#Summer Solstice Weather

[don-lichterman]

Near record-high heat heading our way this week in Metro Detroit: What to know

Near record-high heat heading our way this week in Metro Detroit: What to know

DETROIT – Today is the last day of spring and it will feel every bit of that classic seasonal transition. Skies will stay partly sunny most of the day, with more sun poking through after 4 p.m. That sun will help our high temperatures reach into the low and middle 80s. The winds will help us warm the next two days, with a Monday breeze moving SW at 6-13 mph, gusting to 18 mph at times. That wind…

[mokutone]

[shootingdaggers]

You know I've never understood why summer hits when the days are slowly getting darker again. Right now it's May, I'm cold, there is no sun, yet the nights grow lighter. In a month it's going to be the solstice and only THEN is it summer?!

Imo summer should be RIGHT NOW. Building to a wonderful peak when that golden little shit is highest in the sky and we're sweating our bits off and we can dance around in beer gardens and then the come down is the nights slowly creeping in again

Reboot nature reboot

[merakiui]

タコの花嫁。

yandere!azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, non-con, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, arranged marriage, oviposition, breeding, royalty au note - in an effort to bring peace to two warring sides, you are engaged to the sea queen’s son.

If anyone is to blame for the abysmal diplomacy between the Land and the Sea, it would be your ancestors. Pompous and foolhardy, they thought they could rule the grand seas stretching out from the harbor, beyond weather-worn docks with their rotted, seaweed-strewn planks and briny fetor. The ocean was vast, unexplored territory—a dangerous, deceptive beauty harboring life far beneath unruly waves.

And your ancestors intended to claim it.

Sailors would recount tales of fishfolk—uncanny creatures who looked more marine than the two-legged mammals of the land. They’d raise mugs, each overflowing with ale, in drunken merriment, terrifying themselves with the mysteries of the deep, dark sea.

“It ought to give ya a proper scare straight to Davy Jones himself!” they’d say, voices lowered conspiratorially. “Soon as yer candle goes out and all ya’ve got’s the moon to guide ya… You’ll hear ’em slip through the water if yer listenin’ well enough.”

“You ever go and spy one up close?”

“I’d sooner see the Devil himself and let him keelhaul me before facin’ those cursed beasts!”

“The cut of their jib ain’t so pretty. Enough to give men like us a fright and we’ve seen all sorts of somethin’.”

“Monsters, I say! Monsters!”

Festivals were held to keep these beasts at bay—to prevent them from gathering the courage to creep up onto the land. Every year, during the summer solstice, pits were hollowed on the shore and bordered with stones. Flames licked towards the sky, red-orange fingers clawing for purchase amidst the stars above. Townsfolk would sing and dance late into the eve, bellowing songs passed through the generations. Children would skip up and down the beach, torches in hand, and cry out an old chant: “Fish for you and me are meant to stay in the sea! Should you see one on land, may the Heavens strike it down with a gentle, loving hand!”

Their excitement did well to ward off the fishfolk. Sometimes the lone child would spot one in the distance, peeking out from between the rocks before diving back under in a splash.

On land, humans were safe. On land, the fishfolk couldn’t catch them.

It was different in the sea.

Ships were destroyed in terrible tempests. The waves tossed them around as if they were nothing. Many sailors would find their demise at the bottom of the ocean, torn to shreds with shattered skeletons. Viscerally brutalized, they died with secrets on their tongues—secrets of the strange fishfolk who’d drag them down, down, down to a watery grave.

On one cold February afternoon, the octopus prince was brought into the world. In shadowed fathoms, a grand celebration was held. After so much time—misfortune after misfortune—one fry survived out of the entire clutch. He was round and soft and small, colored blue from exertion and fighting through the tug of the current to reach home. The Sea Queen met him halfway and embraced him, ecstatic tears in her eyes, for a mother’s love is stronger than any political power.

“My little Azul,” she said, stroking a hand along his cheek, “how precious you are.”

No ships were sunk; no lives were lost. It was a peaceful day for both the Land and the Sea. And it would continue to be so in the future. Every year on that same February, it was made a day of peace to honor the little prince.

A day of life, not death.

It was on that same February eleven years later when you were tossed into the frigid depths like a hatchling cast out of its nest. Similarly, your birth had been a wondrous occasion. Your parents brought five boys into the world, each just as adored as the last, but they had been hoping for a daughter. It was a miracle when their fervent wishes were finally granted. You were spoiled as all daughters often are, pampered and doted on by your family and the palace staff.

Your brothers, though protective and caring, were a troublesome and rowdy bunch. Kyffin was the eldest. Two years younger was Emyr, and another two years behind him was Owin. A year younger than him were twins Morcan and Martyn. They picked on you as all immature boys often do when caught up in sibling rivalries, aiming to be the only one their parents see. To prove themselves as the best, the strongest, the wisest.

So it was with a half-cruel heart that Emyr tossed you into the waves from where he stood in the rowboat.

“Only way to learn is with exposure!” he called down to you, watching as you struggled against the push and pull of the sea. 

“C-Can’t!” you shouted back, choking on salt and flailing about. “E-Emyr, I can’t—can’t swim!”

“Don’t be silly,” Owin added with a sweet smile. “It’s how we learned. That old sod threw us right in. You’re lucky it’s us and not him. He was awfully mean with it, wasn’t he?”

“Terribly so.” Emyr watched your struggling a moment longer and clicked his tongue. He held the oar out just before you could slip under, and you clung to it with shaky hands. “Come on—let’s get you up here. You’re not gonna get it today.”

“Fin got it on his first try.”

“Fin gets everything on his first bloody try.”

Relieved, your heart pounding like a drum, you peered up at your brothers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get it…”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’ll get it one day.”

“We’ll keep trying until then. And once you do, we’ll throw you a big party.”

“Really? Will you really do that?” Your expression brightened, but your brothers’ faces darkened. They saw the shadow before you did. Saw the webbed hands reaching out, the serrated teeth glinting in a sinister smile.

And then—

Owin leaned over, his arm outstretched. So fluid was his motion that it took you by surprise. “(Name), grab on! Hurry! Before—”

The rest of his warning was muffled by the water. You hardly had any time to brace yourself when you were yanked under, your nails raking across the wood of the oar as you went with the force of the pull. Salt stung your eyes when you cracked them open, peering frantically at blurry surroundings. Teal-green specks slid silently through the shadows, mismatched eyes flicking over your form. And then there was a high, raucous sort of chittering. Like a dolphin’s cry, loud and piercing. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your palms against your ears.

It only lasted a few mere seconds, but it felt like an eternity trapped in the coils of a creature you couldn’t comprehend. One moment you were holding your breath and the next arms were hooked around your torso, and you were pulled up and into the belly of the rowboat. Your hands flew to your throat, and you coughed up seawater while Owin patted you.

“It’s fine. It’s…okay,” Emyr muttered, his voice shot through with fear. It was the most shaken he’d ever sounded.

Blood fogged in the water, staining the tip of his harpoon. He gazed down at his hand. A deep, jagged gash ran angrily from palm to wrist. He hissed and closed his fingers in a tight fist.

“We gotta get back,” Owin was saying, still rubbing soothing circles into your back. “I’ll row. You rest.”

“Not good,” Emyr said instead, shaking his head in dismay as he watched your attackers retreat.

“We’re still in our waters, right? We didn’t go past the boundary, did we?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“We didn’t, right?”

“Let’s hope—” Emyr paused, collecting his words. “Let’s hope those monsters were in the wrong.”

“Father’s gonna kill us.”

“If not us, the monsters.”

Both brothers looked towards you. Your tunic was torn, stained through with saltwater and blood. You shivered all the way to shore.

Following that mishap, an official meeting was called between the Land and the Sea. The King—your father—met the Sea Queen at the border. He stood proud on his ship, peering down at her with fire in his old eyes.

“Your Majesty.”

The Sea Queen was just as formidable as those who came before her. Her tentacles unfurled as one, and if you looked at them long enough they almost seemed to take on the shape of an obsidian-colored crinoline.

“I believe my mother and your father made the terms quite clear all those years ago,” she said, a wave lifting her to meet the King at the deck of his ship. “So then, with that in mind, there should be no reason for us to meet under these circumstances.”

Emyr and Owin stood just behind their father. You peered through their legs at the Sea Queen, silently amazed. You’d never seen anyone quite like her before. At least, not a real person. You’d seen her in storybooks, depicted as a fearsome beast with devilish features, and though there was something intimidating about her gaze and build she appeared understanding enough. Her grey skin was sleek in the morning sun, her long, silvery strands tied up and pinned with an ornate hair ornament. She looked beautiful in a magical, enigmatic way.

“I couldn’t agree more,” came the clipped response of your father. “Alas, misfortune has brought us here.” He stepped aside to allow her to behold Emyr’s bandaged hand. “Harm has befallen my son and daughter. I suppose you might have an inkling as to why they find themselves in their current state?”

She frowned, but you couldn’t tell if it was out of sympathy or some other emotion. “Perhaps one of them can give reason to the wound now marring one of my subject’s sons.”

Your father glanced overboard at the snake-like merman cradled in the arms of another merman. They looked near-identical, their features unmistakable. He glanced back at Emyr, his gaze hard. “Go on then. Explain yourself.”

Emyr stepped forward. “With wholehearted respect, Your Majesty, it was out of self-defense. Your kind—they attacked us first.”

“You were in our waters!” one of the mers exclaimed, pointing a clawed finger towards Emyr. “It’s all your fault Jade got hurt!”

Owin hurried ahead, his hands gripping the taffrail. “He’s playing it up! It was a graze!”

“He could’ve died! You almost killed him!”

“That is enough,” the Sea Queen said, jutting an arm out to silence both sides. “I understand everyone is hurt here. Our feud lies in misunderstanding.” She gazed at you next. “Little one, we have yet to hear your story. Do share.”

You glanced at the guards, at Owin and Emyr, and then at father. He nodded encouragingly. “U-Um!” Shyly, you approached the Sea Queen. “My brothers were teaching me how to swim. I don’t know anything about whose water is whose. I just wanted to learn how to swim.” You met the fierce scowl of the mer holding his twin brother and quickly looked elsewhere. “He grabbed me before my brothers could pull me up.”

“Because you were trespassing. Anyone who tresspasses ought to—”

“Floyd.”

At the not-so-subtle warning in his father’s voice, he shut his mouth and snarled. His brother—Jade—was handed off to their father, who assessed his state with a frown.

