#a perfectly kept greenhouse

[eloise175]

I love these panels so much, I’m never getting over them not only because of how beautiful they are, but also due to their meaning and how it perfectly shows the characters' feelings.

It’s the part where Penelope tells Callisto she doesn’t love him and his face crumbles, he’s so taken aback by it but for all the wrong reasons, let me elaborate;

(contains some novel spoilers!!)

From the beginning, Callisto knew that Penelope’s confession about how she fell in love with him at first sight was bullshit.

He knows she lied to him on multiple occasions but doesn’t mind at all; it’s stated later on in his pov that despite all the rumors and her deception, Callisto too found it surprising how he didn't get angry.

They also had this conversation in the cave and many other occasions when he teased her about it and she kept on saying that she wasn’t in love with him anymore.

However each time Penelope claimed to not be in love with him, Callisto was either amused or grumbled about it playfully.

It’s the setting that changes things. Back then it was all teasing and her getting fed up with him and his successful attempts at eliciting some sort of reaction out of her.

As the story progresses, their interactions become more tense due to the friction and tension being products of their feelings for one another.

We can see the first signs of Callisto ‘wavering’ during his birthday banquet as Penelope is about to reject him.

He looked crestfallen when she brought up love because he still can’t make sense of it, convinced that his feelings of fondness can’t be related to love—or more like, he’s trying to convince himself it’s like that.

Knowing what is about to come, he shushed her, while admitting to the fact that he knew she was going to reject him, hence why he told her to give him an answer on her coming of age.

It’s all because Callisto hoped she would change her mind and her answer would be the one he hoped for, basically her accepting.

Then in the greenhouse things become more serious. The talk about Penelope’s condition had an impact on the build-up of it.

Penelope is completely serious and firm about her rejection, she is more apathetic due to the impending deadline of hard mode’s ending and things falling apart continuously.

She doesn’t have any control of the things happening around her and it makes her grow more and more anxious, to the point where it all becomes too much and it leads her to resign to her fate.

Callisto’s reaction to it is so strong not only because Penelope kept on pushing him towards another woman (which he doesn’t even know) when all he wanted was to be with her, but because she disregarded his feelings in the process as well.

Penelope goes on to say that she doesn’t love him, and that’s the real nail in the coffin, Callisto is actually in love with her but fails to realize it, but his subconscious seems to be aware of it given his reaction.

It’s a “…she doesn’t love me?” slap in the face realization.

I’m saying this because later in the novel, Callisto reveals that he hid his desire to be with Penelope behind the guise of an arranged marriage because he was afraid to admit being in love with her due to what happened to his parents. You could say he has always loved her from the moment they first met.

➺ chapter. 201 from the novel:

Anyhow, Penelope talks about her circumstances and past, saying how while wanting love she also needs and wants someone to take her out of the hell she’s in.

She tells Callisto he’s not that person and he’s absolutely devastated by that statement. He even gets described as dazed in the novel when this scene happens.

It’s a point of no return for Callisto because he still refuses to acknowledge his feelings as love for Penelope.

He can’t have her unless he admits to loving her, but he’s afraid to do so due to his past, he's convinced that if he confesses then she would end up like his mother.

Callisto needs a push, and that push is the fear of losing her forever which comes in the form of Penelope’s poisoning on her coming of age ceremony.

It all boils down to “don’t make any assumptions about my feelings” and “you don’t know what/how I feel” but we don’t get that since Callisto is suppressing it.

He’s angry and rightfully so and Penelope’s earlier apparent indifference doesn’t help either.

But yes, Penelope’s rejection hurt him so much because loves her.

Callisto is conflicted and in denial. It’s like he’s already having an inner battle about his feelings and then Penelope comes and deals the final blow, stomping all over his heart while pushing him away.

"I chose you, Penelope Eckhart. Not your household." and “Does my proposal mean so little to you?” are so telling because it’s clear that he’s been strongly impacted by all of this.

Callisto genuinely wants to be with Penelope and get her to the safety of the palace but went about it the wrong way.

They’re so miscommunication, it will be so long before they get to talk properly about their feeling and we get that love confession I’m not okay T_T

Thinking about all the things that will happen before that is making my head hurt, I’m going back to reading my comfort fanfics…see y’all tomorrow when the beginning of the end begins with more yearning and angst as Callisto will come back :,)

[supremeb1tch8783]

Something I find really funny as I revisit Black Butler is Sebastian’s character.

It’s been years since the last anime arc release, and an arc that’s animated as a full season rather than a movie. And I haven’t kept up with the manga as much because I will binge read and so I like to let ongoing series rack up chapters and preferably finish whatever arc they’re in so I don’t have to be left on a cliffhanger for a month.

But that’s neither here nor there. Onto Sebastian Michaelis! I’ll be brief!

I find him so absolutely funny because as we see from his cinematic record in the Book of Atlantic, and later as they showed us the specifics of how their contract was formed, he kinda sorta fr hated “Ciel” and found him to be punitive human not worth anything other than a potentially delicious meal lol. He wanted his soul for sure, and he came forth upon Ciels cries because he recognized a high quality meal, but he a) didn’t expect the job to go on for so long, b) didn’t know his new master wanted to do all the investigating rather just letting him run off and kill everyone and return to eat him, and most hilariously c) he didn’t think his new master would expect and demand of him to do a butlers job in a more “human” fashion.

Things like cleaning each room with dusters and brooms, etc. or cooking food step by step rather than just waving a hand and it all being done.

But what I find so funny is that despite him being a demon, and us seeing that very often, him voicing his thoughts on how pathetic and futile a humans life or goals or aspirations to be, he has found some actual pleasure in doing things the human way.

And it’s pointed out so obviously in the pride he takes in being like “ah yes, the linens are all perfectly pressed, dinner is exquisitely prepared, I was able to do XYZ for the Funtom Company, truly I am the best butler to ever butler,” rather than the “best demon to ever act like a butler”

Like he’s lost in his role, the method acting is so strong I wonder if he realizes.

And what’s even funnier is when he’s interrupted. Cuz he’ll be in the zone getting preparations done, having the butler aesthetic going on and then Bard, Meyrin, or Finny will do some off the cuff nonsense and he’s pulled away from what he was doing, like god dammit! I was JUST whisking the meringue to the perfect consistency but now I have to replant our entire greenhouse garden. Etc.

Like he really started out so feral and petty with Ciel when he started, loathing being a butler, finding it annoying, not thinking he was gonna have to do it for over 3 years and now he’s here acting as mother, father, teacher, uncle, aunt, daycare instructor, and on occasion male prostitute to perform his duties as butler to the queens guard dog.

He’s still feral for sure, but there’s a sorta domesticated feeling I get when I look at him being such a loyal demon servant. And he doesn’t hate all humans, he can still find their lives otherwise short and pointless, but he’s respectful in a real meaningful way to people like Tanaka, Agni or even Elizabeth, and despite being a demon the chivalry he’ll show at times is sincere, and once again, he’s been there for so long. It cracks me up sometimes.

Anyways, rant over <3

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 21

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 21: new things

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winter came and with it lots of new things.

For starters, Lucifer and I found out how to let the shadow souls move on. I had to give them my own energy and hand them off to him. While he wasn't the one who made judgement on a soul, he had the power to send the soul to those who did.

The only problem with this was that it required Lucifer's presence and left me utterly exhausted. I had killed hundreds of opponents as a ring fighter so letting them all pass would take a long time.

Another new thing was our Demon seamstress and architect, Arleen. She had lived on the surface for most of her life with her single mother, who taught her everything she knows of thread work. She helped her mother run her store while attending a big university for architecture. After the big Demon reveal, she and her mother ran for Hell, quickly realizing it wasn't that much better. There was no debate when she saw our posters.

She instantly became a celebrity in the haven. Not only did her Demon side stand out, beautiful red butterfly wings and a long, thin matching tail, but her charming personality caught all men, women, and children. She walked and spoke with an air of elegance and never turned away a sad soul. Althea was grateful for her since everyone had deemed the healer as also a therapist. She now had more time to herself.

Arleen was always making something. She had dozens of requests for certain types of clothes or outfits since everyone pretty much wore the same thing. Husker was in charge of a group that would go out to get the materials she needed.

She liked to spend time outside and thus, people would sit around her like children listening to a bedtime story while she worked on her current project. Althea and I both noticed a sense of overwhelment from her after the first month. I spoke to Vivian, our teacher, and she agreed to convince some of the older teenagers to start learning how to sew. Arleen worked well with the teenagers who felt like they were finally giving something back to their community.

Alastor and I had come up with the idea to keep the haven wrapped in a warm greenhouse during the day. Snow turned to rain as soon as it touched the 'shield' and the temperature was kept nice and warm. The responsibility switched between me, Alastor, Husker, and Charlie.

My relationship with Alastor was...increasing? Getting better? I felt a combination of nervousness and excitement whenever I was around him. I noticed he had a tendency to leave a rose nearby, whether that was in my room or on the side table when I was reading. He also initiated fleeting touches like our shoulders bumping or hands 'accidentally' brushing.

It soon became a habit for me to spend time in his room in the evening. I had grown comfortable enough that I laid on the window seat to read while he sat at the table to do his writing. I enjoyed seeing him in such a calm state. His glasses sat on the edge of his nose, eyes focused and jumping slightly to read the words and copy them down, his claws gripping the pen and moving it smoothly across the paper, and his long, elegant legs shifting every so often.

We had decided not to reinstate the deals. I didn't think it was necessary to try to keep him out of my head since he had been doing well with respecting my boundaries.

He didn't think it was necessary to keep our second deal since we usually started our evenings drinking each other's blood. He had found a way to use his magic to make it less painful and my style of magic could heal the wounds perfectly.

My decision to keep our first deal void was reinforced when nightmares started to plague me again. These were normal nightmares but they weren't any less terrifying. I dreamt of Reagan being killed by Blackwater or turning on me and driving a knife into my heart. I dreamt of Blackwater trapping both Alastor and I and killing him in front of me.

After most of the nightmare had happened, Alastor's presence would seep into my mind and push the fear out. He couldn't nix it altogether, but it was better to feel the after-comfort.

Blackwater had gone underground again. His factories had been abandoned, minus all the inventions and everything, and remained hidden from everyone's radar. I somehow always managed to bring him up, Alastor patiently trying to tell me everything would be fine.

"We will know if he even comes close to the haven," he answered one night.

"But we won't. I didn't even feel his presence in the forest before he hit me. He can hide himself somehow."

"We have a large group, dare I say close to an army, of Demons who are constantly watching out for danger on our borders. He will be found."

"What about the ocean? He could come...from...there..." My words slowed as Alastor stood up to remove his jacket, revealing a red button up underneath. He had straps over his shoulders from his waistband and a single one over his chest to connect them. He draped the jacket over the back of the chair and returned to his seat. His eyes found mine.

"I do enjoy making you speechless," he mused, face in his palm.

My face reddened. I wanted to make a retort but failed, the words dying on my tongue. I let out a huff and returned to my book. I was lounging comfortably on the window seat, wind softly whistling against the glass.

I'm not sure when, but Alastor had begun signing along to the radio. Not humming. Singing. It took one song to have my book on my stomach and eyes closed. I felt his mind brush mine and let him push through. My entire body felt comfortably warm, as if he was embracing me, something I doubt he's done since his mother and sister passed.

No words could describe the state I was in. Content, happy, and safe are all good words, but they still couldn't capture it. I was practically in a trance from the sound of his radio filtered voice singing the soft tunes. I didn't want it to stop. I could stay like this for all of eternity.

Smoke, like a bonfire, reached my noise a second before it was replaced by a rainy, earthy scent. I pushed further, wanting to surround myself with nature where I belonged. I felt like I was in a patch of tall, soft grass and rolling around in it on a summer afternoon.

My dreams continued. I found myself flying through the sky and through the soft clouds, or down in a stream enjoying the cool running water over my face. Nature was beautiful. Nature was safe. I wanted to meld myself and become one with it.

I stretched out my arms and legs, lazily pulling myself out of the sweet dream. It was the best I had slept in...ever. I felt refreshed and warm, perfectly comfortable and unwilling to get out my bed.

But it wasn't my bed.

My heart skipped a beat as I realized the sheets were not mine. I slowly lifted my head to find Alastor asleep beside me, head turned away and a single hand underneath the pillow.

I forced my claws to retract so I wouldn't puncture the soft sheets. I ran a hand over my body to feel my clothes still on me. I didn't believe he would do something like that but it was an innate fear.

The room was dark, save the single day of sunlight managing to poke through the heavy red curtains. The air felt thick and heavy, not in a suffocating way, but in a way that said nothing and no one had moved in hours. The fire was dead and his papers were still scattered on the table, pen and glasses sitting atop.

I turned back to look at him, half expecting him to be smiling at me, but he remained asleep. His chest rose and fell with every breath he took. He wore a black long sleeve of some kind but the rest of him was hidden under the covers.

I used my magic to stay as quiet as possible as I climbed out of bed. He stirred and I froze. When his eyes didn't open, I continued. I had backed all the way to the door, hand on the handle, when his voice suddenly sliced through the silence, "I'm awake, you know."

My breath caught in my throat. My hand tightened around the handle as he moved to sit up. His hair was a little messy and his eyes were half open as he fought off sleep.

"I-I was trying to be quiet," I stuttered. "I'm s--I'm sorry. I'll leave." Before he could say anything, I slipped out of his room and closed the door behind me. I looked at my own door but froze. Standing in the hallway, at the top of the stairs, was Angel Dust. Husker's old, small room neighbored mine.

We just stared at each other for a moment. Our minds were trying to register what the other was doing. Angel recovered the fastest and had a wide grin on his face.

"Doing more than kissing?" he teased.

My face turned bright red. I ran for my door but before closing it I said, "Guess the haven doesn't have a lot of privacy."

I stayed in my room until I felt Husker's presence go down the stairs. In my usual attire, I made breakfast with him in the kitchen. We were both comfortably silent as we cooked and moved expertly around the counter.

Once we sat down, my ears picked up Alastor's movement. I heard his shadow going through the walls and picked up conversation to avoid any with him.

"So, how's Angel?" I asked.

He was pouring alcohol into his coffee. He looked at me sideways. "How should I know?"

"Because he was coming out of your room this morning."

All his fur stood up and he choked on his coffee, earning a laugh from me. "It's not what you think. We were just..."

"Sleeping together?" Alastor manifested behind us, making us jump. He was back in his usual attire.

"We weren't having sex if that's what you're trying to get at." An angry cat growl murmured in the back of his throat.

"Just sleeping next to each other?" I offered, using all my effort not to look at Alastor and keep my voice casual.

"Exactly. Now shut up and eat." He shoved the plate closer to me.

"You know," I said next, trying to avoid any silence with Alastor around, "maybe you should request something from Arleen. Get you a top to match these." I gently tugged on the straps over his shoulders.

"Maybe I'll go back to the color orange." He made a pointed look at Alastor who was staring out the window over the sink.

"Go back?"

"I used to wear orange a lot before I came under Alastor. Apparently he thought I looked better in red."

"Indeed you do," Alastor agreed, not yet looking over at us. It made me nervous not to see his face, but I wasn't sure I could handle meeting his eyes either.

We ate in silence for the most part. Once we had finished, Husker noticed the time on the wall and panicked. He had to run out to get more materials and resources with his group. I told him not to worry about the dishes and he nuzzled his nose to the side of my head as a thank you. It felt good to have a brother figure.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up as I moved to the sink to wash the dishes. Alastor moved to stand by the backdoor, arms folded behind his back and eyes on me. I was too nervous to see if he had his cane or not.

I took my time cleaning the dishes since it was just plates and silverware for two. He remained dead silent until I inevitably finished, dried, and put them away.

I dried my hands and finally met his eyes. "What is it?"

"Did I overstep?" His radio filter was off.

I looked at him for a moment, hands mindlessly drying nothing on my skin. I touched our minds and felt a small pulse of nervousness that wasn't my own. He was genuinely concerned.

"I don't...I don't think so." I hung the towel on the cabinet handle and slid my hands in my pants pocket. "I mean...I think that was the best sleep I've ever had."

The bottom of his eyes scrunched a little and his eyebrows lifted, telling me the smooth smile was genuine now. He crossed the kitchen to stand in front of me, hand out and waiting.

"I had a restful sleep myself. Perhaps we can make it more frequent?"

His forwardness was making my face warm and my heart run twice its speed. It caught in my throat and I had to swallow before I answered, placing my hand on top of his and watching each claw slowly enclose around it. He turned it over and placed a light kiss on the back of my hand.

"That would be nice."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Touch starved, my little devils? I've had this scene stuck in my head since like A1 part 17

Also, welcome new OC Arleen!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch

[succubusonthedoorstep]

ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀ!ʟᴇᴠɪ ᴀᴄᴋᴇʀᴍᴀɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ!)

