#are carrots good for memory

[accesshealthcarephysicians]

Benefits of Carrots in Your Daily Diet - Access Health Care Physicians, LLC

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[starpros-sunshine]

"Eichi I want to be the real thing, the real bluebird of happiness that you were unable to obtain in the past. Being more realistic than the real thing is precisely what makes a supreme actor, after all.

But even if I were to prepare a hundred million words now, I am sure they'd mean nothing to you. So allow me to express my feelings through actions instead.

This time I will ensure that you won't misunderstand anything. In a way that is simple and easy to understand, allow me to express everything that I am.

Eichi. Please accept this."

"A mask? Isn't this a precious object of yours? Part of your collection?"

"Indeed. This is me, and I offer this to you."

[hauntingblue]

Whole cake island I love you I think

[mekatrio]

poptropica is being shut down

[strewbi]

GODDAMN I MAKE A GOOD SOUP! FUCK I MAKE A GOOD SOUP!

[battywitch]

🥺

[daycourtofficial]

Never seen that color blue

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 4.5k | Warnings: smut, PIV, unprotected sex, fingering, angst city baby population: me

Summary: follow up to 'I pretend you're mine all the damn time'. You and Azriel return home from that fateful mission. How will you two cope with your recent discoveries?

Author’s note: eeeek everyone loved part one and I was so happy bc I adored it so much and I was so glad to see such a good response!!! Anyway shout out to Hope @prythianpages she’s a real one she helped me with some plot stuff thank you thank you 🥰

Your sighs lived in Azriel’s ears, carried on the wind by his shadows. How they carried it he’s not sure - your sighs were left behind, echoing through the hall in that Illyrian camp he unceremoniously left.

He was so used to using his shadows as a shield to hide at least some part of himself. They had disappeared that night, making it impossible for him to hide the way you shine in his thoughts. The way everything he does brings him back to you. Before, he hadn't realized just how much of his life revolved around you - you had crept into the crevices of the day to day monotony of living together. 

Every day he’d make some snide comment to Cassian, waiting to tell you about it so he could watch you scrunch your nose and laugh at whatever response Cassian had. If he was lucky, you’d throw out a hand onto his bicep, his skin immediately tattooing your touch into his memory.

Every day he would help you make lunch, stealing the occasional strawberry. You would swat at him, calling him a 'berry burglar'. It was a title he wore with pride, even more so when you had made him a ridiculous party hat for his birthday with the moniker across the top.

Every day during dinner you would steal something from his plate, whether it be a carrot or potato or bite of meat. You would say it was retribution for what he stole during lunch, and he’d allow it, a small smile on his face at your thieving.

From the entire flight home to now, two weeks later, his skin had remained on fire from your touch. Every nerve ending screamed your name, your scent, your heat. His thoughts were consumed by you previously, but now it was as if every thought had a backing track of your voice, your skin, your touch.

He tried to ignore it, tried to push it down, down, down. But every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts kept going back to the obscenities of that day. The way you looked as you rode him, how you laid yourself bare before him. The curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts. Your legs on either side of him, your mouth on his. The way your fingers touched his wings.

Gods, your fingers. How delicately you had touched him, as if he had ever been a fragile creature deserving of such tenderness. He had never let anyone touch his wings before, determined to leave some part of himself untouched if the Mother would ever bless him with a mate.

He doesn't care much about that now.

The images tortured him, finding him everywhere he went. At meals, in the shower, as he roamed the halls searching for your scent while still avoiding you. The worst was when he slept, he only dreamt of that night over and over again. He became insatiable. He was terrible for fisting his cock to the way you felt around him, the moans you made, how beautiful you had looked bare before him.

He was terrible for it not making a difference. He’d finish, shame and embarrassment coating him as his cock would immediately get hard again.

He didn’t know how to convey that he wanted more. He wanted you, all of you. Not when he practically forced himself on you once before. Not when he was burying himself away in his room, hiding in his shadows in the places in between, to avoid even a glimpse of you.

-

The flight home from that mission was the worst experience of your life. The only sound was the wind whipping around you two, his grip on you barely there. He kept you as far from his body as he could, and you couldn’t blame him. You had just violated him, for cauldron’s sake. And yet, your skin thrummed where his body made contact with yours, even through the multiple layers of leathers between you two.

The wind whipped into your eyes, making them an even harsher shade of red. The debrief with Rhys didn't even register to you, you couldn't recall a single moment of it even if you tried. Explanations of the mission were given from both you and Azriel, but the high lord knew something was wrong between you two.

Your eyes downcast to the floor, your thumb rubbing the skin of your other hand seeking some comfort. Azriel's wings twitched every so often, the only tell Rhys has ever been able to figure out from his brother.

You expected Azriel to tell Rhysand of your actions, asking him to execute you on the spot. You’d deserve nothing less.

But those words never came.

The meeting went by in a blur - your only memory of it is the back of Azriel's wings as you both left Rhys's office. The membranous skin was so close, and now you knew what it felt like. How incredibly smooth it felt as your fingers glided over the veins, feeling where his bones were underneath.

Your hands itched to reach out to feel them again. Instead you watched the back of him until he retreated into the room opposite your own, closing the door quickly behind him. Leaving you, yet again, alone, with more questions than ever before on the wrong side of the door, the answers you need behind it.

You considered knocking, bringing your hand up to the oak finish of his door. You hold your fist in the air, ready to strike, when you can't bring yourself to do it. Instead, you lower your arm, softly padding into the room across the hall, seeking comfort in your own bed.

You woke up the next day after a fitful sleep, one of dreams haunted by the male who slept across the hall from you. You moved to your bathroom, surveying your body in the aftermath of the mission. Not much bruising from the actual mission, but you were littered with Azriel’s touch.

You can make out all of his fingers on the bruising on your hips, your knees battered from the harsh desk you kneeled atop.

You’re sure Azriel’s back is littered with similar bruising.

Neither of you mentioned what happened in that room to anyone.

A week passes by, neither of you were brave enough to talk to the other or to anyone else. You don’t even see Azriel, not even a glimpse of his scent lingered in the hallways of the House of Wind.

You asked Cassian, and he told you that Azriel’s been around the house, but you two must be missing each other. You miss the curious gaze Cassian gives you, taking in your dark eyes, comparing them to the same bags underneath his brother’s eyes.

After you left, Cassian kept thinking about you and the sad look in your eyes as you said his brother’s name. He kept thinking as he continued making his lunch, thinking about how strangely the two of you had been acting for the past week.

Today marked an entire week since either you or Azriel have shown up to Valkyrie training. He was well aware that the training was somewhat optional, and that you two missed it whenever you were away on missions. But you were here in the house, you just came by to speak with him, but you wouldn’t come to training.

Cassian sighed, feeling like he was losing his godsdamn mind over the realization that something was wrong. Because it wasn’t just training. It was dinners, lunches, drinks, everything. At this point Cassian could be convinced fairly easily that the two of you moved out.

He huffed, knowing he’d have to do something about this mess. He was always cleaning up his brother's messes when it came to females. Rhys and Azriel just didn’t understand them the way Cassian did.

The opportunity for Cassian to act came when he happened across Azriel in an unused room in the House of Wind doing paperwork. He quickly slipped away, not wanting Azriel to catch wind of him being nearby and to leave abruptly.

He ran down to the kitchen, searching for you. He pulled you off your stool, telling you he had something important to show you. 

“Shh, come on, you gotta be quiet or it’ll ruin the surprise.”

You rolled your eyes, but allowed him to slip you through the halls. He walked down one of the house's many hallways, stopping in front of a door you actually weren’t sure where it led to. Cassian opened the door and pushed you inside.

You hear the lock on the other side twist, shutting you inside. You turn around, trying the handle, only to find it not budging. You turn on the spot, resting your back against the door. Your palms are sweating as you look over to Azriel, shocked to find him in here. He looked just as bewildered to find you in here as you felt.

Stupid Cassian being a stupid busybody.

Breathe in, breathe out.

You calm yourself enough to open your mouth, only able to get out “Az-“ before the shadowsinger folded into his shadows, his hazel eyes the last thing you saw before he began disappearing before you. Your breaths become more ragged as you sink down to the floor, the reality of the situation sinking in.

He hated you.

And he should.

He couldn’t even stay in the same room as you.

Your voice is soft after you spend a few moments searching for it. “Cassian, please,” you whimper through the door, “he’s gone.”

Cassian unlocks the door, wide eyed looking down at you sitting on the floor. You can’t look at him, slowly rising back onto your feet. The shame, the embarrassment floods you as you walk past him, not answering his questions or his confused gaze.

You open the door to your room, laying down in bed and just crying. He won’t even look at you after what you’ve done to him.

Cauldron, what have you done? 

Cassian stops by at some point, dropping off some water and some food. You have no idea what time it is, you don’t hear whatever it is he says, hardly register his presence as he climbs into your bed, pulling you into his warm chest. 

It was then you broke your silence, repeating, “I fucked up, he won’t even look at me” over and over until you eventually wore yourself out.

You woke up the next day, eyes puffy from crying all night.