“He will live, but it will take time for him to recover. My son is right. Your son could have killed him.”

“Just as your sons could have killed my sister!” Owin shouted, glaring.

Floyd stuck his tongue out, remorseless.

“It is impossible to know which side is in the wrong,” your father began, turning towards the Sea Queen. “Seeing as both have been injured, I am willing to apologize on behalf of my sons.”

“What?!” Owin’s head turned towards his father. “You’re bloody mad! Have you not seen—”

“Father,” Emyr interjected evenly. “We have nothing to apologize for. We were within our waters. We had no ill will towards the others. It was completely innocent.”

The Sea Queen hummed her contemplation. “The boundary was drawn for a reason, decided upon by those who came before us, and yet it does more harm than good. It is not for safety’s sake. It is to keep us divided—to ensure that neither side will ever know peace.”

“And you’re implying that we get rid of it?”

She nodded, quite serious. Everyone looked on in equal parts shock and disbelief. “Why do we continue to fight? It does nothing but open old wounds, rendering them incurable. Innocent lives are lost in petty squabbling. And for what?”

To that, no one could offer a smart reply.

“Therefore I propose peace. A union to welcome a new era—one in which we embrace one another as allies without animosity.”

“A union?” Your father raised a brow, suspicious but willing to listen. “I suppose it would be beneficial. My people would be free to travel the seas at their leisure.” “And mine would no longer have to live in fear of being thoughtlessly slaughtered and taken as trophies.”

“Unbelievable,” Orwin muttered.

Emyr elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

“We’ll collaborate on a contract. One that dissolves the invisible boundary that has been the cause for so much suffering. In order to attain true peace, I shall offer you my only son.” She glanced at you and then back at your father. “Your daughter shall marry him when they are of age.”

“What?! No way! Ew! Gross!” Your voice came out shrill and you shook your head in protest. “I don’t wanna marry an octopus! No, I won’t do it!”

Your father stood in front of you. “She’s my only daughter. If something were to happen—”

“Which is precisely why I bring up this engagement. Should they be betrothed, we as their parents will promise to uphold peace to give them bright futures and they will act as the first example of a human-mer alliance. Unions between humans and merfolk are unheard of, but is this not the best way to foster harmony between the Land and Sea?”

“I won’t do it! No! Don’t make me marry a gross—” Emyr gathered you in his arms, holding his uninjured hand over your mouth.

“Let the grown-ups talk.”

Owin frowned. “I still don’t agree with this…”

Your father mulled it over, his eyes glazed in thought. “Very well. We will create a contract—an official peace treaty.”

Both leaders shook hands and planned to convene at the end of the week to discuss further.

You watched the mers depart, each one slipping under the sea. Floyd was the last to go, staring at you with a mean sort of vitriol. And then he, too, dove under.

“He didn’t mean it, right?” you whispered to Emyr after your father gave the order to turn the ship around and head for land. “I won’t have to marry an octopus, right?”

Emyr could only offer a commiserate frown.

“She’s a brat,” Floyd spits. “Stupid, evil Two Legs.”

Jade chuckles and runs his fingers over the scar. “I consider it an honor.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s messed up. She’s the reason you can’t ever swim naturally again. While she’s up there in her pretty, little tower, safe and sound, you’re still hurting.”

“It’s not as much of a hindrance as you may think. I’m not weak, mind you.”

Floyd grumbles. “Still. She’s mean.”

Azul gazes up at the palace, sighing dreamily. “She’ll be my wife someday. That’s what humans call it, yes? Husband and wife… What wonderful words.”

It’s been one year since the peace treaty. Since then, humans and merfolk have made an effort to get along. This is the second time Azul will be meeting with you. He’s nervous. The first time you went out to sea to greet him, and he’d gotten so anxious that he inked right then and there. His mother entertained you from where you sat in the boat with your personal guard. It was a mortifying experience—one that had taken him months to recover from.

Now he’s going to try to meet you in the shallows. Try is the key word here. He’s scared, all three hearts beating as one. Is it too late to reschedule?

“I can’t believe you’re actually okay with this. You that lonely?”

Azul turns to scowl at both twins, but it’s mostly directed at Floyd. “I never asked you to tag along. Leave me alone.”

Jade smiles. “And let the Queen’s little prince swim to his death?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can. But what about when Two Legs gets ya? What then?”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “You saw what her brothers did to Jade.”

“Because you tried to kill her.”

“Because she was in our territory!”

Azul huffs and pushes him away with a tentacle. “Regardless, we’re supposed to be on good terms now. You’ll break the contract if you try anything dangerous.”

“He’s right, Floyd.”

“Ugh. Whatever.” Floyd turns away, stubborn. “This is lame. I’m not stickin’ around.”

Jade lingers long enough to observe the way Azul lights up when he spots you on the stone steps. And then he disappears beneath the water.

Barefoot, holding your dress up and out of the way, you pad across the beach.

“Why are you here? I’m busy. My brothers are taking me into town.”

The smile that had been fighting to break out on his face frosts over. “Oh. I… Um…” Azul fumbles with the conch shell he’d collected on the way here. A gift for you. He made sure to study human speech patterns in the months leading up to this meeting. He’s fully prepared! And yet you look so displeased. “F-For you! I found it…”

You stare at the shell clutched in a dark tentacle. Tentatively, you reach for it. “Why?”

“Ah. W-Well, my mother says gifts are an important part of any bond. In the sea, we give gifts to the ones we care about. To friends and family and o-other halves…”

You turn the shell over in your hands. “We’re not friends.”

“Not yet,” he tries, but you shake your head.

“You ran away from me the last time we met. That’s not very friendly.”

His face flushes blue and he opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. It wasn’t on purpose.

You’re already turning on your heel. “I don’t have time for this.” You toss the shell over your shoulder. Azul watches it land in the sand, just out of his grasp.

“W-Wait! I… I want to talk to you. Please don’t go. You’re going to be my other half one day, so I’d like to—”

But you’re already dashing across the beach to get to the stairs.

Azul deflates against the rock. Tears overflow in floods. Is it because of him? Is he to blame? Why don’t you want to be his friend? Is it because of the peace treaty? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

Azul doesn’t want to think negatively of you. Humans are sensitive creatures. He reads up on them in the palace library, poring over literature and textbooks in an effort to better understand you. But as the months pass and you seem to simply tolerate him for the sake of the alliance, he begins to suspect something.

It’s made apparent the next time he sees you, where you walk right past the beach to catch up with your brothers. He hides behind the rocks, two blue eyes following your figure until you’re out of sight.

Floyd was right. You are a brat.

And yet he can’t hate you.

On the eve of your eighteenth birthday, Azul meets you in the shallows.

Nowadays you send letters, preferring strained long distance over the personal intimacy of face-to-face relations. These exchanges are purely diplomatic. But now that he’s asked to meet with you, a rare occurrence, you’ve deigned to greet him in person. It’s the least you can do after he’s gone through the trouble to travel here. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him that he’s almost unrecognizable. You remember the round, baby-faced octo-mer from your childhood. The one who lounges against the rocks is leaner now—his features defined, jawline as sharp as his eyes. They cut through the gloom to find you.

“You wished to see me?” You’re in your nightwear, a silky gown with an even softer robe. A cool breeze blows across the beach, and you wrap your arms around yourself for extra warmth. “Azul?”

He hesitates, his gaze trailing up your legs. You’ve also changed a lot in the time you’ve been apart. You’ve grown taller, filling out in places he didn’t know humans could fill. What he’d give to hold you… His mother says he needs to be patient. Fickle thing that you are, you’re the reason he’s spent six years trying to appease you through letters—to win you over and be anything more than that “annoying octopus” you’re doomed to marry. Perhaps it would have been easier to act just as you do if it weren’t for the fact that he’d been elated at the premise of having someone to love. When his mother broached the idea in the days following her meeting with the Land King, he’d stared at her with wide, excited eyes.

“There’s a human girl who wants to be my friend?” he asked, to which his mother smiled and nodded.

More than a friend, actually, but then all he was focused on was finally getting to experience the one thing he’d never known or had: friendship.

Sighing, he foregoes formality and holds out a necklace. It dangles from the tip of his tentacle. Strung on a dainty, silver strand, pearls wink back at you under the moonlight. Azul averts his eyes, his cheeks a pleasant periwinkle.

“Happy birthday…”

“Oh.” You move in closer, taking the necklace from him. His tentacle pursues you, twining delicately around your wrist. “Um… What is it? Do you need—whoa!”

Azul tugs you closer. The sea laps at your ankles. Beneath a tapestry of stars, you meet his azure stare. His features are set with a determination you’ve never seen before.

“I want to start over.”

“Start over?”

“I’d like to be on friendly terms with you. We’re so cold. Distant…” Azul frowns, seeming unsure of what to say or do next. The tentacle laced around your wrist like a bracelet tightens its hold. “We’re to be wed one day. I want to make this work.”

You blink at him. He thinks he may have gotten through to you, having finally broken through layers of stone and ice, but then your nose scrunches and odium shimmers in your gaze.

“That’s impossible. I’m a human. How am I supposed to live with an octopus?” You shake him off with a huff. “I’m not sure what our parents think this will accomplish. I don’t want to be a pawn to be moved around for the sake of peace. I’m my own person.”

Azul’s expression sours. His lip curls up into a sneer. “Well, I don’t find it very enjoyable either. You’re not the only victim in this scenario.”

You exhale an exhausted breath. “Azul, I appreciate the gift, but it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only giving it to me to curry favor.”

I wasn’t, he thinks, but he doesn’t say that. Admitting it would be a weakness. Admitting it would mean coming to terms with an unrequited opinion.

“At least one of us is making a conscious effort.”

“At least one of us isn’t trying so hard. It’s pathetic.”

“You’re not obligated to accept my goodwill.” He smiles, smug. “Yet you do every time. I’d wager you enjoy my materialistic affections.”

“As if.” Despite this, you hold the necklace out of his reach when a tentacle flexes towards it. “It’s mine now.”

“So you are fond of my ‘pathetic’ ways!”

“I’m not!”

You jerk away with a vicious scowl, but your foot catches in the sand and you quickly find yourself tipping backwards. If not for the tentacles that coil around your waist to steady you, you would have fallen on your rear. Your chest heaves with adrenaline. Stunned, you stare at Azul.

“You…caught me,” you breathe, lips parted in awe.