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.5k

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Drug use, infidelity, explicit sexual content and language, panty sniffing, oral sex (f!receiving) possessiveness, infidelity, slight yandere behavior? Sir kink, praise kink, cockblocking, fingering, squirting, pet names. (baby, good girl)

ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖! ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

Neighbor!Levi spends his afternoon tending to the garden despite the sweltering heat. He discarded his shirt an hour ago when Mrs. Chisholm politely brought out a pitcher of cold water and a chair for him to rest on.

Neighbor!Levi had promised you that he’d look after the garden a few days earlier when you knocked on his door. You also asked him to look after your apartment, joking with him about it sprouting legs and running away. He didn’t laugh.

While Neighbor!Levi tries to distract himself by caring for the plants, his mind wanders to your whereabouts. He could remember you clearly almost a week ago- standing in his doorframe with your nipples poking through your shirt and your hands on your hips. 

“Wanna do me a favor?”

No, I shouldn’t. “Depends on what it is.”

“I need you to keep an eye on my apartment. I have some business to take care of and I'll be gone for a few days.”

I can’t do that. Ask your boyfriend. “Fine. I’m assuming you need me to look after the garden?”

You gave him a good look up and down his body, taking in the outline of his abs beneath the tight black shirt he had on. “You’re a quick learner, Levi,” you sarcastically admired, eyes finding his once again. The compliment plus the look you gave him had the blood rushing to his dick. Head filled with the same longing he once felt with you in his kitchen. 

He’d spent every day since then replaying the scene in his head with his hand wrapped around his cock. The panties he stole borrowed would be wrapped in a tight fist and held to his face, while the cum-stained shorts were beneath him and awaiting another load.

Neighbor!Levi “checks in” frequently in your home- watering plants in a large window and feeding the fish you kept in your study. He lied to himself the first few times, telling himself to make sure everything in your bedroom was satisfactory. Why wouldn’t it be? He didn’t know.

Neighbor!Levi’s eyes turned to look for the pictures on your dresser. They were absent today, making him wonder if you took them down because you knew he’d be in your room.

Because you knew he stole your clothes.

Neighbor!Levi rubbed his clammy hands on his thighs. Refocusing his mind, he turned to find what he’d been looking for. 

Your hamper. 

Before leaving, you’d been responsible enough to do laundry. His heart warmed at the thought of your cleanliness, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

Tch, Whatever. I’ll just take a clean pair.

On the way out, Neighbor!Levi feels a pang of guilt in his chest for hoping you weren’t dating the tall brunette anymore. 

Neighbor!Levi has some assistance tonight- a rarity considering he enjoyed seeing the fruits of his labor when he finally weighed the flower he’d grown.

Levi grew weed in a warehouse a few blocks away from your apartment building. The crowded, lively city hid the greenhouse perfectly in the industrial area used for private businesses. He sold it to his longtime partner in crime- Erwin, who then flipped it and delivered Levi’s money into his mailbox. It was a system they began in their youth that grew into- well, a small business.

Neighbor!Levi’s helpers fill the house with noise he’s unaccustomed to. The rambunctious laughter of Connie and Sasha, to the music Jean decided to put on. They challenged his complaints with “It’ll help us get done faster!” and “We’ll be outta your hair in no time!”

Neighbor!Levi steps onto his balcony to escape the intensity of his home, holding a joint between his lips and lighting it. The short-lived tranquility his life had before you were a distant memory he reminisced on; the clamor behind him masking the sounds of your return.

Clicking your door shut behind you and inhaling deeply, relief filled your lungs at your return home safely. You missed your space after being away for so long, but the commotion next door was an unusual event you didn’t expect from Levi. The party inside was lively to say the least- you’d heard a girl laughing along to a man’s voice that didn’t sound like Levi’s. You considered texting him as you dragged your luggage into your room and flicked on the light, but ultimately decided against it.

The unexpected jealousy was another oddity. Who was the woman next door? You didn’t hear Levi’s voice through the door when you passed, not that you’d hear him over the other two men in the room anyway…

Before you could settle on your bed and unpack, a knock on your door drew you out of your thoughts.

Neighbor!Levi sees your bedroom light turn on and his mouth drops. Instinctively his hand darts out to catch the joint and before he could register the pain of the cherry burning him, he was already swinging the balcony door open and rushing through his home.

“Finish this.” He stated, placing his unfinished joint in an ash tray on the table and striding out the front door without turning around.

“With pleasure!” Sasha called out before the door slammed.

Levi made it to your door in record time. He knocked harder than he should’ve, but he couldn’t bring himself to be troubled by it. He leaned against his arm next to your door impatiently, sighing when he heard you crashing around your apartment.

“Coming!” You yelled, closer to the door now. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, smiling softly behind his hand. The door in front of him swung open, and his heart jumped at the sight of you.

“Well, well, well,” you started, tapping your nails against the door. “Fun night?”

Levi’s nose crinkled. “On the contrary. Some of my colleagues needed a place for business and my place was… volunteered.” His chin flicked into your apartment.

“Could I?”

You stepped aside and shut the door behind him, eyes flicking to his ass before he sat on your couch.

“You smell like weed,” you commented, walking around the island in your kitchen to get him a water bottle. “If you really missed me, you should’ve brought some over.”

Levi leaned back completely with his legs spread, closed his eyes and chuckled. “I’ll remember that next time. Did you see the garden when you came in?”

“Of course I did,” you voiced, settling into the couch facing him. Your legs draped over his thighs and you watched as his Adam’s Apple bobbled in his throat at the contact. “You did a such a good job with it, maybe I should go out of town more often-“

“No,” He interrupted, placing a warm hand on your thigh. “Taking care of it wasn’t as satisfying with you gone.” He opened an eye to peek at your bashful expression. You averted his gaze, instead taking interest in the water bottles you brought over.

His hand rubbed your leg in long, slow strides. “Why are you avoiding looking at me?”

“I-I don’t know,” you lied. “Did you miss me, Levi?”

He scoffed, picking his head up. “Yeah. I thought about you every day. Especially when I was working in that damn garden.” His fingers played with the hem of your shorts, watching your reaction when you realized they had ridden up your thighs. 

“You know I hate liars, (Y/N)?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“Yeah. Who’s the brunette in those pictures?” His hand slipped beneath your shorts, fingertips brushing your cunt. You gasped and squeezed your thighs together instinctively, finally catching his gaze.

Biting your lip, you answered, “Uhm, what pictures?”

His jaw clicked in annoyance. “You dated a lot of tall brunette men last valentine’s day? Can’t keep track of ‘em?” He pressed two fingers onto your bud and gave it a few indulgent rubs, smirking at the shivers it elicited.

“Levi, please…”

“You still fucking him?” His other hand gripped the band of your shorts and panties, tugging them off and spreading your thighs. You had leaned back into the couch now, allowing him to lift your hips and pull you closer.

“No! It’s complicated, he travels around for work,” your voice had been reduced to a whimper at Levi’s fingers flicking at your clit. His eyes bored into yours, pressing you to continue. “H-His name is Eren… we’ve been together for three years but things are going downhill…”

“Obviously.” He commented, pushing a finger into your cunt. Between his high and your pussy in his face, Levi was on cloud nine. He couldn’t believe you came home tonight of all nights, let alone allow him to fuck you with his fingers. Your mouth opened in a small gasp at the intrusion, making Levi’s mouth water. He resisted the temptation of kissing you, though it took all his willpower.

“Get rid of him,” he advised, pushing another finger into your cunt and leaving you little room to protest. “Call him, text him, send a letter, I don’t give a fuck.” He leaned down to press his mouth to your cunt, scooting down to lay on his stomach. His tongue gave your clit a few teasing licks and your hips jumped in response.

“You hear me?” He pressed, his free hand pulling one of your legs over his shoulder. “He doesn’t need to come around anymore, especially when I'm here.”

By the end of his sentence, Levi’s voice was laced with venom. The tender kisses he gave your pussy contrasted heavily with his intentions for the night, and he nipped at your inner thighs in anticipation. 

“Y-Yeah, I hear you…” Your fingers combed through his hair and brushed his rough undercut. His tongue gave your slit a few teasing flicks, lingering on your clit. The few kisses he gave your bud had your fist tightening in his hair, and you realized just how touch-deprived Eren left you.

“You like this shit, huh?” Levi questioned, finally moving the two fingers he had buried in your cunt. When you whined and arched your back in response, he pulled the digits out and gave your cunt a wet slap.

“Goddammit, Levi!”

“Answer me!” He demanded, pushing only a finger in. Your hips lifted in need of more, and Levi complied. Lewd slurps filled the room as his mouth sucked and licked at your cunt, almost drowning out your desperate response.

“Fuck, yes! C-Can’t believe you’re makin’ me feel like this, Sir-“ You choked on a gasp when you felt two more fingers stretching you out. Curling and pressing into your g-spot, Levi managed to derail your train of thought with little effort.

“Sir? That’s a new one…” He mumbled against your cunt to himself, amused. The wet heat hugging his fingers had the front of his pants tightening, but he’d ignore it for as long as you needed him to. He knew he was in too deep- demanding you leave your boyfriend, fingering your cunt until your legs shook. But wasn’t he when he was stealing your panties? Or groping your tits in his kitchen? 

He figured this was nothing as long as he had you. 

Levi had never been so obsessed- the way his name rolled off your tongue had him considering removing the wall between your apartments. 

His tongue was merciless on your clit as just licking it was cutting it for him anymore. He sucked and flicked at it with his tongue, needing it to coat his chin and lips so he could smell you later when he was alone. 

“You never disappoint,” he praised. “Gonna make a mess on my fingers, hm baby?” His candied voice made your clit twitch, answering his question. The knot in your stomach threatened to snap with each push and pull he gave your cunt, and his words weren’t helping.

“How’re you gonna look at Eren after this? How are you gonna sit him on this couch and tell him you don’t have a use for him anymore?” His voice dripped honey and conflicted with the way he pulled the pleasure out of you. “Put those pictures in a cardboard box with the rest of his shit. Leave it outside the door, I don’t even want him looking around the house for anything.”

“Y-Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he whispered to your cunt. “Wanna cum for me?”

You couldn’t answer his question. Levi’s high approval of you was more than enough to push you over the edge and make your eyes unfocus with pleasure. The sounds of your wetness gushing all over his mouth had him moaning into your cunt, loving the taste of your release. The vibrations only heightened your orgasm and your thighs hugged his head as you caught your breath.

You could only stare at the ceiling as Levi finished his meal- licking the wetness that coated your pussy lips and thighs. He rose from his position and rolled his neck a few generous times, sighing when a few satisfying pops came. “You alright?” 

“Mhm,” you hummed, sitting up slightly. Your eyes caught the obvious bulge in his pants, making him chuckle when he caught you staring. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll help.” He leaned in to give your lips a longing kiss. “That’s what good neighbors do, right baby?”

“Yes, Sir.”

A pounding knock at your door had you jumping out of your skin. The love-filled expression on Levi’s face faded back into his usual annoyed scowl, and he sighed.

“Duty calls.”

“Does it?” You challenged, pouting. A second knock came, along with a girl’s voice.

“We’re leaving soon Levi! Are you done in there?” She asked, amusement leaking into her tone. Your ears turned hot at the thought of them hearing you through the walls, but Levi only rolled his eyes.

“It does.” He confirmed, giving you one last kiss. You resisted the urge to wrap your legs around his waist and beg for another round, but just barely. He pulled away from your lips and you watched him fix his hair in a mirror by the door. “Levi?”

“Hmmm?”

“I still owe you one for taking care of the garden,” you reminded, not knowing Levi never cared about you giving him anything. Especially not after tonight.

“I’ll remember that,” he replied, making your heart flutter with a smile before shutting the door behind him.

When you were sure he was gone, you let out a heavy sigh and reached under your couch until you felt it. You pulled the heavy object into your lap and unwrapped the paper around it, biting your lip at the sight.

The framed valentine’s day pictures of you and Eren from when you were actually in love. Your bright grin and his gold chain with your name on it brought a tear to your eye, though you only felt relief.

Like and Reblog if you enjoyed! <3

[chaithetics]

Lessons in History

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x f reader Word count: 2.8K Gif by @tomcriuse Warnings: fluff, reader had no physical description but she/her pronouns are used, flowers, some history, colonisation & discrimination mention (not graphic), not beta/proof read except for sending the first 3 paragraphs to @coulsons-fullmetal-cellist! A/N: This was written for @morallyinept's flora and fauna challenge for the month of May, green carnations are mentioned here but the real focus is on the Faqqu'a iris! I hope you all enjoy this and maybe learn a fun floral fact as well! The mentioned pieces of art are imagined and I didn't put in any artist names because I couldn't think of any, oops! Title was inspired from 'Lessons in Chemistry' because of name vibes, haven't read or seen it lol! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated 🫶 @mittos may you get to the botans soon bestie x

Javi Gutierrez was nothing if not a patron of the arts. He was the biggest cinephile in all of Spain, he had the film memorabilia and Letterboxd account to prove it. Letterboxd had contacted him several months ago to let him know that he had logged the most rewatches of Face/Off than any other member, by a lot... He’d been enchanted by the theatre from a young age, he had an ever-growing collection of visual media, and he was a critically acclaimed screenwriter and producer. It’s why he was at this pop-up exhibition a History in Flora. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the curator and gallery educator was so pretty. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, she had an air of intelligent grace and while her eyes were kind, they definitely had the potential for a sharp wit. She was tidily dressed in colours that brought out the beauty of her skin tone and eyes, and a keffiyeh around her neck. She was positively radiant. A beauty that needed to be captured in art, he’d proudly commission such a piece by a dozen different artists just to try and find someone who would be able to capture her essence in their art. He was smitten by you as well. When you made eye contact with the handsome man, a slight blush coloured his cheeks and you couldn’t help but smile even wider. His soft curls were stunning, you gave him your best smile which made him melt more. If you kept smiling at him like that he’d either melt into a puddle or he’d hold a snowdrop bloom and become a new installation in the exhibition to symbolise his resilience with the challenge of not causing a scene and swooning over you and attempting to sweep you off of your feet.

You had a hand on your abdomen as you waited around near the entrance of the botanical gardens greenhouse, this was the opening day of your pop-up exhibition. One you’d been working on for months. Probably more like years with how you were such a history nerd and how one conversation with your cool aunt when you were a teenager sparked an interest in flowers and all the nerding out that came with that. 

Anxiety was looming in your stomach but that was to be expected, having your hand on your stomach wasn’t a super obvious marker of that though so you kept it there as you tried to imagine your diaphragm while regulating your breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

While some people had already come in and started to make their way around the art, this would be the first guided tour of the exhibition. This project had been your artistic baby for so long, it felt really important to you and you just wanted it to go perfectly. 

You took a deep breath and listened to your amazing colleague who came over after a moment as you both ran through some things quietly and in what felt like the blink of an eye, you were now standing with a group of about a dozen people of all ages and had started to guide the tour. 

You weren’t sure if you’d blacked out and started, you weren’t sure what that would feel like so you couldn’t compare it to anything else, but you were certain it would feel something like this. You don’t know what had happened but your feet had started moving and your mouth had turned up into a friendly smile and words started spilling out as you’d started to lead the keen group around the exhibition. 

You all walked around and discussed the sculptures, crochet installations, and paintings. The group was interested and respectful, there were some witty questions and there was a plethora of interested and respectful questions as well. 

Whenever there’s a point you almost forget to add in Javier will smile and politely raise his hand to ask a question, a gesture that nobody else makes before they ask a question. He’s too cute. His existence is taking almost everything in you not to giggle when you look into his sparkling chocolate eyes and nod and he then asks the perfect question for you to elaborate on something. “Ah…” He coos at the right times when you speak. 

“How interesting!” He genuinely exclaims with a fascinated and kind smile when you add in a stroke of a fun fact while painting the context of a piece. 

You’re feeling more and more confident with each piece you show and talk about. Having your personal, professional hype man in Javier is extremely helpful. It’s the little necessary boost in confidence that helps bring you back into your body and in no time you’re feeling more present in the moment and that you can truly enjoy it. 

There are pieces and interesting conversations about peonies, a Chinese symbol of wealth adored by Emperors, violets, a queer symbol of sapphic women going all the way back to Sappho on Lesbos island thousands of years ago. The group are interested and engaged throughout the various topics which makes you smile. 

You smile more widely as you and the group arrive at the next three pieces. Javier’s eyes shine as he sees the genuine but more customer service polite smile turn into a wider, awe-inspired smile as they get to the next piece. His eyes take in how your eyes glow like the most luminous image in the world. You’re a true piece of art. He thinks of how inspired and meta it is that the most beautiful piece of art in the world is sentient and is the one loving art and educating the public on it while being completely unaware of the masterpiece that she is. 

His cheeks heat up, he’ll keep that image of you as a mental photograph to treasure for years. He’s not sure if he’ll ever have the words to describe it with justice in one of his screenplays but he’ll try. It’ll be the look of love on the intelligent lead’s face, and then the romantic look of love, that’s on his face right now, will be seen on the love interest’s face. 

