#Clamshell bed

[yeahandblog]

The Clamshell Bed: Retrospective

[photozoi]

"Hello!"

"Wanna see my cool cave?!"

Mr Mung discovers the clamshell bed under the piano. Delight ensues. Silken Windhound, 5 months

[forpiratereasons]

edward teach, born to "but daddy i love him!" forced to be the kraken instead

(daddy issues not pictured)

[colorsoundoblivion]

Trying something different. Got inspired by a post I saw and made these. “Gay things that aren’t gay, per se”. Yea/Nay?

[theothervonkarmagirl]

❛  I can’t believe you think I’m immature !  ❜ [[Mean girl movie solidarity!]]

Mean Girls Starters!

"Daedra."

"You have bedsheets with cartoon lizards on them, you eat gummy bears, you cry constantly, what other conclusion am I supposed to draw."

[kentwos]

SAY YOU WILL — lessons

cw. simon riley x f!reader. situationship.

#05 guilty pleasure | masterlist | #07

You’re in bed when Simon finally asks.

The anticipated question, both curious and confused all the same. You figure for him it means something different to how others ask it, a want to understand you and the patterns of your life. Maybe even entirely selfless as he asks, waiting there, looking up at the ceiling as you do the same and not pressing or demanding or turning to try and gouge every wrinkle and twitch of your face. 

It’s what compels you to give him that explanation, sighing deeply next to him, dragging a hand over your face as you figure out where to begin.

“It was the first guy,” you smile to yourself, bittersweet. “You know he was great, first love kind of thing. Thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. We had everything planned out, the house and kids and careers. Even what pets. I loved him and sometimes I think that I still do, but we outgrew each other. I’d known him since we were teenagers, and that time we spent together was good but by the end we were different people. We needed space to grow.”

You hear the faint sound of the pillow rustling next to you, feeling the way Simon nods and then hums after a few seconds in acknowledgement.

“And then, you know, after that it’s never really been the same as the first time.”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

He doesn’t ask for more from you, the air thin as he remains still, mimicking your body language as though to make you feel safer. You get the sense that he’s still mulling over your words, piecing together fragments of your life like a puzzle and working out why the pieces connect the way they do. Always calculated in that sense and somehow it makes you more curious about him.

Simon’s like a clamshell that you can’t pry open no matter how you try. Shoving a knife between the slips in his facade has nudged him slightly, only for the faintest sign of weakness to clamp him shut again. You’ve tried, God knows you have, and although you respect his space you can’t conceal your own curiosity. Spending nights without him savouring little details he’s given you. Warm smiles, cups of tea, a chain around his neck that disappears somewhere a few minutes after you’ve seen it, the scars, God. The scars all over his body. The muscle. The turmoil. The bulk of him.

“How about you?” A shot made in the dark.

“Oh,” he exhales. It’s quiet for a long while, something you expected yet can’t bear to deal with. An urge to crane your head and watch him: just the way you’ve despised others doing to you in anticipation of their judgement. You wonder what you’d see if you did give in. The colours of longing written over his features or maybe a glint of hope, sparkling so bright in his eyes.

“There was someone,” it comes out breathy, followed by a small laugh. “Long ago. But her parents didn’t really see me in their daughter's future.”

Your heart sinks and thumps that much harder against your ribcage all the same. “I’m sorry, Simon.”

“Don’t be,” you can sense his smile in the words. “Learned a lot of lessons from that. You know, we tried so ‘ard to make it work. Both of us sneaking out at night. She thought she could convince them, y’know. That I was good enough. Not that I ever mistreated her.”

“Mhm.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

“No, it’s okay. I want to listen.”

“There’s not much else to say really.” He sighs. “One night I was helpin’ her back into the house through the window and her dad was waiting for us. Never thought there’d be a day where I’d run as fast as I did that night.”

You huff, amused, your hand on your chest rising and falling with your heavier breaths: more aware of the way your body’s reacting to his stories.

“Got a phone call the next day and it was over. Parents sent her off, can’t even remember where anymore. Never spoke to her again.” A pause, him shifting, then repeating your own sentiment: “It’s never been the same as that first time.”

Smiling you reach for his hand across the bed, fingertips brushing over cotton until they reach his forearm, working down until you find the roughness of his knuckles. He twists his palm and then makes space for your fingers to link together, hand hot and heavy in yours but grounding.

“It’s easier like this,” you say, turning to face Simon, the long profile of his face darkened. There’s stubble dotted along his jaw that you know he’ll shave away before he gets in the shower; the purple trace of the scar that he’s yet to tell you about. Your gaze must disturb him, his head falling to the side so his cheek presses into his pillow, amber irises burning through you.

You watch with strange happiness the way his face moves when he speaks.

“Without the labels?”

“Yeah,” you nod slowly. “Yeah, I mean. I don’t want to go on a tangent but it’s like, all these guys I’ve been on dates with, they don’t see value in themselves if I don’t say I love you. It’s like I could give them everything they want, but if I don’t mention love they can’t understand why or how I do these things. I don’t know….I just get frustrated with them after a while because they expect it from me like it’s a requirement for a relationship. But I don’t think they even understand what love is, you know?”

He rolls his lips together, says: “I think so.”

The room falls quiet and you notice your heartbeat in your ears, how warm you feel now even though it’s cold outside. You watching Simon. Simon watching you. An unrecognisable force telling you to move closer towards him: so you do. Shuffling closer and closer until your body is pressed against him, not a single protest made against it.

“I like this,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” Simon smiles.

“I do, really. You’re really nice, Simon. And cool.”

He chuckles then, squeezing your hand in his, folding it upwards so your hands are close to his lips, wet breath over skin. “I dunno about cool.”

“Cooler than any other guys I know.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Clearly don't kno’ a lot of guys then.”

Faking exasperation you roll your eyes. “I know enough, trust me.”

He brings your connected hands up to his mouth, placing a kiss on the back of yours, cracked lips somehow so soft against your skin. You sigh, content, closing your eyes. Then you feel his lips brush over each eyelid and you melt into the bed.

In your ear he whispers I trust you.

[sugarcreambiteskingdom]

can I get a poly relationship with white pearl cookie,Crimson Coral Cookie, Frilled jellyfish cookie and the gem mermaid family with y/n mercookie tells them that they love them and they start to cry and then they think they said something wrong but they then started to kiss and group hug them please

Cream Oreo Cookie: I'm on it but bare with me because I only got to Throuple kinds of relationship and not more than that but that okay 🥲

PS: I found the image on Google

You may not just go around saying "I love you" willy nilly and making your poor girlfriends cry there heart out to you

Nah just because of what you did you have no choice but to stay in the castle and cuddle with your girlfriends

They all each take turns in cuddling with you and hugging the living sea life out of you

Crimson Coral Cookie is Big Spoon, You will sit on her tail while your back is against her chest and her arms around your waist and her face on your head

Next Aquamarine Cookie will use you as a bed cushion and just lay flat on top of you and nuzzle into you for her turn

While Gold Citrine Cookie does the Opposite and let you lay on top of her and cuddle that way with your head on her chest listening to her fast racing heartbeat

Frilled Jellyfish Cookie is the Small spoon and just hug your arm during her turn and just never let go...

Mystic Opal Cookie is not used to physical affection but after what you said just pushed her into hugging you sideways...where you guys lay on her clamshell bed and she hugs you from behind at times she would hum a melody for you to sleep so you two could cuddle more

And lastly White Pearl Cookie you don't have to ask her twice for hugging because she always hugs you 24/7 to the point she has this "Tackle Hug" in her system which she always does everyday everytime she sees you so there's no surprise that she will hug you tightly after those 3 words you said

Now as for there kissing they all do it with no hesitation and just pepper you with them on your face so if you go outside now and one of the guards ask you to why you have so many different colored kiss marks you just replied the words "Sisters and Jellyfish"

[thehollowwriter]

Summary: It's 3am, and Morrigan has a very important question for Silas

Warnings: None

Word Count: 215

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤️)

The Question

"Silas, would you love me if I was a worm?"

Silas blinked a few times, then rolled over to look tiredly at his partner.

"Morri," he mumbled. "It's the middle of the night."

Morrigan looked back at him with wide eyes. He was still lying down on their clamshell bed with his hands clasped together over his stomach.

"Silas." He repeated, dead serious. "Would you love me if I was a worm?"

Silas stared at him. "...No? I'd probably eat ya."

Morrigan gasped dramatically and put a hand over his heart. "Silas! That's stone cold of you!"

Silas huffed. "Well, I'm not gonna lie to ya? I don't care about worms other than eatin' em. Especially tube worms. Hmm, maybe I'd love ya if you were a tube worm. Sliced up. With seaweed on the side..."

"Silas!" Morrigan exclaimed. Silas' light teasing had him sitting bolt upright. "This scenario shouldn't involve eating *anybody*! Don't tell me you want to eat *me* now?

"'M not gonna answer that." Silas murmured, and his teeth briefly flashed.

Morrigan felt his face grow hot, and he crossed his arms. "Fine. Would you love me if I was a worm and you knew it was me?"

Silas rolled his eyes. "Course. But it'd be hard to resist eatin' ya."

"SILAS!"