You know what you have to do, but you don’t want to. You get dressed, heading through the house to Cassian’s door. You knock swiftly, head swiveling down the hall to ensure Azriel isn’t lingering about. Nesta opens the door, her hair wet from her fresh from training bath.

“Can we talk?”

-

After explaining your thoughts and plans to them, both of them against your ideas but still not knowing exactly why you feel the need to do this, Cassian flies you to the River House, dropping you off to speak with Rhys while he goes and spends some time with Feyre.

You knock on the door to Rhys’s office, and he quickly opens the door letting you in before leaning against his desk, bracing his hands behind him.

You sit in the chair across from him, nervously twisting one of your rings trying to figure out how to start this conversation, when Rhys’s voice interrupts your thoughts.

“You want to leave.”

Stupid Cassian butting in again.

“Is this because of-“ he twirls his hands around in the air- “whatever’s going on between you and Azriel?”

There’s no point in hiding it anymore.

“Yes.”

Your tone is flat, trying to keep it together when all you want to do is fall apart. Everything was wrong, so so so wrong.

“And you think running away will fix your problems?”

“I’m not running away,” your tone becomes more defensive, “I messed up, he won’t look at me anymore, I’m giving him space.”

“How long will you give him this space?”

“However long it takes me to be able to look in the mirror again.”

Rhys’s smugness deflates, a pang echoing through him about all of the shitty choices he was forced to make on behalf of someone else.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you added, “I’m just moving into a different house. I’ll be in the same city. It’s not a big deal.”

His eyes bore into yours, “if it’s not such a big deal, you can do it.”

“Thanks, but I wasn’t really asking permission-“

“But you have to tell him.”

-

Later that night you open the door to Azriel’s room, dashing in and softly shutting the door behind you before placing your body in front of it.

The room was one you’ve spent countless hours in - Azriel considered you to be the only member of the Inner Circle he trusted enough to share his private space with, an inclusion that you valued greatly.

The walls were a beautiful shade of blue, deep and rich like the ocean singing to you from the shore. The walls held a few paintings from Feyre - one depicting Ramiel, one a portrait of some of his shadows, and one a sweet moment when the two of you had fallen asleep together on a couch, Azriel’s body draped across yours, wings covering the couch and the tips touching the floor.

She had given it to him privately, because she knew Cassian would surely have some choice words about it. You hadn’t been there when she gifted it to him, but you do remember how his eyes couldn’t meet yours the first time you saw it as he called it ‘cute’.

Azriel was sitting at his desk, papers strewn across it, hair mused from running his fingers through it.

He looked up, his face scrunching at the sight of you in his room. His eyes narrow, trying to discern if this was real or not. He scans your body, looking for some indication that this wasn’t real, that his mind was still playing tricks on him.

“We need to talk,” looking up to the ceiling, you started pacing around his room, trying to block out his smell, the heat from his gaze, as you tried to remember the speech you had prepared about how it would be good for the both of you to have space.

Azriel’s demeanor shifts, “yes, we do.”

You start wringing your hands, needing something to do with them. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish, desperate to find the words to start your rambling.

“I assaulted you.”

Okay, not the best first words. Azriel’s face doesn’t change as he watches you try again.

“I’m leaving.”

Still not great words.

“I took advantage of you, when we were in that room. I assaulted you and Rhys should throw a noose over my neck for it.”

Azriel tries to interrupt, but you stop him.

“There was no way you could have actually consented to that. You were out of your mind, and I took advantage of you. You were needy and I used you for my own gratification and it’s killing me. And I know it’s killing you. You can’t even look at me, for cauldron’s sake!”

Your feet move of their own accord, pacing in front of the door, unable to look at the male before you.

“You- I-,” you don’t want to tell him, not like this, but you need to air everything out before letting him go completely. You turn to face him, his expression unreadable.

“I’m in love with you. I have been for cauldron knows how long. And I- I thought I was helping you, but now you can’t even look at me and when you walked out I realized that I fucked up and let my feelings cloud my judgement-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.”

Azriel’s words put an end to your rambling, making his way over to you.

“What are you talking about? I forced your hand - you felt obligated to help me-“

It was at this point you both began speaking over each other, trying to get the other to see how awful you were in your decisions.

“-but I practically pinned you down-“

“-held you down on my-“

“-you were out of your mind-“

“-drunk on lust-“

Neither of you stop until a shadow comes whirling by, pushing both of you forward unsteadily. Hands reach out to catch each other, yours falling onto his chest. 

“But I- I told Rhys I was moving out for a while, to give you space.”

“I don’t want space.”

You shake your head, not allowing yourself to believe his words, “but you’ve been avoiding me for weeks now, I thought.. I thought you hated me.”

Azriel’s hand tentatively moved up to your cheek, cupping your jaw, “I thought you find me repulsive for forcing you to… help me.”

“No,” you say, hands resting on his hips, “I don’t find you repulsive at all. Do you think I’m a monster?”

He snorts, “no, no.”

The two of you keep your gazes locked, the room charged with emotion. Even his shadows were still, allowing the circulation of the room to move them as they waited to hear what you two said next.

Azriel’s voice is quiet, his words coming out in a soft exhale, “I haven’t been able to get the sight of you out of my head.”

Your palms pressed against his chest, the ends of your fingers curling to grasp onto him. His fingers tangle in the ends of your hair, lightly grasping it.

“The past week, I could close my eyes and swear I could still feel you on top of me.”

You stop breathing at his words.

“You’ve been following me around like a ghost. I’ve hardly slept. All I can think of is how good I felt wrapped up in you - how it felt to be inside of you."

When you think of this night years later, you can never exactly figure out who moved forward first. Maybe it doesn’t really matter whose lips were the ones to make first contact.

The kisses you shared under Azriel’s drugged haze were rushed, desperate, laced with years of yearning underneath a haze of burning need.

Now it was all pressure, putting everything into the kiss you haven’t said. The words would come later. As would the many, many nights of staying up, words of adoration flowing between you two.

Tonight was about rewriting history, redoing previous touches.

For weeks all you could think of was him, his moans floating through your mind like a song. You woke to the sound, and it lulled you to sleep each night. Hearing those moans again made you ache with need, as if your one night together had already conditioned you.

You open your eyes to watch his darken with need, pupils blown wide. You grabbed the front of Azriel’s shirt, pulling him as close to you as possible.

You started pulling his shirt out from his trousers, reaching your hands around the back to undo the snaps underneath his wings. You start pushing the fabric up, and Azriel breaks away from you just enough to pull the shirt over his head.

His lips are immediately back on yours, a new urgency to his touch as his hands move to your ass. His hands squeeze the flesh as you bite his bottom lip.

His fingers tap twice, urging you to jump up, hooking your legs around his waist, your dress pooling at your hips.

He presses you into the wall, his mouth moving down your jaw, down your neck, down your chest. You move your fingers up to his hair, tugging lightly as he sucks on the top of your breasts, leaving a litter of hickeys across what he can see.

His hands reach down, mouth still on you, and he lifts the hem of your dress, pulling your head from the wall so he can pull your dress off.

He gazes at you, eyes heavy with lust as they roam your body, your underwear the only thing covering you. He smirks as he pushes his hips back into yours, causing you to moan at the contact.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles, and you’re not sure if it was something he meant to say out loud or not, but your cheeks blaze with heat just the same. 

His lips reattached to yours, and you slid your hands back down his torso just enough for him to slam his hips into you, causing your eyes to roll back with need.

You start digging into his skin lightly with your nails, and he goes back to kissing your neck. Your fingers find the strings to his pants, which you try to start undoing, but he keeps thrusting against you, distracting you.

“Stop,” you say, breathy, “let me- undo- your pants.” He accented every other word with a thrust, leaving you breathless and soaked.

“I’m gonna- cum from this- if you don’t stop.”

His eyes light up, one of his hands holding you against the wall, the other sliding up your waist to your breast.

“Is that a challenge?” 

“N-no.”

His fingers circle your nipple, pinching lightly causing you to moan at the sensation, hips thrusting with more intensity against Azriel.

“See, I think it’d be pretty hot if you came in your underwear.”

“But I- want to be- on your cock.”

“Oh but you are, baby.”

Your hands gripped his hips as you grind harder and faster onto him, feeling yourself tighten, getting closer, and closer, and closer.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me.”

His words sent you toppling over the edge, loud moans escaping you as he held you up. Your face fell into his shoulder, and he rubbed your back.

He kissed the top of your head, moving his hands under your thighs to carry you to the bed. He collapsed onto it with you on top of him, slowly coming down from your high.

You breathe heavily on his chest, kissing his neck and down his chest as your hands move down the planes of his stomach. Fingers move through his happy trail, stopping to lightly tug on the waistband of his pants.

He lifts his hips so you can shimmy his pants off of him, letting his cock spring free. He groaned at the freedom, his cock hard and throbbing already. He flipped the two of you, his weight now on top of you, his hand sliding up the underside of your thigh leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“You are so beautiful,” he tells you.

"Az," you pant.

His fingers tighten their grip on your hip, "yes, baby?"

