birdseed or something for Hawthorne. Gale would have hair ties and coins, maybe a few spare buttons in case he lost one. Garrett has hair ties and pins, coins, scrap parchment and maybe a broken quill. Usually before the orb is taken care of Gale tries to keep small artifacts on him as well like rings or necklaces.

[thedragonagelesbian]

Cyrus and Wyll: 14, 5, 33

Cyrus and Halsin: 7, 12, 34

Cyrus and Karlach: 21, 26, 36

BG3 Cyrus and Meredith (redacted): 13, 10, 12

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Ship asks :DDDDDD

CyrusXWyll

14. How would they describe one another if asked?

Cyrus about Wyll: Wyll is... gods, where to even begin? He's handsome, silly, charming, joyful, poetic, but most of all he's good. The kind of good that makes you believe in good again.

Wyll about Cyrus: Cyrus is a bit like a blackberry bush: sure, there are brambles and thorns, and even the leaves will prick you, but there's a great deal of sweetness to be found if you've a steady hand.

5. What’s their love language like? Are they compatible with one another?

Cyrus shows love through acts of service and likes to be shown love through physical touch.

Wyll shows love through words of affirmation and likes to be shown love through quality time.

They're immensely compatible, Wyll's words of affirmation make Cyrus blush and Cyrus' acts of service make Wyll swoon, and whether its sparring or gardening or listening to Wyll compose, they love to just be near each other.

The one fault line is Cyrus' desire for physical (and sexual) touch. They both have their hesitations-- Wyll's idealized chaste fairytale romance and worry about Mizora impinging on his intimacy, Cyrus' anxiety about being that vulnerable with someone again, it makes a lot of sense for both of them that they don't sleep together until Act 3, but even for non-sexual intimacy, it takes some time & negotiation & exploration. Very regency-esque. The first time they hold hands????????? woag...

33. Who was the first to say ‘I love you’?

I'm not sure yet, I have to play through more of Wyll's romance first, though I'm leaning toward Wyll, since this version of Cyrus has a much harder time with those words (which is heartbreaking given how readily he otherwise says it).

CyrusXHalsin

7. What do they argue about?

They're both so non-confrontational & default to prioritizing the other's feelings, it's hard to imagine them arguing. Even dealing with Cyrus' martyr complex, I picture Halsin being much more patient about it (if no less firm) than, say, Anders (as far as exasperated cyrusXhealer ships go). I could see them arguing about having children that were theirs in a deeper sense than the communal care for the orphans in the epilogue, as something Halsin might want but Cyrus really wouldn't. And I think they 'argue' about whose fault it was that Halsin got kidnapped by Orin, insofar as they both blame themselves.

12. What would they say each other’s worst quality is?

They'd say the same thing about each other: the impulse to minimize their pain.

34. Who is more stubborn?

Hmmmmm I'd say Cyrus but I think Halsin is uniquely well-equipped to manage that stubborness by triggering Cyrus' 'im not arguing with a thick hunk of an elf whatever you say beautiful' mode (especially when it comes to accepting care).

CyrusXKarlach

21. Who is better at games? Does the loser take it graciously?

For Cyrus, games are more a reason to hang out with people than something he actually cares about playing. For some games, especially those that involve gambling or deception, he'd much rather just be at the table watching his friends play & getting drunk & snuggling than actually participating.

I can see Karlach getting super competitive, and you're 80% sure she's exaggerating & playing it up for fun, but like... maybe she is really going to flip the table. At the same time, she handles losing better than Cyrus handles her losing. He roots for her very hard and (depending on how drunk he is) gets very sad on her behalf.

Also if they're on the same team for like a couples game or something, they get very loud and very excited together very fast.

26. Do any of them have bad habits that the other can’t stand?

Cyrus is much more on the fence about using the soul coins than Karlach is.

If Wyll reinitiates his pact with Mizora in Act 3, Karlach has a line to the effect of "you know, there's such a thing as being too good of a person. Someone should tell Wyll Ravengard." She feels similarly about Cyrus' worst sacrificial tendencies, especially when he's considering becoming a mindflayer at the end of the game.

36. How long have they been friends? Would they consider each other best friends?

Cyrus and Karlach kind of pass over becoming friends and skip right to wanting to jump each others' bones really bad. Especially because in my original playthrough, I ended up recruiting her super late (between defeating the goblin camp and the tiefling party), they hit the ground running with 'now i just need to find me a fire retardant lover' and 'i want to ride you until you see stars' and Cyrus giving himself third degree burns trying to hold her hand

Of course, in the absence of physical touch, they do develop a very close friendship leading up to Karlach's second round of engine repairs, but they'd name other party members as their besties (Shadowheart for Cyrus, Wyll for Karlach).

[REDACTED]

I was NOT expecting asks about this relationship, these took me out of left field & hurt a lot (<3)

13. What would they say each other’s best quality is?

Cyrus: her conviction

Meredith: his loyalty

10. How do they make up after a fight?

Cyrus apologies first; Meredith is always quick to forgive him, stressing how glad she is that he did the right thing so they can move past something that was probably her fault. If it's a big fight, she keeps avoiding him until she can be sure the apology will happen while she's seated in her court on her throne.

12. What would they say each other’s worst quality is?

Cyrus: her harshness

Meredith: she thinks he's perfect; even more inconvenient traits for the right hand of a tyrant, like his kindness, can be easily turned to her advantage

[foxys-fantasy-tales]

OC Kiss Week - Dance (JudithXChit or Chudith) It is 8pm and I am happy to have finished this little scene in time. I plan on inserting this into book two of Arigale in a few chapters time, but I kept it pretty spoiler free but for the ship, ya know, smooching. <3 You can read more below the cut! I should also have a kiss sketch for these two soon! Keep an eye out for it. I wanted to have it to post with this little scene, but so it goes I guess. (edited - Posted at end! Also have a new divider I just made in Canva!)

Chit stared forward through the thick foliage. If anything, Illene had taught them how great shrubbery and vines were to hide things. Judith was still a couple of steps behind him, which gave him just enough time to take a breath before he grabbed her hand and led her onward. His tail parted the plants and made way, but she still had a few twigs and leaves in her hair on the other side. She looked just like the day he met her. 

“I-I um, made, or well foraged…this.” 