“Did you think I’d let you fall?” He cocks his head at you, grinning playfully. “Why, I’d never! Unless it’s me you’re falling for, in which case I gladly welcome the—”

“You’re such a pest.” Untangling yourself from his grasp, which he allows without scrimmage, you step away from the water’s edge. He watches you secure the pearls around your neck, and his hearts stumble in his chest when you point an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t delude yourself with foolish nonsense. I have no interest in you.”

With an indignant harrumph, you start towards the palace.

“May we meet here tomorrow?” Azul calls out after you, testing his luck with what little chance he has.

“Don’t push it.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“Good. Keep waiting, dummy!” You break into a sprint, hurrying off into the shadows.

Azul smiles at the empty beach. Whether or not you like him, it doesn’t matter. You’re to be his one day. You’ve always been, ever since he was eleven.

He’ll wait, even if you won’t show.

Ostensibly, twenty-one years wise, you’re getting married today.

Your gown is just as exquisite as your hair and makeup. Pearls cling to your throat and arms—classic wedding attire for merfolk. A thin veil shields the scheme in your stare.

This was an inevitability, but you’re determined to fight it until the end. No matter how quickly time seems to pass, you’ll do everything you can to stall and slow it.

Gripping a sharpened dagger in a resolute fist, you drag it through the long, sprawling train of your gown.

“As if I’d marry an octopus,” you grumble, cutting fine fabric until you’re permitted smoother movement. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you scowl. “I’m no one’s bride.”

By the time the maids arrive to check on you, you’ve already stolen out the window.

The rowboat sways on choppy water. You’ve watched your brothers do this enough times to have the technique engraved in your memory. Your arms strain with the oars, every muscle screaming in protest, but you fight through the pain. The palace looks smaller and smaller with every passing minute. Eventually, you’re so far out that the land is but a mere speck.

It’s going well. You’re escaping towards a better future—a future without the octopus prince.

You glance towards the horizon. Your boat undulates with the waves.

You’ll miss your brothers, your maids, your personal guard…

Water slops over the edge. You yelp, startled. Have the seas always been so rough?

Despite everything, you’ll miss your father.

Just as you think this, your boat rocks to the side. You grab onto the edge to steady yourself, but it’s already too late. It tips over and you go with it, careening into the sea with a noisy splash. Twin shadows cut seamlessly through the murky water. You catch sight of a yellow eye before you propel yourself towards the sky, coughing and heaving once you break the surface. You grab onto the overturned rowboat, your dagger clutched in one hand.

You search the surface for them, eyes flicking to and fro in a frantic panic.

Somewhere… Anywhere… Where are you?

And then you find them, peering at you from the other side of the boat.

“Go on then,” you spit, glaring. “Kill me.”

Floyd bares his teeth at you. “This time I ain’t gonna leave a scar.”

“You know we mustn’t. That’s not why we’re here.” Jade smiles at you, but there’s something in his eyes that unnerves you. “Your Highness, you should know it’s poor manners to leave the groom on his special day.”

Floyd circles you restlessly. “S’not fair we gotta be nice when you’re so mean.”

“I’m not going to marry him.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice in that matter.”

“What’d Azul ever do to you?”

You attempt to answer that before realizing the truth. Nothing. He’s done absolutely nothing but be kind and understanding and patient. And I took that, chewed it up, and spat in his face.

“If you used that brain of yours, you wouldn’t have thrown yourself to the sharks. We can’t get to you on land.” “But it’s fair game in the sea,” Floyd finishes, every syllable dripping with pride. “Stupid Two Legs.”

“I’m inclined to agree. You’re not the brightest human. A pity.”

“My brother should’ve gutted you when he had the chance. Maybe then—”

You see the whites of Floyd’s eyes when he strikes, launching himself at you with a clawed hand, sharp, pointed teeth aiming for your jugular.

This is it. You’re dead.

…or not.

The searing pain never comes, nor does the impending laceration. You cling to the boat and watch dark tentacles rise from the depths to close around Floyd, ensnaring him in a firm hold. He thrashes, snapping his jaws like a deranged beast.

“Let go of me, Azul! Lemme at her! She’s a bitch! I’ll kill her!”

“There will be none of that.” Azul tuts. “I don’t intend to marry a corpse.”

Jade swims over to you. “My feelings aren’t hurt in the slightest, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your status and connection to Azul, I’d have disemboweled you ages ago. Quite a relief for you, yes?”

You swallow your horror, allowing him to detach you from the boat so that Azul can turn it over. A tentacle curls around your waist, lifts you from the water, and places you back in the boat. You stare at your hands. They’re trembling. You can hardly hold the dagger properly.

It takes some convincing and a lukewarm apology from you, but Floyd promises to be good. He doesn’t do anything as you’re pulled back to shore, but he does stare at you for the duration of the trip, his eyes tracking your every movement. You press yourself into the belly of the boat, defeated and riddled with anxiety.

Your father isn’t pleased. When you see his enraged expression, the debate dies on your tongue. “You are to marry the prince,” he seethes, pulling you aside, “or else you jeopardize the peace of our kingdom.”

You’re washed and fitted in a new dress. Guards are stationed at all possible routes to prevent another escape.

When you walk down the beach to meet Azul in the shallows, your veil shields the sadness in your stare.

The ceremony carries on without incident. Floyd watches from the water, lurking like Death. You speak rehearsed vows in robotic monotone, mindlessly floating through the rigmarole like it’s second nature. Azul smiles at you through it all, sweetly smitten.

It’s a nightmare lived in real time.

Humans and mers alike congratulate you, cheering for this momentous occasion. Your tongue is numb by the end of it all. You’ve expressed faux gratitude so many times that it hurts to even force the words. And now, as night descends and the party kicks into full swing, you’re left reflecting on the day.

Freedom feels so far away. You’ll never know it again, will you?

Azul guides you away from the crowd. Firelight grows dim with the distance. Eventually, you find yourself taking refuge in a tiny inlet cut into the beach. A rocky outcrop hides you from the moon’s spotlight.

“I’m not upset,” Azul murmurs, curling a tentacle up your leg. “But Floyd is.”

“His brother’s the one who hurt me all those years ago.”

“That was before the union.”

“I’m not letting it go.”

“Perhaps not now, but you will. One day.”

You don’t believe him.

“Our people are at peace. Aren’t you pleased, my love?”

You shove him away, gathering heaps of your dress to walk in calf-deep water. “I’m not your love.”

“Legally, you are.”

“That means nothing to me. Absolutely nothing.”

Azul sighs. “Even now, after everything, you’re still trying to flee.”

“For good reason. I don’t want to be tied down.”

Azul inches closer. Another tentacle wraps slyly around your ankle.

“You’re so beautiful. I feel like the luckiest mer in the sea. To be able to call you my own… My beautiful bride.” He pulls you closer. You resist weakly. “Now that we’re alone I can finally tell you the very thing I’ve thought of ceaselessly for years.”

A tentacle slides up your leg, straying closer to your inner thigh. You flinch away.

“Azul, wait. I don’t want—”

“I love you.”

You squirm in his hold, attempting to thwart the tentacles that grab at your every limb. You trip over yourself in the process. This time Azul doesn’t catch you. Water laps at your dress, soaking through at once. He’s radiant beneath the moon. Dreading his touch, you scoot as far from him as you can get in the water, hoping to reach land. Azul seizes your wrist and pulls you into his arms. You fight him with more force.

“No… No, let go of me! Release me!”

“Why should I? You’re mine now. Is it not customary for a married couple to consummate their new bond? We do something similar in the sea.” A tentacle brushes your veil back so that he can look upon your pretty face. “I’d take you to a quiet space in the seagrass, lay you down in the sand, and then—”

“I don’t want that! No!” You lash out, swinging blindly. A tentacle shoots out to stop your arm before it can smack him. “Azul, please—”

“I was patient. I waited and waited in hopes that you might warm up to me. I cherished you in silence. I learned your language. Your customs. Your habits. I wrote to you. Traveled to meet you. And yet you look at me as if I’m a monster…”

It’s not the devastated look in his eyes or the edge in his voice that scares you. It’s the startling gentleness with which he handles you. Tentacles loop around your body, exploring beneath your gown. You wriggle in discomfort, yelping when suckers brush against the frilly garter secured around your thigh. Azul hums and holds you up in his tentacles, using two to spread your legs so that he may slide it from your leg.

“I wasn’t forceful. I courted you kindly. You accepted all of my gifts. You wore them proudly and I thought—I knew you would love me, too. You were mine from the moment our parents signed that agreement. And if you leave me, you’ll break a political promise and then our kingdoms will go to war and I’ll be sure to collect the heads of your family first. Each one of them, and you will watch as I bring ruin to the kingdom you love so fondly.”

“N-No… Please stop. Please.”

“I’ve waited ten years for you.” A tentacle hooks around your panties. You thrash again, shaking your head at him. He remains unconvinced, watching with gleeful eyes as your nudity is revealed to him. “And aren’t you an angel? Oh, you’re so pretty…”

Like your hopes, your panties are cast aside.

The tip of a tentacle prods curiously at your pussy. Your breath hitches.

“W-Wait! You… You can’t.” His eyes find yours, and you swallow the rising sob. “T-That can’t go inside… It won’t fit. It won’t—”

Azul smiles. “Of course it will. The human body is capable of marvelous feats.”

Even though it’s pointless, you struggle. “I can’t! Please… Azul, I’m scared. Please don’t do this…”

A lone tentacle slides into your hand. Thoughtless, you hold tight.

“My love, there’s no need to cry. I’m not going to hurt you.” He brings you closer, kissing your tears away. “I’m here for you. I’ve always been here, even when you didn’t seem to need me.”

You hiccup, your chest heaving. It’s not lonely for long, for he pulls your dress down your shoulders. Your breasts spill free and are quickly cradled in cold hands. Azul watches your expression with an intense focus while he rolls your nipples between his fingers. You grit your teeth, refusing to respond. But then the tentacle between your legs finds your clit and a sucker affixes to it, suctioning slowly. You gasp and throw your head back, bolts of pleasure racing up your spine. It happens in a white-hot flash. You slacken in his grasp.

Azul laughs, astonished. “Did you cum? Already?”

“Nooo,” you whine, closing your hand around the tentacle once more. Another one strokes your cheek. “You’ve had your fun. Now let go of me…”

“What a silly demand.”

He tugs on your nipples. You groan, lashes fluttering. “Ooh… Stop. No, stop it… Don’t touch there. Not—haa… Not there!”