-End

...........................................

A/N: This is just a silly short fic XD I felt like writing something more lighthearted and fluffy, with just a hint of suggestiveness lolol. I hope you guys liked the silly gay mermen

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @harryinramshackle @galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker @offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @theultbeing @1dont-really-know @nemisisnemi @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy @casp1an @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch @ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @sillyslipperybananapeel @cloudcountry @skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @sunsmilu @theolivetree123 @authoruio @jewelulu @moonyasnow @skibidibabygirl @quartztwst @yuizenihaswriten @oya-oya-okay @kirans-wonderland @coffinkissez @idikeis @s-t-y-x @minutewondertwist @random-twst-and-oc-stuff @creatorbiaze @bunnwich @blondeaxolotl

[cyclesprefectpress]

[video description: process recording of letterpress-printing a small illustration of a lizard from a relief wood block, and a decorative background printed from handset lead type. each color is printed in a clamshell-action press, which closes on a hinge, where the relief material is held at one leg of the V and the paper is held on the other. When the V closes, the relief material presses into the paper and transfers the ink. The handset type of the decorative pattern is an assemblage of many individual pieces usually used for strictly rectilinear borders. To print the rectilinear decoratives in the irregular shape around the lizard's body, the print is protected from contact with the inky type by a mylar mask handcut in the shape of the lizard. pressure is applied only to the positive space where the lizard isn't, and no pressure contacts the area where the lizard is. end description.]

etsy

finallyyyyyyy have finished something of my own, just for me, it has been i think months……… anyway it is a slightly silly thing, a bit of a warm up, but i like it :)) the lizard block is something my grandmother carved, a long time ago, hard to say, but before arthritis so somewhere around 30 years ago. it was made for some kind of hand-pulled fabric printing, not press printing, so it's not particularly planed or type high; i fixed it up a bit in the bed but even then there's one toe that needs a little touching up by hand. spent some more time on the typesetting for this than the simple forme suggests—i was just feeling very picky about decorative pieces that went best together.

[milkywaydrabbles]

I am so glad you have anons turned on... ahem. You don't have to do this if you don't want to, though!

Kinktober 29 + Alucard! (Castlevania)

A/N: I don't know what you did to me but I've been possessed once again for this ask holy shit. Tentacle anon lemme kiss u on the mouth ;; hope you enjoy MWUAH (also a firm believer he'll always be a lover boy no matter what) AU TIME

Tentacles x Alucard

“Adrian! I can’t believe you’re the little thief!” You gasped, scandalized that your sea-friend would be the one who’s been stealing all the balls that kept magically ‘floating away’ in the ocean. He shrugged with a sly grin, his tentacles sprawled around him keeping him afloat. You’d met the mystical half sea creature months ago by this point, you’d been paddling out to sea for fun, realizing that you’d gotten entirely too far from shore. Before you were able to panic, you saw the tiniest little cove a bit farther out, deciding to rest inside of it before making a plan to go back to shore, back home. Instead what you got was the scare of your life, a tentacle gripping at your ankle and with a shriek you fell back into the side. The playful little fiend crept out with wide eyes, not expecting to ever have a human here in his home. You mirrored the look, thinking you’d finally gone insane seeing something with the top half of a man and bottom half of an...octopus? Lots of screaming, and explaining later, your fears were quelled, and after hours of talking, you felt you made a friend.

And you did! Visiting him as often as you could out here, bringing him food that you’ve made from your home, and him giving you small trinkets he’s found lost at sea. (Most recently he’d given you a pearl necklace he said he made himself. You would have seen the scarlet bloom across his neck and chest, should you not turn away trying to calm your own beating heart.) You learned he’s the rumored ‘Alucard’, the sea monster that eats the sailors off at sea. (‘Why the fuck would I do that?” he reasoned) You also learned there’s more of his kind, he has friends he sees every so often, even has loving parents deeper in the ocean bed. But he likes to spend alone time here, closer to humans. He likes listening to the different sounds above the water. Sometimes you’d even see him out in the ocean, closer to the shores if there wasn’t anyone around. You started going to the shores late in the night, if only to see him twice a day. (You think he stays coming back to the cove because of you, but neither of you will speak it out loud.)

“I’m not stealing them. They really do get lost out here! What am I supposed to do, bring them back? Someone’s going to see me.” He couldn’t help but grin like the cheshire cat, using a tentacle to grab at one of the ‘lost’ beach balls, bouncing it over to you and you rolled your eyes with a laugh. “You’re terrible” Of course you’d never want him to actually go back and give them back--someone finding out about his existence could have very well been the end of his life, him trusting you enough to let you go was a huge feat for the merman. “I actually have something else for you.” 

“Ooh, another beach ball?”

“Quiet you, come here.”

You huffed, crawling over to where he lounged and sitting in front of him, waiting. For the first time since the pearl necklace, you saw Alucard looking nervous. You gave him time, raising a brow and cocking your head urging him to continue. From behind his back, he pulled out a clamshell, “I promise the clam wasn’t alive when I found it.” He mumbled, pushing it towards you. You blinked, confused. This wasn’t the first shell he’s given you, but it was quite...lackluster, in comparison to the rest he’d given you. Plus, he looked entirely too nervous for a shell! “Thank you, Alucard.” You teased, laughing when you heard him groan. “Hush, ridiculous fucking name...the shell isn’t your gift.” He paused. “Open it.” the top flipped up and you nearly dropped it out of pure shock. What lay inside was the most gorgeous ring you’d ever seen. A beautiful moss agate stone set in the middle, smaller pieces of diamonds dotted around the band. It was an intricate piece, one that you’d be devastated to lose if you were the original owner of this ring. “Adrian, I...what...oh my god” You couldn’t even form sentences, in too much shock a ring like this existed floating in the ocean. You looked at him, mouth agape. “How did you find this? Where did you find this? It’s in perfect condition!” you were scared to even touch the thing.

He stayed quiet for a moment, shuffling over to you. “I didn’t find it.” He admitted. “I ah...I had it made.” 

....

What?

“You said your favorite color was green. And you love the forest. So I thought this made the most sense for you. I know you’d rather live in the woods, but the ocean is beautiful too. I think you’d really like it here.” His voice was barely above a whisper, shaky hand bringing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Adrian, I don’t understand...”

You did. You just couldn’t believe it until he said it out loud. It all felt like a dream.

“I love you.”

Your breath hitched.

“And I would like to marry you. And have you move with me, into the ocean. With the rest of my kind.”

Your head was spinning, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Adrian panicked, hands frantically wiping away at your tears, unknowing that they were happy tears. “Please, please don’t cry. We don’t have to talk about this now, or at all, if you’re not comfortable it’s okay--” You cut him off with a kiss, your first shared kiss, hands smoothing his beautiful blonde locks. “Adrian, I love you.” Your admission knocked the wind out his lungs, head reeling that someone like him could have someone like you fall in love with him. “But how can this work? I mean, really, I’m not like you, I don’t...” He hushed you, placing another chaste kiss on your lips. “There’s more about my world that you don’t know, but I promise we can get you there. It’ll be our world soon, angel” 

You had no idea what he meant, or how it’d work, but in the meantime, you carefully took the ring out of the shell and gingerly placed it on your ring finger on your left hand. Your vision tunneled on the ring, holding your hand up to see it glimmering in the sunlight that shone through the cove. “It’s gorgeous, Adrian...” You could cry right now, and almost started to too if you didn’t try as hard as you were from keeping it together. “Be with me, please..” He connected his lips to you again, tentacles wrapping themselves around your middle as your hands carded through his hair. Adrian bit at your lower lip, slipping his tongue into your mouth when you permitted and deepening the kiss. What was once slow and sweet became a flurry of moans, tongue and teeth, anticipation and lust. He kissed and nipped at your jawline, your throat, your shoulders. “Will you let me touch you?” Adrian whispered, hands hovering over your body. You nodded, lifting your bathing top  off your body and pushing his hands onto your chest. His breathing stuttered, kneading and pinching at your body. “So beautiful, angel.” He murmured, dipping a tentacle at the hem of your bottoms, another joining by the edge of your pussy. You gasped, feeling yourself clench around nothing.  

You’d never thought yourself to be prude you just...never thought about being fucked by tentacles. Or a merman. But, fuck, if you weren’t turned on thinking about Adrian doing what he wanted with you before whisking you away to the deepest parts of the ocean. You pressed yourself closer to him, letting the tentacles pull away your bottoms. A hand came down to tease at your entrance, feeling the slick dripping on his fingers. “So wet..all for me?” He cooed, smiling when he felt you nodding against the crook of his neck. He wouldn’t tease you much, not this time--feeling much too impatient. His fingers slid into your pretty cunt with ease, so turned on you could have been ready for him right then and there. “Fuck, look at you.” He murmured, scissoring his fingers inside of you. He knows this wouldn’t be your first sexual encounter. He’s (unfortunately) heard of previous partners of your life, but none of them had the physiology that he had, he needed to prep you. “Darling, I need you to trust me, okay?” You furrowed your brows, humping at his fingers barely able to pay attention to what he was saying. “‘Kay, anything Adrian.” you murmured, before feeling the fingers replaced with something else. Something long, a bit slimy, definitely thicker. You cried out, hearing you gush and squelch around the intrusion. “Adrian!” You gasped, looking down at the juncture of your hips and seeing his tentacle pumping deep into your sloppy pussy. 