Chit rubbed his head as his tail pointed toward a blanket straight from their room with a candle at each edge and a basket of berries along with roasted mushrooms and fish on sticks. The scent of fresh ash and firewood still clung nearby, but wisps of smoke from the small gathering of wood proved it had gone out. A full moon provided ample light, silver mixing with the hints of golden flames as she took a seat on the multicolored quilt. Chit sat at arm’s length with the basket in the middle with his great tail curled about him in a spiral. 

Judith picked up a couple of skewers and began to alternate between mushrooms and fish without a word. The softness in her eyes, that was something that had changed, and it ripped out his heart to see it. Sparkles that once resided there were slowly returning, yet it felt like years and not months since he’d seen them. A large blackberry bursting with juices was speared by the tip of his tail and held up to her in offering. The appendage wavered, as did his resolve. Judith took it from him gently with her hand. He stuffed down any desires curling in his stomach that she took it with her lips. 

“I know we’ve b-been at odds lately. I was hard on your training. It’s…I-It’s how I learned, but I should have listened that it wasn’t working for you. I’m sor-” A mushroom was shoved into his lips along with her forefinger and thumb. 

“No need. I’ve been pretty rough to handle and I know it,” Judith interrupted.

“You’ve had more than enough reason to,” he argued. 

“You have too. We’ve both been through it, but I didn’t make anything easier. Is…Is this a peace offering?” 

He tucked his lips in under his teeth while a pit formed in his stomach. Of course it was obvious. The candles were a bad call, weren’t they? 

“Only w-wished to make things up to you somewhat. The last time we tried to make time was in Stemoss and, well…” The memory still brought a pain to his gut. Rubbing didn’t help. Black eyes filled with every star in their reflective surface as he ducked from her gaze. Grass rustled as he wiped the juice from his tail there. 

“And before that it was after I had just woken up from a very long nap.” Her hand entered his loose barrier and rested upon his knee. “We had fun there, but… I stressed you out again by wandering off. I’m not used to having someone look out for me so much, but I’m trying.” 

“Y-Yes.” What else could he say? Chit fidgeted by flicking the tip of his tail around and alternating to spinning it in circles. He nearly reached liftoff when she leaned in to kiss his cheek. When was the last time? Did it matter now? Bit by bit, his tail uncoiled itself and fell behind him. “It’s alright, really.” 

“You haven’t made it seem so, but… For now, can it be?” The soft bounce of her bushy hair met his shoulder before her weight settled over it. Hints of the fresh fruit, the ever present sea, and her usual yet strange touch of fresh carved wood and dirt made him feel as though he were bathing in the land itself. If not for the horrors, their forebears may have found this land to be pleasantly hospitable. 

A crack of a twig shocked him to alertness again. A small shadow proved the source of the sound to be nothing more than the wildlife, what little there may be on the island. Judith’s hand moved from his leg to his back and clapped him. 

“W-What was that for?” 

“Too tense. We’ve both been. Come on!” 

“Judith, what are you doing?” He was pulled to his feet as away from their meal to a barren patch of land just outside the candles’ glow. Her hands grasped at his and pulled him a couple unsteady steps nearer before she laid them on her hips. 

“We’re dancing.” 

The phrasing was so matter of fact he didn’t have a chance to argue, or to complain he didn’t know any real steps again. Just like that distant day where he was so relieved to see her alive, to see her smile and frolic about like nothing had happened, she took his shoulders and pulled him along in a dizzying twirl. Step for step, back on his right, then forward, back on left, she made it easy to follow. Where the first was nothing but a whirlwind, she’d calmed to a stiff breeze. She was the sort of clime he could sit forever in just to soak in her rays and a breath of fresh air. The smile she wore suited her better than any jewel. 

“You’re beautiful.” 

He didn’t know he was speaking until the words had slipped from his lips. Abrupt as it was, he hadn’t expected it to stall her so. Judith’s fanciful movements winded down into a close two step with bunched up elbows between them. With all they had been through together, these quiet moments spoke the loudest. Surely, this was to be a memory he could add to the treasures, few that they were, but precious. 

His tail curled at her lower back to hold her near. He didn’t have to speak, to fumble, though his hands shook as he ran both through her long hair to rid her of some of the debris from their walk. Not yet. He didn’t want it to end, so he pulled her along to the right in a circle. Judith became the fulcrum, his anchor. Even as he grew farther and farther away and she fell to giggles at his attempts at improvisation, he knew he’d do it all again to hear her. 

Judith wound herself up in his tail as she spun back to him. Chest to chest, the two breathed in near unison as the breeze stirred the greenery around them. No beat, no lyrics, yet he felt the stir music raised in a soul. She vibrated with it every day, but he’d grown too accustomed, too disinterested in the midst of the turmoil their lives became. Her cheeks were flushed with emotions he knew well now, yet he wanted to hear it once more. It would always be once more. What a frightening concept, yet, she was worth coming out from the dark. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

The next steps led him back away. She did love a game. He was re-learning how to play. Judith gave chase with a grin and a sparkle back in her eyes. His hands were stolen into hers as she pulled and crossed one to her chest in a half turn. This time she circled around him in a much tighter motion. He jerked some as he was compelled to move with her from the tether of their hands, around and around in circles, the two spun until Chit was dizzy and Judith’s laugh was their background noise. Skips, tugs, untraceable steps all became more common as she danced like the first time they danced. 

He fell behind, leaving her on her own so he could watch a moment. Red strips of fabric spun around her long legs in a blur. No rhyme or reason were in her movements, but it flowed as easily as breathing for her. Out of breath as he was watching and chuckling, Chit ran back in. Judith jumped back half a step in bewilderment as he charged up close. His tail caught her back and pulled her in again. He’d meant to go for her shoulder with his hand to rejoin her, but the softness of her cheek brushed his skin instead. From there, one movement led to the next as if they had practiced more. 

Gentle at first as he parted her lips with his own, yet the heat of the kiss carried down into his stomach. Judith’s hands found a spot to rest on his lower back over the spasms of his tail. Eager lips pressed in harder to his own. The tart, sweet taste of berries melded to his lips. His eyes welled, but he didn’t let it fall until the salt of her own tears turned the embrace that much sweeter. His thumb passed under her eye to wipe at the overflow, but he wouldn’t pull away. 

Both had stilled for an indeterminable amount of time, but the moon still shone above when Judith pulled back to take a shaky breath and finish drying her eyes. Her smile quivered. He wished to cement it, but settled for stealing another kiss. 