"Please touch me."

"So polite," he says, his fingers circling your clit. You moan at the contact, hiding your face in his neck. He quickly nips your ear, eliciting a gasp from you. “Eyes on me, baby. I want to see you.”

You bite his neck in retaliation, and he laughed as you pulled your face from his neck, his fingers tilting your chin to look at him. His thumb gently caressed your jaw as his other hand continued stroking your clit.

His fingers were divine, but as his eyes stared into yours, nothing existed outside of the two of you. Your hand moved down his chest, scraping your nails against his toned torso. The action caused his fingers to stutter slightly, but as he felt your hand move closer to his hips, he started moving faster. 

He shuddered as your hand wrapped around his cock, your thumb stroking from the base to his tip. His movements falter at the distraction and his eyes darkened even further.

“Fuck,” he moaned, biting his lip.

You grin, his distraction spurring you on. You lifted your hips up, sliding your underwear off before settling back down onto the bed. His weight is nestled back on top of you, the two of you staring at each other. Your hand moves some of his hair out of his face, then moved gently to hold his face.

“We can’t go back after this.”

“I don’t want to go back.”

With his words, he slides his cock into you, feeling just as good as you remembered.

“I can’t go back.”

His words come out clipped as he thrusts into you slowly, stretching you so deliciously. You moan at his movements, causing him to go faster. His face is inches from yours, his warm breath hitting your face.

Shadows enveloped around the two of you, making a cocoon of sorts. To keep the world out or the words in, you’re not sure. All you know is this moment with Azriel.

“I can’t go back to not knowing what it’s like to have you.”

His hips thrusted inside of you, and you wrapped your legs around him. The bed moved with his thrusts, and some deep part of you wonders how loud you’re being.

You can’t find it in yourself to care.

“How can I go back to keeping my feelings to myself?”

You grip his shoulder, your nails digging into skin, and you’re sure you’ve sliced through skin, but he doesn’t register the pain at all.

“How can I go back to not knowing how good your pussy felt around me?”

You moan and he leant down to capture the sound in a kiss. The sounds in the room were obscene - the moans flowing from both of you, the headboard hitting the wall absurdly hard, the wet squelching. Neither of you cared. 

You kept kissing him, hands on his shoulders trying to pull him closer and closer towards you. One of his hands moved down to rub at your clit, and that extra contact was all you needed to send you over, the pressure releasing from your belly as you came around him.

You could feel how close he was, his thrusts becoming faster and more erratic.

“I love you, Az.”

You’re not sure if you said them because you felt it or because you thought it would make him finish, but your words sent him over, his hot cum spurting inside of you. You were seeing stars, tangible thought outside of Azriel’s name impossible in the wake of your second orgasm.

Azriel collapsed on top of you, his cock still inside of you. His wings lay stretched out on the bed over you two, his arms wrapped around you, keeping you tucked in beneath him.

You wiggle your hands free to cradle his face before your hands move to the back of his neck, playing with the hairs there. After a moment he pulls his head up enough to look at you.

“Too tired for a bath?”

You smile at him, shaking your head slightly. At the movement, the house begins drawing a bath in the other room. He pushes himself off the bed before lifting you in his arms, kissing you softly on the forehead.

“Are you still moving out?” 

You sound pensive as he carries you to the bath, “I could be persuaded to stay…”

Tagging everyone who asked for part two: @sirenpearldust , @thatacotargirl , @justrepostandlove , @yearninglustfully, @heartless-tate , @nocasdatsgay , @anainkandpaper , @acourtofbatboydreams , @goldenmagnolias , @je-suis-prest-rachel , @cauldronboilmetakemetovelaris, @lolasjournal , @kalulakunundrum , @daardyrnitta , @starseedsamurai , @nahimgoodmom , @persephonesalvatore, @hannzoaks , @rinalouu , @bookdragon1, @username199945 , @charlotteintumbleland , @kscyberwrld , @blacktreacle22

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher , @lees-chaotic-brain , @topaz125, @chessebookgirl, @fides25, @lady-of-tearshed , @ashbatz , @fxckmiup , @lilah-asteria, @justvibbinghere, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @mybestfriendmademe, @heartless-tate, @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry, @olive-main, @azrielsmate3 , @pit-and-the-pen

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading 💕

[theambitiouswoman]

Health Benefits of Various Foods 🍓🥑🥥🥦

1. Coconut: is good for the brain

2. Avocado: is good for the skin

3. Eggplant: is good for the bones

4. Broccoli: is good for the eyes

5. Peach: is good for the heart

6. Carrot: is good for estrogen balance

7. Strawberry: is good for pregnancy

8. Mushroom: is good for the adrenals

9. Grape: is good for the lungs

10. Olive: is good for the ovaries

11. Onion: is good for the cells

12. Ginger: is good for digestion

13. Blueberry: is good for memory

14. Walnut: is good for the brain

15. Spinach: is good for the muscles

16. Tomato: is good for the skin

17. Banana: is good for the heart

18. Pumpkin Seed: is good for prostate health

19. Salmon: is good for the eyes

20. Garlic: is good for the immune system

21. Turmeric: is good for inflammation

22. Chia Seed: is good for digestion

[sorcerous-caress]

could u possibly do how companions would treat tav's kid? like in a situation where a tav had a child/younger sibling or smth. fluffy fluff all around

You know how sometimes fate aligns so that your past deeds follow you into the future? This request gave me a flashback to my old writing blog.

Companions reacting to Tav's younger sibling/child

[ bg3, fluff, several characters ]

[ Astarion, Gale, Wyll, Halsin, Karlach, Laezel, Shadowheart, Minthara ]

Astarion

What on earth is that little gremlin following you around? Just make sure that no one feeds it after midnight.

To say he's not a fan is a huge underestimation, he signed up for a camp full of hot available single adults and not a daycare. How are you expecting him to be his usual self when a pg13 warning keeps chasing you around.

Whatever, he will just ignore the goblin-like thing. He can do that, how hard can it be?

Well...actually now that some time has passed, he has to admit that the little menace is really funny at times. Especially that one time he stole Gale's books to build a book throne in the mud, Astarion swears he could still hear Gale's heart shattering into a million pieces, what a fond memory.

What? Pfff, no, he isn't getting attached. He just...well was doing some trick with a coin to make it disappear, and the kid happened to be nearby, Astarion definitely wasn't trying to impress them.

Now the thing about picking locks is that it's better to teach them young. Think of all the small places, nooks, and crannies they could fit into, bringing them some loot and actually be useful.

And since he's already bothering to do it, might as well teach them how to wield a bow. Properly wield a bow, not like how Wyll does it no, it requires elegance only an elf is capable of and Astarion is the most expert here to train them.

Did you see that? They're actually getting better. He genuinely is impressed, so much that he doesn't register the smile of pride adorning his face, the excitement in his voice as he boasts about the kid's accomplishment and how they're clearly superior than the other crotch goblins.

Gale

Ah, children, truly the future of mankind. Humanity's hope and the ones who will carry the torch after us.

He is almost giddy at the idea of having an impressionable youth to teach, to steer and to spoil rotten like he was spoiled.

Will show off magic tricks nonchalantly, he definitely has a hidden agenda in trying to make the kid a wizard. After all who is better than him, an arch wizard, to teach a new curious soul about all the wonders of the weave? No magic is too advanced, everything is possible with imagination.

If anything, kids have the best imagination, better than adults do. Which is the argument he uses when you ask him why your little one can shoot invisible fireballs now.

He would love to read to them, he has all kinds of stories about heros, past legends and fables that will guarantee them a safe and sound mind. A healthy mindest to nurture then into a good kind hearted adult.

Even when his books end up the subject of the kid's abuse kind of a lot- Gale is nothing but forgiving. Cut the kid some slack, if anything, Gale is happy they are safe and sound.

Would make special meals for the kid during dinner time a lot, bunny shaped carrot cuts or soup with a sparkly finish. He can even teach them some basic recipes, cooking is a very important life skill afterall.

Wyll

He is very experienced with kids. Feels a bit concerned for the fact they're at camp all alone and volunteers to stay behind and watch them. And no, unlike the previous two, he doesn't try to indoctrinate them into elf supremacy culture nor tactically manipulate them into being a wizard.

He just lets them be a kid, plays ball with them. Shows them how to play fetch with Scratch. Overall a very cool and laid back older brother.

He definitely takes great inspiration from his own dad and how he raised him, offers the same advice and wisdom his own father shared with him.

Shows the kid that life is so much more than it seems, nothing is truly evil and nothing is truly good. Both can be found in each other. He treats the kid with respect and doesn't pull the older than you card unless necessary.

He wants them to establish their own being, their own character and carve their own path in life.

Definitely does whatever he can to keep Mizora away from the child. That devil cannot be trusted, and even while he knows the kid is smart, he doesn't want to leave it up to fate whether Mizora tricks them into a pact or not.

Halsin

The kid adores him and all of his animal forms. Halsin indulges them a lot and changes into whatever wildshape they deem the coolest that day to play with them.