You couldn’t believe how hot and bothered you were, seeing him fucking you with the intrusive appendage. Your hips rolled towards him, the tentacle slowly pumping in and out of you. It poked and prodded at your walls, the suctions ribbing at your hole and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your mouth fell open with a moan, head leaning back. “Gotta loosen you up like this, sweetheart, gotta get you ready..” You heard the merman speak, but the ringing in your ear didn’t help. His lips wrapped around a nipple, hand playing with the other. Simultaneously more of his tentacles wrapped themselves around your legs and arms, rubbing and squeezing at your appendages as the one still in your pussy pushed further in, kissing what felt like the entrance to your womb. You shrieked, clenching down hard on the tentacle with the immense amount of pleasure and  hint of pain you were feeling. “Fuckfuckfuck, Adrian,” You mumbled, hands holding onto his shoulders, “feels good in my pussy, a-aah fuck!” You cried, humping at the appendage. He kept his mouth busy with your chest, a tentacle letting go on an arm to kiss your clit with the small suction on the tip, rubbing at the nub and leaving it slimy. He’d suction to it and let go, imitating sucking on the quickly swelling bundle of nerves. “Want you like this forever, darling girl” he mused,  laving a tongue over your skin and leaving bites and love marks around your tits. His hands gripped at your hips, lips pressing against yours with a new fire lit. The tentacles working on your cunt were driving you to your climax, tentacle wrapped around your thigh pushing your leg farther apart. Alucard looked down at his added appendage fucking into you, and how juicy and wet you were. It was intoxicating, and he realized quickly he could have you like this more than he’d like to admit.

“Wanna feel you on me, darling.” He cooed, pushing the tentacle deeper in you and curling, acting almost like a large tongue licking inside your sloppy little cunt, smile curling on his face when he heard the squeal he was looking for, feeling you gush around him. The suction cups held the stickiness of your pussy, Alucard swiping at a few to taste your cum on his tongue. He moaned lowly, nearly angry at himself for not having your first orgasm be on his tongue. But there’d be so many after this time anyways, he didn’t have to worry, you’d be his forever. “Would you like a taste?” You nodded dumbly, limbs feeling like jello. You thought he’d kiss you, instead you had his tentacle shoved into you mouth, squirming around to taste your own mess in your mouth. Another immediate, albeit small shockwave hit your pussy, dripping down your legs with how turned on having his appendage in your mouth made you feel. Adrian swiped at your pussy, sucking up and licking as much of your cum as you’d give him, “Can’t believe you came again just by that.” Big words honestly for someone that was about ready to cum untouched with how hot you were. Most of his cock fit inside his body, length too long for his kind to have it floating out. He kept the first tentacle in your mouth, loving the way you sucked on it and didn’t let go. “Relax for me, darling girl.” He whispered, feeding his huge cock into your tight wet hole. You squealed around him, the head of his cock so big it already felt like you were being split apart. But it felt so fucking good having him filling you up like this, pushing and pushing at your walls until you were filled to the brim with his engorged cock. You mumbled around him, swiveling and bucking your hips on him, squirming. “Let’s keep you still so I don’t hurt you,” More of his tentacles held your limbs enough for you to not be able to move freely, one still suckling and teasing at your clit with another dipping in teasingly next to his cock, almost as if taunting you--as if you could ever have two of these things inside you at the same time.

Your eyes rolled back, cheeks bulging with the size of his tentacle, tears staining your face whenever the tip hit the back of your throat, Adrian wanted this to be romantic, he swears, but the way you sucked him in--the way you got excited with his tentacles touching you, it was so difficult to keep going like that. His primal instincts were kicking in hard, wanting to claim you fully in every way. His upper body leaned back to take in the sight of you being impaled over and over on his cock, seeing your creamy cunt swallow him up. Your pussy was so juicy, squelches reverberating off the walls of the cove. It was nearly as loud as your muffle moans, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth as your jaw stayed pried open. “Fuck, darling, nor gonna last like this.” He murmured, holding onto your hips once more to slam you down as deep as you could take him, fucking into you over and over until his tentacled cock spurted deep inside you. You swore you could feel his cum filling your stomach, your womb, filling all of you as the excess spilled around the edges no matter how plugged he had you. Adrian panted, slowly retracting his cock from your abused pussy, seeing how his cum dripped out of you in globs onto the floor. He removed his remaining tentacles, smoothing his hands over you and rubbing at your face, nuzzling his nose into yours and your cheek, kissing at you. “I’m sorry honey, I couldn’t help it, you looked so good.” He begged for forgiveness, weaving his fingers with yours.

You smiled, kissing him back with the strength you had, “honey, we can take it slow next time. We have all the time in the world.”

[iwoulddieforher]

She Doesn't Get Out Much | Casey Novak x Alex Cabot | Part 3 (Olivia Benson & Casey Novak focus)

This is part three of a series, which can all be found HERE.

Summary: Casey has a necessary but casual conversation with Olivia at a bar- perhaps Olivia isn't the enemy Casey had originally judged her to be. Breaking ice and peanut shells isn't all that different, apparently.

Warnings: none :) just a little cute interaction between a pretty tipsy olivia and a healing casey

[3]

It felt incredibly odd, the way these people went from bickering like seagulls over clamshells to as chummy and tight-knit as brotherly soldiers.

Casey nursed her glass of White Russian as though she was fondly attached to it. It gave her something to do with her hands, whether it be letting the drink dangle from her clawed hand or setting it down to trace the rim with her index. She’d had this order for far longer than the others- the detectives were throwing back beers as though they had been waiting the entire week for it. They probably had, actually.

She wasn't quite sure how she had ended up here. Friday evening had entailed the end of a very effortful trial, and after it had closed- she was satisfied by the guilty verdict- Elliot had told her he was going with the squad to their most frequented cop bar, and she was coming with him. It hadn't been a question, not in a rude way, but more so he had known she wouldn't have felt comfortable accepting a politely worded invitation. He wanted her to bond with them, and for some reason in the spur of the moment she hadn't thought to argue- so she was here, now.

Surprisingly, she didn't hate it.

She wasn't uncomfortable the way she had assumed she’d be- it was enjoyable, watching the squad tease each other, slip jokes into statements about the week’s events and banter as though they had all grown up together like siblings. Cop loyalty was certainly something- she had assumed it would feel like sixth wheeling, but Fin and Elliot would throw her prideful grins when they managed to make her scoff at a wry joke, as though they were proud they had managed to get her to loosen up slightly. She wasn't sure why they were putting in the effort, but it felt good.

Mary's advice from the uncomfortable but entirely necessary dinner last weekend had helped her quite a bit. Despite her initial reservation, she had begun journaling- and begrudgingly, she had to admit it was helping. She had made it a habit of writing while eating dinner, which ensured she ate at least one full proper meal a day, and took a little time to sit down. It took more effort than she’d admit, though. It still took an amount of effort she was ashamed of to pull herself out of bed in the morning.

But here, in the warm, thick atmosphere of a cop bar, feeling as though she was a guest of moderate honor, Casey was okay.

Stabler guffawed loudly at something sly Munch had quipped, and even though Casey had zoned out slightly she smiled at the sound of his reaction anyway.

“Well you punch everyone Cragen will let you get away with, but be honest: which perp had the best hook?” Fin raised a hand to point at Elliot, who leaned back with her thumbs in his pockets and a broad, easy smile.

“None of ‘em. But really? The only one whose swing I’m afraid of is Casey’s.”

He showed all his teeth in the confident smile he showed her, the corners of his eyes wrinkling, and Casey snorted softly but couldn't stop a smile from growing on her lips. His grin broadened even further at her reaction. She thought the expression on his face reminded her a lot of her younger brother’s.

“Oh, that's true! You play softball don'tcha?” Fin said with an air of interest, leaning forward on his elbows, and Casey nodded twice with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Just another reason the opposing counsel should think twice before pissing me off,” Casey said with a bit of snark in her voice, to the delight of the boys as they laughed heartily at that response.

“You’re lucky I’m past my prime,” Munch declared, “Or you’d be taken down a peg, Ms. Novak.”

The group laughed again, and Casey joined them this time with a small but genuine chuckle. She still shot him a teasing raised eyebrow, obviously not wanting to pass the opportunity to tease, but it felt like she was being accepted.

“What are you talking about, John? You’re as fresh as they come.” She kid, and when everyone chuckled, it felt as though she was really one of them. She was, in a way. She’d never be as close as they were to each other, but it was like an aunt to a family- they loved you, you weren't as close as their own, but they were still yours in some form.

“For that, your next drink's on me, counselor.” John declared, and Casey grinned. She wasn't planning on ordering another one, but he had no way of knowing that, so the gesture was kind.

“Fellas, wanna play a round ‘a darts?” Odafin asked, gesturing to the dartboard on the wall a couple feet from the shared table, and some of the others agreed, so he went to request the projectiles.