“I love you too,” she replied late. Her next kiss pushed his lips to his teeth as her arms wound around his back. He barely kept them upright with his tail, leaning back on it as a spring as they sank slowly to the cold ground below.

(Art by @fracturedfable - Twitter and dA)

[livingfreezers]

The first commercially available mobile phones

In the past 100 years the world has witnessed a rapid growth in the area of telecommunications, with only the last 20 years bringing about some of the most significant changes. We have come a long way since the days of smoke signals, telegrams, and the Pony Express. Its possible that not even Alexander Graham Bell could have imagined how far his invention would go. Mobile phone technology was first developed by Bell laboratories during the Second World War as a way to send messages ship to shore. A car mounted phone was introduced in 1946, but at eighty pounds and an even heftier price tag it was not quite ready for the mass market. 

The first commercially available mobile phones came online in the mid-eighties. Before mobile phones could make their way into the mainstream vast mobile networks first had to be built. These were being born in the late 70's both in Japan and in Northern Europe. As these networks grew the world became a little smaller as well as a OEM Solar Ice Cream Freezers Factory whole lot more interconnected. Those first hand held devices that were the size of small refrigerators with long antennas, seem like distant memories. Today's high speed digital networks are capable of whisking all kinds of information and content to the far reaches of the planet, allowing folks thousands of miles away communicate as if they were next door. Mobile phone subscribers and users today number in the hundreds of millions. Not only has the volume of users increased, but also the possibilities of what these devices can offer. 

The newest member of the mobile world has been christened the smart phone. These powerful little gadgets work with advanced mobile networks to give you access to the internet, email, music, images, games, books, video, just about anything your heart desires even if you just need to make a call. Smartphones like the Rim BlackBerry are coveted by the business set for their ease of use and simple but elegant style. The Apple iPhone introduced a system for application development and sales that is now used by almost every mobile phone provider. A smart phone is like having a mini computer that fits in your pocket, Whatever you plan to use your smart-phone for there is no doubt a model on the market.

[integratedhomes]

Bespoke Home & Workplace Automation Specialists

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[flowercrownd]

   blackberry cookie tags !

◜blackberry cookie: inbox / replies.◞ ◜blackberry cookie: behavior.◞ ◜blackberry cookie: headcanon.◞ ◜blackberry cookie: in character.◞ ◜blackberry cookie: mirror / faceclaim.◞ ◜blackberry cookie: isms.◞ ◜blackberry cookie: playlist.◞ ◜blackberry cookie: aesthetics.◞   ◜blackberry cookie: desires / shipping.◞ ◜blackberry cookie: attire.◞

[lionsongfr]

Feast of the Eleven

While Earth Flight is renowned for their hospitality and numerous feasts during Rockbreaker’s Ceremony, one feast during this time is a celebration of every Flight. Inspired first by Earthshaker’s desire to see his family once again and a call for unity amongst dragon kind, this celebration has slowly grown in popularity throughout all of Sornieth.

Oddly what really made this celebration prevalent was an incident in which Ice Flight faced an overabundance of Woodland Turkeys. While the Gaolers (hidden at the time) did eat meat, their numbers where much fewer than the plant eating Tundra cousins. Ice traders thus shipped numerous frozen turkeys to Earth’s markets for later resale to Nature and Plague Flight’s meat-loving dragons (mainly because Earth had more established markets that both used).   Four Flights coming to together to feast and celebrate eventually lead to invitations to the other seven Flights in a celebration that would eventually be called “The Feast of the Eleven.”

One of the main customs of the feast is a potluck in which dragons of each Flight make a specialty from their home. Below is a list of the most common of dishes for the feast:

Roast Woodland Turkey- a staple and main event of the feast is the Turkey Dinner. The cooking and slicing of the fowl are often commandeered by the nearest Fire dragon, though the bird mayyyyy become charcoal. The main seasoning is Siltivine, Cindervine, and Potash Peach, a mix of sweet and herbal with a tinge heat. Alongside the Turkey it is common to have roasted pods of Smolderpetal and Speckled Firelilies.

Charcuterie Pickle Board- food in the Scarred Wasteland is often preserved in many ways- from pickling to smoking to fermenting to curing to drying, every speck of food is not wasted. This dish has many varieties, but the popular are: Butcher’s Fig balsamic, Dubious Cucumber pickles, roasted Greenpod blooms, salt dried Shellbugs, honeyed Wasteland Pear slices, Mossy Cerdae cheese with live Maggots, Bonebark Mold sourdough rolls, and more cured meats than an Imperial could eat.

Spiral Milk Buns- a soft, fluffy, and almost elastic roll, these steamed or baked buns have a variety of filling spiraled within. Some are savory like Sour Spinach, Dried Anchovies, and Green Shoots and others filled with sweets like Sugarbees, Blackberries, and Jumbo Shrimp. Unfortunately, Wind dragons have a habit of mixing the buns up, so it is a surprise what kind you will get!

Sautéed Winter Brussel Sprouts- much like Plague, Ice Flight is rather scarce on food resources- especially during winter. However, Winter’s Delight and Winter Brussel Sprouts are only picked during the fall and winter months.  The Brussel Sprouts are browned in Spotted Seal oil and then glazed with a Winter’s Delight sauce and a sprinkle of sea salt.

Mountain Mash- an Earth dish of mountainous size, it is made mainly of a Turnip and Potato Onion mash which is dotted with slices of roasted Ancient Mushrooms and topped with Bell Goat butter and deep-fried Wild Onions.

Surprise Stuffing- this Quinoa stuffing has Leechroot mushrooms, Golden Peppers, and Sour Green Apples- which is delightful but not the surprise. The surprise is where the Shadow dragons have managed to stuff it. Turkey? Nah, too traditional. In the mounted Anglerfish on the wall? Hmmm…maybe. In my piggybank hidden underneath my bed? Yep!

Noon Noodles- a baked dish of handmade Amaranth macaroni, loaded with Featherback boar ham, slices of spicy Tendrilback Caterpillar, and hunks of Sparkling Crayfish. The dish is topped with a rich, golden Longneck cheese (made by the beastclans and not… from them) sauce and garnished with fried sprigs of Senecio Haworthii. Dragons question if the name is because of the golden color or the fact it takes till noon to make.

Red Sea Stew- a simple stew with a base of Crimson Jadevine, Sugarmelon Wine, and roasted Blacktongue Peppers. To this base any seasonal seafood is tossed in, like Clown Shrimp, Swimmer Crab legs, Chewy Tentacles, and Eel Larvae. Often served with a side of flatbread stuffed with laverbread (a purée of salty Rotala).