When he looks at them, he sees a seed for the future. It requires care and nurturing to grow properly, and he is willing to make this world a better place for them.

Shows them how important nature is, how we should take care of the world just like it takes care of us. How we should respect the plants and the animals, how every meal is a gift and should be treasured.

He has a very fatherly vibe to him. It comes naturally, and he doesn't even have to try. Whenever the kid feels overwhelmed or scared, it's Halsin they run up and hide behind.

Also, when they get in trouble too because they know Halsin will take their side.

And he knows the kid is using him sometimes, but he lets it slide. Takes the kid on walks a lot, helps them make friends with the nearby cat that sometimes frequents the camp.

There is a potted plant they're both growing, a small shared project between the two of them. Halsin adores the look of happiness the kid has whenever the plant sprouts a new leaf and grows taller.

They don't have to know that it was Halsin's powers keeping it alive throughout the frequent changing of their camp and consistent travelling.

Karlach

Little soldier is what she calls them.

Picks them up a lot after her engine gets fixed, let's them ride on her shoulder and hang on to her horns sometimes. Even indulges them and pretends she is a robot that they're controlling.

Sorry Astarion, she can't stop hugging you. She's a simple robot, and the overlord kid on her shoulders demanded it.

While Wyll is the cool yet dependable older sibling, Karlach is the even cooler one who's very chaotic and would help the kid in their pranks and cause trouble a lot.

Ah, what the hell kid, sure you can pick up her great flaming axe and swing it around. Actually she will use a nearby table as a shield and you should definitely try throwing it at her.

It's not that she means to be a bad influence, it's just that she is extremely indulgent. That it circles back to being a bad influence without meaning to.

They want to only eat sweets for dinner and all day? Hell yeah little soldier she wants the same. They want to do it for the rest of eternity and never eat vegetables again? Sign her the fuck up because she is ride or die.

Oh yeah, your kid/sibling can swear now, thanks to her, you're welcome.

Jaheira

Is the one feeding them the vegetables, after telling Karlach off and putting her in the timeout corner.

It's not enough that she has a gaggle of children back home, but you had to bring another one with you to the camp? Oh cub, you and your own little cub are going to be the death of her.

If Halsin thinks he can hide them behind his bear form he better think twice, Jaheira isn't below putting the both of them in line if she has to.

She demands respect, and the kid definitely ends up giving it to her, begrudgingly or not. They understand she is the true form of authority in this camp and that they better do what she says and finish their chores.

They definitely see her as a grandma. She is secretly touched if they call her that but acts unaffected. She just doesn't want to let the kid down. She has to be strict because medicine never tastes sweet.

They remind her of her own kids backhome sometimes, she does get homesick a lot more with them around.

Shadowheart

No, she isn't emo. No, she isn't goth either. What is this kid talking about? They better know that worship of lady Shar is very sacred and not a passing phase she will grow out of.

You know how kids are overly curious and always ask these intrusive questions? Shadowheart is a magnet for that.

They just go up to her ,unannounced, and tell her about the recent camp news. She sips on her wine and gives the kid a glass of grape juice while they gossip.

Yes, she is a half elf. No, she is still as capable as an elf.

Wait, what did Astarion say about her? Really? Well, kid, thanks for being a snitch now. If you'd excuse her, she has urgent business to take care of.

She sees them and wonder if this is how her childhood was supposed to be like, if this is what she was missing out on all her life. Sometimes she can't help the burning envy at the back of her throat as she watches them be showered with love and care for simply existing.

But she doesn't let the bitterness get to her, not with how the kid looks at her in awe and admiration. She vows to be at least a decent example and not disappoint them.

Laezel

If left unattended, she will start a boot camp. Come one kid, get down, and give her 40 push-ups now.

What? She is just looking out for them. How else are they supposed to join the battlefield if they have no upper body strength?

Yes, the battlefield, why do you ask? Of course, she wants them in the front lines eventually. War is the perfect environment to raise a child, to make them strong and fast. You were very smart for bringing them here with you, she has to admit.

Bah, she scoofs at Karlach and Astarion's ways. It is a danger hazard at best. The kid needs to start with training equipment and not actual weapons. Her companions' lack of braincells does surprise her sometimes.

Well...she also does mention the fact that for them to graduate, they have to actually murder someone from the camp. You know, like how she murdered half her classmates when she was still in training.

She actually...does a good job at training them safely, she evaluates their weakness and strengths and gives them advice based on it on how to improve. She looks out for their well-being and shows them the most efficient way to end a fight.

But she's only joking? Right? Right???

Uh....did anyone see Gale??

Minthara

To put it in the nicest way possible, they are terrfied of her.

She thinks it's good because any sane person should be afraid of her. Frankly, she'd be concerned for a possibility of brain damage if they weren't.

They avoid her, and she barely pats an eye over it.

Although she was always the first to act whenever they were in danger, completely beheading the enemy with her sword before they could touch a hair on the kid. Still she doesn't care for the fact the child is drenched in blood and just saw someone get murdered.

She thinks they should get over it. The sooner, the better. Life is full of murder and blood, you'd be only dooming them if you don't let them see things for how they really are.

Drow culture for raising their children is very brutal, most of them die young and even the ones who do make it alive, don't live as long as the surface elves do.

Each drow carries deep scars from childhood, both on body and mind. Minthara wasn't the exception.

She tolerates your young out of respect for you. She tolerates what she deems as disobedience and disrespect from them.

You're not sure if they'll ever stop fearing her, but you also know that you can trust her to be there for them. To not hesitate a second in saving their flesh no matter what the cost is.

[undiscovered-horizon]

4 A.M. - Sanji x Reader

SUMMARY: Sanji's doing prep for the next day and you can't sleep which leads to a heartfelt and intimate encounter.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.5k

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

It's around 4 A.M. when you get up from your hammock-turned-cot and decide to find something to do. Sleep clearly isn't coming. The past two hours of staring at the ceiling and swaying with the boat filled you with annoyance at your sudden case of insomnia.

Walking down the narrow corridor of the lower deck, you can hear the tiniest of creaks as the caravel floats along the waves. The night is so quiet, you can almost hear Luffy's snoring from his room. Usopp is mumbling in his sleep. Something about a pirate crew, carrots and onions. Nami and Zoro seem to be peaceful sleepers although with time you've learned that it's only a game of appearances - the thief and the hunter sleep with one eye open.

With each step, you can hear the repetitive sound more clearly. It's quick, separated by scraping.

The low light of the kitchen makes Sanji look almost inhuman, like the spirit of a chief cook who can't let go of the ship he had spent his entire life on. He's still in the same clothes, although the double-breasted jacket is nowhere in sight. The sleeves of his striped shirt are rolled halfway up his forearms. Where he's standing, the lonely lightbulb illuminates only half of his silhouette. The blond man toes the line of visibility as though he might disappear when you blink.

He looks almost divine.

"Can't sleep?" Sanji asks without looking away from the cutting board.

Only then, when he lets you know he's aware of your presence, do you realize you've been leaning against the doorframe and watching him for a good few minutes. Knowing Sanji, he won't think you odd but you're still a little flustered.

"Yeah. You?" you answer. In a few slow steps you're standing next to him, leaning your lower back against the kitchen counter.

For a moment, Sanji looks away from the cutting board and chopped carrots. His eyes stare into yours for a moment. It's nearly an inborn reflex that a wide smile curves his lips when he sees you.

"Not a fan of sleeping alone," he says and winks at you before going back to cutting vegetables.

The blush on your cheeks darkens a few shades (maybe he won't notice in the kitchen's twilight?). Truthfully, you have entertained that thought more than once and wondered whether similar fantasies kept him awake at night too. But you always dismissed them, thinking it wrong to have such intimate dreams regarding someone who might not even reciprocate your fondness. Sanji is, after all, a ladies' man - flowery words leave his mouth whenever a woman is around, no matter if she's taken or not interested.

Still, you believe there is something more between you and Sanji. Sometimes you think you've deluded yourself into believing this but it's moments like these, like the fond silence you're sharing now, that convince you it's not just your imagination:

Most of the time, the conversation between you and Sanji flows like a swift stream. But now, when the two of you are too tired to sleep, the silence is just as good. Even if you're not exchanging words and ambiguous comments, you feel understood. Like he knows you well enough to be able to guess what's on your mind. And you know what he might say in return, all the advice and wax poetic he revels in telling you. It's perfectly strange to converse with someone without saying a single word.

"Wanna see a trick?" you ask, breaking the silence.

Sanji is putting his chopped vegetables into large bowls. The movement of his hands is both careless and calculated as though he's letting his muscle memory take over the very last step of prepping ingredients for the next day's cooking. He's done this so many times, it's useless to think about the action too much.

"You trying to impress me, princess?" he asks in a low voice with a half-grin plastered on his face. The mischievous glint in his eye never quite seems to go away, especially when you're around.

"Nah," you answer, shaking your head, "just practising to show off in front of Zoro."

Sanji tries to pout but a genuine smile is tugging at the corners of his lips. "Cold."

Still, his eyes are glued to you. Though part of you is convinced it's not because you're about to show him a cheap fair trick. You take one of the teaspoons lying around and lift it in front of your face.