With that break in the conversation, there was a momentary lapse of silence. It wasn't bad or awkward silence, but Casey’s immediate reaction was to try to fill it with something- but that brought her back to her issue, here, the only one in the group she wasn't yet entirely comfortable around.

Olivia Benson was drunk, but she was still Olivia Benson, and Olivia Benson was intimidating. It was weird, having such a reaction to a woman who was leaning back in her chair with a small dopey smirk on her face as she observed the surrounding friends with such kind eyes. Perhaps they had simply gotten off on a horrible foot, but Casey’s body still went awkwardly and uncomfortably stiff when Olivia’s brown eyes landed on her figure.

She liked having her glass in front of her- she could swirl the liquid and pretend to be thoughtful while sipping. It gave her something to do. When Olivia took a moment to study her, it would appear as though Casey was occupied- not with anything important, but it was better than just sitting there quietly. Drinking was what one did in a bar, after all, so she hoped it would appear nonchalant.

There were five people other than her at the bar- Elliot, Munch, Fin, Olivia, and Huang, although George had earlier ended up chatting with an attractive woman and had subsequently dispersed from the shared table to continue the conversation away from the teasing lips of his coworkers. Casey had been unfamiliar with his game, but apparently it was going well for him- from time to time, she’d glance over to check on him, and his partner always seemed to be enthusiastic.

The social circle narrowed dramatically when Tutuola returned with the darts, and everyone except for herself and the only other woman at the table stood up. Benson admitted she was probably a bit too tipsy to be throwing anything to Stabler the second he attempted to coax her into participating, and Casey simply didn't like playing darts. She was used to softball and court stances and not much else. Throwing a dart was very different from swinging a softball bat, and standing statuesque was probably not the right procedure for dart hurling either.

So then there they were, two stoic women sitting at a bar table too big for two people, and although the men were only a couple steps away to focus on the dartboard it still felt awkward not making conversation.

She couldn't think of anything to say, though, so she took a large swallow of her poison of choice and then angled her neck to face Olivia, dangling her head slightly so it may come off as drunken glance turned study if Olivia didn't take kindly to it.

Olivia didn't notice, though- so she must really be tipsy, because the Benson Casey was very often beyond frustrated with was insanely perceptive.

Feeling like her guard could be safely lowered, Casey relaxed into the observation of her coworker.

Olivia was quite pretty- Casey had taken the time to notice that before, but only in the way that it was infuriating that the brunette could be pretty and also cause so much chaos and reckless grievance for their cases. Here, if the dim lighting of a cop bar, the way her dark eyes seemed to sparkle illuminated a new perspective on her.

The dark eyes Casey had just been examining were doing something odd, though. They'd glance at the dartboard, then flick to the side towards the bar counter, then back at the dartboard, before sliding back over to the counter as though the momentary lapse had only been an unsuccessful cover to distract from her real object of focus.

Casey’s brow furrowed slightly. What could be so distracting?

She followed Olivia’s gaze the next time it flickered, trying her best to trace the direction. There were bottles arranged neatly on tap, so Casey’s first thought was Olivia was simply pondering what next she could order without coming off as an alcoholic, but Olivia’s gaze was lower than that, and it wasn't like she had to see the alcohol to wonder about ordering it.

The next logical conclusion was that Olivia had zeroed in on a target for affection, which struck Casey as odd. Casey considered herself sometimes blind to love and things of such nature, but Olivia and Stabler were very far from slick when it came to the depth of their partnership, and more than that Olivia didn't really seem like the type to pick someone up.

Casey waited until Olivia looked back at the dartboard, and then tried to pinpoint exactly where she was looking. Brown eyes darted to the side but also downward, so maybe she was checking out someone’s ass, but that also seemed not like her to do. Besides, no one was really sitting there, unless Benson’s type was two men who appeared to be finance bros who kept pumping fists at a basketball game on one of the screens in the corner.

Olivia sighed forlornly, tilting her head slightly, and then suddenly Casey was amused- she realized what Olivia kept looking at.

A bowl of peanuts was set out on the counter. Olivia was very desperately wishing for peanuts, but for some reason did not want to stand up and get them.

With a quiet snort and a jerk of her eyebrows, Casey stood, standing at the counter for a moment to wave the bartender and order another drink- so John was in fact being taken up on his joking offer- and so that she could fetch the bowl Olivia had so dolefully been admiring.

The brunette could not hinder her enthusiasm when Casey set the mesh bowl on the table, eagerly springing forward in her chair to snatch multiple peanuts from the bowl.

She set them on the table and then slammed a balled fist down, making Casey jump as the peanut shells were shattered and Olivia was given the opportunity to pop the now freed peanuts into her mouth happily.

“...There’s a more dignified way to get those open,” Casey said slowly, finding her seat again, and Olivia shrugged with a small smirk before simply repeating the procedure again.

Casey grimaced at the slamming sound of the brunette’s fist against the table, and then looked at her with a mild degree of bewildered quizzicality when Olivia hastily brushed small debris of peanut shells off of the edge of her palm.

“... ‘m impatient,” Olivia clarified, and Casey shrugged, taking it upon herself to begin cracking open peanuts herself.

She picked one up, holding on the second joint of her index and middle fingers, pushing down in the space between the two nuts so it would crack open properly without making the mess Olivia was creating. She freed the peanuts and then slid them across the table to Olivia, placing the shells in a small pile in front of herself before picking up another and repeating the process. Strangely, it was soothing- a repeating sequence. Pick one up, crack it open, fumble to pull the peanuts out, give them to Olivia, repeat. By the time she gave the next two, the previous ones had already been long devoured.

The process was interrupted only when Olivia took a handful, placed them bunched up together, making a fist and drawing her arm back before slamming down with force. Whenever she did so, Casey could quickly cover the small pile she had begun collecting of her own peanut shells so the remnants would not scatter and make a mess, and then when Olivia took to finding each individual peanut as they jumped apart, Casey could use the side of her hand to brush the broken pieces Olivia left behind together and conjoin it with her own pile.

After doing that four or five times, though, Olivia seemed to realize it was not only easier but also more efficient to simply wait until Casey provided her with more peanuts. Doing it her way left a mess that caused Casey to stop her own mechanical precision to organize the mess of broken pieces, and it took more time to root out the peanuts hidden in the wreckage then just sitting there and being served.

… But after a couple more repetitions of the process, Olivia grumbled something under her breath- whether it was admitting defeat or complaining about Casey’s persistence she wasn't sure, and then she picked up peanuts and started breaking them in a way that made it clear her drunken self was trying to mirror Casey’s motions.

“Alex would scold me for eating peanuts for dinner,” Olivia muttered. Casey froze, her green eyes flashing up to Olivia’s face. She instinctively assumed Olivia must be bringing up her predecessor as a taunt- but no, Olivia’s face was furrowed only in concentration on peanut destruction. She wasn't trying to remind Casey she wasn't Alex.

She had given Olivia the benefit of the doubt until that night in her office when Olivia had heart fully rejected every single one of her attempts to bridge some kind of understanding, and then she had subsequently never offered any benefit whatsoever. Perhaps that response had been harsh.

“I’d also scold you,” Casey murmured, before leaning forward conspiratorially, “but between the two of us? I don't fare much better.”

Olivia flashed her a broad grin that reminded her slightly of Stabler’s, and Casey wondered if cops had a certain way of smiling. She was very used to frown lines etched onto their cheeks, but when they did finally drop their armour, the smiles they provided were as sincere as their glares in the courtroom. Cops, unlike lawyers, did not smile for the purpose of the other’s perception. When Olivia smiled, she did so only because she felt like doing so. Casey could appreciate that about her.

“I can appreciate a lawyer who can get off her high horse,” Olivia quipped in response, glancing back up at her over her peanuts and snatching up the few Casey had pushed towards her. Casey smiled and gave a half-shrug.

“Wasn't in the best situation growing up,” Olivia said with an air of nonchalance that caught Casey mildly off guard, “so never really got into the habit of planning dinners properly.”

She was drunk. Did she mean to be opening up like this? To her, of all people? Sure, they had begun to be a lot more civil since Olivia had seen Alex again, but they were still far from friends- or, at least, Casey had thought they were. But with the way Olivia was glancing up at her every few seconds, albeit she was probably also simply checking to see Casey’s peanut procurement process, Olivia did not seem at all adversarial.

A step would be matched, Casey decided.

“Waited tables through law school,” she offered, “With the workload, never had the time too. And I certainly don't have it now with you people.”

Olivia huffed, jerking her eyebrows slightly. “All in a day’s work, right? But it's never just the day.”

“If only your team’s perpetrators worked nine-to-fives like my old cases’ did,” Casey pressed her lips together, “I’m sure we would find time to become Michelin star chefs.”

When Casey looked up at Liv, extending a bunched hand knuckle-up, the brunette was already smiling. Olivia provided her palm for Casey to drop the peanuts she had gathered into, but unlike the morsels Olivia’s smile did not fall from her face.

She popped the peanuts into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, already cracking open more as she did so. Casey huffed again, lightly, still finding amusement in her enthusiasm, even though by now she was acquainted with it.

Olivia was still too impatient for more peanuts to continue with Casey’s method- but she didn't want to revert back to her own either. She started using her stronger hands to hold three and strangle them all simultaneously. One rocketed to the side and slid down the counter to Casey, who picked it up and offered it back over.