Parda Eggs- not actually Parda eggs (and they do lay eggs), but rather a dish made of fried Green Plantains, Game Fowl broth, and Apples that is pounded in a mortar and pestle and then stuffed with Barkback Boar cracklings. The whole mash is then shaped into an egg and then braised game meat is poured over top. A sweet variation is made with Plantains and Red Bananas stuffed with a sweetened Paradise Seed tahini and covered in a coconut broth.

Bug Nut Pie- after an infamous episode involving Satin Mice and exploding gelatins, Arcane offerings have become more traditional and less experimental. The most traditional is a puff pastry pie filled with Cicada, Pharoah Ant larvae, Glittering Lacewing carapace, and oats in a Blood Acorn and Raspberry syrup. Frequently paired with a Hippalectryon egg nog, which leads to many questions and fugitive answers.

Boss Banned Punch- even more infamous than the previous dish, this punch is banned from all office parties in Lightning…but one can make an acceptance for the Feast of the Eleven, right? The punch starts off with Stonewatch Scrub Tequila, then Charged Duneberry sparkling soda, Prickly Pear liquor, and Java Sparrow cola.  Please drink responsibly.  

[lordoftermites]

Fairy Chess ‖ p. ⅰ

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you...

Ship: Roiben x Kaye

Summary: {set immediately after Ironside} Kaye provides Roiben with a little more... entertainment at his coronation revel.

Rating: M/E for me going to hell but hey at least i’ve got reading material Part Ⅱ

―――――――――――――――――――

He wanted only one night.

One night, devoid of drunken courtiers. Of the endless pouring of wine. No constant strumming of lutes and harps and laughter echoing through the cavernous hall, no attendants bidding for a moment of his attention with some new seemingly-urgent dispatch. Just a single, fleeting night of glorious, undisturbed peace.

But when you're a king of two courts, both of which would see the other fall to ruin, peace is a knife's edge; a balancing act—not a reward. And no amount of wishing is going to change that.

Still, as Roiben leans back into the twisted branches of birch that make up his blood-won throne, watching the frenzied, continuous dancing, he finds himself hopelessly wishful anyway.

Before the dais, a mass of fey move almost as one enormous wave to the music, their entranced twirling and swaying both beautiful and nauseating. They have all come to celebrate the second crowning of their brutal new lord.

Groups of sprites whirl their little forms above the throng, bathing the packed earth of the newly-rebuilt Palace of Termites in flickering yellow light. Roiben decides he likes looking at them better—their movements don't make his stomach quite nearly as unsteady.

But even then, the way they blink in and out, reminiscent of fireflies in the trees at dusk, causes him to squint himself into the headache he's been suppressing all evening. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, sinking further into the throne that feels so much more like a cage; a cage he killed his way to get into.

“Acorn for your thoughts,” chimes Kaye’s voice against his ear. He smiles, eyes still closed, as he feels the familiar, comforting brush of her fingers slide over his shoulder. Roiben reaches a hand up to cover them, to ground himself in her touch. Her skin is warm— a constant contrast to the chill he can never seem to thaw from his own. “I find I have had my fill of revelry, for the next ten moons at least,” Roiben answers with another sigh. His eyes open to the overcrowded throne room once again, and that weariness washes over him anew. “Unfortunately, it would seem this one has no intentions of slowing anytime before that.” Kaye moves from her position behind him, slipping between his throne to the wooden stool beside it.

Roiben shifts his gaze to look at her, and cannot stop his breath from catching: she’s clad in a fluid, iridescent dress coming to tattered strips just above her clover green knees. Pewter ties gather slashed sleeves at her shoulders, the front of it dipping below her collarbone to pool at the beginning of her sternum. He smiles again: the sheen of fabric is the exact silver of his eyes.

Her wild hair is pulled up into two emerald knots on top of her head—space buns, she called them once, much to his confusion; they resemble neither celestial body nor baked good, but he assumes it’s simply another human reference lost on him. At the roots, she’s dusted a silver glitter that catches the light of the sprites above them. Silver hoops line the length of her earlobe, and from each dangle a single star or crescent moon, respectively. On her feet, to no surprise, are the cracked leather boots she favors above any slipper made by Skillywidden, no matter how intricately stitched or comfortable they might be.

Roiben can’t help but marvel at her: a creature of two worlds, and equally as beautiful in both. He reaches out to take her hand, brushing over the extra joint in her thumb. She smiles at him, the smile that’s just for him, the smile he would burn the world down for.

“I’ve been to some pretty wild raves,” Kaye says, turning her inky black eyes to the sea of Folk before them. “But this one definitely takes the cake.” Again, another human phrase he doesn’t quite understand, but this one makes at least more sense than astronomical hairstyles. When she looks back at him, her brow raises. “It's your coronation revel, and you’re already partied out? I thought dancing till your feet bleed was just another day in Faerie for you.”

He chuckles, eyes settling on her hand in his. He’s almost sure his stomach will betray him if he dares another glance at the swirling revel-goers. “My… previous duties kept me elsewise occupied from most of the festivities,” he replies. To his great relief, neither of them need his explanation of what those duties had been. “When the guest of honor is you, it’s not nearly as easy to slip away unnoticed.”

Kaye leans over to take a fluted glass of wine from the table between them, and Roiben can’t help his gaze shifting up to the loose fabric at her chest, which opens at her slight movement to reveal a hint of the deep green curvature there. He swallows automatically, his throat suddenly dry.

“Like the view?” Kaye asks, leaning against her own arm to further accentuate that curve as she takes a sip of the plum-colored liquor. It’s a small gesture, but it’s enough to make Roiben’s breath catch. When his eyes flick back up to meet her, she’s wearing that coquettish grin that speaks true to her pixie nature. “Though doubtless you already know my answer," he says, giving her an impish smirk of his own, "Verily, I do.”

Kaye shortens the gap between them, near enough for him to smell the clove and blackberry wine on her warm breath. Near enough to kiss him, but she doesn’t. She lingers, instead pulling her bottom lip between her teeth—a move she knows all too well sets a fire alight in his veins, and it’s all Roiben can do not to close that gap between them entirely.

Her hand reaches to the collar of his doublet, where she trails a lazy finger along the silver stitching, brushing feather-light against his neck. He inhales slowly, a deliberate drawing of breath, as though to remind himself where they are. Again, he finds himself wishing the hall was empty and cursing the reality that it isn't.