"You better not blink," you warn him.

He gives you a strange look.

"And lose precious few seconds of admiring you? Never."

Like most times, you're not sure how much of his sweet words you can believe.

With a quick move of wrists and fingers, you make the teaspoon disappear. After practising for a few days, the sleight of hand is almost flawless.

Sanji nods with appreciation.

“So you’re a magician, eh?” A low chuckle rumbles in his throat. “This explains how come you’ve bewitched me entirely.”

He leans on his arm against the edge of the counter. His head is slightly tilted as he's looking down at you. The lack of space between your bodies wouldn't raise an eyebrow in any other circumstances but now, when the night is dark and silent, the close proximity makes it hard to breathe. Your chests nervously rise and fall as you're breathing in each other's air.

“Truth be told," you begin in a slightly shaky voice, "I don’t know how to reverse the spell I put on you.”

But it seems as though Sanji has seen through your facade of humour and banter. The playful glint in his eyes mellows, becoming something more heartfelt. Your breath gets stuck in your throat and you must remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m quite content doting on you for the rest of my life."

You clench your jaw and look away for a moment. Flirty banter with Sanji is meant to remain just that - half-hearted comments with no strings attached. The problem is that, against your better judgement, you've been letting his wax poetic weigh down heavy on you, savouring each compliment and ambiguous remark like a soft river wearing down an unmovable boulder over time.

“Sanji," you whisper, "you need to stop saying all those nice things.”

“Why?” His voice is just as breathy and quiet.

“Because I’m starting to believe you.”

Something about his expression changes. You can't quite put a finger on it but Sanji's face looks softer, almost somber. His shoulders become tense as he wipes his hands on the dishrag hanging over his shoulder and tosses it on the countertop.

"Would that be so terrible, love?" Sanji drones his words. Part of you is convinced that he already knows the answer. "To believe that my every thought belongs to you?" His eyelids flutter as his gaze falls to your lips. "That I would tear out my own heart and bring it to you in my teeth if you asked for it?"

The short silence feels unbearable. You can hear your own heart thundering in your chest, beating at your ribcage to finally be freed. To let it make the decision this time.

“Alright, you’ve done it," you whisper more to yourself than to him.

You can hear Sanji sharply inhaling when you grab the collar of his elegant shirt and pull him into a feverish kiss. He tastes like cigarettes and spearmint chewing gum. His shirt is imbued with the smell of cooking oil. All of those strong aromas you've learned to associate with comfort and security.

His lips move against yours with passion and desperation known only to those who made friends with longing. Sanji places his hands around your waist, pulling you even closer to his body. If he could pull you just a little more, merge the two of you into one union, he wouldn't have to go a second without you.

Then, Sanji pulls just an inch away. His hot, heavy breath brushes against your cheeks. Swollen, red lips look even more enticing than they did before.

"Are you really going to woo Zoro with a magic trick?" he asks, somewhat tense.

Your laughter brightens up the dead of night. Sanji feels like his chest is about to burst open with flowers blooming inside his ribcage where his heart should be. And it would have been if he hadn't given it to you the moment you met.

"Just shut up."

Shaking your head, you kiss him again. Still holding you close, Sanji pushes you against the kitchen counter. One of his hands leaves your waist only to rest against the side of your head to deepen the kiss.

It's around 4 A.M. when you wonder whether being in love is like having a song stuck in your head. Or like an echo that forever repeats a single name.

[fangsandfeels]

I've seen the "Non-ascended Astarion ending is bad for him because you have to persuade him to reject the ritual" opinion...

..implying that he never really wanted not to ascend, it's you the player who selfishly forces him to give up on his goal. To prove their point, they state that you can get a good ending out of all other companion's quests without using Persuasion at all, except for Astarion.

And boy did I want to talk about this...

(In fact, everything I wanted to say has already been told in this amazing meta post, but I still gotta ramble)

First of all, Astarion was going through an intense PTSD. The game gave him a debuff to show how badly going back to the place of his torment was affecting him. Larian couldn't make it more obvious that he wasn't thinking clearly.

Second, there is one thing all abusers have in common: they destroy their victim's feelings of self-worth to the point, the victim no longer wants or knows how to ask for help or have relationships outside their abusive circle.

Who would want you like this? Look at yourself, you think you're better than me? You're nothing. Who would want to waste their time on you? You think somebody else would treat you better?

Since entering the Cazador's palace, Astarion is reliving his worst moments. Initially, he takes it in stride, hiding his discomfort underneath performative and emotional expressiveness. He talks about how he spent time in the bedrooms where he never did any sleeping, about the kennels where he was tortured, about the barracks where he was sent to when he "deserved neither carrot nor stick". Bad memories, but he shares them with Tav because he trusts them with his scars already. They might as well know the rest.

But after descending into the dungeon, Astarion starts spiraling into self-loathing at a break-neck speed. He used to think that all Cazador victims he ever brought to him were long gone, drained, and discarded. A horrible, undeserved death, yet the thought of them not having to suffer for too long was a small consolation, one of the threads holding his sanity together.

But then it turns out that they weren't dead. They were turned. Locked away deep underground, alone with their new selves, with the hunger and isolation. They did suffer. All these years, they suffered, buried in this tomb - because of him. Cazador may have turned them, but it was Astarion who brought them to him. And they remembered it. They recognized him. The monster who stole them from their home. The monster who ruined their life. Monster. Just like Cazador.

So, as if his PTSD wasn't enough, this revelation was another blow to his grip on himself, his perception of himself. His confident facade was shattering - and in his head, he was starting to think that Tav's idea of him, of who he is, was shattering as well. He tried to warn them before. He said he couldn't be what they saw in him. Whatever person they believed him to be had never existed - and Tav was finally coming to realize that as they walked through the gallery of his sins, looking his victims in the eyes and hearing out what they had to say. Of course, Tav hated him now. They had to. How could they not?

So, at the end, he is scared. Terrified. He bit off more than he could chew by walking into the manor and thinking he had only six fellow spawns to deal with. He saw their lives as a small price to pay because Cazador made sure to erase any solidarity between them. He made them torture each other and compete with each other. He twisted the very meaning of family bonds to his perverted liking, and he knew that by doing so, he would make sure every single one of them would get a whiplash from anyone trying to mention family in a positive connotation. Astarion takes no issue with getting rid of his "brothers" and "sisters" because he is fully aware that had the roles been reversed, they would have sacrificed him without a second thought. And he was certain that Tav would change their mind once they learned more about his brethren.

But the spawns in the dungeon...All the faces he remembered. All the lovers he lured. They did nothing wrong. They never hurt him. They never tortured him. Their only mistake was to trust him.

The revelation horrifies him. His first response is to be shocked, overwhelmed with emotion - and then he has to remind himself that sacrifices must be made. He feigns indifference. He tries to cover his internal conflict with gallows humor. But his flippant mask keeps slipping as he lapses from indifference to anger, to guilt, to begging Tav not to hate him as his greatest crimes glare back at him and claw at him, shouting out threats and seething with hatred.

He can't bear the thought of dealing with all the people whose lives he helped to destroy. He can't do anything for them. Just killing Cazador won't undo what he did to them. He will never be anything but a monster in their eyes. And this is what he deserves to be. He will always be reminded of what he is.

He has no choice but to do the Ritual.

He has no idea what will happen to him after he is done - he isn't a planner. He has never been. But at this point, he doesn't see his soul as something worthy of preserving - and by association, he extends that to other spawns. He knows it all too well because he remembers how it felt. He dissociates, projecting everything he hated about himself onto Cazador's victims, trying to rationalize why he should live and why they must die while he actively avoids the truth.

Completing the ritual is no longer about being free. Or protecting himself and his lover. It's about running away. Even when Astarion has Cazador at his mercy, he still thinks of running away. Getting lost forever. So nobody could ever hurt him.

A part of him even realizes that it means running away from Tav too. But Tav can leave, he naively thinks, not knowing the full consequences of the ritual. Tav will leave to find someone else, someone better, and he will start everything anew, a king of his castle.

So, of course, Tav has to reach out to him through that thick haze of fear, anger, and self-hatred. Persuasion isn't about strongarming someone into doing what you want. It's not subjugation or emotional blackmail. It's reasoning with someone. And that is exactly what Tav does - reasons with Astarion after watching him mentally struggle, after seeing his genuine shock and fear, after understanding that he isn't fully on board with the idea.

It's true, vampire spawns tend to gravitate toward power, especially if nothing is pulling them back. A vampire spawn is a feared and scorned creature - it no longer matters whether they were an unwilling victim, forcefully taken and turned. They are seen not as an individual but as the extension of their master - and the only natural transition for them is to get on the top of the food chain. The only way to make a name and become treated as something more.

Astarion saw power as the mean to safety and freedom, first and foremost. Ironically, he never planned beyond securing these two priorities. He never saw himself after accomplishing his goals, and it's kinda amazing how people can make conclusions about his hedonism because he misses petty vanities, wants to drink blood from a goblet, and sleep on silken sheets. The man who was held and tortured in the kennels, fed rats, and had to stitch and fix his only set of clothes over and over to keep it presentable, the man who has never felt happy for most of his conscious non-life is called hedonistic for wanting nice things. For still wanting to take care of himself for once.