“You’re so sensitive.” He drags the underside of a tentacle along your cunt and shivers. “And so wet… Is this your season? Do humans experience such a thing?”

You’ve no idea what he’s referring to, but before you can dwell on it he leans down to take your perky bud in his mouth. Your free hand grabs at his hair, pinning him to your chest. His tongue laves across it, warm and wet. You shouldn’t enjoy it so much, and yet you can’t stop yourself from crying out.

He hums against your skin, beaming like a devil. You can’t hate him. He’s your husband. He’s yours. You shouldn’t hate him.

You’re falling apart in his tentacles, grinding down to chase the bliss provided by the underside of the appendage clinging to your pussy. The sinful squelch of skin on skin fills the quiet inlet. The scent of sex and salt intermingles. It’s wrong and it’s right. It’s instinct, carnal and corrupt. Azul groans against your breast, your teat between his teeth.

“Az—ooh!” You tug on his hair, insatiable. Your brain is fogging over with lust. You don’t want to lose yourself in this madness. You can’t. “N-No more… No more.” 

But he’s not listening. He pinches your other nipple between his fingers, and that’s all it takes for you to unravel.

In the aftermath, the tapered tip of a thicker tentacle squirms between your thighs. Mindlessly, you spread your legs and lift your hips for him. It presses in shallowly, a jarring experience.

“Not inside—don’t! You can’t!”

Azul pulls away from you, his expression scrunched in woozy ecstasy. “Why not?” he mumbles, smiling stupidly. “You’re my bride. It’s only fair…”

Before you can bicker, he kisses you. His tongue pursues yours in a sloppy tango. You lick into his mouth, desperate and dazed. Lost in a sea of salacity, shipwrecked on an island of forgotten inhibitions.

The tentacle pushes through rings of tight, slick muscle. Tears spring to your eyes. It feels weird and foreign, so unlike your fingers. He holds you close, minding his strength and pace. It fills you slowly, reaching places you’ve never been able to feel. The lust numbs your senses and gives way to something animalistic—a base desire you’ve suppressed. Azul rocks the appendage deeper until it’s pushed up against the entrance to your womb, squeezed snugly in your warm walls.

“I-It’s in…” you mumble once he’s broken the kiss, a strand of saliva connecting your mouths. “It’s really…inside me…”

Azul kisses your cheek and pets you with a tentacle. “We were made for each other.”

Surely not, you think, but it feels so when he draws back and thrusts in. Maybe he’s right.

He fucks you gently, savoring every single sound you make. He tells you he loves you, whispers it over and over like it’s prayer. You nod dumbly, grabbing at his hand to hold it. The both of you are gasping in unison, chasing cloud nine. In just a few more deep strokes, his tip bullying its way to your womb, he finally finds his end. A thin substance fills you up in plentiful amounts. Distantly, you think it’s water until he drags your hips further down. Your mouth drops open in a strangled scream as something round and gelatinous passes through. It settles in your womb, and you know right away that it shouldn’t be there.

You panic. “W-Wait… Wha—Zul… Stop… No, I don’t want—”

“It’s all right,” he breathes, his mouth on your shoulder. He soothes you with soft shushes and even softer kisses. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

You dig your nails into the tentacle curled in your palm just as a second orb squeezes through. He groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Finally…” He pants, a wobbly smile stretching on his delirious countenance. “Finally, my love, my dear—oh, my beloved bride!”

He cradles you like a mother would a newborn. You lie there as he fills you, your voice hoarse from babbling and bewailing. These things—little orbs of jelly—are stuffed into your womb, and by the time you surpass twenty you lose count and blank out, trembling through yet another orgasm. You’re not sure how many more he has left or how many more you can possibly fit. It feels too good to think about that.

“Bigger. They’ll get bigger. You’ll look so pretty—round and full and soft.”

Dizzy, you glance at the bloated dome that is your belly. Your gown strains over it, an impressively deceptive size that you almost mistake for pregnancy. That’s when it clicks. Eggs. These are eggs.

“I’ll make sure they survive. All of them—as many as I possibly can. I’ll stay by your side. I’ll keep you content. I’ll fill you with love—so much love—an abundance of it, and you’ll never know emptiness again,” he rambles, resting a tentacle over your distended middle.

It’s not just a senseless sweet nothing. It’s a promise.

[jemo630]

Nice welcome of the Summer Solstice. Hope you’re keeping cool. #chicago #heatwave #chicagoweather #weather #sweltering #sweating #itshotout #summer #summertime #summerheat #solstice #chicagosummer #summersolstice #keepingcool #sweatingmyassoff #keepcool #sweatingmyballsoff (at Chicago metropolitan area) https://www.instagram.com/p/CfFNRlzuCtQ/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sapnapsboyfriend]

how is it only the summer solstice it feels like summer should be almost over by now

[oldgrumpygeezer]

Middle of the day in the middle of the summer but not much sunshine to celebrate this solstice.

[broomsick]

Self-care & connecting with nature deities during the wintertime

Is it still possible to connect with harvest and nature deities such as Freyr during the cold season?

Long answer short, yes. Obviously, absolutely. But you all saw that answer coming, right? So I’m here to give you some ideas, as the person who’s favorite season is winter and who made it their mission to help everybody like winter just a little more. And since I feel especially close to Yngvi-Freyr when it comes to the Gods, I will use him as an example throughout this post, though a lot of the following could apply to most nature deities.

Let us first examine a common misconception before we get to the bottom of this topic: the fields don’t die when the sun sets on the 31st of October. The earth still lives under thick layers of snow. The process of dormancy is absolutely crucial to the cycles of nature. And if, like me, you find Freyr to be a sort of guardian of these cycles, then you’ll know he manifests himself in so many ways, even where you might not think to look.

Have you heard about the holly and ivy tradition? It was common during the European Medieval times to decorate houses and halls using holly and ivy, because they were the two plants with leaves that stayed green, even in the dark and cold of winter. This type of practice is often referred to as "bringing the outside in", and it's something I'm quite fond of. I've no doubt it could be a great help if you're the type to feel depressed during the winter time. It's a way to remind oneself of how everpresent nature actually is. Lots of greenery remains despite the snow! And to ackowledge this fact and to work with it is such a great way to connect with nature Gods in general! It goes to show that you appreciate their blessings all year round, not just during spring and summer. While it's true that in many cases, the presence of deities such as Freyr may feel somehow "dimmed" during the winter time, I assure you, they don't disappear once the first snow falls! On the contrary, they are every bit as present and active as when spring comes! They simply manifest themselves in a different manner.

When winter comes, I love to work with evergreen spirits. I incorporate spruce, fir and cedar into my practice and in my offerings. I won't go into too much detail for this topic however, because I've written posts that pertained to it in the past (namely, this post on tree work and this one on land spirits). Since I don't have easy access to holly or ivy, I make due with evergreen! Not with any actual branches, except when I'm lucky enough to find some that were torn away by the wind. But rather, using representations of it. In the same manner, and in the spirit of "bringing the outside in", it's also possible to decorate using representations of the sun! Harvest deities such as Freyr are often associated with it due to its crucial role in the cycles of plant growth. Candles also make for great solar symbols, and to place them around the home is like lighting a handful of little suns to bring much needed light and warmth inside. What's more, lighting candles on the winter solstice night is a widespread practice among pagans today! It serves to symbolize the return of the sun, as the days start to grow longer again. Until then however, it can be soothing for one to light a candle every morning before school or work, and to call upon any harvest, nature or solar deity of their choice to ask for strength and motivation throught the day. Even when it's difficult for us to feel their presence, they always hear us.

Now, how to actually feel more connected to nature? Oftentimes, connecting with nature and connecting with Yngvi-Freyr are one and the same. And on a more personal note, a lot of the advice I received from him pertained exactly to that: I believe he's often urged me to go spend more time in nature when I am going through rough patches. I know the cold and the cloudy weather can make it depressing for a lot of people to go out. My advice on this is to take it step by step: no need to go on long, four-hour long hikes right away! After all, there is already much beauty to be seen close to home. And I can't put enough emphasis on that: dress warmly! Also, as a tool for motivation, prepare a treat for yourself to enjoy after you've gone out. Part of what makes me enjoy winter so much is the thought of the warmth and light which await inside after I’ve gone out into the cold. The home is as sacred as the outside world! So why not buy, or prepare a batch of cookies, a cup of hot chocolate or a spicy dinner! It's something I love to do as a way to motivate myself to go out more often. And I like to offer part of these to local land spirits and to the Vanir, to show my appreciation for the beauty of this season. Just as an aside, I find snow water to be a great such offering as well!

I know that I’m not revolutionizing the pagan scene with this post, as there’s only so many ways to connect with nature during winter. I think it’s important to keep in mind that the snow, rain and cold that this season brings is just as much part of nature as the greens and lively colors of spring and summer. For this reason, they are just as much a part of nature deities and what they represent. Deities have so many facets and depth, and it can be so fulfilling to explore these different aspects, and the way we perceive them. While it’s true that spiritually speaking, it often feels to us heathens as if Skaði is somehow “taking” Freyr’s place in the order of things for the time being— much like the Holly King takes the Oak King’s place in Celtic folklore. This doesn’t make it so he disappears! In my experience, he presides over the cycle of seasons as a whole, and he is every bit as present for his followers as he is during the winter. I can connect with Skaði during the summer in a similar manner. And I’m sure that the same can be said for so many other harvest deities.

[breelandwalker]

Strawberry Moon - June 3, 2023

Grab your baskets and your moon jars, witches - it's time for the Strawberry Moon!

Strawberry Moon

The Strawberry Moon is the name given to the full moon which occurs in the month of June in the Northern Hemisphere. The name is taken from the ripening of those little red heart-shaped berries we find in so many summertime treats. Strawberries are typically ready to harvest beginning around the summer solstice, though this will vary depending on variety, planting times, and local weather. The Strawberry Moon, sadly, does not turn pink to match the berries.

Other European names for this moon include Honey Moon, Rose Moon, and Mead Moon. Indigenous names for the June moon include Blooming Moon (Anishinaabe), Green Corn Moon (Cherokee), and Hatching Moon (Cree).

What Does It Mean For Witches?

Full moons are excellent times for bringing wishes to fulfillment and plans to fruition, all the more so under one named after a prolific berry. This is an optimal time to make things happen!

Your intuition may be stronger than usual during this time, so pay attention to those little inklings and gut feelings that won't be ignored. They might be telling you something important. Dreams may also be more vivid, though not necessarily more accurate or revealing.