You’re completely unaware of Javier’s thoughts as you’re not a mind reader. But you smile more as you look at this next piece. You love every piece in this exhibition of course, but these next few pieces stunned you the most with their power and the artistic vision and skill that went into them. You had felt honoured to be able to work with these artists. 

The piece that your group have now stood around is a display with a series of woven Waratah flowers in different stages of bloom, all bright in colour. The crimson of the flower is so eye-catching and gasp-inducing. All of the pieces are stunning but this is one of your favourites, you happily reactivate into nerd mode for this piece. 

“This is a collection of the Waratah flower through its cycle of life.” You catch the amazement in the eyes of people who step closer to take in the vibrant colour and detail in this piece, you pause to let it truly have its moment, before continuing. “The Waratah is a stunning crimson bloom native to Australia, that has particular significance to the Aboriginal communities there. Its name comes from ‘Warada’ which is an Eora Aboriginal word meaning ‘beautiful’.” You say as you smile and look at the woven piece, its colour is so vibrant, while it may not be a real bloom that everyone is looking at, it’s still clear that it deserves to have a name like that. “Each Spring in the southern hemisphere, when the Waratah blooms it’s viewed as a time of new beginnings and marking of the new season. The flower has a history of being used medicinally for the Aboriginal peoples in Southeast Australia, and symbolises the powerful connection between indigenous peoples and their land. Indigenous peoples aren’t homogenous but there is a shared experience with connections to land and the trauma of the loss of land that has come with colonisation along with other institutional and intergenerational traumas that have occurred and continue to as a result of colonisation.” 

Collaborating with indigenous and other artists with histories of resilience and oppression had been an honour and you were happy for it to be platformed in this space and to see people engaging with it. 

You guide the group to the next piece in the exhibition, which was a mixed-media collage painting. Two men were painted outside of a theatre, they were wearing suits and hats and each had a green carnation visibly pinned to the lapels of their blazer. It was then collaged with newspaper headlines about men charged with sodomy and homosexual law reform. 

“The red carnation symbolises deep love and affection, pink meaning gratitude, white meaning pure love. The green carnation wasn’t originally given a specific meaning like its differently pigmented cousins.” You say as you look at the large painting, it was truly incredible, the brushwork was stunning and the colours had been pulled together perfectly. 

“In 19th century Paris, it became a fashionable coded way of queer men signalling their queerness to each other.” You see Javier raise his hand and you smile and nod, confirming him to ask his question. 

“This is in relation to Mr Oscar Wilde, the poet and playwright, right, Miss?” He asked with a big smile. “Yes.” You smiled at him warmly which made cheeks widen with a big, innocent grin. “In 1892 Oscar Wilde popularised this symbol by asking his friends to wear it on their left lapel when attending the opening night of his play Lady Windermere’s Fan. Boygenius’ pink carnation is a reference to Elliot Smith, not Oscar Wilde, I’m afraid.” You add with a small chuckle that gets a few laughs in the group, mainly the younger ones but Javier chuckles like you said the wittiest thing ever. 

There were a couple of questions about this piece and a discussion on all the different elements of this piece. You took a deep breath in and made eye contact with Javier, he gave you a warm reassuring smile. He mouthed you can do this! And his eyes were as warm as a hug from your closest friend you haven’t seen in months. 

You then guided the group to the final piece, it was the big finale of the exhibition, something truly incredible. You looked at the gorgeous, blooming sea of purple with hints of dark yellow, brown, and green sprinkled through the cloak. 

“Here, we have this stunning cloak.” You paused to take it in and to see the expressions of everyone else take in how detailed and time-consuming this must’ve been. “This cloak is covered in the Faqqu’a iris, the national flower of Palestine. Covered in over 300 handmade flowers, each one is made out of satin that had been hand-dyed and or hand-painted by this young artist.” 

“The Faqqu’a iris is typically purple and has grown in the mountain ranges of Palestine.” 

“Purple irises symbolise intelligence, no?” He asked with a gentle smile on his face as he looked at you. 

“Yes, along with royalty and strength and courage. Which is particularly fitting here.” You say with a smile, Javier thoughtfully nods, almost as if he wasn’t aware and this is new information to him. “The Faqqu’a iris has suffered as part of the resulting ecocide of Israeli settler colonialism and the illegal occupation. The flower has become critically endangered due to over picking and deforestation for Israeli settlements dating back to the Nakba in 1948. This became worse in the 50s and the flower has been called endangered, vulnerable and at the risk of extinction several times by various organisations.

This artist had been making some blooms for a project but was inspired to create and finish this piece after the 2024 Met Gala which had the theme of ‘The Garden of Time’, the story that inspired the theme and the fashion choices were opulent, showing a great class divide, and apathy towards the struggle of many. This, the complicity of guests and media covering this and the media distraction away from the genocide Israel has been committing upset many. Fashion was not used as a form of protest at that event. Which is highlighted here, with how simply it could be done.” 

You look at the cloak for a moment and then have a conversation about all of this and the exhibition as a whole. Slowly the group breaks off, some leaving and others deciding to stick around. You take a deep breath in and then another one out as this has happened, the rest of this pop-up is going to go well, you know it. 

“Excuse me, Miss,” you’re interrupted by Javier’s words with his thick accent and kind face. “I have to say that I truly feel like an expert in floriography and the social history of blooms across the globe.” He continued, smiling as the few lines around his eyes creased in delight as he looked at you. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. Your sweet cheerleader. 

“I’m glad to educate a stranger, always.” You playfully tease. “A stranger, mi amor?” He asks feigning shock as he pecks your cheek softly. 

“Thank you for coming, it was really sweet.” You say softly as you smile at him. 

“You were truly exceptional, mi amor! So smart! So creative! So pretty!” He exclaims as he looks around at the exhibition in awe. 

“You’re too kind.” 

“Do you think any of the patrons saw through my sneaky disguise?” He asks playfully with a bright large smile. He’s so playful and endearing, if you had a cold heart, he’d melt it. 

“No,” you chuckle. “I don’t think anybody wondered if the inquisitive patron is seeing the guide.” You chuckle more as you look at him. 

“Maybe I pay more attention to pretty educators, and this exhibition has the prettiest one, who could not be inquisitive amor?” Javi then turned in a theatrical way. “I believe I just saw someone delivering and installing an installation live?” 

“Wait-what?” You ask, as you quickly turn. “Is-” Your eyes widened as you saw the purple hues of a large bouquet of flowers being delivered to your colleague at the entrance who was nosily checking the note.  “We should see the history behind this one no, amor?” He asked with a hopeful smile as if you wouldn’t want to look at a big bouquet that had been delivered. You nodded and gave his cheek a soft peck as you walked over to take the flowers from your colleague, she winked at you and smiled at Javi. 

Purple irises that symbolised intelligence, the man had done his homework. But you suppose he had done that just by living with and loving you. A similar purple hue was in the greenery backing the bouquet, the heliotropes, everlasting, eternal love. The centrepiece was your favourite flowers which made you smile. The other little flowers carefully placed in were beautiful and he had certainly picked up one of the many floriography books that had been sprawled out on the dining room table lately. 

“You and your sweet words and gestures and perfect curls.” You say with a small breathless chuckle as you look up at him, he smiles back at you. The flowers are gorgeous and there’s a sweet smell as you look at him. 

“Well amor, I’ll look around again and then go back to the entrance for the next tour.” Javier says smiling widely. “You don’t need to stay for the next tour, it was so sweet of you to come now- it helped.” You say after letting out a small chuckle at his offer. “Is it too much?” He asked as his eyes widened, worried he’d maybe overstepped. His face was always so reactive and sweet. “I’m just so proud and always impressed by you, it is marvellous to see the passion you have when you speak of the intersection of art and history.” 

“No, not at all, it’s so sweet.” You reassure him as your cheeks heat up. You feel very loved with all the little sweet gestures happening, the flowers, him showing up to the opening day of the exhibition, engaging as if he’s a stranger enthralled by this, wanting to spend the day doing that. And he does.

[missmoonfrost]

The bench - a wolfstar microfic

@wolfstarmicrofic

July 8 - Teenagers

Words: 850

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

Sirius woke up feeling like absolute crap. Damn fire whiskey. The others laughter didn’t improve his mood one bit.

“Padfoot, did you buy a bench? An actual sitting bench?”

He rubbed his face and slowly sat up. There was a bench crammed in their dorm. With cast iron frame and wooden seat, the exact same model that stood in each and every corridor of Hogwarts.

“I think I did. Somehow seemed like a good idea at the moment.”

“Do you have the receipt?” Remus asked.

“Yes, but I don’t think I can return –“

“What? No! This is brilliant.” Remus face lit up with a mischievous smile as he examined the receipt and the underside of the bench. “It even has a serial number. Perfect! This is going to be hilarious.”

Despite Remus enthusiasm, Sirius had no plans to partake in any prank before a big cup of coffee and a slow breakfast. Luckily James and Peter agreed with him on that. Remus kept grinning eagerly, though, and when they were about done, he was practically jumping up and down on the seat. Sirius continued his grumpy charade and rolled his eyes; he would never admit how endearing he found it.

They simply took turns levitating the bench trough the corridors. Professor McGonagall was the first to stop them.

“What do you think you’re doing? Put that bench back where you took it.”

Remus stepped forward, handed her the paperwork with an exaggerated bow of his head and then stood rocking back and forth on his feet. “Ah, you see, this is our bench. We bought it. So that we can have somewhere to sit wherever we go. There’s no rule against owning similar benches as Hogwarts, is there?”

Professor McGonagall looked at all four of them with pursed lips, before letting out a big sigh. “Go on then. But stay out of trouble.”

By the time she rounded the corner they were already falling over each other with laughter.

Filch demanded to see the serial number and was furious when it turned out to match perfectly with the one on the receipt.

They had a few days of great fun. Parking their bench outside of each classroom they went to, resting on their bench in the middle off the corridor and so on. But by the fourth day only Filch still cared to stop them and Sirius was beginning to grow bored.

“Can’t we leave the bench now?” he suggested after breakfast when they were heading for their first lesson.

“You don’t see? This is when the real fun begins.” Remus grinned. “By all means, leave it here.”

He stepped past their bench parked outside the great hall and in the middle of the crowded corridor started levitating another bench with him.

“You coming?” he said over his shoulder with a smile that made Sirius’ heart flutter. What a genius. A cute genius.

Sirius, James and Peter run a few steps to catch up. Remus levitated the bench out on the greens and parked it by the greenhouses, right past several professors. No one stopped them. It was amazing.

They started parking benches in all sorts of inconvenient locations. Across the narrow dungeon corridor so that you had to climb over three benches to get to the Potions classroom. Sideways in stairways, held up by heavy sticking-charms to not slide down but impossible to sit on. Just outside the bathroom-door on fifth floor when Snape had just entered, locking him in.

The next morning Sirius followed Remus to stack as many benches as possible in the divination tower. When they reached the top of the stairs Mrs. Norris cold yellow eyes stared at them and the unmistakable grunting of Filch approached from below.

Remus quickly sat down and made a futile try to look casual on the clearly misplaces bench.

“He’s going to ask for the serial number.” Sirius whispered.

“Distract him!” Remus whispered back.

Sirius did not want to get caught, did not want this brilliant prank to end and maybe least of all se Remus get in trouble for it. He acted without thinking.

He pulled Remus close in an exaggerated display of a kiss. The inviting softness of Remus lips took him by surprise. The craving for more that rose trough his chest made him exhale moan involuntarily. What was he doing? He pulled back, searched Remus eyes for signs that he was upset, that he had gone to far and found the opposite. It was Remus hand on his neck that pulled him back for one more round of his sweet warm lips before Filch reached them.

Professor McGonagall could not quite suppress her smile as the stood before her in her office. Both with read cheeks and ruffled hair, stealing shy glances at each other.

“No, Argus, there is no rule against kissing in the divination tower. However, seeing as the usually singular bench outside my office seem to have multiplied over night, I think there is time to ban moving of benches.” She looked pointedly at the two of them, “Even privately owned.”

[fandomsnstuff]

@taznovembercelebration

Day 4: forget/sweet

Can a dream be recurring if it's different every time?

Read it on AO3

Taako's laying on a grassy hill, watching stark white clouds drift through the perfect blue sky above him. It's transitioning from summer into fall, so it's not too hot, nor too cold, and the leaves in the tree above him are just starting to yellow. He knows if he sits up, he'll see a small town far below him, and his aunt's cottage behind him. He spent a lot of good afternoons on this hill in that one blissful year he lived here. He's been here in his dreams a lot in the last few months.

"You still sleeping down there, Koko?" It's not his aunt's voice, he knows that much, but it does funny things to his heart when he hears it. He's taken to calling his companion The Dream Voice. He thinks she's the one who's been bringing him into these dreams, but he doesn't know why.

"I don't think you can sleep in a dream."

"Sure you can," a foot knocks against his. "There was one time I kept waking up, like at least five times, and then I woke up for real and realised it was a dream in a dream in a dream."

Her voice always sounds like it's right next to him, and he can feel her presence there, but he's long since learned not to look. The first few times he had this dream, it was a lot of confusion and static that made him wake up with a migraine. They've gotten a lot more peaceful since.

"That's fucked," he says.

"Yeah, well," he hears the shuffle of clothing and grass as she adjusts her position, "I've been through worse."

"Bummer."

She huffs a breath of laughter. "Thanks."

They sit in silence for a while. A gentle breeze blows through, knocking a few leaves out of the tree. They float gently to the ground and land between him and The Dream Voice.

"I think Lucretia's sending you on a mission soon." He hears tearing as she fidgets with one of the leaves. "Last one."

His brow furrows. "Really?"

"Mmhm. Just one more relic."

Taako whistles. "Damn. Could've sworn there was one more after."

"Nope." She mumbles, "she took care of her own."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

They're silent again. He can hear her tearing the leaves to little pieces.

"No, idiot," she flicks his temple, "after all of this, when you're done at the Bureau, when… when you- when everything is safe."

"What are you going to do after this, Taako?"

"When I wake up?"

Taako blinks up at the sky. "I don't know. I guess I hadn't thought that far ahead."

"Maybe you could start up your show again."

"I'll have to prove my innocence first."

"You could also find a better boyfriend."

Taako scoffs and sits up, "my boyfriend is perfectly fine, thank you."

"He's the grim reaper!"

"So what? You don't know him!"

"Of all the people and beings that you could possibly date, you just had to get all goo-goo eyed for the grim reaper when-" her voice dissolves into static on the last part.

"I don't even know what you just said, but I know it's bullshit. I have a comeback on the tip of my tongue and I don't know what it is, but it's fucking good! So keep that in mind!"

The Dream Voice sighs, then laughs. "Stupid," she mutters to herself, a smile audible in her voice. "I knew the second I saw that motherfucker with his face on, he'd be a thorn in my side."

"More like a thorn in my backside."

"Eugh!" Taako laughs loudly as she shoves him. "Gross! Don't say that shit to me!"

He wakes up in his bed, still smiling. He gets up and pulls himself through getting ready. He makes breakfast, toast for himself, oatmeal with berries for Merle, and an ungodly amount of eggs, scrambled, for Magnus.

"I had a dream last night," Magnus says, "that I was in a world of all dogs."

"Were you also a dog?" Merle asks.

"No! So I was the only one who could provide all the pets, and I got suffocated under all the dogs. It was great. That's how I want to die."

"I had a dream," Merle says, "that I was in a massive greenhouse with a big, beautiful sunflower down the other end. But to get to it, I had to walk past all these other plants that were just reaching-"

"Okay, that's enough!" Taako says, standing up and picking up dishes, "time to go!"

"What about you, Taako?" Magnus asks. "Any interesting dreams?"

He drops the dishes into the sink unceremoniously. "I don't remember my dreams. Let's get out of here before the Director sends someone down here to get us."

The next night, after games and sacrifices and liches and red robes, they're camping in the woods. Usually he'd struggle a bit to sleep in the wilderness, especially with their supposed red robe enemy with them, but Taako's had a long day. He's out like a light.

He has the dream again.

"Sooo," she says, "how'd it go?" She sounds a little smug, but he's too drained to think about why.

"No one died."

"Well-"

"Okay, Magnus kinda died, but it was only a little. We'll un-mannequin him when we get a chance."

She laughs, and rests her head on his shoulder. It's a comfortable weight. "I'm glad you're okay."

"That's one way to put it."

"Taako?"

"Hm?"

"I'm pretty sure a lot of crazy shit's gonna happen tomorrow, so I just… I want you to follow your instincts."

He snorts. "Yeah alright. Sure."

"And trust Ba- the red robe. He's trying to help."

"I barely remember half the stuff you say on a good day, but I'll keep it in mind."

"I'll find a way to remind you."

They sit together for what feels like forever. As always, the clouds drift by, the leaves in the tree rustle, and a gentle breeze keeps them cool. When the world around them starts to waver and fade away, his companion squeezes his hand. "Good luck, Taako," her voice distorts and fades as he wakes, "I'll see you soon."

He wakes up to mannequin Magnus leaning over him. "The red robe says we gotta go."