Kaye pitches her voice low, so only he can hear among the raucous around them. “I think I know how to make this party a little more… interesting. A game. Kinda.”

His brow goes up at that. “A game?” he repeats, only slightly warily. While admittedly, any diversion to keep him from spoiling his own revel would be welcome—by his attendants as well as himself—he’s almost certain, from the mischievous glint in those sable eyes of hers, it isn’t likely to be something as simple as a chess match.

Kaye shrugs. Her gaze drifts down the front of his black doublet to his lap, lingering there momentarily before fluttering back up to his face. There's a craving there in those onyx depth. A shark circling its next meal.

“Unless, of course, you’re too chicken to play.”

Indeed, this will be no game on a checkerboard.

Roiben shifts in his seat, already finding himself full awake from his previously half-present participation in the night’s celebrations. He leans in, until his mouth is against Kaye’s silver-clad ear and grins at the small, sudden breath she takes in response. “If you mean to play a game of torment,” he whispers, his lips grazing her skin, “you may find I am not at all a fair opponent—nor a patient one—when I mean to win.”

Kaye, cheeks flushed with drink and something else, opens her mouth to speak, but is cut off. From below the dais, as if on cue, a throat clears. Roiben, gritting his teeth against a sudden rise of annoyance, draws himself back up on his throne. Bowed to nearly kissing the earthen floor is Ruddles, his chamberlain.

“Yes?” Roiben sighs, unable to hide his displeasure at being interrupted; he was, for the first time tonight, on the verge of actually enjoying his own celebration. Of course there would be something to stall that entertainment. “What is it now, a ninth round of toasting? More petitions? Perhaps a naming of yet another inanimate object?”

The old hob rises with a grunting effort, either unaware of Roiben’s clipped tone, or so used to it by now that he doesn’t let it perturb him. “My King,” Ruddles says formally, and even though the title has been invoked countless times since his first crowning, Roiben still can’t quell the sour taste that floods his mouth upon hearing it.

The chamberlain continues, again oblivious to the ticking in his master’s jaw. “Since it is nearly dawn, I thought perhaps you would wish to retire.” Ruddles turns to sweep his hand over the continuous movement of courtiers. “There are naught but a few simple matters of the court that myself and the other members of the council can handle in your stead—or save upon your return, should so desire."

Desire is the very thing being kept from him at the moment, though it isn't as if his chamberlain knows that. Still, Roiben can barely stifle an eye roll. "I was unaware that I needed permission to—"

The gentle squeeze of Kaye's hand on his arm stalls his scorn, and he forces himself to start over. "Apologies, Ruddles," he sighs. "I admit, I am overtired. I should indeed very much like to rise from this seat—before I become part of its ornamentation." Roiben stands, tired limbs groaning in protest from hours of being stationary.

Kaye stretches at his side, feigning a yawn. "I could totally kill for a bed right now," she says, and while she is also bound incapable of lying, the look in her eye when Roiben meets her gaze tells him there is nothing to do with sleep in her confession. The wink she gives solidifies her meaning.

The little hob nods, seeming to miss their unspoken exchange, and bows low once more. "As you wish, my King. I shall address the court of your retirement—"

Roiben shakes his head to forestall the chamberlain, and holds a hooked arm out for Kaye, who takes it with another squeeze. "No need. They are blissfully unaware of my presence as it is, let them continue. And, Ruddles—" He pauses at the foot of the dais next to the hob, leaning low enough to not be overheard. "It would please me greatly if you saw to it that we are undisturbed."

Ruddles gives a reverent nod and steps aside, clearing their way off the platform. Without stealing another glance back at the endless revel, the king and his consort leave the tumultuous celebration behind them.

[ao3feed-bakusquad]

A Lemon-Blackberry Soufflé & a Medium Latte with Extra Milk

A Lemon-Blackberry Soufflé & A Medium Latte With Extra Milk by TheFameMonster R93

Momo has had a crush on Jiro ever since their time together in UA, and now they've graduated. All for One has been defeated and a new criminal organization is being investigated in Sapporo. As all of the former Class 1-A splits up for their own careers, although most stay in Sapporo to help out, they build the Plus Ultra Café, a place they can all meet and catch up with each other. Momo mainly tends to the café alongside her family's businesses and she hasn't seen Jiro for months, who is now the lead singer of Night-93, an internationally-known punk-rock band made up of her, Kaminari, Tokoyami, Sero, and another of Sero's friends.

When Night-93 finishes their tour and returns to Sapporo to help out with the investigation, Jiro comes crashing back into Momo's life.

But Momo's already determined to stay by the sidelines as Jiro's best friend. Jiro would never like her in that way. She'll just have to ignore the burning desire in her heart. It should be easy, right?

Words: 22879, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Jirou Kyouka, Yaoyorozu Momo, Ashido Mina, Kaminari Denki

Relationships: Jirou Kyouka/Yaoyorozu Momo

Additional Tags: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Useless Lesbians, useless bisexuals, Friends to Lovers, Cussing, Mentions of other ships

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31267973

[merryfortune]

mead of berries and honey

Un-Love You Challenge: 12. I’m drunk.

mead of berries and honey (little miss liquor lips)

Ship: Ethlyn/Travant

Fandom: Fire Emblem Genealogy of the Holy War (mangaverse)

Rating: M

Warnings: Choose Not to Warn

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: Canon Divergence, Dub-con, Alcohol, Abuse, Forced Relationship,

   Her perfume smelt so sweet, Travant could drink it if he could. 

   He had no doubt the high of it would be worth the low: the blackberries entwined with the extracts of cherries and vanilla beans. The way she spoke was like an easy liquid pouring out of a crystalline bottle. She was purer than liquor but gods, she got him drunk.

   Everything about her got him intoxicated on an affection that he had never felt before. Her hands were those of a cleric’s but her heart, Travant wanted to believe, was one of a lover’s. 

   It was irreverent and pathetic that the regal, passionate King of Thracia would be reduced to nothing but a drunkard because he was chasing the skirt of a rebel woman. But his own court and his own troops did not know that woman like he did. She helped him when he was blinded, when he was wounded: she either did not know or did not care that he was the very man whom she crusaded against. Travant did not know what was better for her kind heart, her obliviousness and ignorance or if her kindness truly knew no such bounds, transcending the sides of war.