A small growl came with Olivia’s frustration that peanuts could not be procured at the rate she wanted them to be.

“When did you last eat?” Casey quirked a brow, partially because her fingers were becoming rather tired from the process. Olivia shrugged idly and shook her head.

“Small lunch, no dinner. Obviously. You?”

Casey hesitated. That was a natural progression of the conversation. This was not threatening. She shouldn't be reacting as though she was being threatened. But oh, Olivia was scary to her, and her heart thumped in her chest- it frustrated and saddened her simultaneously, and it stressed her out.

“Decent lunch,” she answered honestly, she had stuffed her mouth with Chinese takeout while writing last-minute notes for the court case she had just debated, “and you watched me argue through dinner, so.”

It would be pointless to lie about eating now the way she used to. Firstly, it wasn't in her best interest to keep lying about such things, and also the reason Olivia hadn't gotten the chance to eat dinner was because court had gone long today and they all had come here straight after. Olivia was observant. There was no way Casey could lie about eating.

“Then shouldn't I be serving you peanuts?” Olivia looked up, her brown eyes blinking in a way part of Casey’s brain wanted to register as kind- the other half wanted to believe it was dismissive.

Casey shrugged, biting at the inside of her cheek. “I don't like peanuts very much.”

Olivia looked up at her again, wordlessly. Casey felt like she was being scrutinized because she was. She kept her eyes on the peanut shells she was cracking open in her hand, letting Olivia’s gaze examine the details of her face and trying to settle into the feeling of it. It occurred to her that perhaps she should be worried Alex had told Olivia too much- but it only occurred because of how that wasn't a concern of her’s. She trusted Alex intrinsically. Alex wouldn't betray her vulnerability like that.

Olivia seemed to find, or maybe didn't find, whatever she had been seeking. Without a word she stood and left Casey alone at the table.

Had she assumed she was lying? Casey wasn't sure. She tried not to feel hurt that Liv had left so abruptly, without even a muttered excuse. Lithe fingers stopped breaking apart peanut shells, but green eyes tried their best not to follow Olivia’s retreating figure. She fixated on the table, then gritted her teeth and glanced towards the men playing darts- Stabler had shot well, Odafin was patting him on the back.

The bartender showed up to give her the next drink- she had forgotten to finish her last one, but she thanked him anyway and pawed over a couple bills. Calling Munch over for this seemed like a waste of courtesy. Lawyers exchanged favors with a sense of rigor cops did not entail when they threw around comments and offers. Everyone was deceitful in some way- attorneys smiled when they didn't mean to, cops bid favors they didn't particularly expect to be carried up on. The trick was knowing who meant to do what, and trusting that one’s intuition was right. Casey was tired of mental gymnastics.

Casey was tired of mental gymnastics with the way Olivia had just vanished. She wasn't sure why she had assumed the conversation had been going well- she felt like her heart was bottoming out in her chest.

It wasn't an outright rejection, but she didn't understand what it was supposed to be at all. Olivia had very firmly blocked her out of everything in the beginning, and she had thought maybe something was shifting- but, apparently not. Perhaps she was stupid for thinking it had. Maybe Olivia was reminding her of her place beside her, the utter lack of one.

It was time to call it a night, maybe. Huang was still chatting with the same woman, the men were playing darts, and Casey was firmly not looking for where Olivia had gone too. She was alone at the table now. It was a sign she should leave before she could be entirely left.

Just as she had decided to do so, shifting in her chair and trying to decide which excuse to provide Stabler, Olivia reappeared.

Two plastic mesh bowls landed on the table, the containments of which bounced amongst themselves when Olivia dropped them. The brunette sported a smirk, as though she were very proud of herself for her ability to gather.

“There,” she declared, “Now it's a real feast, ey?”

Snack pretzels, oyster crackers, a small porcelain bowl full of marinated olives was set more gently down to accompany them.

Olivia hadn't vanished as a means of rejecting Casey’s attempt at companionship, she had simply decided Casey must be hungry and her drunken self had forgotten to explain that in haste to go procure something for the attorney to eat. She must have been circling the bar for tables that had snacks laid out- the smaller two tops had baskets while the larger tables typically didn't. Olivia had been wandering around to find empty tables to steal the baskets from.

She looked rather cute, sitting down- this time stealing Munch’s original chair at Casey’s left, so right beside her instead of across from her- with that self-satisfied grin.

Casey raised both eyebrows, snorted lightly, and then without overthinking it popped three oyster crackers into her mouth, flashing Olivia a teasing look that didn't affect Olivia’s drunken beam at all.

“Can't let my ADA go hungry,” Olivia countered, and although Casey was caught off guard by the comradely she tried her best to settle into it.

It felt very odd. For weeks she had seen Olivia solely in opposition to her. Olivia was often reckless with cases, overzealous on behalf of victims, and had a penchant for tunnel vision. Her method of zeroing in on a target and attempting to destroy everything in its path to that kept putting her at odds with Casey- it was though her narrowed scope of perspective kept showing her that Casey was a figure in her way, when all Casey was trying to do was fight on the same side. She had tried to be understanding of that, but at some point her patience had run out and she had decided Olivia was just irritating to deal with, more than that, really- she had decided Olivia was mean.

In the dim lighting of the bar, though, with the background audio of their colleagues bantering and playfully slapping each other and laughing over darts, with Olivia sitting by her shoulder-to-shoulder - Olivia was not mean. She wasn't intimidating, either. She had her flaws, but Casey would be kidding herself completely if she tried to argue she had never come across as unlikeable either.

“Didn’t know you were all that fond of me,” she tried to jest lightly, but the second she said it she regretted letting the words slip out. If they were friends, it was only barely. They certainly weren't close enough to make such jokes. The revelation was entirely one-sided.

Olivia’s eyes rounded slightly in surprise, her smile dropping- although, it wasn't replaced with any discernible expression. She tilted her head, appearing mildly intrigued and simultaneously guilty.

“... I don't do very well with change.” She said after a small pause, “If I was harsh in the first couple days you started with us - that's…”

“I’m just fucking with you,” Casey blurted out quickly, shaking her head and flicking her hand dismissively as though entirely nonchalant. Olivia seemed to buy her act, shrugging and then turning her focus back to peanut demolition.

They sat in a vague silence for the next couple moments- Olivia’s face was scrunched with concentration on breaking apart a couple of more hardy peanut shells, and Casey was thinking about what Olivia had just admitted.

The revelation was probably one sided, because the dislike had been in the first place. Olivia hadn't seen her as adversarial the way Casey had her. Maybe Olivia had been rude and dismissive the first couple cases because she was simply adjusting to a new attorney- one who, admittedly, was very green for the job. Sure, she had Branch’s recommendation for the transfer, but Olivia had never had a reason to offer her immediate respect. Maybe she just … hadn't earned it as quickly as she had assumed it would happen. In white collar, detectives were constantly rotated, and thus everyone was civil because everyone knew they would probably not be seeing each other after the case files closed. SVU was different. Originally Casey hadn't understood that.

It was a bad combination of events- Alex vanishing so soon after taking that major step in their relationship, starting a new strenuous job, all happening so quickly and so soon after Charlie.

Maybe she had been self-absorbed, and Olivia- although often rabid in pursuit of justice, narrow-minded and blunt- wasn't the enemy she had assumed her to be.

Casey chewed thoughtfully on another handful of oyster crackers, washing the saltine-like taste down with the ends of her last White Russian so she could begin sipping at the next one.

“Can you open this?” Olivia said suddenly, defeatedly placing a stubborn peanut in front of Casey and glancing up at her with an air that could almost come off as a frustrated shyness.

She smirked smugly at the detective, picking up the nut and pressing down on it confidently, before encountering the same problem. It was a tough nut to crack. She paused, glaring at it for a second as though it was the peanut’s intentional doing, before sighing.

Wordlessly, Casey dropped the peanut onto the table, raised a fist, and slammed it down onto the surface. It shattered under the force, bouncing the grown pile of peanut shells around the table. She wiped the debris off the edge of her palm, freed the edible portion from the wreckage, and offered it over.

Olivia snorted with a shake of her head, grinned at her, and ate them.

[ledetlore]

But Soft - Draft Idea

Okay so I have written something inspired by some messages between @stepticel and I, and I'd love to know people's thoughts. All I needed to hear was Romeo and Juliet, and therefore needed a balcony scene by hook or by crook.

If you are interested, there is more below the cut! 3,140 words of Ledetlore going ham. Let me know any thoughts!

Warnings: none, I just love being verbose as hell.

Kremy LeCroux watched the guards that had escorted him to his room leave it, their armour clinking softly as they moved in one fluid motion, perfectly mirrored as they closed the tall, carved doors behind them. The world outside the door became muffled, if silence could even be so – this old, grand estate seemed like it had been made to be filled with sunlight and moonshine equally.

The room itself was opulence incarnate – a bed, draped in neatly folded eiderdown covers, smelling like fresh soap and covered in pillows and cushions; enough to satisfy even the pickiest of princesses. The walls were smooth, with the most delicate of patterns painted into the thick cream in a shade just a touch lighter. Thin, gossamer curtains billowed with the breeze, dipping from cool silvered sheets in the night to buttery, elegant wings furling in the lamplight of his room.