This is a time to explore things that catch your attention or pique your curiosity, and to let yourself be open to new ideas and new opportunities.

What Witchy Things Can We Do?

With a full moon in the sky and the summer solstice hot on its' heels, it's time to prepare for a full bloom. Here's hoping you've been nurturing those plans and seeds of growth you planted in the spring, because they're about to start flowering and the way is clear to sow the next stage of your plans. What they will be and what new prospects the summer will bring is entirely up to you.

With the moon in Sagittarius again this year, it's a good time to look ahead to the future. Think on the plans you have in process and let yourself dream of how things might turn out. If you're inclined to journaling, make a note of how things are going so far and how you hope they'll turn out. Pick your favorite divination method and do a reading for the month ahead. (Make sure you write that down too so you can check back later!)

This is a great time to go berry-picking or flower-gathering, so check your area for pick-your-own farms or farmer's markets with local produce. Have a picnic with friends or just enjoy a quiet afternoon with your own thoughts and a few favorite treats. Make a jar of sun tea or a sweet and summery berry salad. If you're partial to strawberries, indulge that sweet tooth!

Strawberries are also excellent ingredient in spells for love, beauty, fertility, and emotional healing. Create a charm for self-love or perhaps to attract a summer romance. Enchant your favorite makeup or skin care products with a glamour of confidence. Just as expectant mothers once carried strawberry leaves as a folk remedy for pregnancy pains, you can carry a clutch of them in your pocket to help heal a broken heart or assuage the pain of grief. A packet of strawberry leaves is also a potent good-luck charm. Snack on strawberries to bring fertile abundance into your life, whether you're looking for creativity or opportunity or perhaps hoping to grow your family this year.

Charge your crystals and spell jars and moon water under the light of Strawberry Moon to catch the energy of blooming flowers, ripening fruit, wishes coming true, and carefully-laid plans realized. (If you're planning to use it for any consumables, please make sure you're using fresh, potable drinking water rather than rain or runoff.)

Spend a little time reflecting on how your year has gone thus far. Try to focus on the things that have improved and how you've grown as a person and in your life journey. Reflect on your accomplishments and what you plan to do next. Take a moment to be unashamedly proud of yourself for everything you've done and for making it this far despite everything life throws at you.

Happy Strawberry Moon, witches! 🌕🍓

Further Reading:

Strawberry Moon: Full Moon in June 2023, The Old Farmer's Almanac

Strawberry Moon 2023: The Spectacular Spiritual Meaning of June's Full Moon, The Peculiar Brunette

Everyday Moon Magic: Spells & Rituals for Abundant Living, Dorothy Morrison

Image Source - Pesto and Margaritas

(If you're enjoying my content, please feel free to drop a little something in the tip jar or check out my published works on Amazon or in the Willow Wings Witch Shop. 😊)

[gripefroot]

Sleepy Law?

For once, he doesn’t wake when the sun hits his face. 

For all his pretending and blustering and attitude, he’d been tired. Of course. The more he protested something, the more it was true. Something about a man that saw danger around every corner if he lowered his guard for even a moment, even with you. 

There was something comedic about the juxtaposition. His barking from the afternoon before: “No, I’m not tired! I’m fine!” compared to the sun rising long past dawn after he’d been out cold for nearly fourteen hours. But it was less amusing when the dark lines beneath his eyes were so visible, when the bright sun cleared his face into something almost boyish. 

He pushes himself too hard. He always did. 

The sun warms the bed, too, making it too hot for this time of year. But rather than get up and disturb Law’s rare rest, you stick a foot out of the blankets for some coolness and move closer to him. 

Every moment is precious. Every stolen evening, every late morning pried from the clutches of fate and time. “I’ll be back in three days,” or “I’ll try to be back by summer solstice.” Sometimes he made it, sometimes he didn’t. When he was late, the nights he should have been there were spent at the window, watching weather roll across the sea. Each blot was his ship returning - until it wasn’t. Anger and resentment broiled like hurricanes, then, but by the time he eventually came, gratitude that he was alive and safe and present overwhelmed everything else. Besides, greeting him by throwing a pot at his head wouldn’t guarantee he’d ever come again. 

This parting had been the longest yet. A year at sea, with only two headlines months apart to prove he had drowned or been killed or wasted away from some disease. No, he was whole, relatively healthy (if thinner than before) and walking up the crooked steps to your house, he’d even smiled. 

“I was worried you’d moved away,” he’d said. His sword balanced on his shoulder, which was unusual. Before, he’d left it on his ship.

“How would you find me then?” you’d teased back. Clay dried on your hands from a half-finished project, but it could be completed later. Law could only be greeted now. 

“I’d follow the dead greenery.” He nodded at the yard; yellow patches now outnumbered green, the first victim in dumping leftover glaze that didn’t fire the right color or scraps of impure clay. He hoisted the sword from his shoulder to set by the doorframe, where you stood, and that was when he’d smiled. 

It was fortunate he’d never minded mud on his clothes. 

He smelled of brine and fresh air. Not the most pleasant, but beneath it was him, and difficult to pull away. 

“Mind if I stay over?” he’d asked between kisses. Your foot had caught on the lip of the door, stumbling backwards, but his arms had kept you upright and squashed against his chest. 

“Have I ever?” The words came out strained. His kisses stole breath as much as they stole sanity. Rugged as his worn coat, harsh as the tattoos long-memorized. 

“There’s a first for everything.” 

“Well, not today.” Your hands on his chest, feeling him like you would mounds of fresh clay. Something he’d joked about before: his lips twisted, ready to joke again. “Do you want to wash up first?” 

“Yes. Then I have a present for you.”

Surely not the sword. What use would you have for a sword? Spending days and nights with clay, turning pots and glazing and firing them in the tiny hut nearby wasn’t the life of a warrior, and living alone in a rickety cottage on a bluff above a port town so small it could scarcely be called a port not the prime target of pirates. 

Law had ducked his head beneath the water pump in the yard, not even waiting for you to fetch a bar of soap, and yelped at how freezing cold the water was. 

He had, miraculously, survived. 

But no present came. Dinner had been eaten early between yawns and crabby remarks about how he wasn’t tired. Then he’d gone straight to your bed, knocking into tables on his way, and halfway through what had sounded like a salacious invitation he’d started snoring. Pants still on and everything. 

So you’d smiled and washed up quietly before crawling into bed next to him. It was easier to sleep when he was there…

He clutches a worn pillow to his face, stretched out on his belly with his torso bare. Lingering flakes from a sunburn grace his shoulders, and a new scar stretched over his ribs. Your fingers want to trace it, but you don’t, hovering in the air above the graceful shape. You’ll learn it better soon enough. 

“Were you going to say anything or just keep staring?” 

Oops. His even breathing had ceased. Lifting your head, you see his eyes slitted open, glinting beneath his long lashes. 

“You have a new one,” you say. 

“Of course you noticed.” His voice is a rumble, fresh from slumber. 

“Of course I noticed,” you repeat, cheeks warming with embarrassment. But the corners of his mouth lift in a lazy smile. “It’s huge.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Can I?” A vague request, but he understands. Law responds with a grunt. His kind of affirmation. 

The new skin is smooth beneath your practiced fingertips, but where new meets old a thick, calloused rope of skin rivers around his ribs. Like a snake of clay to be shaped into a handle or a spigot. A handsome scar, to add to his others. Your fingers trace back up around his waist and to his back, to the very end of the scar. His skin breaks out in goosebumps, his ragged inhale breaking your concentration. 

Immediately you pull your hand away. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” He rolls onto his side, taking the interest of the scar away to face you. His eyes are more open now, but not by much, his hair sticking out every which way. Law props his head on his hand, surveying you with just as much scrutiny as you had him. But why? You have no scars, no discernable differences to clock from last year. 

The bed is small, not really built for two, but it has never bothered you or him. He can never be outside of arm’s reach. Instinctively your hand traces over his chest, finding comfort in the pattern of him. Patterns that find their way onto cups and mugs and bowls whenever missing him hurts too much. Most sold, some kept. You stop over his heart. 

He’s smiling again. 

“How long can you stay?” you ask. 

His smile disappears. It takes your contentment with it. 

“I have time,” Law says. 

Time. The only thing that could give you enough of him, and the only thing he couldn’t give. He gave his attention, his company, his loyalty, and his affection. Your hand rises to his face, stroking over old whiskers on his cheek with your thumb. He catches your wrist, holding it to nuzzle your palm with his nose, and then his lips. 

“You smell the same,” Law mutters, eyes closed. “Like the earth.” 

“You smell the same,” you whisper back. The effect of his nuzzle is the same as you touching his scar: goosebumps race up your arm and down your back. “Like freedom.” 

His eyes open. Dark and assuring, and always a little sad. “C’mere,” he grunts, and reaches for you. 

It was like he’d never been away. Nothing forgotten, nothing misremembered. His mouth finds the right places on your throat, your shoulders; skillfully he thumbs away the sleeves of your shirt to bare more skin to him. If anything proves his absence, it's how quickly the heat between your bodies becomes unbearable, how your blood pulses almost painfully. With a whimper of a sigh, your fingers hook into the waistband of his pants, his hair tickling your chin. 

“All in good time,” he promises your breasts, hand coming up to cup one. If you weren’t already so dizzy from the prelude, you’d tease him for addressing them rather than you. It had been an excellent joke for so long…

Soon the only noises are your soft pants, his quiet groans as the reacquaintion became clumsy. Clothes hit the floor, blankets pushed away, the awkward patters of skin-on-skin. No matter how bright the morning light through the window, there is no time to feel shamefully naked: only wonderfully so, and perfectly worshipped. His hair is thick between your fingers, his mouth hot on your sternum, and then your belly button. 

“But,” you lick your lips, wishing your throat wasn’t so dry and creaky. “But, we just - ”

“Just what?” Law kisses the inside of your thigh, eyes darting up to your face with a quirk of his brow. “Don’t want me to?” 

“I do, it’s only - ”

“Only what?” He prompts when words fail you. His hands cradle your hips, lifting and straightening them before him like a treasure map. 

“I want you,” you manage to whisper. The sun makes his black hair red at the edges, a trick of the light. 

“You’re getting me,” Law says. “And I’m getting you. Let’s start slow, huh?” 

As if you could refuse him when you aren’t a puddle on the bed. Slow is the last thing you want, but he made it sound like a dream. It is a dream; fast or slow or hurried or lazy. Always enough to make the little time you have sweeter. And never enough. Always and never, always and never. 