He wasn't harboring any grand plans, conquests, or schemes. Even his idea of taking control of the Absolute was abstract and shapeless because he didn't care about getting control over the most influential people as much as he was afraid of breaking whatever protected him from Cazador's domination. He never really knew what to do with power aside from keeping Cazador and the likes of him at bay.

The way Astarion behaves in a relationship also speaks tons of how controlling he really is...or how he isn't controlling at all. When his romance with Tav transforms into something real, and he enters a new territory, Astarion is empowered to make decisions and think about what he wants instead of pleasuring others. It's clear that he and Tav don't have sex after they come clear about their feelings. Tav respects his comfort and boundaries, gives him all the time he needs, and lets him take the lead. Whether they will have sex again or not is entirely up to Astarion. Whatever he decides, it won't change Tav's feelings for him. He doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to do.

Astarion enjoys this new autonomy. He is playful, affectionate, outspoken...and afraid of messing everything up. If Tav mentions breaking up, Astarion thinks he is the problem. If there is another potential love interest showing they have eyes for Tav, Astarion encourages Tav to be with them because he believes they can give Tav everything he can't. When Tav says "I choose you," Astarion is taken aback, needing a moment to hide his genuine confusion at Tav actually wanting to be with him rather than Gale, Karlach, or Halsin.

For all his talks of control and dominating others, once Astarion finds himself with a lover who values his autonomy more than getting power at the cost of his dignity, who makes it safe for him to be honest, and who listens to him, he almost stops mentioning control. He merely lives in the moment, happy not to know, not to pretend, not to manipulate. Just to be.

What Astarion truly craves - not wants on a superficial level, not conditioned to want - is not to be a vampire lord. He wants the freedom to be anything. Anything he wants. Little does he know that true vampires rarely get to be anything they want, even if they gain the ability to walk in the sun -- we see it in his Ascended path as, instead of acting up on his supposed freedom to be anything, Astarion repeats Cazador's rules step by step. Just like Cazador did. Just like Verlioth did. He isn't anything he wants. He is the replica of his former master.

Astarion never had the luxury to explore who he wanted to be outside what Cazador made him. He only makes his first steps once he is free. We see glimpses of that deep-seated aspiration to be seen as a person. Treated like a person. Loved like a person. To be reflected in someone's eyes. He wants to know if there is someone beneath his usual mask, something his, not tainted by Cazador. Someone real. And at the same time, he dreads to know the answer. Because that part of him knows regret. Knows shame. Knows guilt. Confronting it posed the risk of realizing he didn't deserve love, kindness, or a future. What if real him truly doesn't amount to anything? What else for him to do?

So, he tells himself that he has no choice, and he expects Tav to affirm it -- not because he wants them to, but because he believes that Tav has seen enough to make the same conclusion. However, Tav objects, trying to be louder than all the inner demons hissing into his ears. Tav speaks to the Astarion, who asked them what they saw when they looked at him. The Astarion, who thanked them for standing by his side when he said "No" to Araj. The Astarion one who stood frozen in their hug before returning it tentatively. The Astarion who diligently, dedicatedly, caringly kept pulling himself together instead of letting himself unravel completely.

Tav reminds him that this Astarion, right here, right now, is worth fighting for. That he didn't survive all these years of torture, pain, humiliation, and dehumanization to give himself up now. He already has the power to avenge himself, avenge all Cazador's victims. He can end everything right here, right now - and this is the only power to free him. He has the power (and responsibility) of having a choice.

Tav empathizes with other spawns as victims not because they're more "innocent" than Astarion, but because associating with them doesn't brand Astarion as weak or broken. These spawns aren't horrible wretches, and neither is he. They don't deserve this, and neither did he.

The only one who deserves to die today is Cazador - the vampire, the monster, the pathetic piece of shit.

Astarion Ancunin deserves to live.

[hezzabeth]

There was someone singing in the greenhouse, someone with a pitch-perfect deep voice. Revati closed her eyes, pressing her ear against the glass door.

In a field where the paper daisies grow,

Underneath the sun's harsh glow,

I wander through, light and free.

Paper daisies, pink and white,

Your petals so bright.

I sing to you as the world beyond burns.

The smoke coils in the sky far above,

But your petals still dance around me.

Don’t be afraid; soon the rains will come.

Everything lost will grow again.

Paper daisies, pink and white,

Your petals so bright.

I sing to you as the world beyond burns.

The stars begin to rise,

My hands scooping your seeds.

Soon you will take flight

Towards the soft moonlight.

There was an old, prop piano in the abandoned Holly Bush Tavern. The only person who could play it properly was Mr. Gupta. During holiday festivals, he would coax melodies out of the sticky keys while Mrs. Gupta sang in a nasal voice. This was different. The singer’s voice filled Revati in a place she didn’t know was empty. The singing stopped abruptly as Revati’s weight caused the door to creak. Of course, the door creaked. The greenhouse was a wobbling claptrap box made out of welded-together old windows. Miss Grassroots, a tourist who had been dead for almost six years, had built it. Inside lay the heart of Baker Street. The heart had begun as a rose garden. Nanni was the one who began picking up the fallen red petals, drying them, and turning them into tea.

Revati only had vague memories of the first day of the invasion. Mrs. Grasston and Dusk had invaded the kitchens and gift shops. Together they managed to pool together seeds and cuttings in order to grow a small food supply. There was a wall of tomato vines, grown from several seeds found in old slices left in the bin. There were the garden beds where the potatoes and carrots grew. In fact, the potatoes were what kept Baker Street from starving to death. Next to one of the largest windows, the herb and weed boxes grew. Revati’s father was the one who ripped open gourmet tea bags in their home, discovering dried seeds inside. Bridgadeiro Bun was sitting under the lemon tree. “You’re a pretty good singer,” Revati said gruffly. “I was just trying to cheer up Deshia; she’s been feeling a bit depressed lately,” Bridgadeiro said, patting the tree's trunk. “Who’s Deshia?” Revati asked, faintly confused. “The lemon tree, of course! She said nobody's chatted with her for years,” Bridgadeiro said. Suddenly, the tree shook its branches, causing a fresh lemon to fall into Bridgadeiro’s lap. “Thank you for the gift, sweetheart,” Bridgadeiro said, patting the tree again. Revati stared at the lemon tree, not quite sure what to think. Could a tree really be depressed? It would explain why the lemons were so withered and small.

“All Buns speak plant; it's the same gene that causes our pink hair," he said. Revati glanced around, her eyes briefly falling on the giant pumpkin vine near the door.

"Are the plants talking right now?" Revati asked curiously.

"Most of them fell asleep hours ago. When they were awake, they just kept jabbering on about a golden lady," Bridgadeiro remarked.

"So, the lemon tree is depressed? I could get Aurora to come in here and read to her," Revati conceded.

"It's more than that. She misses the lady who planted her; she doesn't understand why she vanished and never came back," Bridgadeiro remarked. Revati found her hands stroking the book of fairy tales nervously.

"If she's talking about Mrs. Grassroots, she died," Revati replied flatly. Six years ago. Six years ago, there were over a hundred tourists living on Baker Street. Nanni, who had spent years living with mother, insisted on moving into an abandoned hat shop near the edge of the park.

The day the tornado hit was the same day Nanni decided to tell Revati all about her family history.

"I always carry the death stone in my handbag, along with everything else I'd ever need in an invasion," Nanni pointed out. Technically that was true; Nanni's giant handbag was filled with almost anything.

Outside, Revati could hear her father trying to roll down metal shutters. There was the sudden horrible roar, and Nanni's wall exploded in a cloud of rubble.

"A lot of people died," Revati finished, her voice trailing off. First came the tornado that caused a gap in the mirror walls. Then the trickle of automatic vegetable cleaners who decided to exploit the crack. Finally, the battle on Mansfield Park between the cleaners and a group of tourists.

"The lady that planted this tree was actually a member of the Lost Princess rebel army; she convinced a bunch of tourists to fight with her," Revati remarked, shaking her head. Then she firmly opened the book of fairy tales.

"It looks like some people survived," Bridgadeiro replied.

"I don't want to talk about it; I just want to read! Here, you can read with me; you might like this story," Revati replied.

Once long ago, in a lost village near the foot of Mount Raya, there lived a special little girl. She was known for her kindness and her deep love for nature. Everyone in the village called her Naisha. Naisha had a special gift; she could talk to plants. The villagers often saw her whispering to the flowers; they adored her magical gift.

One day, Naisha learned about a legendary tree called the Kalpavriksha. The old ladies in the village whispered that it had the ability to grant any wish. Drought, fearsome and terrible, had swept through the land. Flowers withered, no longer able to whisper. Trees forgot their songs. Naisha decided she must seek out the tree and wish for one thing alone: rain.

"Wake up," a voice screeched, and Revati's eyes snapped open, the book of fairy tales tumbling onto the ground. Aurora was standing above her, the bright morning sunlight making her hair glow.