   Just as he would take the bottle of the finest mead of berries and honey - just like her hair, just like her eyes, just like everything about her - he would take her too. A spoil of war. And so, Travant stole her from the desert and from the corpse that she was so futilely trying to heal. Every smack of her clerical magic only made flowers grow around the dead man that she was wedded to.

   Her eyes were brimming with tears as she tried to resuscitate this goner. She hardly noticed him until Travant had put his arm around her midsection and carried her off. Pulling her atop his wyvern, child - their child now - in tow. The babe giggling and gurgling despite this being a place of no esteem or honour for the rebels she was parented by.

   It was hardly a place of esteem or honour for Travant, he, the victor. He had not wanted to fight the rebels but their cause was unjust. He would prevail, the rightful heir and prince of Thracia and now Thracia would have a new queen and royal rugrat to pay their dues to. And they would have a new transgression to gossip about in courts and at the fringes of his country, where there were patches of sympathisers, new fodder for the fall of his Thracia.

   But Travant decided he would care not so long as he had her, his darling Ethlyn. She skulked about the few rooms that she was permitted host in. Always glaring but her eyes were so sharp, like jewels, that Travant couldn’t fault her for that or any other token of her hostility that she used against him like a weapon. He had to keep her close, his grip on her was firm, he paraded her around. The rebel who had been inducted into the very monarchy that she railed against. Dressing her in the finest clothes and allowing her to eat the finest that there could be; so much different to the soup kitchens she would run in her own camp.

   She was a little trooper, that Ethlyn, Travant observed. A healer, yes, but a healer who hailed from a scrappy army, nonetheless. Travant enjoyed her compliance but her protests were what struck the flint to the iron in him. Her hardened gazes as she forced herself to wear the regalia of her enemy at the dances that Travant took her too: propagandistic events to show that his rule would not be usurp. And also because he did enjoy a dance and as an expert rider of horses, Ethlyn was quite good at them, too, to Travant’s utter delight.

   After those such soirees, they would retire for the night and Travant would let Ethlyn release all her qualms of the evening. She railed about how she hated all of this and him and yet she would be in their ceremonial marriage bed that night, their child Altenna in the crib beside it.

   And, oh, Altenna, what a precious babe. She would undoubtedly grow big and strong with parents like these. Her brown hair was fluffy and ruddy; her blue eyes were bubbly. There was not a thing about her which did not charm Travant. He would take pride in her and looked forward to the day that he could perhaps take her beyond mere baby steps and teach her the gait of a soldier. Give her a lance and a training, perhaps even a wyvern as she was always so happy to visit the stables to see Daddy’s draconid and Mommy’s horsey.

   Where Altenna was still so innocent and happy, her mother was a contrast of discipline and care. Ethlyn was fierce. Protective. All the traits of being such a good mother. She did not let anyone but either herself or Travant to touch Altenna. There would be no substitute milk or anything else for her child. In the crooks of dusky afternoons, Ethlyn would rock Altenna to sleep for a pre-dinner nap and Travant would rock Ethlyn in faux of true, marital domesticity. He had such adoration for both mother and child.

   Ethlyn was caretaker was such a wonderful attraction that Travant had unto her and so, despite her prickly nature as a captive bride whom Travant was captivated by, to have the honour of looking after her child when she bathed or was otherwise occupied was the highest pleasure that Travant knew. And Travant knew of many pleasures that Ethlyn could give, be it on her lips or between her legs, it was when her fingertips ghosted his own and they exchanged Altenna between them. Those were the moments that Travant desired most from Ethlyn. In any form, any shape. So long as he was touched by her.

   When he was reckless in battle or reckless at the bar, Travant was confident that he could retire back to her, stumbling, and he would be taken care of without hesitation. Be it reeking of too much liquor or reeking of too much slaughter, retiring to his quarters where his wife remained was such sweet pleasure. She would set down her sewing and take him by the mid-section - so differently to how he had stolen her from that arid desert. She would support him and lay him down gently and Travant would close his eyes. She would grunt and struggle, every step a delay as they got closer to safety and privacy.

   Was it blood or the grime of a tavern’s floor that she was wiping off? It mattered not so long as it was her cloth that cleaned him down. She huffed and glared and huffed again, hearing her - their - baby cry in the background as she dealt with the mess that Travant had made of himself again but she would persevere between her duties and her ethics. Looking after them both as it were.

   And Travant would drink in whatever affection there was that Ethlyn had for him. He knew that she was counting the days like pomegranate seeds swallowed, dreaming of the day she could escape but he didn’t mind. He loved her in all honesty and he knew that she knew that. 

   Truly, he was drunk on all of her. The power he had over her and the more subtle things, too. Again, the scent of her perfume and the tears that she cried. Travant was utterly intoxicated on her and knew her to be his hangover cure, as well. It was just a shame that it was all poison, all the same given their circumstances.

[bythehook]

Part Three: Repercussions

In the deepest parts of the Black Forest, where even spiders dare not tread, sat an ancient stone dwelling. Its thatched roof was worn, but sturdy, and a pipe chimney puffed smoke out into the Neverland. This house had no windows, and no sound could be heard from within or without its walls. The door was a decorative piece of magic, whose enchantment made the building invisible to anyone who passed. 

Should you stumble upon it, you would merely feel a bitter cold. Birds don’t sing in its eaves or surrounding trees; animals steer clear of it. And the only way in or out, is if the sole inhabitant allows it. Many have attempted to find where Helena lives, but the whispers of magic push them away. Depend on her mood, explorers may spend weeks lost in the wood, traveling the same, circular path. Armies could not get through this witchy stronghold.

No one could get out, either.

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

James brought a wooden plate of fruit, cheese, and bread to Helena who was lying in bed, her cloak wrapped around her loosely. The night they had spent together had been one of the most electric, carnally charged experiences he had ever had. And since it had passed, he had spent every day desperate for more.

Hook set the platter down and sat beside Helena, kicking his legs up and crossing his arms over his stomach, watching her lovingly as she brought a blackberry to her lips. James sighed contentedly and looked down at his right hand, once again transfixed at its presence.

The pair sat in silence, the captain looking back to her with a deep respect and longing in his gaze. Oh what he wouldn’t do for another glorious night in her sheets. He tipped his head back against the stone wall and sighed, tripping over his words in his mind, trying to figure out how to ask if they could go to bed again. Before the first word left his lips, Helena hopped nimbly to her feet and walked over to the single table in the room. 