“Let me know,” his voice is as jagged as his scar, his hands shaking until he digs his fingers into your thighs. “Let me know…if you want me to stop.” 

He doesn't look like a man who could stop. And the pounding, the rushing - you couldn’t have asked him to stop for anything. 

His knees hit the floor with a thunk. Yours go over his shoulder as he sucked in a trembling breath, his shoulders twitching enough to make the dark lines look like they were convulsing. 

“Oh…” is all he says, and it’s the same noise you make when his lips touch yours, his tongue barely a hint of a caress. Your spine arches, pushing yourself closer to his mouth. He takes the hint, delving in with less ‘slow’ and more ‘I-haven’t-seen-you-in-a-year.’ He remembers. He remembers; every bit that makes your head spin and he does it like a conqueror, until the sheets are fisted in your hands and your breathing has gone frantic. 

“Law.” Your head twists to the side, air growing scarce and body feeling out of control. Wild and frenzied like an animal, jumping at every stroke of his tongue. “Please, oh - ”

He knows. He knows, he remembers. With a reverberating grunt that you can feel through your legs and belly, his fingers grip your thighs. It doesn’t feel possible, but the intensity swells and grows like the waves of the sea. 

“Stop biting your lip.” Law’s pause is enough to bring you down enough to comprehend his words. “Stop that. I wanna hear you. Here.” 

One of your fists is unclenched from the sheets, to weave your fingers between his, instead. A grip on reality, an anchor while sensation crashes through you. It’s only a moment later the wave hits: the force of pleasure battering through your body again and again. He doesn’t stop. He never does, not while each of your cries echo to the roof and back down again. 

When it becomes too much you gasp, and he stops. 

He knows. 

Law lifts his head, kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed and wiping his mouth on his discarded shirt. He smirks. “If nothing else,” he says casually, as if he hadn’t just made you climax with more fervor than a hurricane, “that makes me want to take you with me.”

Take you? With him? Where? Not on his ship, surely. 

Your expression must betray your bafflement, because he gives a rough laugh, tossing his shirt back down. 

“Oh, come on,” he says. “Surely you’ve thought of it yourself.” 

You hadn’t. 

His head tilts to the side, smirk fading. 

“You don’t want to come with me,” Law says. 

“No!” you blurt. “I mean - yes! I mean…that’s not what I’m saying. I’ve just never thought of it before. I hadn’t thought it was…possible.”

“And if it is?” 

Your heart hammers, from the aftershocks of orgasm and his question. “Possible?”

“Yeah. If I asked you to come with me.” He climbs over the bed on all fours. Normally you admire him; his tattoos and sculpted muscles. But your eyes are riveted on his face, on the strange sincerity shining in his eyes. 

“What would I do?” you ask. 

Law stops, hovering above you. You’re effectively trapped, but rather than confining, it’s comforting. Boundaries to bump up against, walls to keep you safe. His hair flops over his forehead, shadowing his features from the sun.

“Let me lick you anytime I want,” he jokes. 

So maybe it wasn’t sincerity after all. But you laugh, anyway, because laughing with him is always delicious, despite the heavy disappointment in your stomach. Reading into his joke would only hurt more. So you wind your arms around his neck, bringing him down for a languid, salty kiss. The weight of his body resting on yours transcends everything else, the craving for him lighting through your veins like popping fireworks. 

“How do you want me?” he asks before his teeth sink into the side of your neck. With his erection jabbing into your leg, the idea of options is surprising. 

“Like this,” you say. “Just like this.” 

Law releases your neck, his hips tucking between yours with familiarity. When his forehead rests against yours, his eyes are deep and bottomless for a moment before he closes them. 

“I mean it,” he murmurs. His hands unwrap your arms from his neck, bringing them down to the pillow to pin in place. “I’ll take you with me. You don’t have to do anything.” 

Does he mean that? Would he take you to sea just to…to what? Is he tired of coming back to this small island? Are you no longer worth it? 

Where is this going? A question flung into the stars, night after night, when Law is there and when he isn’t. Hope is difficult to cultivate year after year, but it blooms all the same at times like this. 

Where will you take me? 

A few thrusts gets him inside, enough to keep going. A few more have you moaning, tense in his grip as you move your hips to take him further. He groans, the further he gets, adding his own noises to yours. If this is where time stopped, if this could be forever, this is what you’d choose. Time and time again you’d choose. The sense of fullness, of complete joining - nothing has ever, ever, compared.

Law stops when he’s fully sheathed, panting for breath as his grip loosens on your wrists. Then his eyes open again; a mix of fierceness and tenderness that makes your heart want to explode. 

“Hey,” you say softly, wriggling your arms free to cup his face. He blinks several times. 

“Hey,” he says back, uncertain.  

“Thank you for coming back.” 

He huffs a laugh, a hint of a smile bringing more brightness than the sun. Resting his elbow by your head, he dips his to kiss your mouth. “I can’t stay away,” he says between that kiss and the next. 

His thrusts start slow, almost teasing. But they build fast, soon stroking a speed that breaks free as his kisses turn biting and his fingers find your hair. However he did it, each touch is a thousand starbursts at once, deepening the sensation in your core to spread across every limb, every muscle, every cell. Each stroke brings a small gasp from your lips to spill between his. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg at a higher-pitch than normal. Fingernails dig into his shoulders, hanging on for purchase as the legs of the bed scrape across the floor. Not the first time he’s done that, but it makes you want to laugh, all the same. 

“I’m not gonna!” His tongue is heavy against yours, his taste filling your senses. Touch, smell, all of it. With a shudder the bed hits the wall, and your shriek of unconstrained laughter has Law dragging himself away from you with a glare. But who wants to glare in the middle of sex? With another laugh you pull his head back down, lifting your hips against his for an angle that turns that kiss into a careening gasp. 

He knows. He knows, and remembers. He doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t slow. Your climax springs without warning, unable to continue the kissing in this condition. He doesn’t seem to mind, his head lowering to rest by yours as his groans start with a rumble. 

He continues long enough after the end of your orgasm for the delicious sensation to begin again before he jerks to a stop. A few more thrusts break his voice into a shivering bleat. 

The battering against the wall stops. And aren’t you so glad you have no neighbors? 

Your fingers run up and down his damp back, noting every rise and fall of muscle as he catches his breath. Even now, his weight isn’t uncomfortable. Because it’s him. It’s him and he’ll never be too much or too heavy. Blissfully your eyes drift shut, blocking out the morning light the tufts of black hair trying to cover it up. 

Law litters kisses along your hairline. Behind your ear, above it, and to your forehead, which must be as sweaty as his back. It doesn’t stop him. 

Then he kisses your eyes; first one, then the other. 

“Look at me?” A soft-spoken request. 

Look at him. And see what you don’t want. 

Your eyes open, hating that time brought this back. 

But Law smiles. He smiles as he gently smooths down your hair, his eyes skating over your face as if to memorize every pore. “Do you love me?” he asks. 

Now that is a question! Tempting you laugh, but you don’t. 

“Do the stars love one another?” you ask back, not quite hiding the bitterness in your voice. “Tracing and chasing their paths across the sky, never to touch except in dreams?” 

Law says nothing to that, but waits. 

“I love you,” you say. 

“That’s all I need,” he says. 

“What about what I need?” 

His face untwists from his smile into something confused, something a little belligerent. “I asked if you want to sail with me,” he says. “But I…”

“Didn’t mean it,” you finish. These conversations were like walking on broken glass. Delicate. Tentative. Someone was always bound to be hurt if rushed through. “The sea isn’t for me,” you tell him, hoping it will prevent a shard from breaking skin. 

But it seems to, anyway. Law frowns. “I wish it was,” he says.

So do I. But more than that, I wish you were for me. Not just sometimes, but always. 

He peels away at last, though if you had your way, he’d be in your bed forever. But he doesn’t go far: striding to the side of the bed where his pants had been tossed irreverently, scooping them up to rifle through the pockets. He pulled out something glinting, concealing it in his fist as he grins, returning to bed. Curious, you prop yourself onto an elbow. 

“Hold out your hand,” Law says. 

Dubiously you look for deception in his face, and see none. You put out your hand. 

Something cool and clinking drops into it. When he moves his hand away you see gold. Gold coins, strung together on a gold chain. A small one. 

“I can’t wear bracelets,” you say, bubbling into laughter. “Law! It’ll get covered in clay in ten seconds!” 

“It’s not a bracelet, you menace.” Law laughs, too, seizing your hand to pull your arm straight. He takes the bracelet-not-a-bracelet back. Evidently you’ve been judged too nonsensical to appreciate the gift yourself: he loops the chain around your upper arm, securing it with warm fingers. 

Oh. Not a bracelet. 

“I’m not stupid enough to get you a bracelet,” he says, quirking a brow in your direction. “Or a necklace. You’ve complained about those hanging into your work too. This won’t fall or dangle, so I thought it was the best option.” 

“You know what else doesn’t dangle?” Your fingers trace the gold coins. They’re hammered for texture; thin and delicate, reflecting the sunlight beautifully. “A crown. Next time, I want a crown.” 

Law’s laugh breaks into a bellow, filling every corner of the room with his mirth. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve heard that noise coming from him, and it prickles your skin with pleasure. 

“Fine,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Next time, a crown.” 

“Thank you,” you tell him. “For the gift. I mean it. I’m sorry for teasing.” 

“Don’t be. I love it.” 

“Do you love me?” The question blurts out without thinking. He jolts in surprise, eyes widening. “It’s only fair,” you say, trying to soften the abruptness of it. “You asked me. I get to ask you.” 

But his answer doesn’t come. Not right away. 

“Well, I’m not bringing jewelry for every woman in town,” Law says at last. 

“I hope you’re not licking them, either.”

He glares. You smirk. 

“I’ll answer your question,” he says. “But not today.” 

“When?” 

“When I return.” 

“Is there a reason you’re delaying?” you ask. “Do you need to break a prior engagement first? Let down any other lovers?” 

“No,” Law says. “None of that.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip. Something your teeth would like to do. He runs his fingers through his hair, sticking it on end. “If I tell you I love you,” he starts. Pauses. Takes a deep breath. “If I tell you I love you then I can’t leave. I wouldn’t.” Another pause, one that sinks his words past dread and into misery. “And I can’t…I can’t stay. Not yet.” 