A fireplace crackled, impossibly big and gilded at the mantle, above which hung a painting of a woman on a swing, greens mottling in the bushes and trees as one of her shoes flew off. Kremy recognised it from one of his lessons, but couldn’t quite place where – Garou had told him, he was sure. The fire itself wasn’t needed, what with the summer season spreading its wings over the sky, but it crackled merrily all the same to fill the silence of the room.

It was further furnished for his stay – a writing desk, with a high-backed chair and stocked with quills, ink, and paper. A wardrobe easily big enough for his outfits, and then some – all unpacked by the servants, apparently. A low-slung set of seats, a chaise lounge, a short table with a bouquet of freshly prepared orange-red roses. Kremy smiled at them – they reminded him of Gideon, the way they unfurled in the room as if aflame.

Stepping in further, his feet tapped lightly against the tile in beat with his cane. Wood surrounded the bed, presumably to be warmer than marble come morning. Even so, his slippers had been laid neatly beside the bed-step. Baron knows he’d need it, with the sheer size of the mattress.

A set of doors to his right piqued his interest, and he opened them. They swung inwards, gliding like a dancer on ice, and came to a cushioned stop. Inside this next room was a bathroom, so unlike his cramped one on The Hungry Catfish. A deep bath was set into the floor, lace pink quartz curving in a delicate approximation of a halved clamshell. The wall in here was painted with a mosaic of various merfolk surrounded in seafoam, and strings of pearls hung in clusters. The domed roof had a skylight, a sliver of silver that was swallowed by the number of candles and glowing lanterns lit. The bath was prepared, as he had been informed it would be.

Heat curled around him, damp and clinging, like welcoming hands. The bath was steaming hot, and covered in clouds of white bubbles, sprinkled with more rose petals – blush, this time. A massive boudoir was set to the side, white paint crisp, the rounded mirror set with more pearls and shells.

Kremy stepped out again, humming. Well, Remy was certainly in the right place to discuss deals of grandeur, he supposed. His shoes, tight after a day on his feet, clacked as he made his way to the wardrobe. Sitting on a little stool, he unlaced them, removing his spats at the same time. His slippers went on next, cork-soled and glinting with the faint shimmer of glitter. Gricko knew him well.

Opening the wardrobe, he found himself face to face with all his clothing, and then some. Hung up were the things he had brought, as well as gowns, suits, bedclothes, shirts, skirts, more. Hesitantly, he pulled open a drawer to find much the same – his own things folded neatly (oh, gods, someone had folded his underwear) besides an array of finer, more elegant options.

Kremy wasn’t sure what emotions it was supposed to make him feel. So, instead of thinking too hard, he traced his fingers down the hem of a thistledown thin nightdress. If it were in his closet, he supposed he should wear it – after all, some elven nobles were strange about their guests and the rules of propriety.

He hung it over one arm, and made his way back to the bathroom. No need for all this hesitation if he was just going to wear it, after all – no one would see him in it. Slipping out his slippers, he shut the doors behind him, swallowing steam into his lungs with a desperate, deep sigh of relief.

He hung the nightdress on the brassy bar hanging on the wall, where three empty hangers were waiting. As he undressed, he hung each piece of his suit up carefully, avoiding wrinkling it before snapping a quick prestidigitation over himself and the fabric to remove the day’s filth.

Now he could settle into his bath, clean and not worried about wallowing in his own filth.

The water was heavenly, a kiss to his calves as he sat on the lip of the tub. He looked back to the pearls curiously, watching condensation cling to them, dripping down and falling in heavy globs of water. They made an odd musical ping each time, and he looked carefully.

There, running in a thin groove along the ground, was a rose-gold layer of curved metal – the water would fall in from the pearls to there, neatly avoiding puddles on the floor. He traced the path of a droplet as it fell, watching it race along the shimmering journey until it disappeared into a grate at the far end of the room.

How curious, he mused, sinking in lower. The elves seemed to have it figured out – this way, no mould would grow, except on the pearls, which could be cleaned far easier than the walls. Luxury being functional was a new concept that made him tilt his head.

He swam in the bathtub until the bubbles had faded, brushing past rose petals as he sank below the water and closed his eyes. The water hadn’t become cold, but it was definitely a few degrees below what it had been when he finally swam back to the edge and clambered out, reaching for his cane to help him stand.

It would be an irritation, he supposed, to have to do that constantly with his bad hip. Still, he wouldn’t complain about this place, not yet.

Indulgence had not yet said it’s goodbyes, apparently. As Kremy slipped the nightdress on – scandalously thin, though modest in length and cut – there was a soft knock upon the door. He dressed himself fully, opening the door and wandering out, leaning on his cane. A small servant boy stood there, a human with a mop of curling blond hair, a tray in one hand and a bucket filled with ice in the other. He said nothing, and Kremy looked awkwardly to the main doors to his room.

“Um, Whattado?” Kremy tried, wondering why there was someone now in his room.

“My Lord,” the servant boy said, voice high pitched and jittery. “I have been sent to offer you wine, one made from the daisies in our very own gardens.”

“My- Oh, why thank you,” Kremy smoothed, momentarily taken aback at the title. The young man flourished a glass, filling it with the bottle in the bucket. It fizzed lightly against the crystalline glass, and when full, he paused momentarily.

“Would you like me to stay, sir?” He offered, half bowing to Kremy.

No, no Kremy did not want this weird kid to stay in his room. He hadn’t been expecting to find some random servant in his room after what was supposed to be his bath and retirement to bed.

In lieu of answering, Kremy took the stem of the glass delicately and sipped the pale liquid inside. The roof of his mouth tingled as the effervescent liquid passed through, and he found himself sipping deeper, for more of the sharp, light flavour.

Oh Baron, he was drinking that whole bottle, come hook or crook. The servant was stood, still and silent, and Kremy knew what Garou had told him to do, and how to act, but gods was this hard.

“You may leave,” he said, but gestured to the bottle with his free hand. “Uh, do leave the bottle. This is fine wine y’all have made.”

The servant bowed, low once more, and left the bottle on the table, already gathering crystalline drops down its smooth, tapered throat. Kremy waited for the doors to close before grabbing the entire thing, pouring until his glass was far fuller. Oh, tonight was shaping up to be far better than expected.

Wandering to the open window, Kremy breathed in the night air, alone once again. The balcony was carved from smooth white stone, rounded in a half-moon that jutted out with a perfect view of the gardens, centred with the fountain. He could hear it, just about – the burble of water as it cascaded, catching the light with diamond reflections in the translucent, night-shaded sheets it fell in.

The lanterns behind him did not glow half as bright compared now to the ivory caress of moonlight, coming to settle cool and light as frost on his scales. The air was still warm from the day, dry heat that fluttered with promise, the sun long gone. Far off, he could hear the sound of music playing, possibly from where Garou was still being entertained by their hosts.

Kremy leaned on his forearms, and turned his eyes to the sky. It was as if he’d been placed in a sphere of blue goldstone, encompassed by the distant glint. Sapphires in deep blue velvet, all draped and hung out as if settled to be perfect as possible.

A smudged shadow darted between hedgerows, but he couldn’t see it, tilting his head to catch the strains of strings and stars at once.

Across the sweet, cut grass, Gideon breathed low, his heart thundering in his chest as he ducked past yet another ornamental shrub absolutely doused in thick, honeyed blooms. The guards weren’t going to be round for another ten minutes, and he could see Kremy already – a silhouette against a drop of gold, a bead on the face of the moon-blued walls.

He’d scoped the place out earlier, of course, under orders from both Kremy and Garou – find the weak spots and make sure no one else did. His job was to guard Kremy, and while those elves and their ivory towers were good, Gideon didn’t trust anyone but himself to get bloody keeping Kremy clean.

There – under the balcony, stretched up to allow the hybrid roses to climb  a trellis, thick and sturdy and enchanted not to fall. It wound around Kremy’s balcony and up another story still, but he wasn’t caring about that. No, he was climbing to that low point, to where he wanted most desperately to be.

The night air was heady with the powder-sweet scent of petals, and he stepped closer, a hand coming up to test the wooden framework.

Satin soft, the petals of the roses brushed against him like lips, dancing over his thick, scarred knuckles and kissing the heel of his palm. The wood would hold, easily, and he shifted to set the toe of his boot in the gaps. Both hands moved, grabbing to the best holds for him to cling to, for when he pulled himself up.

Sharp, stinging pain. Gideon nearly let go as teeth bit into him, prickling thorns digging their canines into his hands. But, no, he couldn’t.

Above him, as if dawn were already breaking, Kremy’s window loomed. Gideon huffed, breaths steady and even as he forced himself to ignore the sensation of scratches. He began his ascent, avoiding knocking the blossoms as he did, knowing these damn elves would spot a bruised petal like he’d spot a drawn blade.

It wasn’t much strain to climb, with its even set diamonds, and he climbed careful but quick. He hated wasting time, especially when he knew he couldn’t stay all night. Any second with Kremy would be a spoil, a treasure worth more than the gold in his wages. So, he climbed, one arm up and then the other, the warm night drying the sweat pricking up on his throat and forehead, the cool of night not yet silked on his nape.