“Wine, dear capitán?” she called, uncorking the wine bottle.

“God yes, I’m parched,” he said, sitting up and swinging his legs around the side of the bed. 

The deep purple wine was brought to James’ lips for him, and he took the cup happily, smiling up at Helena in adoration.

How had he spent so much of his life chasing after the demon Peter, when this angel was on the island the whole time? Nothing seemed to matter anymore; Pan, the ship, his past. Only Helena mattered.

James drank long and hard until every last drop was gone. He looked up at her, greedy for more of the sweet nectar. 

Were there a mirror in the home he’d grown to love, he would see his forget-me-not blue eyes had turned a deep shade of violet. He brightened with the glass of wine, and with it, his undying loyalty to the witch. 

“I have to go out,” Helena told him, smoothing back his rust-colored hair. It had grown since he’d first come. How, he did not know, as it had only seemed a couple of days since his arrival. The locks he normally kept sheared short had grown to hang around his shoulders. 

“Do you?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her tenderly, pressing a kiss to the center of her chest. The necklaces she wore dug into his lips as he moved along, one hand lifting her skirt. But as always, she stopped him. Helena rested her hands on his shoulders gently. 

“Yes, dear one. And soon you will have to go as well.”

“Go? Go where?” He looked up at her, a pang of fear gripping his heart. 

“You must go where all men go eventually,” she commented darkly, running her sharp nails through his hair. The words did not scare him, only the fear of her leaving him. He wrapped his arms around her tighter, resting the side of his face against her chest. 

“I’ll not leave you,” he stated firmly, as though he had a chance at defying her. If she told him to jump off Glass Peak he’d do it, only to please her. 

“It has been fun having you in my little den of hedonism. But everything has its time, Hook.” She told him, stroking his hair affectionately. “Or rather, time has everything. Tick-tock goes the clock and the world spins on, ever growing, ever expanding, ever dying, ever birthing. And if time were to stop,” her hand froze in his hair, eyes fixed somewhere far away. “So would all of we. And time on Neverland has been fixed for so long. The same story chasing its tail around the tide, always the flying boy and the pirate captain. The heathens that broke time, that broke the mother island.” 

Hook was not listening to her words, but hungrily planting kisses up the middle of her clothed breast, fingers clutching into the fabric with unrestrained desire.

“It has to end. All of it, everything. So that it can begin. And we will be so happy again, mother, just the two of us and all of the glories of the island,” Helena spoke quietly before quickly looking over her shoulder, a frown on her face. “No, I understand what you think, but I am the protector. I will not let these savages molest your shores and pervert your purpose.” Helena's ears pinkened, hearing the other half of a silent conversation while Hook tried desperately to pull her onto him once more. She clutched a fistful of James’ hair and pulled his head back from her skin, causing him to look up at her. His eyes were sleepy, dark rimmed but full of wanton desire for her body. “Should I kill you first?” She asked darkly, and not even the faintest shiver of fear ran through him.

“Do you want to?” Hook asked, running his hands down her backside, holding her bum and pushing her body toward him again. 

“Do I want--” She gave a huff of frustrated laughter and pulled away from him, shoving his head away from her as she went. “I liked you better when you were unmuddled,” she stated, picking up a black satin bag, and rifled through it. “Here, you lovesick pup,” she said, tossing him a small chocolate. “Eat this.” 

James grinned at her, willing to do whatever it was she wanted, and took a bite out of the sweet. He stared as he chewed, smile ever slowly fading from his lips. The purple fog in his eyes melted away just as slow, and he jolted back against the stone wall, falling to the floor. 

“You bitch,” he gripped the sides of his head, squeezing his eyes shut as everything that had transpired over the last five months came flooding back to him. 

Helena stood before him, stomach swelled proportionate to the time he had spent locked in this house, and smiled. 

“You said one night,” he barked through gritted teeth, snatching his boots off the floor and pulling them on as his head ached with the rush of memories. 

“I tried to send you away, but you insisted on staying,” she smirked, and held up the bottle of wine. “Care for a glass of wine, capitán?” Helena asked maddeningly. 

“You poisoned me!” He raged, eyes fixating on her belly.

“Of course I poisoned you, you idiot,” Helena fired back, rolling her eyes before dropping her cloak onto the bed, and shaking her long locks over her shoulders. “You were just so fun to have around, jumping around for me like a trained capuchin,” she grinned unashamedly. 

“Wait,” Hook winced, ignoring her attempts at winding him up, and tried to focus on what she was just saying. “What do you mean it all has to end?”

The witch brightened immediately, holding onto her belly protectively, and crossed to an inlaid cupboard in the wall. 

“Oh, I do love when men listen,” she chirped, opening the cupboard and tucking the satin bag in beside something. Whatever was in there was causing a faint glowing, and James thought something familiar sounded, like a tinkle of bells. “You are all going to fade away, James Hook. You, the lost boys, the merfolk, the Indians hiding in the caves. All of my mother island’s invaders, gone. Because now I have the final piece, thanks to you,” she simpered, looking lovingly down at the bump. 

“What do you have in there?” Hook asked, stepping forward, wanting to glean as much information as he could. “The final piece for what?” 

Helena kicked the door back with her elbow, concealing the frantically jingling bells. 

“You’ll see,” she grinned, waving her fingers in goodbye. “Goodbye, James.”

“Don’t you dare--” he stepped forward, about to grab her arm, but instead his step fell heavy on the wooden floor of his cabin on the Roger. 

A cold anger rushed through his body, and he pulled the bedchamber door open abruptly. Starkey, who had been sitting behind the captain’s desk, booted feet up on the table startled so quickly that he fell out of the chair. 

“C-captain?” Jack stood immediately, trembling at James’ sudden appearance, looking very much like one seeing a ghost. “We thought--”

“Get me Smee.”

[ao3feed-bnha-girls]

A Lemon-Blackberry Soufflé & a Medium Latte with Extra Milk

A Lemon-Blackberry Soufflé & A Medium Latte With Extra Milk by TheFameMonster R93

Momo has had a crush on Jiro ever since their time together in UA, and now they've graduated. All for One has been defeated and a new criminal organization is being investigated in Sapporo. As all of the former Class 1-A splits up for their own careers, although most stay in Sapporo to help out, they build the Plus Ultra Café, a place they can all meet and catch up with each other. Momo mainly tends to the café alongside her family's businesses and she hasn't seen Jiro for months, who is now the lead singer of Night-93, an internationally-known punk-rock band made up of her, Kaminari, Tokoyami, Sero, and another of Sero's friends.