“So,” you say. Your voice cracks a little. “You get to know I love you, but I have to wait in suspense for however?” 

His smile returns like the dawn. He leans over to kiss your forehead, wafting his manly scent over you. Inhaling deeply, the scent brands itself on your lungs. Never enough. “Luckily I know you like surprises. Besides, I thought you’d figure it out by now.”

Figure what out? Could he be any more vague? It was like searching for answers from a squirrel. A handsome, generous squirrel, but a squirrel all the same. 

“Oh, stop pouting,” Law laughs, attempting to smooth out your frown with a thumb. “Does the stream out back still have fish in it? I’ll catch breakfast.” He rises before you can answer, grabbing his pants once more. This time to pull them on. 

Ugh. Pants are the worst. 

“I’ll cook them too, if you want,” he says, buttoning the waistband with nimble fingers. You drag your eyes from his navel up to his face, with a very intelligent, 

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” He smiles. “You have clay beneath your fingernails.” 

Law disappears out the door before you can retort, and the view of his backside in his tight pants erases all thoughts from your head.

[ballad-of-the-lamb]

how does the Cult go through the Season's changes? is there a special celebration that happens during summer? group cuddle on winter nights? big harvest ritual on Auntum? I have never seen the forest go to any seasonal changes I was wondering if the climate doesn't have the 4 seasonal stuff at all

Artistically I'm currently unable to draw what my brain sees, but the way the cult looks and is, is a very 'there is something wrong here'. Uncanny. The air is always a biting cold, but not freezing, and there's never any frost on the ground. It's overly lush for such cold weather. It leaves a sense of unease even for followers of the cult. It's what makes their shelters so important- it hides away from effect. Seasons are not exempt from this. Seasons are wrong. A bit 'to the left' of what you'd normally expect. When leaves fall during autumn, it's not quite right. When snow falls the snowflakes all take shape of familiar eldritch symbols. When it is spring, the morning dew is the wrong consistency. And only ever come about at the Lamb or Narinder's hand.

They have rituals for each turn of the season, the most important ones being the spring equinox and winter solstice. Those are the major festivals that last a few weeks at a time and open the cult grounds to outsiders, when normally they would be killed by Narinder or a few of the more violent-minded cultists before they pass through the protective barrier.

[don-lichterman]

A smoky summer solstice, your Tuesday forecast | Weather

A smoky summer solstice, your Tuesday forecast | Weather

The longest day of the year is Tuesday and Meteorologist Joe Martucci says we’ll need all of that daylight to get the sunshine, as clouds fill in during the afternoon. Joe says new areas will smell and see smoke from that 12,000 acre blaze in Wharton State Forest, too, as the wind direction changes. Source link

[falmerbrook]

Snow Elf culture?

*pulls up a chair*

Perhaps...

A wee disclaimer that I'm not particularly good or creative with developing cultures or societies, but my brain has just latched on to the snow elves in a way where I can't stop myself. But anyway

I developed a lot of this because of a big ass draft for a fic I've been writing on and off about Gelebor and Vyrthur, so a lot of my headcanons are religion heavy. I'll start there:

Gelebor seems to place Auri-El and the Chantry of Auri-El as having significant importance to the Snow Elves over the other gods/temples. He's probably got a bit of bias in that regard since he's devoted his life to Auri-El, but in order to differentiate their religion from the other elven ones I like to think that their religion in general worshipped Auri-El as not even just as the figure head of their pantheon, but almost monotheistical, while the other gods (Trinimac, Syrabane, Jephre and Phynaster according to Gelebor) were like minor divine figures or just legendary heroes even more than in Altmer myth, depending on the interpretation. My idea is that if their culture had been allowed to continue on, it would've eventually become monotheistic, but by the arrival of the Nords they were in a bit of an awkward transition period with it.

I also like to lean into the sun motif with Auri-El that they established in Dawnguard and with Auriel's Bow, partially because it's another thing to make their depiction of him more unique, and in part because it makes some very juicy irony for Vyrthur. Some ideas include:

- The more religious folk tend to pray at noon when the sun is at it's highest. - The two biggest snow elf festivals happen on the summer and winter solstices. As far north as they are, the summer solstice is during a time of year where the sun barely sets and the winter one is during a time of year where it barely rises. The summer one is more jovial and celebratory, with a grand feast. With almost 24 hours of daylight, the festivities last up to three days straight, with folks commonly staying awake for over 24 hours. Most of it is spent outside, with the celebration being focused on making the most of the weather and daylight hours to spend as much time in the sun and the light of Auri-El as possible. The winter festival is as large scale but lasts longer and is lower-key. It also involves a feast but features more winter foods and meat and alcohol. It is more pensive. At this point in the year, there is no full daylight, and so this season is seen as a test of one’s faith and mental fortitude. This festival acts as a break from this trying time, taking time to relax, build community (a strong community will allow them to make it through the winter and strengthen their minds), and bond with family and friends. It is about a weeklong break, where leading up to the festival everyone works harder to prepare for it and allow themselves to have the break. There are activities and festivities, but they remain indoors for the most part and are smaller. - I've referenced this before, but with long winters with little sunlight (due to harsh weather and short days), they see that time of year as a reflective test of will and faith.

Due to their proximity to dragons, it was hard to miss the connection between Auri-El (/Akatosh) and dragons, and so their depiction of Auri-El is either much more influenced by the iconography of dragons, or is a dragon (although their depiction of dragon Auri-El is much more benevolent than the Nord/Atmoran one). I got the idea for this one from this Reddit post (i know I dog on Reddit a lot but this one has got some fun stuff in it, even if it's a bit out there)

^On that note, later in the timeline (post Dragon War (the timeline is very fuzzy on when this and the Night of Tear happens. They are both sometime vaguely in the late Merethic Era I believe, but it's unclear which happens first or how long each conflict is)) some Snow Elves see a sort of unreturned, unofficial comradery with dragons, seeing themselves as both on the receiving end of the Nord's/Atmoran's brutality (disregarding whether it was warranted or not in the context of the Dragon War).

Ok here's some more general cultural ones:

I mentioned my reasoning for this in this post, but I like to think their general settlements were not as permanent, with a larger focus on wood and building into the sides of hills (good for warmth), while their temples tended to be made of stone and much more permanent. This is why there are so few identifiable Snow Elf ruins across Skyrim. Their cities and towns were easy to wipe out, scavenged for resources, or were in good places for Nordic cities (perhaps Bromjunaar was originally the site of a Snow Elf city?), and their temples were either very hidden (e.g. the Chantry of Auri-El) or eventually converted to Nordic temples.

I love this journal in general for gleaning ideas for Snow Elf headcanons for, but one interesting this is the use of "Old Ones" and "Young One". They're treated like established titles. From that I like to think they place a lot of emphasis on the respect of those older than you. The social hierarchy and whose opinions are most valued is heavily influenced by age. Folks call anyone older or more revered “Old Ones” as a term of respect, and anyone younger than them “Young Ones”. Old One is almost never used in a demeaning way, but Young One can be (not always). Typically, “Old Ones” is used in the third person (e.g. you wouldn’t refer to someone directly as “old one”) whole “Young One(s)” can be used as an epithet for someone directly or in third person.

When thinking about death/"burial" customs (needed for some scenes in the fic I'm planning), you have to consider that there probably wasn't a lot of land in a place like Skyrim where someone can be buried. Nords intern their dead in crypts or burn them to get around this, and I like to think Snow Elves participated in something akin to sky burials (at least sometimes). After preparation, the departed's body is left outside on a ledge, cliff, or the temple balcony to be scavenged by birds. This is seen as a metaphorical return to Aetherius, while their soul literally returns to it. They do this even in poor weather or deep winter. If it doesn’t thaw and rot/be scavenged until months later, so be it. The length it takes to rot is considered indicative of how long it takes for the spirit to let go and move on (not in a bad way though. It’s interpreted more in the way of the soul or body grieving). It's seen as if they may wish to wait until spring to finally rot if they want to experience one more warm, sunny day.

Food (I mostly wrote this in my notes in the context of the Forgotten Vale and Chantry of Auri-El, but I think it could work elsewhere as well to an extent): Plant-based food is grown in gardens in the spring and summer, and that that is able to be stored is carefully preserved through the fall and winter. Winter foods include some nuts, dried vegetables, and dried and preserved/fermented grains (like wheat, barely). These foods must be eaten slowly throughout the winter to last, and winter diets are more meat based. Summer foods include apples, cabbage/lettuce, leeks, tomatoes etc. Snowberries can be found in the wild out of season of most other fruits, and provide fruit in very early spring. Occasionally, fungus from caves is harvested, but this is seen as a delicacy (foreshadowing).

Ok, that's it for now. I gotta go to bed. Thanks for the ask!!!! :D

[woeswrites]

Yandere Hannibal Lecter

Warnings: Alluding towards torture, Yandere themes, Obsessive behaviors,

Notes: Hannibal's done! A fic idea I had shortened down into whatever this is lol

Hannibal sure loved his dinner parties

Needless to say the community did too

To satiate the numerous requests for more he'd decided it was time to out-do himself yet again

A gathering to celebrate summer solstice would do

He'd spend a considerable amount of time in preparation

Handwritten invitations

A completely unique menu

And last but certainly not least, the gathering of ingredients

As he finished off the last of the swine he could already see his vision coming together

'The day of' quickly approached

Hours he spent slaving away in the kitchen

Finally he'd be able to enjoy himself and entertain his guests

He'd meticulously picked out his visitors for this event

You were very much not among those he'd selected

His eyes trained against your figure

A simple glance and nothing would have been amiss

But Hannibal was not the average onlooker

One by one he picked up on curiosities about you

Your darting eyes scoping out the place

Your suit, new but definitely not costly enough to fit in with the rest of the crowd

And one last thing, that fancy watch of yours

Hannibal excused himself from the clique who had entrapped him with their formalities

A few quick greetings here and there and he was by your side

"Forgive me, but I cannot seem to remember your name. All the party planning must be clouding my memory."

You were quite surprised at the host's appearance

Its not like you were in a group of people

On the contrary, you were alone, on the outskirts of the room

"No need to ask forgiveness. This is actually our first time meeting. Y/n-- Monroe's plus one. It's nice to meet you."

Hannibal gracefully accepted your handshake

He didn't feel the need to mention that he'd already encountered Monroe and his companion that night

That would ruin the fun

He'd strike up a conversation, all the basics (weather, occupation, etc.)