The magnolia trees at the edge of the property creaked as the wind tussled them, brining over their richer, jammier scent, swirling with the roses under his nose. Giden twitched, his beard shaking as he clenched his jaw a little, still moving. He could see the marble arch coming to view now, and in a few steps he’d reach Kremy. He kept light and quiet, as much as a genasi on fire could, at least.

Kremy too noticed the scents mixing – and took a deep inhale, marvelling in the way the two flowers made such a delicate perfume. He sipped his wine, then breathed again, only for a new scent to grace him. The flowers were there, strong, but underneath he could smell the faintest traces of smoke, of leather, of something like the pink pepper cologne he gave Gideon for special occasions.

The idea made him smile – Gideon would have made this night perfect, he mused, but there was no joking to be had when they were closing in on such an important deal. Perhaps they could bargain more of this wine, he wondered, spinning the glass by the stem and watching the bubbles coalesce into a thin white foam. He turned himself heavenward again, drinking in the constellations.

Gideon climbed a little higher, and glanced back to see Kremy through the pillars of marble holding up the balcony’s railing. Face sky-turned, Kremy’s eyes were filled with more stars than Gideon thought the sky could ever reflect. He was in some new dress too – though Gideon wasn’t sure he’d ever seen such things outside of the tastefully illustrated romance novels that Kremy swore he’d never read.

His glass clinked real pretty when he set it down, and Gideon knew then that he wanted nothing more than to be the crystal stem twirled between his fine, thin claws.

In his leaning to get a better look, he hadn’t noticed where he’d set his weight, and the trellis creaked a little before he hurriedly righted himself, the plants rustling as he spun back. The sound caught Kremy’s attention, and he turned. Gideon had one leg reaching down to the balcony, the other on its knee as he paused his climbing.

They both froze, eyes locked on each other’s. Kremy’s breath hitched. Gideon’s new thorn-bites beaded with blood.

“What,” Kremy hissed, as if anyone could hear them, “do you think you’re doing here?”

“Comin’ to see you,” Gideon replied, grinning ear to ear. No one could hear him – guard rotations wouldn’t be round for a while, and the guards at the end of the hall wouldn’t hear them. He’d read the floorplans extensively. Still, it didn’t compare when he peered in, looking over the rich wood and luxurious bedspread. “Whew, nice set up they got ya.”

“Yes, because I’m here as Garou’s protégé,” Kremy snapped, wandering over and glancing at the garden in worry. “You were meant to stay with the other staff!”

“No, they said Garou’s staff were to stay there,” Gideon smirked, rolling his eyes. “I ain’t Garou’s staff, I’m yours.”

“I am very sure they meant you too,” Kremy hissed, and tugged Gideon into the room, dousing them both in buttery light. He carefully closed the stained glass of the doors, and tugged Gideon further inside. He peered to the other door, eyes flickering in concern.

“No one will know,” Gideon said, and it was the truth. He put his hands on his hips, and took a deep breath in. Kremy stared at him, wringing his hands for a moment, wine softening his judgement as Gideon started to explore around.

He checked under the bed, in and behind the wardrobe, and peered into the bathroom with a tight face, until something cleared the storm on his brow and smoothed it into the sunrise of his smile. Carefully, he kicked his boots off, and fell backwards onto the bed, rumpling the perfect sheets with an impression of his body.

“So,” Gideon asked, rubbing the texture of the embroidered brocade with his palms. “What’s the deal, then?”

“Well, you know the itinerary,” Kremy sighed, brushing his fingers along the bottle neck as he walked over. “Today they’re having some sort of private meeting, tomorrow I need to be available for brunch, and then in the evening is the dinner, and then is… uh…”

“The ball,” Gideon said helpfully, propping himself up on his elbows as he leaned his head back, craning to stretch out his neck. Kremy wouldn’t ever admit that the exposed expanse of burnished burgundy made his throat dry, but the dip between Gideon’s clavicles glistened with sweat, and his eyes were stuck to it like a bee to pollen. “Y’all have a fancy ball, and I get to finally see you again. Officially.”

“On the clock,” Kremy reminded him absently, watching how Gideon’s chest muscles moved as he breathed. “Which means-?”

“Means no fun,” Gideon grumbled, flopping back down to his back. Kremy scoffed, but didn’t correct him. The room had felt warm earlier, but now it seemed like it would never be warm enough, and Kremy bit down with all his force on the desire to crawl next to his bodyguard.

They weren’t on The Hungry Catfish, and it seemed the servants could come in at any point, if the wine boy was anything to go by. It would be bad enough if someone entered and saw Gideon, let alone saw the protégé coiled up like a housecat next to him. No, Kremy had to be sensible.

Though, the swell of Gideon’s body called ever so sweetly, promising warmth.

No.

“Gideon, why are you here?” Kremy asked eventually, when the silence stretched and the fire crackled. It seemed his question had struck something, and Gideon held still, not meeting his gaze or answering. All of a sudden, the thin shift he wore felt hardly enough to cover Kremy. Exposure dragged its cold hands down his back, over his hips.

“Like I said,” Gideon huffed. “I came t’ see you. This place is awful big, and I don’t much like the thought of not seein’ you.”

Humming, Kremy didn’t push it. Garou was teaching him when to keep his mouth shut, and he was trying to learn that skill. If Gideon wanted to tell him, he would.

[itsnotamatterofif]

ANONNNNN you got me good with this one oh my god i love love writing fluff. This is kind of a little sequel to the double date drabble and I’ll be honest it kind of ran away with me since this is sitting at 1.5k. The main headcanon I threw into this is that Tassita speaks BSL for when he’s too overwhelmed to speak, and he’s teaching Hydra so that they can still communicate, but Hydra’s a slow learner bless him.

✨Want a stex fic Drabble? Send me an ask!✨

Mercifully, the coach shed is empty by the time Tassita and Hydra stumble in. Compared to the buzzing excitement of the mess shed, the silence is golden, almost louder than anything else as Hydra becomes aware of every chugging system coursing around his body and every out of electricity surging through the walls around him.

Their breath stutters as the silence makes his skin crawl for a second, and fights the urge to talk as Tassita gently pushes past them, ducking under his arm to begin leading them to his door.

I’m going to my room, Tassita signs tiredly, hands just slow enough for Hydra to read - he’s learning sign as best as he can, but Tass is still too quick for him sometimes, you’re welcome to join me, but I want quiet.

They’re not sure how to say how much he would love that, how much he wants to snuggle into Tass’ side and press gentle kisses to his jaw, so settles on the universal ‘Okay’ with his thumb and index before following happily.

It’s not often Tass invites him back like this. Usually when he’s overwhelmed, Tassita prefers to be on his own, where he can control every stimulus in the environment. It’s nothing specific to Hydra, only that sometimes, Tassita doesn’t really think he can tell another train to stop breathing, so when they are invited back, it’s best behaviour or nothing.

The familiarity of Tassita’s room is comforting though, the cosy dimmed LEDs slowly coming to life as Tassita flops down on his bed and begins the familiar routine of taking his earplugs out and peeling off his protective outer layers. As quietly as possible, Hydra does the same, gently setting his external tank in the corner next to his duffel bag of overnight gear that might as well live here at this point; of course their headphones and the dinky games console Lumber got them for Christmas have sunk to the bottom of the bag, and he roots around as quietly as possible until he can retrieve the clamshell console and tangled wires with as little crashing as possible. Tassita only flinches once, which is an improvement on the usual, and by the time Hydra begins slowly making his way over to the bed, the familiar nest of blankets and pillows has already been constructed, Tassita’s head barely visible behind the soft furnishings.

Sharply, one teal eye swivels his way, Tass’ attention breaking from the book for a second.

Hi, Hydra signs slowly, tentatively, unable to help the small smile stretching across his lips, please may I- his hands falter as his mind races for the sign to hold, he was taught this last week and they manage to bite their tongue before the frustration of it makes him grumble- please may I sit with you?

Two hands escape the blankets, and Tassita’s steely gaze softens at Hydra’s confusion; he’s wonderful like this, endlessly patient and forgiving, overwhelmingly handsome in the soft orange light around them.

Of course, Tassita replies, and begins shifting some of the blankets before pulling his hands back up again, what did you forget? You may whisper.

Hydra clears his throat as lightly as possible. “I wanted to ask to hold you,” he mutters, unsure if they were even audible to Tassita, and he knows that they’re flushing green from the pricking heat on his cheeks as an amused smile grows on Tassita’s face.

Before he can sit down, Tassita repeats back to them their words with his hands, slow motions going over the phrase twice as Hydra parrots it back, willing it to muscle memory.

Try again, Tassita instructs gently, and Hydra shuffles awkwardly in his boyfriend’s gaze.

Please may I hold you? He asks shakily, and if he squints, he can see that Tassita is blushing too, that cute, amused blush that sits high on his cheeks like highlighter.

Of course you may, Tassita replies, pulling the blankets back for Hydra to clamber in next to him. The beds here are bigger than their bunk in the freight shed, so there’s plenty of space for him to manoeuvre himself behind Tassita so that Tassita can use his chest as a pillow.