"We have less time than I thought," the lich says, looking up at the overcast sky, "and we need to make a stop before we go up to the Bureau."

"Alright," Taako stands and stretches as Magnus shoves his stuff into a bag for him, "let's get this shit over with."

As they walk through the woods, he tries, as always, to remember what The Dream Voice said. But it was gone before they even set out. He knows she said something about the red robe, but he can't remember for the life of him what it was. All he can remember is her arm linked with his, her head on his shoulder, and "I'll see you soon."

He wishes he knew who she was.

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Chapter Nineteen

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Nineteen: Helpless Detective

Summary: (Y/N), John, and Sherlock go up against Magnussen.

Mouse Note: One more chapter to go!

            (Y/N), John, and Sherlock sat stiffly in the helicopter. It whirred through the air towards Magnussen’s house, and the closer they got, the more (Y/N) fidgeted in their seat. They wanted more information, but without facing Magnussen, there didn’t seem to be anything to know. That being said, (Y/N) kept running through everything they knew about Magnussen. There had to be something they missed, something behind Magnussen still being so confident in himself and his abilities…He still felt in control of the situation. (Y/N) didn’t like that. Not at all.

            The helicopter arrived in front of a mansion—Magnussen’s home. It descended to the long, wide lawn and landed. Several security men came closer to escort the group inside while more stood waiting on the patio. Of course, Magnussen was not the only danger. He was a mental challenge, but the security was there for physical protection as well.

            (Y/N), Sherlock, and John were escorted inside. They passed through a greenhouse of exotic plants before arriving at an elevator. The lift took them one story up and opened to reveal a loungeroom. Magnussen sat comfortably on a long white couch with whiskey in one hand. He was at home, in his element, perfectly comfortable and in control of the situation.

            Sherlock, (Y/N), and John came a stop in front of him, and he looked up. Satisfied with their arrival and appearance, he nodded to his men, and they retreated back downstairs. The four were left alone to begin their discussion.

            “I would offer you a drink, but it’s very rare and expensive,” said Magnussen. He was opting to start with condescension.

            Trying to get a rise out of us, thought (Y/N). They wouldn’t let him win. They’d remain in control of themself.

            Sherlock took the first step and sat down away from Magnussen. He pulled out Mycroft’s computer and put it between them. Magnussen smirked in satisfaction. Sherlock looked around the room and paused. He suppressed an angry reaction and schooled his features.

            “It was you,” he said.

            John and (Y/N) turned to see what he was looking at. (Y/N) narrowed their eyes, and John’s eyes widened. Projected on the wall was a video of the incident so many months ago. It showed Sherlock rescuing (Y/N) from the bonfire over and over, endlessly.

            “Yes, of course,” said Magnussen. “Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr. Holmes. The drug thing I never believed for a moment, and, anyway, you wouldn’t care if it was exposed, would you?” Sherlock didn’t respond and just kept watching the video. “But look at that—look how you care for poor little Mx. Moriarty. The kid in distress.”

            “They were leverage,” said Sherlock, narrowing their eyes.

            (Y/N) crossed their arms. It made sense. The skip code Sherlock had shown them called them “(Y/N) Moriarty.” Magnussen was the only one who called them that. It fit perfectly. It was clear it had all been a message to Sherlock, and now it was clear: Magnussen was telling Sherlock he knew his pressure point and setting up for this. This was all him.

            So how do I take on someone who saw every decision and knew he’d get here? thought (Y/N). It meant they were all in danger. It meant Sherlock wasn’t in control, even if he was trying to be.

            “Oh, don’t worry. I would never have let them burn. I had people standing by,” said Magnussen, but (Y/N) didn’t believe him.

            “You son of a bitch,” snapped John.

            “I’m not a murderer,” said Magnussen, and, seeing a perfect opportunity, he continued, “Unlike your wife.”

            John’s jaw tensed, and he had to fight not to snap.

            Magnussen stood and walked to the wall. “Let me explain how leverage works. For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well…apart from me. Mycroft’s pressure point is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock. And Sherlock’s pressure point is (Y/N) Moriarty. (Y/N)’s pressure point is John Watson, their uncle. John Watson’s pressure point is his wife. Of course, John Watson is also a pressure point of Sherlock, and Sherlock is a pressure point of (Y/N), but it all works out in the end for me.” Magnussen allowed himself a slight smirk before becoming clinically detached again. “I own John Watson’s wife…I own Mycroft Holmes. He’s what I’m getting for Christmas.”

            “It’s an exchange, not a gift,” said Sherlock.

            Magnussen picked up Mycroft’s computer. “Forgive me, but I already seem to have it.”

            (Y/N) didn’t like how much control Magnussen had in the moment. They wanted to do something, but they were just standing there, silent. Helpless.

            Just like with Moriarty, said their mind.

            (Y/N) winced and tried to push the thought away.

            “It’s password protected,” said Sherlock, referring to the computer as Magnussen ran his fingers over the back. “In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman we know as Mary Watson.” He spoke firmly and clearly.

            “Oh, she’s bad, that one. So many dead people. You should see what I’ve seen,” said Magnussen.

            “I don’t need to see it,” snapped John. He had decided to follow his heart and love Mary, who clearly loved him back. He’d been a soldier. She’d been an assassin. They were done with lies to each other and ready to just be a family.

            “You might enjoy it, though. I enjoy it,” said Magnussen pleasantly.

            “Then show us,” said (Y/N).

            Everyone turned towards them. It was the first time they’d spoken at the meeting.

            Magnussen put the laptop down and leaned forward. “Show you Appledore?”

            “Show us your Appledore,” said (Y/N). “If you can.” They saw something pass in his expression, gone as quickly as it came. If you can. He’d seemed…amused? Perplexed? Impressed? There’d been something in that.

            Good. It means I’m getting closer.

            And as much as (Y/N) hated being like Moriarty, there was one thing they very much shared with him. They were snakes. Sherlock charged head-on into challenges, but (Y/N) waited. They spoke when they needed to. They let the reactions of others guide them. They gathered all the clues they needed to trap their enemy—their prey. (Y/N) was not a Moriarty. But in a battle of minds, they were a true competitor, a strategic mastermind waiting to strike.

            (Y/N) would figure out Magnussen. Then, they’d tear him down in whatever way was necessary to protect their family. Magnussen wanted to keep insisting they were a Moriarty? Fine. It wasn’t their fault he forgot that the name wasn’t just an irritation. It was a reminder of all they could be and refused to be. They decided how they acted. And now, they’d be a snake.

            “We want to see the vaults,” said Sherlock, trying to get Magnussen’s attention off of (Y/N). He didn’t like it; he didn’t want (Y/N) in harm’s way. “We want everything you’ve got on Mary.”

            Magnussen relaxed again and calmly looked at Sherlock. (Y/N) watched him. Once again, he was in control of the situation. So, the difference in their statements meant something.

            Magnussen leaned back and patted the laptop. “You know, I honestly expected something better from you, Sherlock.”

            The Holmes spoke calmly. “I think you’ll find the contents of that laptop—”

            “—Include a GPS locator,” finished Magnussen, still completely at ease and one step ahead. “By now, your brother will have noticed the theft, and security services will be converging on this kind. Having arrived, they’ll find top secret information in my hands and have every justification to search the vaults you want to see. They will discover further information of this kind, and I’ll be imprisoned. You and your pets will be exonerated and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes as a psychopathic ‘family.’ Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time. He’ll be a very, very proud big brother.”

            Too knowledgeable of what will happen to not have planned for this, thought (Y/N). So what does he know that we don’t? They would figure it out. They would.

            “The fact that you know it’s going to happen isn’t going to stop it,” said Sherlock.

            Something else will, though, thought (Y/N).

            They hated to doubt Sherlock’s intelligence, but they saw Magnussen in a way he didn’t. They were a teenager still finding their way in the world. They saw adults as learning opportunities for what to avoid and what to follow. Sherlock saw Magnussen as an equal. (Y/N) saw him as someone who knew something they didn’t, something they needed to learn. It meant (Y/N) was at a disadvantage to Magnussen, but it meant they could see their disadvantage, and that was the first step to overcoming it.

            “Then why am I smiling?” remarked Magnussen coyly. “Ask me.”

            “Why are you smiling?” asked John.

            “Because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves and everything he holds dear,” said Magnussen. He stood. “Let me show you the Appledore Vaults.”

            He strolled to a pair of wooden doors. John, (Y/N), and Sherlock followed. “The entrance to my vaults. This is where I keep you all.”

            He pushed the doors open. Revealed was a bare, windowless, white-painted room. It was barely a few feet in width and depth, akin to a closet. There were no hidden slots for files, nothing. It was just a barren room.

            John frowned and looked around. “Okay—so where are the vaults?”

            “They’re standing with us,” said (Y/N), putting everything together as they saw the perfect room for someone to sit and think in without interruption.

            They were pleased to see Magnussen’s face fall for a second at not getting to announce it himself. They had found the truth sooner than he got to enjoy himself. But it was still too late, since they, John, and Sherlock had walked into an exchange without the truth that what they were searching for didn’t exist in the material sense.

            Too late, crowd Moriarty’s voice in their head, and (Y/N) bit the inside of their cheek.

            Magnussen faltered before grinning. “My research was right. You are a clever one.” He tapped his temple. “The vaults are all in here.”

            Sherlock’s eyes widened. It was the one thing he hadn’t considered.

            “A Mind Palace,” said (Y/N). “That’s why you look like you’re reading your glasses. That’s why when I said ‘Show us, if you can’ you were amused. I was getting closer to the truth—only you see your vaults. You’re going through the files in your mind.”

            “Sherlock, you really have to be careful with this one. Mx. Moriarty is getting quicker than you,” said Magnussen, grinning. “Yes, a Mind Palace. ‘How to store information so you never forget it by picturing it.’ I just sit here, I close my eyes, and down I go to my vaults. I can go anywhere inside my vaults, my memories. I’ll look at the files on Mrs. Watson.” He closed his eyes and raised his hands. His fingers twirled in the air like he was flipping through papers. “This is one of my favorites. Oh, it’s so exciting. All those wet jobs for the CIA. Oooh! She’s gone a bit freelance now. Bad girl. Ah, she’s so wicked.” He moved as it closing a filing cabinet and opened his eyes. “You see?” He smiled. “Poor Sherlock. Mx. Moriarty got to it before you. Still a bit late though. Maybe should’ve talked with them before coming here. Oh, well. I knew you wouldn’t to ‘protect them.’ What a protective parent.”

            Sherlock’s hands curled into fists. He’d failed and walked right into Magnussen’s trap. He hadn’t realized the truth. And because he’d tried so hard to protect (Y/N), he hadn’t seen Magnussen knew what he’d do.

            “So there are no documents. You don’t actually have anything here,” breathed John, eyes widening.

            “Oh, sometimes I send out for something if I really need it, but mostly I just remember it all,” said Magnussen, quite pleased with himself.

            “I don’t understand,” said John, shaking his head.

            “You should have that on a t-shirt,” said Magnussen.

            “You just remember it all?” said John.

            “It’s all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowledge is owning,” said Magnussen. He was victorious, but he was simply pleased with himself. He didn’t seem relieved or joyous. He had known he would win; he had always been confident of that. This wasn’t a surprise to him. His victory was commonplace because he always manipulated everyone else.

            (Y/N) had seen that expression before. It was more crazed then, but (Y/N) still hated it. They despised the self-satisfaction Magnussen and Moriarty shared in their eyes as they looked at the people they trapped in their webs. (Y/N) would do anything to change that expression.

            “But if you just know it, then you don’t have proof,” said John, confused.

            Magnussen scoffed at his “stupidity.” “Proof? What do I need proof for? I’m in the news, you moron. I don’t have to prove it; I just have to print it.” He walked away from his study and buttoned his jacket officially. “Speaking of news, you three will be heavily featured tomorrow—trying to sell state secrets to me.” He tutted like a disappointed parent, and the icy anger in (Y/N) grew as the similarities between him and Moriarty crystallized further in their mind. “Let’s go outside. They’ll be here shortly.”

            He hadn’t been concerned about Mycroft coming because he knew he wasn’t the one who would be arrested. There was no information or dirt to find on him. It would all be pinned on Sherlock. And John. And (Y/N).

            “Can’t wait to see you arrested,” said Magnussen, walking to the elevator and leaving them behind.

            John looked at Sherlock and (Y/N) desperately. “Sherlock, (Y/N), do we have a plan?”

            (Y/N)’s mind was whirring, trying to find a way out. They had to do something. They had figured out Magnussen, but it hadn’t done anything. They were still helpless.

            “Sherlock, (Y/N)?” repeated John.

            “I can’t—I don’t,” said (Y/N), trailing off as their mind went in a thousand different directions and hit dead-end after dead-end.

            “Sherlock?” said John.

            “What have I done?” said Sherlock quietly, looking at (Y/N). His kid. The kid he failed. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, but he couldn’t move closer. He couldn’t. He’d failed his child. “I’m sorry.” He turned away and walked towards the lift. It was time to face all the consequences he had brought to the people he cared about. He had destroyed the lives of those who he loved and all that he held dear.

            The group was silent as they exited the elevator and walked out onto the patio. It was dark now, and the wind whistled across the hills.

            Magnussen watched them approach, still triumphant and ready to rub their failure in. He looked at John, who had steeled his features like a true soldier facing defeat. He refused to show fear.

            “I just love your little soldier face,” said Magnussen. “I’d like to punch it. Bring it over here a minute. Come on. For Mary. Bring me your face.”

            John reluctantly walked closer. What else could he do? Magnussen could release all his information on Mary. He was at Magnussen’s mercy.

            “Lean forward a bit and stick your face out,” commanded Magnussen. John obeyed. “Now, can I flick it? Can I flick your face?” John gritted his teeth, and Magnussen grinned. He raised his hand and flicked his middle finger against John’s cheek. “I just love doing this,” he chuckled. “I could do this all day.”

            Moriarty played with people that way. He played with me that way, thought (Y/N). They narrowed their eyes and took a slight step forward.

            Sherlock held their shoulder before they did anything else, not wanting Magnussen to turn his attention to them. He had failed them so immensely, but he had to try to protect them from anything more.

            “It works like this, John,” continued Magnussen, flicking John’s face over and over. “I know who Mary hurt and killed. I know where to find people who hate her. I know where they live—all in my mind palace, all of it. I could phone them right now and tear your whole life down, and I will unless you let me flick your face. That is what I do to people. This is what I do to whole countries, just because I know.”

            Magnussen grinned. “Can I do your eye now? See if you can keep it open, hm?” He flicked John’s eyebrow, and John closed his eye instinctively. “Come on. For Mary. Keep it open.” John couldn’t, and Magnussen laughed. “It’s difficult, isn’t it? Janine managed it once. She makes the funniest noises.”

            The sound of helicopter blades beating the air interrupted the conversation. Mycroft and the security services had arrived. The consequences of Sherlock’s actions were there.

            Armed marksmen approached from the grounds while the helicopter hovered above. A spotlight switched on and landed on the group of four on the patio.

            “Sherlock Holmes, (Y/N) (L/N), and John Watson—stand away from that man,” ordered Mycroft from the leading helicopter.

            Magnussen looked over at Sherlock. “Here we go! Look at what you’ve brought, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes went to the ground, and (Y/N)’s heart tightened as they saw his defeated face. No. They wouldn’t let this happen. They couldn’t. They had to protect Sherlock.

            “Appledore is just your mind,” said (Y/N).

            “Don’t feel too bad that you didn’t figure it out earlier,” said Magnussen, smiling. “Sherlock just thinks he’s so clever that no else can be. But a Mind Palace is as helpful as physical files when I can print all that I know.”

            “Sherlock Holmes, (Y/N) (L/N), and John Watson. Step away,” commanded Mycroft.

            “It’s fine. They’re harmless!” said Magnussen triumphantly.

            Harmless. Helpless. Harmless. Helpless. Harmless, helpless…

            (Y/N) wanted to shut up the voice in their head. They wouldn’t be helpless.

            “Guys, what do we do?” said John urgently, desperately.

            “Nothing! There’s nothing to be done! Oh, I’m not a villain. I have no evil plan. I’m a businessman, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them!” declared Magnussen almost gleefully. He looked at Sherlock. “Sorry. No chance for you to be the hero this time, Mr. Holmes. Not for you, not for John, not for Mx. Moriarty. Not this time.”

            Not this time. Not like the time with Moriarty, thought (Y/N). When I was helpless.

            Helpless, harmless. Helpless, harmless. Helplessharmless…

            “Sherlock Holmes, (Y/N) (L/N), and John Watson, stand away from that man. Do it now,” demanded Mycroft.

            (Y/N) stepped towards Magnussen, pulling away from Sherlock and passing John. Magnussen looked at them in amusement.

            “Trying to figure out where I’ve failed? Where there’s a loophole?” he said. “Sorry, Mx. Moriarty. There’s nothing for you to do.”

            (Y/N) looked at him evenly, and Sherlock and John furrowed their brow.