It was safe to say Hannibal didn't believe the accountant lie

He felt your callouses earlier, those were hands of labor

But, yet again, that was something he kept to himself for the time being

By the time you started looking a little antsy someone was calling for Hannibal

"Hostly duties. I hope to catch you again before the party's over Mr. L/n. Do try some of the horderves, I hear the chef's fantastic."

As soon as you escaped the interaction you were back at it

Scanning the various rooms for anything light enough that was worth taking

Elite parties like this were like taking candy from a baby

It's not like these millionaires would notice a few pieces of jewelry missing anyways

Especially not while they were off getting drunk with their friends

Hey, even if they did

You'd soon be gone without a trace

Or at least you thought so

While everyone else was mingling downstairs you'd managed to worm your way into the master bedroom

Luckily you'd brought a pretty bulky satchel with you

Everything and anything that looked valuable was slipped inside the bag

While questioning whether or not the gold candle holders were worth the space they'd take up you heard something

Footsteps

The function was still thriving downstairs (as evident from all the chatter and music)

Perhaps a random partygoer felt the urge to explorex

You weren't too worried about it before they started sounding closer

And closer

It was evident they were heading your way

It was too late to hide

They were practically already here

You quickly clasped your satchel together again before the man fully stood before you

"Well look at what we have here."

"Hannibal! You're just the man I had wanted to see. I have completely gotten lost. Where's your bathroom?"

Your sheepish smile did nothing to convince the man in front of you

Instead he'd locked the door behind him

"If you're trying to be secretive about your motives, maybe you should be careful about wearing your spoils before you've fully left the scene of the crime."

Hannibal points at the watch on your wrist

You might have been wearing it but it was definitely his

You tried to rectify your actions

You clearly had never been caught before

All of the goods were thrown onto the ground

You backed away, begging him to forgive you for you actions

"You know, I really hate the rude. I don't know what more ill-mannered than stealing."

Hannibal approached slowly, rolling up his sleeves

You tried backing away but couldn't get too far

"I'm sorry-- I'm so so sorry!"

"No you aren't. But you will be."

Just like that you were out

It took a second for you to realize you were awake again, your vision obscured by some sort of cloth

Hannibal would eventually reveal your surroundings

You were in his basement, a sight not many were privy to

It probably had something to do with the meats hanging down there

You had to fight the bile that rose up your throat

Hannibal grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to look at him

"We're gonna shape you into a good boy. No matter how long it takes."

He wheeled a cart over to you, the tools a little too fuzzy for you to make out with how bad your head hurt

"Don't look so scared. A little cooperation and maybe this won't hurt so bad Mylimasis."

He'd break you down over time

There was no other option

[lanitalay]

One Day : Chapter 4

Azriel x reader : based on the netflix series by the same name

warnings: lil ansgty

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist

This day used to be your favorite. For years you looked forward to having fun on the longest day of the year with the people you loved. But it's been twenty five years since Amarantha locked all of the High Lords Under the Mountain. Twenty five years since Rhys made Velaris impenetrable. Twenty five years since you’ve seen any of your friends, your family, from the Night Court. Twenty five years of fae becoming sicker, life becoming duller. All of the holidays made you feel miserable, but this one in particular. At least with Winter Solstice the weather matched your gloom, but on this day the sun is shining like nothing is wrong. A mockery, really. 

So you do as you usually do. Go to the office where fae seek help getting better. Do whatever you can with the little magic you have left. Hope that the tonics, lotions and powders make up for what you have lacked for so long now. Then return to the cottage. Bolting the door, shutting the blinds and collapsing on your bed. Mentally preparing to do it all again the next day.  Today you avoid everything except your bed, because last time you celebrated the Summer Solstice it had been with Azriel. 

Azriel who you had loved for three decades. Azriel who was so excited when you told him Thesan found a replacement for you and you were to return to Velaris. Azriel who was upset when he came to help you move because Thesan asked you to train your replacement while he went to the party Amarantha was throwing. Azriel who told you to stop being so spineless. Azriel, who’s eyes darkened when you said that your world doesn’t revolve around him or his whims. Azriel who left with a slam of the door. 

The blankets felt like a prison cell around you but there was no way you’d take your face out of them. The frames on the wall of people you can’t be sure are still alive glare extra harshly in the Solstice sun. Bec’s babe, now a woman grown. You’d missed the chance to see her grow up. Maybe she’s had more children. Maybe she’d forgotten about you. You hope they are safe. Pray that if you can’t get in neither can anything else.

You feel the bed dip beside you as Lenus lays down. “I made soup.” Of course he had, because he knew that today you would be in a state and he thinks that soup will soothe your soul. He stays there for a while, just keeping you company and you know he means well but he’s the last person you want to speak to today. Because he was Lenus who got in the way. He was the reason Azriel had become more distant in the few months before Amarantha’s reign began. “You haven’t visited in months, Az.” You remember telling him. “I don’t want to interrupt you and Lenus.”

“That’s ridiculous, you’re always welcome in my house. Plus Lenus doesn’t get most of the references I make so I have to constantly explain my-” 

“Y/n, please.” 

“What?” 

“I’m happy for you, I really am but I can’t.”

“I’m- what are you talking about?” You remember that breath he took like it was your own. 

“I can’t watch you be with him. It’s unfair of me, I know, but it kills me.”

And what could you say? “Oh, I- I didn’t know.” 

The guilt was the worst. Because Thesan asked you to stay, but you only said yes to get an extra week with Lenus. By now he knows you resent him for it. He won’t hold it against you, at least not openly. Yet, you’ve caught him looking at sunsets as his eyes sparkle for possibility, hope and maybe someone else. Until he looks at you, and the sparkle fades to his usual shade of brown. 

Azriel spent this day training. Letting Cassian command him to his most extreme exercises and doing them without complaint. Because this used to be your day but for a quarter of a century it has been a wound that wouldn’t heal. After training he will fly across the city until exhaustion lets him fall asleep.

He unfortunately wakes up just as the sun is setting. Mor banging on his door. “You have to eat!” 

They don’t celebrate anything anymore. Not with Rhysand gone. Not when you're gone as well. “It wouldn’t count without them.” Cassian had said the first time a holiday came around. So they treat it like any other day. Trying to keep Velaris running without its High Lord. Azriel trying to stay afloat without half of his heart.

He’ll join Mor and Cassian for dinner. They’ll eat in silence until Cassian breaks it “you remember when y/n first met Rhys?” Mor smiles a little “she was so nervous” she adds with a little laugh. 

“She was all like High Lords are not meant to get sick, this is not taught to us in training-” Cassian properly laughs recalling. 

Even Azriel can’t help but add “and then her face when she realized he was just constipated.” 

Mor cackles “he never ate vegetables until then.”

They quiet down. Azriel half hoped that you would punch his arm and say something like “it wasn’t funny, Az!” but your chair is empty and so is Rhysand's. 

“It’s not the same without them here.” Cassian was always the first to say it. Azriel knew they all missed them. He suspected Amren skipped out on these dinners because she felt some sadness for the current situation. Even if she would not admit it. 

“Do you think y/n got married? Maybe even had a baby?” Mor asked absentmindedly and Cassian kicked her under the table. 

“I’m sure she would never get married or have a kid with how things are now.” The general said pointedly. Azriel thought it was sweet of Cassian to watch out for his feelings like that.  But they were questions he had asked himself a million times before.

If you had a child he would no doubt adore it, but if you’d gotten married… He hates the way his heart twists when he thinks of that possibility. Last time he saw you, you were in love and in a healthy relationship.

But he doesn’t like thinking of the last time he saw you. How he walked out, slammed the door. Your jaw tight and brows furrowed. He regrets so much of that day.  What he said, how he acted. More importantly, he regrets that he didn’t crawl back immediately and beg for your forgiveness.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Seasons of Lookism: Jake, Goo, Samuel, Gun

Meeting them during a season. G/N. x Reader. or platonic.

Spring

Jake comes to you during Spring showers. Taking shelter by your side under a canopy. Drenched and dripping, spirits as sullen as his appearance.

Then he sees you, your mood matching with his, and beams.

An introduction, a name. All accompanied with his dazzling smile.

Like the sky clearing after the downpour and the first relief of sunbeams warming your bones. When all the dirt and grime of Winter is washed away.

A fresh start.

You tell him your own name, and he tests the way it feels on his tongue. The syllables on his lips.

He gives you another smile.

A small seed planted. Waiting to shoot up as a sapling, to grow into a mighty oak.

Summer

You meet Goo in June.

At the height of the summer solstice, where the sun blazes and burns. Full power and bright to offset the figure lurking in the shadows, a mirage of nightmares clothed in exquisite fabrics and expensive brands.

Smile bright and radiant but eyes smouldering and sharp behind his glasses.

A simple "hello" from him and your senses are set alight. Feel heat rising to your cheeks and your body swathed in flames.

When his hand shakes yours, the touch, his handprint, is seared into your skin. You wonder if you can withstand the wildfire but can't bring yourself to move out of its path.

It doesn't matter anyway.

You will wait for the new life, the regrowth after the forest ignites as long as you can capture a fraction of his shine.

Autumn

Samuel arrives in a whirlwind, a thunderstorm at the peak of Autumn.

As death is on earth's doorsteps; nature once again in the midst of breakdown and decay. An everlasting cycle.

He keeps you at arms reach, a polite acknowledgement at best. Cold, aloof, unwelcoming. Serving clinical, professional greys. Words clipped and then over time-

A glimpse. A shock of vivid colours and beauty. Reds and oranges and golds. Striking shades below his carefully controlled veneer.

Mood and stability as tumultuous as the weather. Confiding in you his raw and desperate ambition. You tiptoe around his bonfire, careful not to edge too close lest you be burned.

Yet. The embers jump and catch. You let yourself be swept up into his flame. 

It’s a taste of warmth to stave off the incoming chill.

Winter

Gun comes after the first snowfall. When the world is silent, muted and hushed.

When the icy grips of Winter thins the crowds and forces people to retreat indoors, feeling like it is just you two left in the world.

He lights up his cigarette. A burst of orange and heat stinging your nostrils, chill already sharp in your throat with each inhale. Now you cough and choke at the toxicity, demanding him to take that elsewhere.

A small snort of amusement leaves his lips. The sound manifests into something tangible and the laughter, the vapours swirl in the air.

Your own breath stills at the noise.

Like venturing into unmarked snow. The crunch with each step. The first explorer. Like no-one has even been there before.