"Morning," Revati yawned and then jumped when she realized Bridgadeiro was asleep next to her.

Bridgadeiro slowly awoke, smacking his lips together.

"Juniper said you were in here; she never mentioned the boy," Aurora remarked coldly as Revati slowly stood up.

"Anna made him sleep in here; I must have passed out while reading," Revati said.

It was then that Revati realized Aurora was holding a tray filled with fresh strawberries.

"Hmph," Aurora said, shooting Bridgadeiro a suspicious look as he also stood up, patting the tree trunk.

"Let me guess, Queen Victoria sent these with an apology?" Revati asked.

"Yes, and a request to fill her vodka order," Aurora said, placing the tray on the ground.

"If she was really sorry, she'd give us a strawberry plant," Revati pointed out.

"Oh, you don't need one of those! You have the fruit," Bridgadeiro remarked.

"You can't just shove a strawberry in the ground and hope for the best; it rots," Revati replied. Bridgadeiro merely leaned down, examining the strawberries. After a few moments of careful examination, he picked up the biggest, brightest berry.

"You can; you just need the right formula," he said. He vaguely walked towards one of the empty garden beds that was going to be turned into an onion patch. Carefully, he dug a small hole and placed the strawberry inside before covering it in earth. Then, he reached into his massive jumpsuit pocket and this time pulled out a small vial of portable perfume.

"One pump should do it," Bridgadeiro remarked before pumping a cloud of perfume onto the soil. The earth began to twitch and vibrate, and Revati gasped as greenery sprouted from the soil. The plants quivered and then twisted as white flowers bloomed. The petals then shriveled and fell off as the center of the flowers grew into green berries. A few seconds later, the berries blossomed into a deep red.

"They shouldn't be doing that! Strawberries take two weeks to grow," Aurora gasped.

"I suppose they would in the wild, but I just gave them a pump of my Gene Grow fusion serum!" Bridgadeiro said, leaning down to examine the strawberries.

"They should produce fruit every day, but only if you talk to them nicely," Bridgadeiro added as he picked a strawberry and handed it to Revati.

Revati sniffed it suspiciously before taking a tiny bite. It tasted just like a strawberry.

"Does that stuff work on all plants?" Revati asked curiously.

"It tends to go a bit haywire when you spray it on legumes; you end up with giant beans that have no nutrients," Bridgadeiro said.

"I saved your life; think it's only fair you spray all the plants in here," Revati said firmly.

"It would be better if I planted their seeds outside and created new crops; otherwise, the rapidly growing plants could burst outside the walls," Bridgadeiro replied. Revati nodded crisply.

"I'll be sending someone to check on your efforts later today; I'll be far too busy working," Revati replied with as much dignity as she could muster in a sleep shirt before marching out of the greenhouse. The book of fairy tales lay abandoned on the ground.

Revati carefully changed into her work uniform. When she was a child, her wardrobe consisted of souvenir t-shirts from the gift shop fashioned into dresses. Now that she was almost an adult, Revati had to get creative.

Most of the gift shop sweatshirts had been swiped long ago. Instead, Revati put on the top half of the cafe's old uniform. It consisted of a magenta and purple striped waistcoat with a navy blue blouse covered in tiny clocks. The bottom half should have been a matching bustle skirt. Revati switched it with the men's purple trousers. Revati then carefully redid her braid and applied some more soot lipstick. Aurora, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, was waiting for her in the kitchen.

"You're wearing your second best outfit," Aurora remarked.

"I suppose I am," Revati replied as she grabbed her coat.

"I thought you said you were done with romance after that whole mess with Little Hardi last summer," Aurora said, and Revati stopped walking.

"I am!" she protested, and Aurora pressed her thin lips into a disapproving frown.

"You were sleeping with him."

"God forbid I fall asleep next to another human being," Revati said as she marched through the cafe past Nanni, who was sewing something.

"You kept him! You gave him a job," Aurora added knowingly.

"I didn't keep him! He's not a feral child; he can leave whenever he wants," Revati snapped as they stepped outside, and she put on her sunglasses. Olde Landon was always at its worst in the morning. Like all major tourist attractions and cities, Old Landon had an atmospheric blanket high above the park's surface. It meant that nobody in the park froze to death at night, but it also meant the morning light was far too bright.

"Is that Little Hardi and Queen Victoria standing next to the fountain?" Revati sighed wearily.

"They both arrived at sunrise; I told them you were busy, so your mother made them breakfast," Aurora remarked.

"Sunrise; of course, they sacrificed sleep so they could get here first," Revati remarked, marching towards the two other leaders. Queen Victoria was wearing one of the park's costumes, a stained white lace wedding dress. Little Hardi, on the other hand, was wearing a deep blue doublet with a ruff collar and matching tights.

"Little Hardi, is your brother still unconscious?" Revati greeted him.

"We took a vote last night, and he played Macduff," Little Hardi replied.

Revati, who knew fully well what that meant, had to stop herself from flinching.

"You killed him? That's a little harsh," Revati pointed out.

"It was for the best; we need a strong leader during a time of invasion," Little Hardi remarked practically.

"Time of invasion? Isn't that a little dramatic?" Revati had to ask.

"There must be another crack in the wall; thank Jane, it's probably not too big! You two would be far too young to remember the vegetable cleaner invasion," remarked Queen Victoria.

"I was twelve," Revati said dryly.

"I was fourteen; the tornado destroyed the Hamlet's haunted castle ride, and the appliances killed the actor playing Ophelia," Little Hardi pointed out.

"You're both still tiny children as far as I'm concerned; I can't believe this is who I have to work with," Queen Victoria replied, and Revati brushed past her with annoyance, heading to the dress shop across the street.

The shelves of the dress shop had long ago been stripped bare. All that remained were the three Penny Farthing Bicycles that had been part of the shop's window display. Revati wheeled her Penny Farthing outside only to see Queen Victoria having a heated discussion with Aurora.

"What do you mean she's going to ride to the wall by herself? All representatives from all towns should go!" Queen Victoria was screeching, slapping Aurora's shoulder with her fan.

Revati parked her bicycle and marched towards Queen Victoria, grabbing her hand.

"Slap my assistant again, and I'll break your fingers; you know I can do it," Revati growled.

Little Hardi, who was now sitting by the fountain, laughed.

"I was just speaking the truth! We have a treaty; during times of crisis, we unify," Queen Victoria said, her voice tight and a little frightened.

"I don't see Lady Morganna here," Revati pointed out, referring to the ruler of Medieval faire.

"You know perfectly well Medieval faire cut us all off after the tornado hit! They probably all died off years ago," Queen Victoria snapped back. Queen Victoria was right. Medieval faire was located in the center of a massive fake castle complete with a drawbridge. After the invasion, Lady Morganna had yanked up the bridge and refused to speak to anyone. Anna and Nanni had tried to visit several times with baskets of dried lemons. They were horrified when someone from above threw the contents of their toilets onto the streets.

"My new friend said he saw naked people in the wilderness dancing around a murdered television! Sounds like Lady Morganna to me," Revati merely replied, pointing to Bridgadeiro. Bridgadeiro, who was in the middle of taking several pumpkins out of the greenhouse, waved.

"Could be a coincidence; regardless, you are not going to the wall! We need to have a proper group committee meeting first! Then a vote," Queen Victoria's.

Revati just rolled her eyes and released Queen Victoria's hand, causing her to stumble and fall onto the floor. Revati then reached into her jacket, pulling out her stun gun, shoving it into the queen's stomach. The Queen made a faint whimpering sound as her eyes rolled backward, and she collapsed again. Revati then aimed the gun at Little Hardi, who held his hands up, protesting.

"I'm not going to stop you! I came here to propose marriage," Little Hardi insisted.

"Marriage? To me?" Revati asked dubiously.

"All kings need a consort, and I'm not interested in Big Hardi's husband," Little Hardi said, slowly getting down on one knee.

Revati stared at him and shook her head.

"I'm seventeen," Revati pointed out.

"Well, the wedding wouldn't be for another couple of years," Little Hardi replied.

"I thought we agreed to keep our relationship professional after the handkerchief incident," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi held a hand to his heart.

"I told you dozens of times I had nothing to do with my brother's plot," Little Hardi insisted.

"He accused me of cheating on you using an old prop handkerchief as evidence, and you believed him despite it being the exact same plot of the play Othello," Revati pointed out. The entire incident occurred over a year ago and ended with Revati kidnapped and tied up on the stage in a white fluffy nightgown.

"I'm a very insecure person," Little Hardi pleaded. Dating while trapped in a fun park during the apocalypse was difficult. Before the feral children came along, Revati was the youngest person on Baker Street. All the teenagers in Whistleton were raised to be incredibly prissy. Most of them refused to do anything more than dance or hold hands. Little Hardi had been a fun, age-appropriate choice. Little Hardi was happy to do far more than hold hands.

"No," Revati said firmly.

"No? Really?" he asked, sounding faintly surprised.

"First of all, your legal system involves killing criminals on stage in the middle of plays, which is horrifying," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi shrugged.