            “Moriarty pushed us into a situation with no solution,” said (Y/N). “My dad got us out of it.”

            “I’m not Moriarty,” said Magnussen. “I’m worse.”

            “I know,” said (Y/N). They smiled, and Sherlock stiffened at the look in their eyes and expression. Cold. Calculating. Snakelike. “But you made the exact same mistake he did.”

            “Oh?” Magnussen arched a brow, gazing at them condescendingly.

            “He forgot that the Holmes is willing to do anything for the people they love,” said (Y/N). Their smile turned to a smirk. They raised their hand, and the gun they had taken from John’s pocket flashed in the helicopter’s spotlight. “And I’m (Y/N) Holmes.”

            Not harmless. Not helpless.

            Bang!

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

[calliedion-dungeon]

❦Say it with flowers

Young Papa Emeritus Primo/ GN Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Young Primo falls in love with you at first sight, without wasting time, he begins to make love to you by sending you flowers and showing you their meaning, before daring to confess who he is because he is very shy, but a couple of imps accelerate his courtship. Mentions of Terzo and Secondo being mischievous children and Primo being their tutor.

Tags: Family Fluff, Making love means courting, like old times, unspecified year, crush, secret admirer. Prophecy in a flower at the end?

Living in the ministry was getting easier every day. Your tumultuous life was getting better and better when you approached the clergy and finally found your chosen family. 

The world was healing, and so were you. The war left you alone in this forsaken land, but life was being kind to you again. Everyone had hope for the future once more, you even started to consider seeing a sibling of sin to let him woo you, even if he was too stoic and dry to express his affection, maybe with time, you thought, he might open up little by little, with patience and care.

But as the months went by, you felt discouraged by his manners, distant, ambiguous leanings, you often questioned why bother? Your passionate and romantic heart left you wanting more, and nobody seemed to live up to your standards.

Sometimes even you expected for him to ask you something improper, knowing very well that a gentleman would never risk your reputation, but at least it'll show you that he feels passion for you, even a concealed and sedated one. Nevertheless, he kept giving you nothing, and your interest was withering, practically dead.

One very pleasant sunset, you were strolling by the ministry gardens, admiring the well cared flowers in the hot house, exotic specimens surrounding you, as well as common flowers, sunflowers as tall as you, and they were looking in your direction. 

You didn't noticed that somebody was looking at you hiding among these flowers, struck by your beauty, how perfectly divine you look with flowers around you, just where you belong, he thought, the shy young man tried not to make noise so as not to scare you and to be able to continue admiring you calmly, his hands held a flower pot that, being enraptured by you, he forgot to leave somewhere and ended up falling out of his hands. You got scared, but you didn't run, you just jumped in your place.

"Hello? Is someone there?" You saw a silhouette moving around, but not quite who it was behind the tall sunflowers and ivy.

"Mi dispiace for startling you, I'll clean this" the voice said while sweeping the dirt, you wanted to see who it was, but it seemed he was hiding on purpose.

His voice was confident, but his manners were shy, since he didn't appear in front of you to introduce himself, after sweeping he just disappeared.

The encounter was brief, you retain his words in your mind, his pleasant voice that denotes kindness resonates in your ears for days. You ask everyone you know, who takes care of the greenhouse, your friends can't tell you who he is, they only describe a tall young man with strong features and blond hair combed back, he came not long ago from one of the ministries in Italy, everyone judged him shy because sometimes he is seen talking more to plants than to people, however; he is as determined in his actions than anyone his age.

On one evening, you're about to go to the dining room, ready to head out of your room, you hear giggling on the other side of your door, maybe these children that live in the ministry are doing pranks around, you decide to catch them in the act opening the door and there they were, two very small children laughing together no older than ten years old, they looked like twins, both with dark hair and their left eye was an unsettling white color, they had a bouquet of acacias and sunflowers, they smiled at you and hand it over.

"Thank you very much, child, how pretty. Somebody sent these or…?" You asked them, as you smell the delicious bouquet.

"Non dirglielo, ce l'ha ordinato nostro fratello" one child said to the other.

"Lo so, stronzo" one child said, pushing his little friend or brother, you weren’t sure.

"Non chiamarmi così, stronzino" yells the other and then both start pushing each other and wrestling at your door frame.

You didn't understand the children, they stopped wrestling to look at you, putting the bouquet in water and leaving it near the window that faces the garden, so everyone can see, the dark-haired children elbowed each other and whispered something.

"Roses are red…" one started reciting very loudly.

"Sometimes they have dow… dew!" continued the other child, both have beautiful voices, maybe they were in the choir, you suppose.

"Our brother is in love…"

"And we always knew"

They took turns to say the little rhyme with a very thick accent, very obviously learned to say it only in the moment, since they didn't seem to understand you, and right after, they left running and laughing down the corridor before you could ask again what they meant. They looked so adorable doing the errand, your bewilderment went to the background.

You shared the cute story with your friends, now somebody has eyes for you and it's most intriguing the mystery of your secret admirer. Even if it's a stranger who is doing that, it was a stranger who's making an effort to romance you.

The next week you heard eager knockings on your door, it was the kids again with another bouquet for you, it was a combination of red tulips and yellow iris, but this time a tiny book came with it, a book about floriography with the meaning of the flowers in the Victorian times, this person really wants you to know what they mean, not only the beauty of the gifts, but the message in them. The kids ran away from you again, without letting you say another word, so you ran behind them, this time you needed to know who it was, when they realized that you were behind them, they started to run faster towards the green house.

They screamed like you were a monster trying to catch them, and the bushes in the gardens were like a maze, the children separated and you went for the shorter one, grabbing him from the collar of the white cassock, careful not to hurt him. You took it as a good sign that he was still laughing.

 “Alright, you’re going to tell me who is sending these, I’ll keep the secret ok?” the black-haired child stared at you silently grinning, you intuited that it’s because he didn’t understand you. The other child appeared, peculiar as they were, they also seemed good natured and they were just the messengers, for that you decided to let them go and went to your room for the night.

Every week, for the last couple months, they left a bouquet with the most perfect flowers, sometimes they left huge bouquets of roses, other times they had already given you before, but according to the little book they gave you, they were all declarations of love, admiration for your character and beauty, on some occasions the children said a few words to you, almost always they made a mistake in a word, it seemed that they were still learning English and that made it more adorable, it was obvious that someone sent them, the children would not have as much consistency seeing how restless they are.

One delivery was very special, the day after you had to sing in front of the congregation in praise of Satan, hours later, when you returned to your room after dinner, your room was full of carnations and roses, along with a note, talking about how elevated your admirer felt to have had the privilege of hearing you sing at mass, drinking the poems that fall from your breath, how he could not stop seeing your lips when you spoke and your luminous eyes when lighting the candles.

That made you feel so loved, so cared for, your eyes filled with tears that someone could really see you like this, but they were also tears of longing peaking from your eyes, longing for that person to speak to you tête à tête. Being able to feel in your own flesh that admiration that he expresses so much with flowers, even so you smile looking at the moon through your window, wishing you could conjure the name of who makes love to you.

The following week, before going to mass, you saw the little ones who have sent you the flowers, running around, they begin to surround a sister, one behind and one in front, the brown-haired one shows her something between his hands, distracting her while the other little one with black hair lifts her skirt from behind, then run away laughing, she yells terrible things at them, when you get closer you hear someone tell her that they are just children, justifying them, but not on your watch. You go to look for them in a corner inside the church to reprimand them and find out who is responsible for them.

You find them with a man who is scolding them strictly, crouching in front of them, and yet he spoke affectionately, you approach him to tell him about the matter and also tell those little ones how wrong that was, the pair weren’t laughing anymore.

“... stavamo giocando” said the one with brown hair, the other boy was silent and looking at you.

“In english, Secondo, you must practice” the man reminded them “You must respect the sorelle and everyone in here, you will get a lot more out of people the good way, especially if one of you ends up being the leader of the…”

“Fratello!” yells the black hair boy.

“Terzo, I’m speaking” he straightens his hair “Those are not proper games, and father doing it does not mean you should too…”

“Fratello!” yell the children louder.

The young man follows the glances of the little ones, turning his head and looks at you, a pale young man becomes even paler when he stands up suddenly, you smile at him and cross your arms, the children whisper things in each other's ears, twin things, you think.

“These two are going to be the terror of the ministry one day, eh?” you tell them, neither dares to say anything “Sister Lily is very upset, young men, you should apologize. Lifting a lady’s skirt is unacceptable. I shall tell about this to your tutor, or whoever…”

“That’s me” the man swallows hard looking at you terrified “These are my little brothers. I’m afraid they already are the terror of the ministry” he smiles coyly at you, brushing his blonde hair with his fingers, you find him rather handsome with his red vest, cream colored shirt with rolled up sleeves and burgundy pants.

“I’ll keep my eye on you two, they’ve been doing mischief on me too, you know” the man immediately tenses up, clenches his fists and turns to see the little ones.

“Secondo! Terzo! What have you done?” He doesn't yell at them, but his voice is as resonant as theirs when you heard them recite.

“Non abbiamo fatto niente” pleads the boy with black hair, he grabs his brother by the arm with a little fear.

“Only what you order, promise, Primo” the taller boy speaks and covers his mouth immediately and widens his eyes.

“Bravo, now you remember your english?” He massages his eyebrows in frustration, the poor man who now, thanks to the innocence of his little brothers, you can now identify as Primo, can't find a way to hide his face. You can't be bothered with any of them, the little comedy they invented between them had been extremely charming, your smile doesn't fade, quite the opposite.

“You’re the one who’s been sending me the flowers?” even when it’s heavily implied that he is, you must hear him say it or deny it.

“Well, it depends…” he manages to say, his flustered face was most endearing.

You were so absorbed in each other that you did not notice when the children left laughing at their older brother's ribs, now you can clearly notice the feature that he shares with his little brothers in his left eye which hardly dares to look at you.

“On…?” You urged him to continue with what he was going to say, the poor man had been stunned, he seemed shyer than his face implied, and his little brothers did not seem to be of that withdrawn nature at all.

“On... what do you say?”

“About what?”

“You really wish for me to say it?”

“I don’t wish to torture you, Primo” knowing his name you roll your tongue calling him, he looks excited and fails to conceit his emotions, you think of following a little more of this game of his  “Meet me in the green house in ten minutes, I’ll give my answer”

You leave the church, giving a mischievous look, first, you go directly to your room to look for the book that he had sent you, you know that you must search by color to get to what you are looking for, you read while you walk almost running towards the garden.

Every second that passed, Primo counted as if it were a year, every step echoed in his head just like his heart as he approaches the greenhouse, his little brothers apologized multiple times in several languages, hugging him and kissing him to forgive them for their indiscretion, but he couldn't be mad at them at all, he loves them too much; they follow him quite far without losing sight of him, they are not very sure why, only their instinct tells them that they should be close.

When you come out of the greenhouse, with one hand hidden behind your back, you have already chosen your flower. The understanding that you feel with impresses you, as if you have known him all your life, perhaps because you know that he understands your romantic nature. He walks to you, half hope, half fear.

“Look for a flower, we will make something like a duel, we will get our ideas at the same time and so we will know what we will do from here on” You may have sounded a bit abrupt in your words, making him fear that you're not interested, but it's all part of the game.

You were surprised how quickly Primo was to find his flower, as if he already had it ready, you see the children from afar playing in the gardens, the one with black hair stops to wave at you, you assume it was Secondo, you’re still not sure about their names, the other little one, which you assume is Terzo, pushes him away and takes his place to blow you a kiss. You laugh at how quirky those kids are and how lucky they are to have a man with as good temper as his brother, they certainly require a lot of patience.

“They’re a handful, but I wouldn’t change them for anything” Primo says from behind you, your flower well concealed in your hands and his hands also hidden behind his back. You face him admiring his features, his poise and elegant manners and his language in his letters only make you more certain of your choice.

“Ready?” you count moving the mouth up to three, without making a sound, you both show your flowers at the same time and laugh.

You laugh together because not only did you both took a red flower, which is already a good sign, but it is exactly the same flower, a red cardinal. It must be a sign, it must be destiny, he took that flower both for its meaning and because that was the pot that he dropped when he was enthralled by you the first time he saw you.

[bakersgrief]

Late birthday gift for @ndoandou

Happy birthday! Have a little Keef shenanigans.

Jadean springs were characterized by warm sun and a breeze that could, at times, carry a hint of winter's chill. The current weather nearly perfectly encapsulated such a description, yet the early spring winds did little to bother the budding life in the royal greenhouse. The small green sprouts of new plants were poking up in places, while the hardier trees and shrubs kept the place from looking too barren.

Seated within the house of gentle warmth and stillness was the oddest pair of friends, of brothers, and of twins one would ever lay eyes on. Despite matching hair and eyes, similar bulky physiques, and even a shared name, the two men were quite visibly opposites. The gentler of the two sat at the little round table in the greenhouse with his ankles politely crossed at he shoveled pastries into his mouth with obvious relish. Despite being dressed down, he kept his undershirt buttoned up to his neck, maintaining the appearance of a gentleman, whether purposefully or not. His fluffy, unkempt bangs hung low over his wide, doe-like eyes like a shield from the world. Kind Keith kept his posture upright and proper, looking every bit as princely as the first prince of Jade should as he reached for yet another scone with his right hand.

His unlikely companion, however, was quite the rogue in appearance. Side-swept bangs framed the corners of sharp, dark eyes, while a dashing undercut displayed the darker roots of the Keiths' shared silvery-olive hair. The more abrasive of the two sat sprawled in his chair, delighting in the warm sunlight shining through the glass panes of the greenhouse roof. He had discarded his usual cravat when dressing down and, in contrast to the Nice Keith, had unbuttoned the top of his shirt, leaving his firm, broad chest bared to the crisp air and spring sunshine. A half-eaten tea sandwich flopped onto Mean Keith's plate from his left hand as he turned his attention to his timid twin, who had just gotten his attention with a soft noise.

"Um..."

"...?"

The second prince of Jade peered dispassionately across the small table at his brother, but not uncaringly. Never uncaringly. Despite being the younger of the two (by four minutes), Mean Keith often found himself looking out for his little bitch of a- sensitive twin brother. It was mere days ago that he had come across him in the palace halls looking more worried than usual. Mean Keith wondered vaguely if his Kind counterpart was forced to worry for the both of them at times.

When pressed, he had admitted to overhearing evidence of a certain noble embezzling funds from their medicinal plants and herbs research program. Although Nice Keith had ordered an investigation on the matter, while there was no shortage of suspicious activity that pointed toward (and more or less proved, in both Keiths' opinions) the noble's guilt, there was not enough evidence to persecute him based on Jadean law.

The eldest prince was angered at his inability to do anything, especially when the crime was harmful to the citizens of their kingdom. The research program was meant to advance knowledge in the field of medicine throughout all of Jade. It was especially important for those in the northern part of the country, which experienced rather frigid winters while having less fertile soil as the land neared the border of Obsidian. The second prince was angry as well, of course. These kinds of people were nothing more than trash, harming others to get ahead. They were slippery, too. And he knew how to deal with them.

Mean Keith pulled his distressed twin in for a hug when he noticed he was clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides, trembling with frustration. Nice Keith leaned his head against his brother's shoulder, trying not to lose his composure at the helplessness he felt. After a few moments, the younger spoke.

"Lemme deal with this one."

Nice Keith quickly pulled away. "You can't just walk in and start stabbing people, you know! You could get in a lot of trouble!"

Mean Keith frowned. "Is that what ya think of me? I ain't that dumb, ya know. I'll think of somethin', so you just keep focusing on your plants."

The first prince of Jade huffed in exasperation and gratitude towards his sibling. "Thanks. Sorry for pushing the hard work on you."

"Ya didn't. "

Nice Keith smiled gently... then gasped in horror. "I'm late! I was on my way to a meeting! With the researchers!"

He took off running down the hall (which was rather uncouth, but the Kind prince would rather die than be rude by making people wait on him), shouting behind him. "Sorry, I've got to go!"

At present, Mean Keith had to stop himself from grinning as he recalled the other's clumsiness. He returned his attention to his overly-polite sibling across the table, who was sweating and beginning to nervously press his fingers together. It was obvious he wanted to ask something, contemplating his words.

"Spit it out."

Nice Keith relaxed a bit at his brother's usual brusque demeanor. His eyes trailed hesitantly over the younger's casual attire. (It should be noted that Mean Keith wore outfits with his boobs out more often than not, like today.)

"...Does your chest not get cold?"

Silence met his timid question.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"What typa question is that...?"

[appynonna]

Our Universe

Chapter 3: Thunder Pairing: Poly!OT8xoriginal chararters Rating: 18+ Word Count: 1,714 Words Warning: Nothing bad I think.Talk of getting a piercing, a mention of a gun, and a little bit of cursing.

Previous Chapter -> Exit 1117

Arthur notes: Hello, deary The chapters are getting a little longer now! I do have several chapters already written up and about 3 more that I have planned and have started to write. I am planning to try to post two chapters a week until we get caught up then it will most likely start being once a week.