As soon as he’s comfortable, the blankets are tucked around them again, and they reach to the side to pick up the console he had discarded. They had worked out pretty early on in their strange but familiar relationship that although Tassita needed silence, Hydra needed noise, so the peeling earbuds that Hydra jams in his ears as he flicks on his console are a lifeline in the quiet of the room; the music of the game isn’t loud, especially since this cheap pair isn’t the best at soundproofing, but it’s enough that Hydra doesn’t feel like he needs to peel his skin off, and as they feel Tassita relax and lean his head against his upper arm, he knows he’s found the auditory sweet spot.

After a minute, once Tassita stops moving to get comfy and the blankets around them are finally arranged correctly, Hydra dares to lean over, to press a kiss against Tassita’s head; it’s featherlight, just in case the physical sensation is too much, but the way Tassita keens to the touch makes their core pick up just that little bit more. As they pull their head away, Tassita raises his slightly in invitation, almost subconsciously as he doesn’t seem to tear his attention away from the e-reader in his hands, and Hydra hits pause happily to kiss the crown of his head once, twice, three times. Then a kiss to the space behind his ear, a kiss to his temple, and if Hydra really stretches he can just about press another kiss to the very top of Tassita’s cheek, earning him that wonderful giggle that Tassita only ever seems to do around him.

“You’re affectionate tonight,” Tassita whispers, barely audible through Hydra’s earbuds as he yanks one out, “was I not paying you enough attention earlier?”

“Am I not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?” Hydra replies with an eye roll, careful to keep his voice to a minimum, “sorry for thinking you’re cute and wanting to kiss you when you’re cuddled up in my arms.”

“It’s a good thing you’re so handsome, tanker,” Tassita mutters, flicking the page on his e-reader nonchalantly as Hydra kisses his temple again, “flattery like that would normally get you nowhere. Are- are you comfortable?”

The sudden hesitancy in Tassita’s voice makes Hydra pull back from his tirade of soft kisses to Tassita’s hair, and he would frown if he couldn’t see the blush on Tassita’s cheeks - they’re still getting used to this couple-y thing, after all, and it’s taken Tass quite a while to get used to having another person in his space. Not that Hydra’s complaining, he’d wait until the ends of the Earth for Tassita, but they can understand him not really knowing what to say.

“Very,” Hydra confirms, and Tass nods once in acknowledgment, “if you want me to move, or leave though, just say-“

“Don’t leave,” Tassita interrupts, almost embarrassed by how quickly he said that, “sorry, I- it’s nice. You’re nice to lean on, and you’re doing better at being quiet than normal.”

“Practiced just for you,” Hydra replies lovingly, unable to help the swell of his systems as Tass shuffles up and angles his head just enough for Hydra to reach and gently, as gently as he knows how, kisses him on the lips. The faint taste of coffee and vodka hits his tongue, sweet and bitter all at once, but Tassita, finally, melts at the touch, pressing back faintly as one hand slowly settles on Hydra’s knee to steady himself.

Only a short kiss tonight, as Tassita pulls away after a second, but the faint emerald staining on his skin is enough for Hydra to wish he could take a picture of his moment to store in their memory banks forever.

Carefully, the e-reader is set on the bed, and Tassita’s hands slowly sign a sentence Hydra isn’t familiar with; he can make out the grammar, and odd connecting words, like ‘I’ and ‘You’, but the phase is lost on him as Tassita purses his lips nervously and stares at the blanket.

I don’t know that one, Hydra signs back, shifting slightly so Tassita can see both his hands and his face.

“I’ll teach you next week,” Tassita explains, an almost playful smile on his face, like he’s about to let Hydra in on some great secret, “your homework is to see if you can work it out before then, let me know if you need it again.”

As Tassita settles back into his arms, frame relaxed and soft against theirs, Hydra can’t wait to find out.

[balrogballs]

How Splendid the Day

Editing process is going faster than I expected on this very-long oneshot I’ve been chipping away at for a few weeks now, so look forward to (or dread) it after Prayers is done! For now, here’s an extract.

Info: Lindir/Elrond, Daeron/Maglor and Elrond/Celebrían.

Summary: In this loose adaptation of the Athenian tragedy Antigone, Lindir, who used to be Daeron, and Elrond, take a deeply weird road trip to the Shire after Legolas Greenleaf and Bilbo Baggins send word that Fëanor — yes, that one — has been found semi re-embodied in a cave he cannot cross the threshold of. And before you ask, yes it is indeed the fic where Bilbo asks Fëanor if he has a tail.

Mathematically speaking, the affair is very straightforward. Lindir wants to lock Elrond between his thighs and Elrond wants to navigate the scars Lindir earned as Daeron. Neither wish to build each other houses nor hang keys around their necks. The desires of the flesh sometimes stem not from the heart but from the brain: what the mind remembers informs what the body craves. Years of practice have taught them desert-lullabies: taught them how to create the right mirages at the right moments to fool weary souls.

What Lindir sees in Elrond is not a half-elf drifting in endless time, but a half-man left unmoored, who has chosen one thing whilst craving another. He sees how Elrond follows ruin like a puppy, chooses to love only the dying. Elrond looks nothing like Maglor, but he despairs like him. There is a strange loveliness to it, the same loveliness that Lindir, in the days he was Daeron, loved enough in Maglor to close his eyes to all else. That is why Lindir takes to the Lord's bed. Not because Elrond’s face resembles Lúthien’s, but because his heart resembles Maglor’s.

It is not a mourning ritual, as one might think (understandably, as Elrond’s entire life is made up of various mourning rituals stacked together like clamshells). But neither Celebrían nor Maglor are truly dead, not even by the most expansive definition of the word. Their bedplay is not an elegy but a re-enactment of a death knell, the highest, longest minor chord.

They are simply keeping time, Elrond and Lindir. This is why mourning rituals, even the most extravagant, have always been for the living; why we borrow grief, rehearse losses before they occur, dream of our own funerals, gravitate toward elegies that allow us to see ourselves as already gone. To simulate a loss is not to embrace it, but to assert — through its very staging — its continued presence.

Such re-enactments inhabit a space between have and have-not, indulgently replaying the vanishing often enough that the final reunion would be made all the more sweeter. It allows for the lost-thing to be remade, the absence made present through the act of witnessing the new shapes their continued love took. It is a an act of epistemological defiance, this affair: a refusal to toss Celebrían and Maglor to the conditional benevolence of collective memory.

To be Eldar is to let history live within you, after all. Remembering is the only way they know to live — and so this affair too is simply a form of rememberance. When it ends, they will smile, shake hands, and walk towards the light as if they had not held each other through the dark. It is all they can do, for it is not the nature of the Eldar to come up with names for things that cannot be collectively understood. The closest we can get to a definition is this: there is only one thing comparable to the way Daeron loves his Maglor, and that is the way Elrond loves his Celebrían.

[askewedview]

I think me (and my house) would be unstoppable if I had one of those pink clamshell sofa/bed/item of furniture.

[imsodishy]

"You’re such a snob."

Eddie has to actually look around to see if someone else has snuck into his room who Billy could possibly be addressing. Billy's not looking at him, after all. He's digging through Eddie’s music collection, blonde curls obscuring most of his face, except the bemused little smile at the corner of his mouth.

But no, they're still alone.

"Excuse me?" Eddie demands.

When Billy flicks his gaze over to him Eddie gives a performative (theatrical even) second look around the room. "Have you not noticed where we find ourselves at present? Have you confused this trailer for a mansion somehow?" Billy just rolls those baby blues, always so eloquent.

Eddie sets aside the campaign notebooks he'd been doodling in, shifts off the bed, onto the floor to start crawling towards Billy, who turns back to the tapes, making a show of ignoring him as Eddie goes on, "Did you forget which boyfriend you're with right now? You must be thinking of the other one; hair like a rooster," he wiggles his fingers above his head like a crest, "Golden dubloons falling out of his pockets?"

"Dubloons." Billy snorts softly.

"Because I am not a snob." Eddie concludes as he sidles up behind Billy and wraps around him like an octopus, arms and legs and even chin all latched on.

"You absolutely are," Billy disagrees blithely, holding up Eddie's own Iron Maiden cassette above his shoulder for Eddie to inspect. "Music snob."

"Because of Ozzy?" he mumbles into the soft warm spot behind Billy’s ear, honestly rapidly loosing interest in the conversation.

"Because of what's not here."

"I am not nearly stoned enough for you to get all philosophical on me, Blondie."

"To that point," cassette clamshells click-clack together as Billy starts tossing them aside, "Metal. Metal. Metal. Metal, metal, metal, metal."

"I like metal. You like metal too." He flicks at the little spike dangling from Billy's earlobe with his tongue.

"It's not all you like." He reaches back to bury his fingers in Eddie’s hair as he starts kissing and sucking at his neck.

"You can't prove that," he says between nibbles.

Billy's breath has gone gratifyingly shaky, "Oh so that wasn't you grooving to Bryan Ferry in Harrington’s car the other day? That was some shaggy dog we picked up?"

Billy gasps when Eddie bites down hard on the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, "Shut up and put on some music."