When Night-93 finishes their tour and returns to Sapporo to help out with the investigation, Jiro comes crashing back into Momo's life.

But Momo's already determined to stay by the sidelines as Jiro's best friend. Jiro would never like her in that way. She'll just have to ignore the burning desire in her heart. It should be easy, right?

Words: 22879, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Jirou Kyouka, Yaoyorozu Momo, Ashido Mina, Kaminari Denki

Relationships: Jirou Kyouka/Yaoyorozu Momo

Additional Tags: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Useless Lesbians, useless bisexuals, Friends to Lovers, Cussing, Mentions of other ships

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31267973

[ao3feed-bnha-rarepair]

A Lemon-Blackberry Soufflé & a Medium Latte with Extra Milk

A Lemon-Blackberry Soufflé & A Medium Latte With Extra Milk by TheFameMonster R93

Momo has had a crush on Jiro ever since their time together in UA, and now they've graduated. All for One has been defeated and a new criminal organization is being investigated in Sapporo. As all of the former Class 1-A splits up for their own careers, although most stay in Sapporo to help out, they build the Plus Ultra Café, a place they can all meet and catch up with each other. Momo mainly tends to the café alongside her family's businesses and she hasn't seen Jiro for months, who is now the lead singer of Night-93, an internationally-known punk-rock band made up of her, Kaminari, Tokoyami, Sero, and another of Sero's friends.

When Night-93 finishes their tour and returns to Sapporo to help out with the investigation, Jiro comes crashing back into Momo's life.

But Momo's already determined to stay by the sidelines as Jiro's best friend. Jiro would never like her in that way. She'll just have to ignore the burning desire in her heart. It should be easy, right?

Words: 22879, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/F

Characters: Jirou Kyouka, Yaoyorozu Momo, Ashido Mina, Kaminari Denki

Relationships: Jirou Kyouka/Yaoyorozu Momo

Additional Tags: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Useless Lesbians, useless bisexuals, Friends to Lovers, Cussing, Mentions of other ships

Read Here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31267973

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

Logan leaned against railing where Beth sat and held out a handful of blackberries. They took one and for a moment the crewmates sat in silence on the edge of the ship. "Have you ever wondered why stories like this appeal to you?" Logan asked, glancing sideways at Beth and popped another berry in his mouth. "Stories about running away."

Beth nodded, their head cocking thoughtfully to one side. "I know exactly why I like them. And I don't wanna think about the answer."

Logan glanced up at them. "Oh yeah?"

Beth squeezed the rail, feeling the grain of the wood under their hand and nodded. "There's no expectations. There's no... You know, you say things when you're little, talk about marriage and kids and the like because that's just how things are. That's just what people do. They grow up and get married, have a kid or two. And when you're young, you just expect that to be your life too. So you talk like it will be. Then one day you realize you don't want those things. But the way you talked when you were younger... everyone just... treats your lack of desire for those things like a cold. 'You'll get passed it'. There's freedom from that in these stories. From from being known, freedom from expectations. No one knows who you are. Even if they judge you, you're not around them long enough for it to matter. You can be unknown in them."

"We know you," Logan challenged and ate another berry, holding up his hand for Beth to take one too.

"You don't have expectations of me," they rebutted and took a berry. "I mean. You do, but you don't. I can change and it won't scare you."

"Of course not. We all change."

"Yeah, but, like... the 'you're different now. Are you okay?' kind of changes. I don't have a mold that I fit it with you lot. Or. Not-not like the ones you get with family. Stories like this...they don't even always name the hero. That's why I like them. Because I don't have to be me. I can be someone else."

Logan hummed thoughtfully, chewing on a berry and offering the last one to Beth. They took it with half a smile. Finally he pulled himself onto the railing next to his crewmate and shouldered them lightly. "Maybe you're still you even when other people don't think you are. Maybe...who you are changes a little bit each day. Maybe some days parts of you are more prominent, and other days...other parts of you are. You don't have to be the exact same every day. You're allowed to be different. And you're allowed to not always know who you are. It's scary, but it's okay. You're allowed to crave adventure and be anxious about it. Just because you're feeling more adventurous one day doesn't mean you were faking your anxiety the days previous. And vice versa. You are not a simple person, Beth. You never were meant to be. You fear being known because you fear being judged on a single aspect of you, you want people to be accepting of every aspect so that you can 'be the real you', but before that happens you have to accept every aspect of you. Having two or more conflicting traits, doesn't mean your fake when you display one and not the other. They are both you- they both make you who you are."

Beth searched Logan's face for a moment then leaned their head against his shoulder.

Logan smiled faintly and tucked an arm around their back in response.

"There is an appeal to anonymity," he said soflty. "But I think the thing we truly crave is to genuinely know ourselves. Maybe that isn't something that is entirely possible, and maybe that's okay. Maybe if we were to truly to discover who we are, we wouldn't grow or change. Those things are and should be innate to us. We should change over time. If we never changed then we wouldn't be the people we are today. Who you are, known or unknown, is important. No matter what other's judgement maybe. You are real and that is important. You don't have to stay confined in an assigned box, you can grow and you can change and still be you. Who you are and who you were may be different, but they are both still you. And it may be that you will be someone different in the future. But you are still you."

"I don't fear changes in myself. To be honest, there's not a lot I can see. It's getting stuck that scares me. Getting stuck in a single place, doing the same thing everyday for the rest of my life. I know I'm not the impetuous type, I like having stability, but... there's a point where stability becomes a weight rather than an anchor. Instead of just holding me steady, it just drags me down. I want so badly to run away from everyone I've known and never stop. Sometimes I want to just disappear."

"Is that really what you want, or is that what you tell yourself you want?" Logan challenged gently. "There really isn't much of a difference between wanting to be truly known and wanting to be unknown. We want to be unknown because there are parts of ourselves that we hide out of fear of rejection. Sharing those parts and being accepted would solve the problem just as well and hiding who we are and being accepted for who we are can be equally difficult things. So. Which is that you truly want? To run away and hide, or to allow yourself freedom to be who you are?"

Beth slumped further against his side. "I don't wanna answer that. You get smug when you're right."

Logan smirked and tightened his arm around Beth, leaning his cheek on their head. "You'll be known one day, Beth, and things will be okay."