I don't think I have mentioned it before but this is ruffly a mob-based story, It won't focus on the mob side, but it is there if you look for it.

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

This house had been Hongjoong's dream. He doesn't talk much about his family, We know that he has a full brother, a cousin who lives in another city and that he has what he calls "old blood money". Past that, he doesn't talk about his family. He would just say that we are his family.

So when he decided to build this house and move all of us into it he made sure everyone had their own space.

Yeosang has his music room, sounded proofed of course. Wooyoung has a darkroom for his photography, It was set up to where you had to go through Wooyoung's room to be able to enter the room. There is also a dance studio, gym, and a small library. He wanted a place for everyone to feel safe being themselves.

Which brings us back to the present. Rocky, the more mischievous of the three Dobermans was currently sitting in front of the glass doors to Yunho's greenhouse.

I walked along the stone path and opened the door for Rocky. Django and Siren stayed seated at the door. As always Rocky goes straight to the little pond that housed the large koi fish in to get some water.

I turned from the Doberman, heading to the bench to sit down for a moment.

Arriba, Yunho's scarlet macaw started at me. "Don't give me that look, Your daddy fed you before his shift" I said sitting down. Yunho's Sketchbook sat on the bench next to me.

Rocky was running around like a puppy, we stayed out there for a little bit. Siren slowly made his way in, almost crawling on his stomach but making sure his white fur didn't touch the ground. Out of the three dogs Siren hated water and baths the most. He always took extra precautions to not get dirty.

I laughed at him. "Good boy" I said leaning down, almost folded in half my chest barely touching my knees. Siren stood full and walked over to me proudly. I looked back to Django. "Django, here. " I called The black and brown Doberman sat still.

"He's not going to come to you, " a voice said from behind me. My head shot around even though I knew who it was. "Woo," I smiled at him "When did you get back home?" I asked as he rounded the corner of the bench to sit next to me "about 20 minutes or so ago" he smiled throwing his arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his side.

Wooyoung kissed my hairline, Holding his face there. "Are you ok?" He asked placing his hand on my cheek, I nodded. "San stopped him before anything could happen" I smiled and leaned into his hand, enjoying the warmth on my cheek.

"That's good" he smiled, Kissing my forehead again, and stood up. He turned around and crouched down in front of me "The princess must not walk on her perfectly white socks " I laughed at him but got on his back nonetheless. Wooyoung carried me like it was nothing.

The walk to the house was fast, I giggled as Wooyoung kept tickling my upper thighs. The navy blue bottoms doing nothing to cover anything.

"Hey, Woo?" I started as he walked up the steps to the back patio " I have been thinking about getting a new piercing or two" I said while playing with the earrings hanging from his right ear. "Oh, What are you thinking about getting?" he asked, I smiled to myself "My nipples"

Wooyoung missed a step, Catching himself before we could fall. "Do you think Hongjoong would be mad?" I asked him as I laid my head on his shoulder to look at his face. "Most definitely without a doubt, But if you really do want to have it done he would set it for you," he said turning his face to kiss my nose "He would be mad that you let someone that wasn't one of us see you like that" He smiled and started back up the steps. "do you want to get them done? I'll call tomorrow and set it up if you do" He asked genuinely "My nipples? No, But I do want to get something. I just don't know what." I said

Wooyoung laughed a little "Sleep on it and tell me in the morning if you decide" He lightly brushed the bottom of my feet and dropped me onto the sofa "I'm heading to bed" He said going up the Stairs taking them two at a time.

I sat there watching as he went up the stairs turning back to the right. Looking back towards the kitchen clock on the stove, 10:37 "Shit" I mumbled standing up and heading up the stairs to the left to my room.

My phone still laid on the bed from where I threw it early, 17% it read. Hooking it up, I went to use the bathroom, then lay down in bed. The phone binged before I could fully lay down.

I texted her back.

I laughed at one of my oldest friends and laid the phone back down. I rolled over right as Siren jumped up into my bed "Are you missing your daddy?" I asked as he dug under my arm, Laughing I felt my eyes going heavy.

Reaching behind me for my phone, I started a new message.

Ari 11:03 pm - Please be safe, Love you!

I was asleep before Yeosang could reply

Yeosang 11:04 pm - Always am, Doll. I love you too.

It was a clap of thunder that woke me up that night. I lay in bed watching as the lightning flashed again, With a count of three the thunder shook the house again. I hugged Siren tighter.

The Doberman licked my face lightly. He stood in the bed, stretched then trotted off the bed and to the door. I grabbed the brown floral blanket bunched up at the foot of the bed. Wrapping it around my shoulders I followed Siren out the door.

Immediately once the door was opened soft music could be heard from down the stairs. I walked towards the stairs poking my head around the corner to look down into the living room.

I smiled at the site.

There stood Mingi and Wooyoung hand in hand spinning around each other like opposite magnets. Mingi with his messy blonde hair that normally would be slicked back, stuck out in all directions. His grey sweat pants lie low on his hips, and No shirt in sight. Wooyoung looked a little bit more put together, Still wearing his black skinny jeans and slightly oversized white shirt.

I stood there quietly for a second watching them before moving to head back down the hallway. Tiptoeing to try to stay quiet. I opened the door to Yeosangs room. "Sangie?" I softly called out, No response. "Yeosang?" I tried again, Siren just stood next to me not moving. I flipped the light switch on.

The room was empty of any signs of Yeosang, the clock on his desk read 2:45 am. Thunder clapped again making me jump, The music was still coming from downstairs. I headed out of Yeosang's room, Turning off the lights and closing the door behind me. I headed to the last room to the left of me.

Lightly knocking on the door. "who's at the door?" Seonghwa's voice was very muffled. I cracked the door poking my head in "Ari" I mumbled feeling bad for waking him up. "Ari, Angel what's wrong?" He shot up, his arms flying down next to his mattress where his pistol lay safely, Hongjoong was not in the bed.

I opened my mother to try to explain myself but a loud clap of thunder cut me off. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. I threw myself on top of Seoghwa, I could feel myself shaking. "Oh, Sweet girl" He cooed "You are safe it's just a storm" Seonghwa stated Lying back down and pulling me on top of him, My legs on either side of his hips. My arms were wrapped tightly around his neck with my face buried between my arm and his neck.

he was "Shhh" me while rubbing his hands up and down my back. It wasn't long before I felt myself nodding off toward dreamland, Safe in the arms of my first love.

The next time I woke up I could instantly tell a few things

I was no longer on top of Seonghwa

Hwa was cuddled up behind me, holding me tightly to his chest.

My right arm draped over a warm fluffy body.

The left arm was stretched out across the body holding something soft and warm.

I opened my eyes. The first ray of sunlight shone in under the black shear curtain. Siren was under my right arm, Which surprised me. Normally he would only sleep in my bed, Everywhere else he would sleep on the floor next to the bed.

Looking away from Siren and straight headed I could see my arm reaching out, Holding Hongjoongs hand tight.

He opened his eyes and smiled softly at me. This was my Hongjoong, the soft and sweet one that gave little sweet smiles that made him look almost like an animated squirrel.

" go back to sleep, Love. " he rubbed his fingers on mine " It's too early for you to be awake" He said then kissed my ring finger. I nodded and closed my eyes back. Laying still for a second, "Joonie" I started in a sleepy quiet voice to try not to wake Seonghwa behind me. My eyes were still closed " Yes love?" He replied softly "I was thinking about going to see Yechan tomorrow" I yawned "Yechan is good" He started "I think she is going to Rhea's Salon Tomorrow" He added, his fingers still rubbing mine.

"Rhea is good too" I said wrapping my right arm tighter around Siren "She took me in when I had nowhere else to go" I mumbled I was back asleep before I could hear Hongjoong's reply.

I also couldn't see the look passed between Hongjoong and Seonghwa, the worried look they shared.

[steampunk-epipen]

A Study in Fear: “The Speckled Band” and “The Final Problem”

There were only ever a handful of occasions when Holmes would ever feel afraid or even question the safety of his and Watson’s cases. One such case was the “Adventure of the Speckled Band.”

This particular case strikes me as most peculiar in how Holmes actually felt. What caused his fear? What led him to sense such dread? And, more importantly, why did he think it was better for him to face this case alone while he and Watson hid inside the greenhouse not 20 metres away from Ms. Stoner’s rooms?

Holmes had already deduced the snake, he knew of the Indian and African origin of said creature, he knew that it was Roylott committing the murders on his poor step-daughters. Any of these could have been the source of all of his anxiety and unsettled words, yet he felt more fear for Watson rather than for himself.

The exact words Holmes used were:

"I have really some scruples as to taking you to-night. There is a distinct element of danger."

Holmes’s penchant for entering dangerous situations was never questioned before, nor has Watson’s penchant for joining Holmes in said dangerous situations—and yet, here we are, seeing the machine, the man who abhorred emotion, flinching in fear at the thought of Watson joining him.

Obviously, other readers will eventually call this a contradiction, as the next few lines go as follows:

W: "Can I be of assistance?"

H: "Your presence might be invaluable."

W: "Then I shall certainly come."

H: “It is very kind of you."

Regardless of the danger they face, Holmes never asked Watson to stay. Watson asked if he should stay and Holmes said yes.

Take note of the wording, too. Watson asked if his “assistance” would be necessary, but Holmes required his “presence.” While, in Victorian England, this should come to mean “Would you like me to stay?”, “Yes, I would like that,” the implication that all Holmes wanted was his Boswell present was enough of a help that Watson realised.

Or perhaps Watson DID know this. His reaction was “then I will certainly come,” indicating that he knew all Holmes needed was his presence.

Watson wanted to be there for Holmes even when Holmes was too scared to admit it or accept it.

In fact, Watson barely did anything in the denouement—it was all Holmes. It was Holmes who beat the stick against the rope. It was Holmes who lit the candle. It was Holmes who solved the case.

And yet, Holmes thanked Watson for his presence. It was Watson who stood fast beside Holmes, it was Watson who drew his revolver at the bell rope, it was Watson on whom Holmes leaned on.

Holmes would have been perfectly capable of solving this case himself, of course, yet he still wanted Watson there. He didn’t care for the account nor did he care that he would admit to being wrong.

What mattered to him was that Watson was there.

Watson may not have done much, if at all, yet it is clear to me that Holmes deeply cared that his friend was there.

In “The Final Problem,” Holmes admitted to his hands shaking in fear because of Moriarty. The man was more myth and legend to him than a normal criminal—someone to be feared once he tried to sink his teeth into you. To Holmes, Moriarty wasn’t just an equal but a genuine threat. This filled him with anxiety, which forced him to turn to the only two people he could trust in a situation that would threaten his life and the lives of those he cares for—his brother, Mycroft, and Dr. John Hamish Watson.

Even then, Holmes kept their involvement to a minimum because he knew he had to face this threat on his own. A tête-à-tête, mano-y-mano.

Mycroft’s involvement was strictly limited to London, as he is “the British Government”.

Watson’s involvement was strictly as a companion—no case, no mystery, no deductions. They were on the run and both knew it. This entire thing was to keep Watson safe: if Holmes had left him behind in London, Moriarty would have gone after him and used him as leverage.

Many times, Watson had noted Holmes’s nervousness and anxiety and tried to reassure him. Coffee, cigarettes, wine or beer, a walk, anything to keep Holmes’s mind off of the case so that he could focus on actually getting away and relaxing, then Mycroft could focus on solving the case (I genuinely wish we could see “The Final Problem” from Mycroft’s perspective).

Then, the fateful letter from his brother:

“Whole gang safely secured. Only Moriarty escaped the net. — Mycroft.”

The words that came out of Holmes’s lips should explain the rest:

“I think it would be better for you to return to England, Watson. You will find me a very dangerous companion, now. He will devote all of his energies to taking his revenge upon me; and if I have a companion—“

Watson’s response surely should illustrate his personality:

“Would you be rid of me? We’ve been in tight places before. I’m not leaving you, Holmes; not unless you order me to go.”

These two men cared about each other more than they’d ever attempt to admit.

Holmes knew his occupation was a dangerous one when he had first invited Watson to join him in “Scarlet,” but always one that was manageable. Holmes was an excellent detective and knew how to manage himself in a fight; Watson was an army medic with plenty of wartime experience and military expertise under his belt. If either one of them was in a scrape, the other would immediately pick up the slack.

Holmes knew Watson would be at risk—either with him in Switzerland or at home in London—but he’d be safer with Mycroft than with him. Fear was clouding much of Holmes’s mind but he had to think critically in order to keep his friend safe.

But what if Holmes had instructed Watson to hide before the final showdown with Moriarty? What if Watson had decided to climb back once the boy that was leading him back to the Englischer Hoff ran away?

Holmes only found out abt Moran after Moriarty had been thrown off. Surely Watson would have been an excellent bait for Moran?

I’m not sure what Moriarty and Moran were thinking.

But I do know this: Holmes wanted Watson safe and vice versa. As much as Watson wanted to stay and help Holmes stay on the grass, Holmes knew there was a threat on the horizon and wanted Watson to enjoy the grass, even if he was on the pavement.

[omg-physics]

Worm Bin Tutorial

Disclaimer: the information I’m giving is based on my own personal experience and research. Some of the things that work for me may not work in a different setup. If you’re interested in learning more, I’d highly recommend the book “Worms Eat My Garbage” by Mary Appelhof.

Why have a worm bin?

It’s a great way to dispose of organic matter while minimizing methane emissions! Landfills aren’t set up for aerobic decomposition, so food scraps in landfills often give off a ton of methane emissions when decomposing, which is a pretty potent greenhouse gas! Also, worm castings are an excellent fertilizer/mulch/soil amendment.

A worm bin is super low-maintenance once you figure out what you are doing. It doesn’t smell bad and can be kept indoors—I keep mine by my desk in the winter! And I think it’s pretty fun. Also, your trash won’t smell as bad when it isn’t full of rotting food!

Making the Worm Bin

Really what you need here are two containers. One of them you put a bunch of holes in, and that sits inside the other container. The holes are important because they allow for drainage of water (which is then caught by the external container) and diffusion of oxygen. I used some kitty litter buckets for this, and they work great! The lid is really useful.

Pro-tip: you don’t need a drill to make the holes. If you have a knife or razor blade, you can press it into the plastic and rotate it, which makes nice, round holes.

The bin with holes in it sits inside the other bin, but there should be space for water drainage/collection and air permeation.

Worms

The worms you want in general are “red wrigglers” or Eisenia fetida. These are sometimes sold as bait worms, but in my experience the “red worms” are actually European Nightcrawlers (labeled “ENC”). Those can also work, but they prefer different conditions from red wigglers (I believe they live deeper in the soil) so they might not be as successful. You also need a lot of worms to start out with, like a pound of worms. I had the best success going to a local vermiculture business and getting a pound of mixed worms (red wigglers, European night crawlers, and Indian blues). I think the mix is useful since having a couple different species makes the bin more resilient.

Note: buying local is really beneficial here. When worms are sold online and shipped, the sellers “dehydrate” them a bit to help lower weight and prevent overheating. The worms will be perfectly healthy after you give them moist bedding again, but you’re going to miss out on bacteria and other beneficial critters that could come with the worms if they are fresh.

Setting up the Bin

An important thing I have learned from experience: you can’t just put food and worms in a bin and expect things to work. You also need bedding. Bedding is filler material, like newspaper or coconut coir. I mostly use newspaper I buy from a local vermiculture business. I tried ripping my own paper and once it got wet it turned into a solid layer, whereas the pre-ripped newspaper I buy has a fluffy consistency.

I’ve also tried using peat moss as bedding, but that didn’t work so well—I got a huge spike in the more population (maybe from acidic conditions?). Peat moss also isn’t great for the environment in general.

The bedding is important because worms shouldn’t eat too much food or too much of their own poop (castings) as both are bad for them. Bedding should be topped off when possible. When you add food to the bin, use a shovel to bury it in the bedding. This helps things rot properly, prevents mold and bad smells, and keeps away critters like fruit flies.

Other Critters

Your worm bin can and should have other critters in it! Some in my bin include mites and springtails, who both help the worms break down organic matter. However, there should be a balance between other critters and the worms. If something appears to be taking over, you might have a problem. I’ve also had fruit flies in my bin—this didn’t end up being a huge problem as long as I only opened the lid of the bin outdoors.

Worm Bin Maintenance

Once you get going, the worm bin doesn’t require much maintenance. I keep a freezer bag in my freezer and fill it up with food scraps, and once it seems the worms are mostly finished with the last feeding, I’ll thaw the bag and feed them again. (Freezing is helpful because it’s a convenient way to preserve the scraps, but it also helps to kickstart breaking down, since freezing damages things.) Be careful not to over-feed the worms, as this can lead to a sour bin and/or string-of-pearls (which is a pretty disturbing worm ailment).

Also be careful of what you feed the worms. You can look up lists of dos and donts online, but in general, stick to plant matter, and don’t feed them aromatic herbs or citrus. Also make sure to feed the worms plenty of crushed eggshells, as this provides grit and halos to regulate the pH of the worm bin.

The worms should be kept in a location with temperatures that are comfortable to humans. They don’t do well if conditions are too cold or too warm.

Make sure to dump out any water that accumulates and add bedding when it’s needed. I use this to water plants, and I haven’t had any negative effects, but some people will say you shouldn’t do that.

Once the bin starts to get full, you can remove worm castings. There are fancy ways to do this, but I just dig through the bin and scoop out any areas that are nearly all worm castings and then remove any worms/eggs that are in the castings by hand. The castings can be mixed in with potting soil or used on top like a mulch. (Although be careful: Ive heard worms are an invasive species in some areas so check before you potentially introduce them to the ground.)

Conclusions

So that’s it! If you want more information, I encourage you to do your own research. Although try to seek out multiple sources—not all the information out on the internet (or even in books) has been properly vetted. I can also try my best to answer questions based on my own experience, but I’m still relatively new at this.

[daydream-cement]

Violet and Rose Ch. 22

Larissa Weems x OC (Fern Rogers)

Authors Note: We need to get these two back to work soon! Yeeeshhh.

Frankly, Larissa had been overbearing since you returned to Nevermore. It had been a week and each day she would randomly check in on you to prevent you from doing any laborious work. You knew it was only because she cared, but her chiding about lightening your workload in the classroom and greenhouse grew tiring. With the stress of classes beginning in a few days, the pregnancy, and your worries about the forest, all you wanted was your hands buried in peat moss or wrapped around a trowel.

When you entered the greenhouses, you were shocked by how well everything looked. Truthfully, you hadn’t been expecting much to be alive, but Rowan seemed to have actually done what you asked of her. Even some of your more difficult to care for plants were thriving. Maybe the vampire had a green thumb after all.

You puttered around the greenhouse with headphones on, deadheading and removing unsightly leaves that develop from the passage of time. After a long while of caring for the tropical trees and shrubs, it was time to get down on your hands and knees to care for the ‘forest floor’ of your conservatory. Albeit time consuming, this was one of the most relaxing parts of running a greenhouse for you. As you crawled through the understory, you dragged a 5-gallon bucket behind yourself to discard all of the plant parts into.

As you kept moving deeper into the forest, you kept running across thriving patches of venus fly traps and pitcher plants. You found them to be quite curious as you didn’t raise carnivorous plants, but in the end you uprooted some and left patches of the rest, assuming a student must have planted them. When you finish, you clamber to your feet and push your way from the little jungle, coming face to face with Larissa.

She is speaking but you can’t hear a word she is saying due to the volume of your music. She seems to be furious, however. You pull the headphones from your head, trying not to dirty them too much, “Hi, honey.”

“What are you doing? I’ve been trying to get your attention.” She was completely exasperated with you. Her eyes scanned you up and down, seeing your palms and fabric at your knees was darkened with soil, “I told you not to do any laborious work.”

“Okay, doctor.” You push past her to empty the compost bucket in the compost pile just outside the backdoor to the greenhouse.

She follows behind you closely, “Fern, you shouldn’t be pushing yourself. What if-”

“No ‘what-ifs’. I spoke to Dr. Feng and she said it was perfectly fine to continue working in my greenhouse and caring for the forest.” You prop the greenhouse door open with your hip and dump the compost bucket. Afterwards, you push past Larissa once more, making her follow you back to the front of the greenhouse, “When I’m further along, then that might change. For now, I can go about my regular life.”

“When did you talk to Dr. Feng?” Larissa was right over your shoulder as she followed you about, her frustration with you now down to a low simmer.

“Yesterday afternoon. I was on the phone with your mother and she was there, so I took the opportunity to ask a few questions.” You pushed the bucket into its spot on the bottom shelf, dropped the trowel into the sink, and began washing your hands free of dirt as you spoke, “Now if we are done with the interrogation, I need to go out to the Council of Cedars to see what happened to the forest.”

“You can’t go out there by yourself-”

“And why not?” You pushed your wet hands to your hips and stared up at her defiantly. If Larissa had learned anything by now, it should be that you truly didn’t take kindly to being bossed around.

“What-” She was about to give another one of her ‘what-ifs’ when she stopped herself, choosing to rephrase her statement, “I just don’t want anything happening to you because I can’t be around you.”

“Honey, you can’t be by me every part of the day and you know that. You are more than welcome to come with me. Then I can see you in those boots that my mother mailed us.” You teased Larissa for a moment, wiping your wet hands on your shirt. If there was one thing that always bothered Larissa, it was the way you always wiped your hands on your clothes rather than using a towel.

Her arms folded over her chest, not wanting you to go alone but also not wanting anyone at Nevermore to see her in those atrocious shoes from your family farm. During her defiant silence, you spoke again, shaking your head, “While you decide, I’m going to start walking to the forest.”

You begin walking towards the backdoor to the greenhouse again, taking a shortcut. Larissa stops you with a hand on your arm, “Fine… Let me change out of this dress.”

—---

You couldn’t hide the satisfied smile on your face as Larissa trugged behind you. Much of the undergrowth was more troublesome to walk through when compared to months ago so burrs stuck to your jeans. Larissa was troubled in accepting that she was doomed to be covered in burrs as well, “Fern Rogers, there has to be a better way to get out there than this. You are pranking me, aren’t you?”

You smirk, happy she can’t see the look on your face. While you were feeling some type of payback for her being so bossy earlier, there truly wasn’t another option to get out to the Council of Cedars. Turning your head, you see Larissa lagging a bit too far behind, so you lean against a tree and wait for her to catch up. Her hair was falling out of place and the scowl on her face could kill, “Remind me why I love you.”

“There are millions of reasons. Off the top of my head, one would be the fact that I am pregnant with your children… and the other would be the fact that I will run us a bath and make us dinner when we get home.”

She rolls her eyes at your words, arms folding as she stands before you. Larissa was pouting as she looked around the forest, her eyes scanning for the Council, hoping that you would be close. You were struck by how beautiful she truly was. Even with Larissa’s light complaining, you loved that she decided to come with you. Being outdoors in this forest was one of your favorite places on earth, so having the opportunity to share it with her from time to time was wonderful.

Finally she noticed your staring, her face softening as she peered down at you, “What?”

For the first time in a long time, you felt butterflies in your stomach and your face became flushed, “Nothing… I just like you.”

Larissa paused a moment before letting out a laugh, one of her real Larissa laughs. Even though you were both gross from the long hike, she pulled you into a one armed hug. Some of her hiking frustrations seemed to melt away, “I like you too.”

You resumed your walking, Larissa keeping up this time. You could sense that you were getting close, the texture of the firm ground was giving way to the soft squish of moss beneath your feet. While you found the terrain easy to maneuver, Larissa did not share your same feelings. Occasionally, her hand would fall on your shoulder, stopping you from moving forward until she could gain a comfortable footing again.

Finally, you saw the towering cedars in their clearing. Larissa gently squeezed your side when she noticed them, not knowing they were already in your line of sight. Even from a distance, you could see the dieback from the center of the circle and how it had begun to fill back in once more. It was patchy, making you wonder what could have killed it and healed it in the same week.

Larissa lingered just outside the ring of trees, waiting to see what you would do about the concerning growth patterns in the center of the circle. First, you rotated around the cedar trees, hoping that one would just tell you what happened, but no voices came to you. You should have known better, you were the one who was supposed to be watching over the forest, not them. You make your way into the ring of trees, cautiously walking on the dead patches rather than disturbing the young mosses that were emerging.

When you kneel to the ground, Larissa takes a protective step into the circle, her eyes waiting intently for any motion that you need her help. You press your hands into the dead plant matter, and try offering some of your energy to the dead, but no power moves through you. You feel none of the warmth radiating from your chest down though your arms and into your fingertips. How strange. You pull away in concern, staring down at the scene beneath you. You were at a complete loss for what to do.

You lean down and press your hands to the earth once more, trying again, but again nothing happens. Larissa notices your obvious frustration as you try over and over and approaches you from behind, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, “What is happening?”

“My-my powers aren’t working.”

At your words, Larissa sinks to her knees next to you. Her hand comes to rest on your back, trying her best to encourage you, “I’m sure everything is okay… Maybe they are just sleeping.”

You noticed the way her lips curled with her last sentence, knowing that she was trying to tell a joke. You offer her a smile in return. With your consistent failures of bringing back the patch of dead forest, you felt defeated. You allowed yourself to fall back against the cushy ground of the living and dead plant matter, staring up into the canopy of the cedars above you, hoping one of them could just reach out from the otherside to tell you what to do.

Larissa bit her lip. You were lucky she loved you so much. She moved to lay next to you, staring up into the canopy. Her hand came to grasp yours, pulling it up to her lips to scatter kisses across the back of your hand.

“What am I going to do? Even if the forest is growing back, how am I supposed to know what was killing it in the first place?” You ignored her lips on your skin, opting to stress about the situation instead.

“When did it start dying?” Larissa asked, hoping to help you troubleshoot the issue.

“Rowan’s friend noticed the death right after Rowan left… It was growing back when Rowan finally told us about it…” You felt like throwing a tantrum on the forest floor. With all of your plant knowledge and abilities, how could you be so confused about the cause of this issue?

“That was the entire time we were apart.”

“Larissa… How could a forest be affected by our issues from over 3000 miles away?”

“How could an evil pilgrim rise from the grave and drain the energy of the forest in one night? How did you die and rise from the dead days later?” She posed fair questions, but you seriously doubted that the ‘power of love’ was controlling the forest. That sounded entirely preposterous.

Link to Chapter 23

[kingofsummer93]

Ex Luna Scientia

Summary:

Lucien Vanserra, seventh son of the Minister for Magic, is as loved by his peers as he is hated by his family. But behind the charm and irreverence hides a secret, as dark and menacing as the scar on his face.

Elain Archeron, middle sister in a trio of muggle-born witches, has only one wish: for someone to truly see her. Because when she sleeps at night, she can see it all.

Or- an Elucien at Hogwarts AU.

Chapter 12: The Unexpected Task

Ao3 Masterlist

Lucien flicked his wand, concentrating on the non-verbal spell as he stared at the cushion in front of him. The cushion shuddered, the red velvet fabric splitting as a tail sprouted from one of the corners. The back, however, remained perfectly smooth, looking decidedly more like a throw pillow than the hedgehog he was meant to be turning it into.

“You stink at this.” Vassa smirked as her own hedgehog wobbled across the desk and climbed onto Lucien’s pillow, setting down for a nap.

“I don’t know why anyone would need to turn a cushion into a hedgehog anyway,” Lucien grumbled.

Tamlin grunted his agreement. His own attempt had been slightly more successful than Lucien’s- his cushion had sprouted not just a tail, but also spikes and legs. The effect, however, was far more horrifying, as the creature’s lack of eyes made it a walking menace.

“You should get that thing under control,” Vassa warned as the spiked creature pattered blindly around the floor.

“You know what,” Lucien declared, “I kind of like him. We should keep him.”

“He can be our fifth,” Tamlin added with a smirk.

“Yup, that’s exactly what we need. Honestly, sometimes I don’t know why I’m friends with you guys.” Vassa rolled her eyes and flicked her wand, smoothly transfiguring her hedgehog back into a bright pink cushion.

“You mean other than how simply dashing we all are?”

“You mean simply dung-brained,” Vassa quipped drily. She flicked her wand again and this time her cushion flew straight to Tamlin’s head.

“Speaking of dashing friends,” she continued, ignoring Tamlin’s yelps. “Have you spoken to Elain lately?”

Lucien’s stomach flipped with guilt. He kept his focus on his almost-hedgehog, schooling his features into a neutral expression. “Why do you ask that?”

Tamlin and Vassa immediately stopped their bickering and smirked at him in unison.

“You tell us.” Tamlin drawled. “You finally kiss her and now you can’t even see her in the hall without tripping over your own feet.”

Vassa snickered, earning a half-hearted scowl from Lucien. “Seriously, you were more smooth back in fourth year when you convinced Jes to go to the greenhouses with you.”

“That was pretty smooth,” Tamlin agreed, a faraway look glazing his eyes. “Snagging a seventh year, what a legend you were…”

Lucien smirked slightly at the memory. Elain liked gardening, didn’t she? Maybe he should ask her to come for a midnight greenhouse stroll with him…

“Don’t even think about it,” Vassa warned, crossing her arms. “I can see the wheels turning in your brain.”

Lucien sighed, flicking his wand again. His cushion shuddered and sprouted a few spikes.

“Did something happen that you aren’t telling us about?” Tamlin pushed. “You went from talking to her every chance you could get, to avoiding her…”

Lucien shifted uncomfortably under his friends’ searching looks. There was no hiding anything from them. They knew him too well.

“Yes,” he admitted, dropping his voice to a whisper. “But I can’t tell you about it.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell us about it?”

“Lucien Vanserra, what have you done?”

“I didn’t do anything!”

Lucien suddenly fell silent as he heard a noise near his feet. Too late he realized that the classroom had gone quiet, and that everyone was now staring at them. He stiffened as something slithered past his leg- a snake, thin and black like a whisp of shadow. It slid up the leg of the nearest desk, and with a brief flash of light Professor Amaratha appeared. The teacher crossed one leg over the other as she perched on the edge of the desk, regarding him with utter disdain.

“If I had a galleon for every stupidity that’s been said in the past five minutes,” she started unceremoniously, “I might actually be able to retire. Imagine what you could all achieve if you put half as much effort in your spellwork as you do with gossiping.”

“Sorry, Professor…” Vassa muttered.

Professor Amaratha ignored her and picked up Lucien’s half-hearted attempt at transfiguring his cushion, her lips curving into a sneer. “Since Mr Vanserra’s private life is of such dire importance, why don’t you go ahead and share with the class what you were discussing?”

Tamlin and Vassa shifted uncomfortably, glancing between him and the teacher. Lucien flashed a grin, though he knew it wouldn’t get him out of trouble with Amarantha.

“Surely you wouldn’t want me to spill my darkest and most dangerous secrets, Professor?”

Idiotic. It was a simply idiotic thing to say, but seeing Amarantha’s eyes flash with irritation was worth whatever punishment was coming his way. The entire class was still staring, most students looking like they didn’t know whether to cringe or laugh.

Amarantha’s silence was heavy and loaded with threat. “Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr Vanserra, for mouthing off and for using my class as your gossiping time.”

An audible groan rippled around the classroom. “Next time please remember that in this classroom you are no more special than-“

“I don’t think I’m better than anyone!” Lucien interrupted, his temper flaring.

Amarantha smiled in wicked delight. “And another 10 points, for interrupting me.”

Lucien clamped his mouth shut.

“Since you’ve already interrupted the class, why don’t share some more?”

Why don’t you go back to the shit-hole from hell you crawled out of…

A bell sounded in the hall, announcing the end of class. There was a collective sigh of relief as everyone dove for their book bags, eager to escape.

“Not so fast!” Amarantha demanded, sliding off the desk and making her way back up to the front of the class. “I have an announcement. The school will be hosting a ball on December twenty-first, the night of Winter Solstice.”

The students, who had been inching their way towards the door, suddenly perked with interest.

“The Solstice ball is a traditional part of the Tri-Trials Tournament. The ball will be open to fourth years and above, but you may invite a younger student to accompany you if you wish.” The teacher paused and huffed as a few girls giggled at the back of the class.

“Dress robes will be worn, and there will be a feast followed by dancing.” Lucien had a sudden, horrible vision of Professor Amarantha dancing and visibly winced. The teacher sneered at him, evidently misunderstanding the gesture. “Yes, Mr Vanserra, dancing. I would suggest you change your attitude, seeing as the four champions and their partners will be opening the ball.”

“And here I thought you just said I wasn’t special?” Lucien quipped with a grin. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them.

The look Professor Amarantha shot him was nothing short of scathing. “Another ten points from Gryffindor. Class dismissed.

Lucien ignored his friends’ glares as he grabbed his book bag and hauled ass out of the classroom before he could get docked even more points.

“Well, there’s your opportunity,” Vassa declared.

“My opportunity for what?”

Vassa rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “Your opportunity for a grand gesture with Elain! Ask her to the ball, you dummy!”

Lucien swallowed thickly, trying and failing not to imagine himself dancing with Elain at the ball. Or how stunning she’d look in her dress robes, or how it would feel to hold her in his arms.

“I can’t.” As difficult as it was to admit, he knew it was true.

Somehow he’d triggered that vision. If she kept getting close to him, what else would she see? And how soon until she figured out the truth? It wasn’t just his future at stake, but his friends’ as well. They risked getting expelled if someone found out.

He had known it all along, of course. People like him weren’t meant to lead normal lives. He wasn’t meant to be a normal teenager, with a girlfriend he could bring home and introduce to his parents.

This is the chest of drawers my assholes brothers once locked me in, this is my childhood bedroom, oh, and this is the cage where I get locked up once a month.

Elain wasn’t someone he could just have fun with and not get close to. She deserved better than that.

She deserved better than him.

---

“A ball!” Nuala held out her arms, twirling down the corridor as if she were dancing with an invisible partner. “I can’t wait, it’s going to be magical!”

“Do you think we’ll get asked by someone?” Cerridwen asked, biting her lip.

Elain huffed indignantly. “Of course you will, what are you talking about?”

“Easy for you to say when the most attractive boy in school is practically your boyfriend.” Nuala stopped prancing and stuck out her tongue.

“Lucien is not my…boyfriend!” she sputtered, feeling her face growing hot.

She hadn’t spoken to him at all since the first trial. It seemed like every time they so much as locked eyes Lucien would turn and walk in the opposite direction. He even managed to ignore her in Divination class.

Every time she thought about it her stomach clenched with regret. No doubt whatever interest he had before had vanished when she had babbled about visions and werewolves. He must think her insane, and she didn’t really blame him.

Her friends shared a knowing glance and Elain rolled her eyes at their antics. Still, she’d be lying if she hadn’t pictured being at the ball with Lucien ever since hearing about it. Not that she would ever admit that to them. She’d never hear the end of it.

As they walked down the marble staircase towards the entrance hall a familiar flash of red hair caught her attention. Lucien was standing in the middle of the hall, talking to a gaggle of seventh year girls.

No, not talking- flirting was a better word. The girls were giggling and twirling their hair, clearly fighting for his attention. And, most probably, hoping that he would ask one of them to go to the ball with him.

The sight of it made Elain feel idiotic for thinking he might ask her at all. Of course he wouldn’t. He hadn’t even spoken to her in weeks. There was no chance he would want to go with her and not one of these pretty, flirty girls, who looked at him like he was a god and none of whom were a freak of nature.

She felt a fresh wave of embarrassment as she remembered what she had told him the summer before, as they rode his flying bike. The ball would be the perfect opportunity for couples to sneak off to dark, private corners of the castle. No doubt he’d have more fun with one of those girls than with someone who’d gotten dumped for being prudish. Maybe that was why he’d lost interest. He’d realized she wasn’t worth all that effort.

“Elain? What’s wrong?”

Elain blinked, realizing she had frozen in the middle of the staircase. Her friends were peering up at her with identical looks of concern as students jostled their way around her.

“Nothing,” Elain squeaked. To her horror she felt tears pricking the back of her eyes. “I’m fine I just…I forgot something in the classroom, I’ll see you guys at dinner!”

Without waiting for them to reply she turned and bolted up the stairs. She fought her way through the throng of students making their way to the Great Hall, not bothering to apologize as she shoved her way through. She ran up the stairs and down corridor after corridor, until finally she was alone. With a heavy sigh she slumped onto a window ledge, and only then did she allow the tears to fall.

Stupid. She was so stupid and naive. Of course she wasn’t special. Lucien might have insinuated that she was but obviously he would say that. Of course the Pygmy Puff wasn’t the only gift he’d ever bought for a girl. He might have bought a whole cage of them, for all she knew.

Her breathless sobs echoed around the empty corridor. Elain hugged her legs to her chest and dropped her face onto her knees, hating herself for feeling this way. This was why she had kept her distance, even if part of her hadn’t wanted to. Because she’d known how badly she could get hurt if she let herself fall for someone like Lucien.

“Elain? Are you alright?”

Elain gasped in fright, her sobs catching in her throat as she realized she wasn’t alone. For one wild second she dared to hope that it might be Lucien- and then her hope crashed into bitter disappointment. It wasn’t Lucien, but Azriel. He was frowning, looking supremely uncomfortable as he scanned the empty corridor.

Great. Another boy who had avoided her like the plague for weeks. Just what she needed. Elain wiped her tear-streaked cheeks with the cuff of her robes, hoping she didn’t look like as much of a mess as she felt.

Are you alright. As if he hadn’t caught her sobbing in an empty corridor. She almost wanted to laugh.

“I’m fine.” Her voice was still slightly choked with tears.

Azriel looked unconvinced. He shuffled awkwardly, a slight flush staining his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” she said again, with more conviction this time. “I was just…upset about something.”

“Something? Or someone?”

Elain huffed in irritation. “I’m not quite sure how that’s any of your business.”

Azriel’s blush deepened. He held up his hands, wincing slightly. “Sorry, obviously it’s none of my business…” He trailed off awkwardly.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Glancing around the corridor Elain realized she had run almost all the way to the North Tower. Probably as far away from the Slytherin common room, down in the dungeons, as you could get.

“Oh!” A slight grin tugged at Azriel’s lips. “I was, uh…I was looking for you, actually.”

Elain frowned suspiciously. “How did you know I’d be here?”

The grin widened. “Got lucky, I guess.” His hazel eyes, usually perpetually trained on the ground, were bright and sparkling. He looked more animated than she had ever seen him.

“Are you drunk?”

Azriel laughed, the sound brighter and merrier than any sound she’d ever heard him make. “No. Why would you ask that?”

“You seem…strange. Happy.”

“Ouch. Don’t spare my feelings, Elain.”

Elain winced apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…sorry.”

Azriel only grinned at her, and it was Elain’s turn to shuffle awkwardly. “Um. You were looking for me?” Suddenly she remembered that their last conversation had been an argument in the middle of potions class. An argument about Lucien. Her wariness returned, accompanied by a bone-deep longing for her bed, where she could hopefully wallow some more. Uninterrupted, this time.

“Yes.” Azriel cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “I wanted to apologize. For what I said to you, when we had that argument. It wasn’t fair…or very nice. I’ve felt bad about it for weeks but I’m terrible at this kind of stuff…”

Some of the tension eased off Elain’s shoulders. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s his fault, he always finds a way to get under my skin.”

She knew she didn’t have to specify which he she was referring to. She expected Azriel to sneer, but he only smiled at her knowingly. “Friends?” he asked, extending a hand.

Elain laughed, shaking his hand. He was definitely a little bit drunk. “Friends,” she agreed. “You know, I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you talk.”

He blushed again, dipping his chin. His floppy dark hair fell over his eyes with the motion. He was really quite cute when he smiled. And when he talked.

“There was something else I wanted to ask you.” He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “Willyougoballwithme?”

Elain blinked in confusion and huffed a laugh. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Will you, um. Will you go to the ball with me?”

“Oh!”

Elain felt a flush bloom up her cheeks. She thought of Lucien and that gaggle of girls, all swarming for his attention.

Azriel’s eyes were wide and hopeful, his hands clenching and unclenching, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. Maybe this was what she needed. Someone quiet and kind, whose interest in her might last longer than one kiss.

“Unless someone already asked you, or you don’t want to, it’s totally fine…”

“Oh, no. No one’s asked me yet. Um. Sure, I’d love to go with you.”

Azriel grinned broadly, looking like he couldn’t quite believe it. “It must be my lucky night.”

She’d have fun, she decided. She’d dance with Azriel and make sure Lucien saw, and she wouldn’t care about whatever girl he danced with.

And maybe she didn’t quite believe it yet, but she told herself that by Winter Solstice she would.

---

Lucien lay slumped on the dusty four-poster in the Shrieking Shack, the weak light of dawn filtering in through the grimy windows. The pastel-colored light illuminated the dust motes and dirt that covered the place, but in the light of day the shack looked no more menacing than what it truly was- a dilapidated old cottage, no ghosts or otherwise evil creature in sight.

Every inch of his body screamed in pain. His bones creaked and ached, and his muscles were sore and stiff as if he’d spent an entire night running through the woods. Which, of course, was exactly what he had done.

He stood up gingerly, his head swimming with a rush of dizziness. There was a foul taste in his mouth that he chose to ignore for now, though it made his stomach churn. Blood, flesh, and the unmistakable texture of feathers. He gritted his teeth against the sudden rush of nausea. Probably just a pheasant. He’d certainly eaten stranger things before.

Just the thought of it was enough for his stomach to give another mighty lurch. He barely managed to stumble to the bathroom before retching violently. This was another reason he strictly forbid his friends from staying with him when he transformed, however much he longed for their company. Seeing your friend retch up firewhiskey was one thing, but seeing them retch up a half-digested woodland creature was another business entirely. Not that they would do anything but tease him for it.

His legs shook as he made his way down the underground tunnel back towards the Whomping Willow. More than once he had to stop to catch his breath, leaning against the damp earth walls as he fought the lingering nausea. The Whomping Willow stirred as he finally crawled his way out of the hidden entrance.

“Calm down, you ridiculous tree…”

Great. Now he was talking to trees. He desperately needed sleep. He was so exhausted that it was an effort to lift a stick and press the knot to silence the Whomping Willow. All he wanted was to stop by the infirmary, drink a whole jug of pain tonic, crawl to Gryffindor Tower, and pass out in his bed until at least mid-afternoon. Thankfully it was Saturday and he wouldn’t need to come up with an excuse for missing any lessons.

The heavy wooden front door groaned as he pushed it open and walked into the warmth of the Entrance Hall. He raked a hand down his face, wishing he could simply apparate up to the infirmary.

“Lucien?”

He froze, his blood running cold. That voice was familiar enough that he knew who it was without a doubt before even looking. For a few moments the Entrance Hall appeared deserted, and Lucien frowned, his heart racing.

But then, sure enough- there she was, stepping out of the shadows next to the door that led to the kitchens and Hufflepuff dormitory.

“Elain. Hi.” His voice was hoarse with exhaustion, and he knew without looking at himself that he must look as wretched as he felt. “What are you doing?”

Elain looked him up and down, her eyes widening slightly at his appearance. Merlin, what must she be thinking? He only hoped there was no blood on his face. Or feathers, for that matter. Scratches and bruises could be explained, but…

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Quidditch practice.” The lie came easily, though he hated himself for it. “I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d get some extra practice in.”

She frowned, doubt written all over her face. She didn’t move from the other side of the Entrance Hall, and Lucien didn’t dare step closer. He didn’t need her to take a closer look at him. The faster he ended this conversation and the less questions she asked, the better.

“What are you doing up at the crack of dawn on a Saturday?”

“Herbology project. I’m growing Venomous Tentaculas, they flourish best if you transplant them at dawn.” Lucien relaxed slightly. That sounded definitely plausible. Just a coincidence, then. A terribly unlucky one, but still just a coincidence. “After a full moon.”

Those four words seemed to take an eternity to click into his consciousness. “What did you just say?”

Another frown. “I said Tentaculas need to be transplanted at dawn after a full moon for them to grow properly.”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

“I didn’t want to go outside until after sunrise since, you know…”

“Oh. Right, of course. Shit, I didn’t realize it was a full moon…” Did he sound convincing? He looked over his shoulder at the front door and widened his eyes for good measure. “Well, I didn’t see anything while I was out there...”

When he turned around Elain was still staring at him. He cleared his throat, inching his way towards the marble staircase. “Well, I should go take a shower, I probably stink.”

Elain was still hovering near the edge of the entrance hall, still looking at him with a mixture of emotions he couldn't quite place. It almost looked like she was waiting for him to say something else.

Lucien could practically hear Vassa’s voice screaming inside his head.

Ask her to the ball, you dummy!

The words were on the tip of his tongue. Even if this was not the way he would have gone about it- sore, exhausted, smellier than the bottom of the Great Lake and probably just as slimy.

But then he remembered the look on her face when she told him about her vision. That look had been nothing but pure fear. She might not agree with his father on his policies, but that didn’t mean she’d be willing to date a werewolf, either.

“Um. I’ll see you later, then.”

“Right. Sure.” With that she strode across the hall, keeping her gaze on the floor so her long locks hid her face.

“Wait!”

She paused with her hand against the front door. When she turned to look at him her eyes didn’t quite meet his. She bit her lip, and the sight of it (and the memory of how those lips felt against his) was almost enough to obliterate his resolve.

“Did you bring your gloves?”

Her gaze did meet his then, her lips parting in surprise. “What?”

“Venomous Tentaculas are dangerous, aren’t they? Make sure you use gloves.”

He felt her eyes on him as he turned and hurried up the stairs, practically running away from her before she could say anything.

Or before she could spot the pain in his eyes that had nothing to do with his sore body.

[usernamemybeloathed]

Okay, so this is a little different, its a little ficlet based on my new Stardew Valley/Twisted Wonderland crossover. I decided to post it as part of the Stardew 1.6 Fest here rather than AO3. It's a little short but sweet fic about the first time my farmer Clodagh meets Kent.

(Link to the very first chapter of the crossover fic, in which we haven't got to meeting Kent yet, at the bottom of the story.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Get Off My Land

Clodagh was woken up to a banging at her door. It was early, too early for guests, but everyone round here seemed to run to their own time. The joys of country living, she muttered as she stumbled down the stairs wearing nothing but a blanket that she’d gathered off a chair by the bed.

It’d probably be the mayor again, wanting this or that done. Or Rasmodius with some batshit request. Or maybe Rook was back. Although he wouldn’t knock. He’d just be sat there at the breakfast table, all smiles and ‘bonjour’s’ as he helped himself to her coffee and eggs. Not that she’d seen him for weeks now. Feckin’ eejit, making her feel something, then disappearing like a wisp of smoke, she continued to mutter. Bastard.

It was as if nobody could read the sign that she’d put up on the first week she’d got here. People in this town had no boundaries, everything was everyone else’s business. The number of times she’d been asked her opinion on this, or what she’d thought of that. The lowest point being when she’d had to revive Shane from a night on the lash using only the power of her watering can, when she’d only gone to Marnie’s for hay. It was mortifying.

Hence the sign. It sat with pride of place on the pathway, and said quite simply in bold, clear letters:

Get Off My Land.

Did anybody get off her land? Nope, they just kept knocking. Or, even worse, dragging her inside her house when she’d fallen asleep on her own land. One time Harvey had somehow let himself into her shed because she fell asleep in there. No, Clodagh wasn’t grateful about it. She wasn’t some damsel in distress, waiting to be rescued at any moment, she’d just worked too hard and fallen asleep in the greenhouse, like anyone would.

The knocking started up again, interrupting her thoughts.

“Alright, Alright! I’m coming, just hold your horses!” she called out as she made her way hurriedly to the door. Such a rude awakening at this ungodly hour.

Flinging the door open, Clodagh stopped in her tracks. There, standing in her doorway, was the handsomest man she’d come across since she’d moved to Pelican Town. Tall, blonde, broad shoulders. His hair was even tidy, short at the sides, slightly longer on top. A sensible haircut. Not like Rook’s stupid bob. No hat either. Okay, this one could stay.

“Well, hi,” she said, leaning on the doorframe and running her finger through her knotted, messy-from-sleep ponytail. “Name’s Clodagh Connolly. What can I do for ya?”

“Um, hello there,” he said quietly, his expression deadpan, brown, brooding eyes looking directly into hers. “I’m Kent. I just got back last night…”

“Back from where?” Clodagh asked with a slight drawl that she didn’t even know she had in her. C’mon Clo, don’t be cringe, get it together.

“From overseas. The military.”

Well, that narrowed it down, she thought huffily, not that she let her face show it. Nope, she was officially boyfriendless, so flirting with this absolute ride of an older man that had been delivered to her doorstep was perfectly fine. And he was a soldier? She did so love a man in uniform, and he could make himself useful round the farm.

“Oh! I’m from overseas, what a coincidence!” You eejit, she cringed as she giggled coquettishly. You feckin’ eejit.

“Err yeah, sure. My wife mentioned that a new farmer had moved in while I was gone.”

“Oh?”

A WIFE! DAMMIT! How could she miss the bright blue mermaid pendant round his neck, it wasn’t even tucked into his t-shirt. The smile remained frozen to her face as the dream died as quickly as it sprung up. Images of him coming up the path towards her house, beads of sweat running down his shirtless, muscular torso from all the farm work, and scooping her into his arms, evaporated into the morning mist. The best ones were always taken.

“Yes, I’m married to Jodi. Sam and Vincent are my sons. You know them?”

“Yeah…,” Clodagh nodded slowly. She remembered it now, Sam saying about holding off the wedding till his dad got back. Another sign she’d missed. And he looked a bit like Sam too, if she squinted.

On that note, she hoped nothing else would come up. Surely Sam had told his dad about her? Or maybe not, given everything that had happened between them. Well, if Sam hadn’t said anything, Jodi sure as hell would give out to him about her later.

“Well, I just thought I’d introduce myself,” he said, turning away from the front door. Casually, his face still deadpan, he turned back. “Although, one thing. Next time you run to the door, cover yourself with a blanket that doesn’t have holes in it. See you around.”

Looking down, Clodagh saw immediately what Kent meant. She’d grabbed her crochet blanket, and she’d definitely given this poor man something to ogle at.

Feck!

Now safely inside and making herself a coffee in the kitchen, Clodagh tried to shake off the urge to feed herself into the worm bin outside. Despite complaining that the locals didn’t read her sign, she’d missed every single one from Kent on the way down. The mermaid pendant, Sam’s comments about his dad being in the military, and his coming back soon. Feck, even the way he looked!

This wouldn’t have happened if people didn’t call round at such an ungodly hour, she thought.

Maybe I should make another sign!