"Secondly, I'm not an idiot! You just want to marry me so you can take over our greenhouse," Revati pointed out, and Little Hardi gasped as if looking deeply insulted.

"That's not true! If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damasked, red and white, but no such roses see I in her cheeks," Little Hardi pleaded as Revati climbed onto the penny farthing.

[anna-proxx]

☆ evening in camp ☆

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1882

a/n: my dear readers, this is my first attempt at a rdr2 oneshot here on tumblr, I started with something easy but will definitely add more action in the future. this right here broke my writer's block and for that i am grateful. hope this brings you some comfort whenever you need it.

It was a chilly evening, meek distant noise of nocturnal animals creating a peaceful ambience, along with the crackling fire nearby. The whole camp was already either asleep or holed up in their tents.

It has been a good day. Arthur and Javier successfully robbed a homestead, Micah was still locked up in jail and Bill brought a good catch from his hunting trip.

Javier sang and played the guitar by the campfire earlier and some people sang along. In general, this evening was one of those that made you feel warm inside.

The night sky was clear, stars peeking down at you as you wished your mare a good night, patting her neck and giving her a carrot before you'd leave her to sleep. That girl was dear to you and you showed her gratitude every day.

A small kiss on her nose and you finally turned around, admiring the full moon shining bright on the ink black sky. You walked across the quiet camp, careful not to make too much noise. You made your way straight towards the small light of an oil lamp in Arthur's tent.

He sat on his bed, slouched over his journal set on the table, writing with all focus. You smiled, feeling all the affection you felt for that man.

When you came close, he looked up from his journal, his gaze softening as he patted the place beside him. "C'm sit."

You sat right next to him, putting your hands in your lap as you gave Arthur a bright smile. He chuckled. "Ya done givin' that horse a g'night kiss?" he asked with a small grin on his face, returning his attention to the half-filled pages.

You slightly poked his arm with your elbow, a soft smile lingering on your lips. "She's like my family," you explained.

"I know. 'S cute."

You shuffled a bit closer, watching the pencil in Arthur's hand move swiftly. You enjoyed watching him write and draw, those idle moments always brought you comfort. And you had the honor to be allowed to watch. Arthur believed his drawings were nothing special but you knew better. His ability to draw details of an animal or scenery he saw just once from memory still blew your mind. You could barely recall such details, let alone draw them.

You quietly continued to watch, taking in every pretty letter he drew one after another. When he was done with the entry, he flipped the page and started sketching.

"What are you drawing?" you asked, watching the first lines of the sketch.

"A moose I saw t'day," Arthur answered, his voice calm and focused.

You continued to watch him and set your elbow on the table after a while, leaning your head against your hand. As always the drawing came out beautiful and you admired the authentic features of the animal that was looking up at you from the page. Arthur put the pencil aside and sighed, stretching his arms.

He then looked at you, a warm smile on his lips as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You leaned back from the table and snuggled into the half-embrace, resting your head on Arthur's shoulder. His body was warm and so were his fingers that drew small circles on your arm.

"Ya tired yet, darlin'?"

You smiled at the pet name and slightly shook your head. "Not really."

"Do y'want me to draw s'mthing for ya?" Arthur offered, watching your face intently as you thought.

"Me," you eventually said with a small grin. He drew you all the time and you loved every each one of those drawings.

"M'kay." He shortly caressed your arm before removing his from around you, shifting in his seat as he took the pencil again. He slightly nodded towards you. "Sit there, wanna hav' a good look at ya."

You slightly moved away to sit at the other edge, still facing Arthur who turned his body towards you, bending his leg on the bed to lean his journal against it. You shortly ran fingers through your hair, setting strands over your shoulders, and straightened your back, ready to be his model.

His face was relaxed as he started sketching, the soft sounds of the pencil gliding over the paper filling the air between you. Arthur kept looking up at you regularly, a gentle smile on his face as he met your soft affectionate gaze.

There was silence between you two but it was comfortable, happy. The light from the oil lamp lazily danced over the left side of his face, highlighting his features.

He was beautiful. As you remained motionless, you thought about how often he put himself down, being completely clueless about how he looked in your eyes.

"You're so pretty," you said quietly, nothing but affection and genuinity in your voice.

Arthur looked up at you surprised, then got visibly flustered as he blushed and looked back down at the sketch, scribbling on. He let out a small low chuckle. "I ain't pretty."

You slightly frowned, displeased with him rejecting the compliment like that. "So I am a liar?"

Arthur looked up, for a short moment he looked like a clueless child trying to find the right words. "I ain't meant it that way..."

You couldn't hold back a smile. "Just take the goddamn compliment, Mr Morgan, it's not so hard."

Arthur softly huffed as he returned his focus to the sketch, seemingly uncomfortable. A sad feeling grew in your chest. He really had no idea, did he?

"Am I a good model?" you asked after a while of silence. You knew very well he could draw you from memory but this was easier and you enjoyed being the center of his attention in any way. Frankly, Arthur enjoyed studying your features as you sat in front of him as well.

Arthur smiled. "M'favorite."

After a few more moments, he took a few glances at you and back at the journal with a satisfied expression, putting the pencil away.

Your face lit up as you shuffled over, curiously peeking at the page. You were met with your own soft gaze staring back at you, every detail of your face in its place. It melted your heart how carefully drawn each line was.

You kissed Arthur's cheek, loosely wrapping your arms around his neck. "Beautiful as always. Thank you."

"Yer beautiful," he said in response, putting the journal flat open on the table.

You slightly blushed and moved to sit behind him, resting your chin on his shoulder as you kept your arms wrapped around him. You weren't great at accepting compliments either. "Thank you, Mr Morgan." You sighed softly, feeling Arthur's hands envelope yours. "My talented outlaw," you mumbled quietly but clearly enough for him to hear.

You heard a chuckle. "What?" you asked, unsure of what that was for. "Yer in an affectionate mood t'day," he stated, amusement in his voice.

"There a problem with that?" you asked but the smile on your face remained.

You slightly leaned back and moved your hands to his shoulders, instinctively massaging them as you thought. Arthur was out hunting, riding and shooting most of the time, so your massages were always appreciated.

You heard a quiet sigh of relief as his body started becoming more relaxed.

"Would u like to go hunt with me tomorrow?" you asked. You were tired of being stuck in the camp and honestly going on a little trip with Arthur wouldn't be bad at all.

"Sure."

You smiled and reached for his suspenders, then slid them off his shoulders. He understood and unbuttoned his shirt so that you could get a better access to his back and shoulders.

"Thank you, darlin'."

You hummed in response and continued, your gaze moving over his exposed skin covered with small scars. You wondered about the story behind each one of them, some seemed to be almost faded while there was one very fresh bruise, a red line of dried blood.

Arthur took out a cigarette and lit it, puffing as he relaxed under your touch. He probably would've offered you one as well if you smoked, but you didn't, only ever tasting tobacco when you kissed him. You never minded.

After a few more moments you put a kiss on the nape of his neck, then kissed the fresher wound as well. You were always so worried whenever he left to do a dangerous job, only praying he'd return in one piece, but you knew it was his life; and you were a part of it.

When you moved to sit next to him again, cheeky smile on your face as your eyes met, Arthur sighed, mumbling with cigarette between his lips. "Yer too good for'm, woman."

You stared into his blue eyes for a long moment, a quiet voiceless conversation happening between you two with eye contact alone. He cared for you as much as you cared for him.

Without a word you snuggled up closer, soon being enclosed by body warmth as he embraced you. You relaxed into the hug and closed your eyes, just listening to Arthur's inhales and exhales of the smoke.

You assumed Arthur must've been thinking as well, as there was yet another comfortable silence between you two and you were slowly but surely slipping into sleep.

Arthur stubbed out his cigarette and wrapped his arm around your waist, making you open your eyes just as he moved back to a half sitting half lying position on his bed, effortlessly taking you with him so that you lay between his legs, head resting on his chest. You quietly giggled at the sudden movement and made yourself comfortable afterwards, positioning your head exactly so that you have Arthur's heartbeat beneath your ear.

You were happy to have him all for yourself, safe, alive. The mess in Blackwater or the emergent stop in Colter could've been much more fatal for you two. Davey and Jenny were gone. John was attacked by wolves. And although you loved Horseshoe Overlook, the homely feeling and the beautiful view, you knew you'd have to move eventually. You needed money and you weren't getting it exactly the legal way, and you could only lie low so long.

And frankly, with Micah in the gang now, your worry rose even more. Dutch trusted him, for some goddamn reason, but he seemed to be reckless and dangerous, bending some of the morals this gang used to have. Not to mention him being a straight up jerk to everyone.

"Arthur?" you spoke, your voice slightly worried as you caressed his arm with your fingers.

"Hm?" His chest vibrated under your head.

"We can't let another Blackwater happen again."

Arthur understood what you meant. Him and Hosea tried convincing Dutch that the ferry job was a bad idea but it happened nonetheless, putting your gang in a situation worse than ever before. You worried about the influence Micah had on Dutch and the potential limits.

You knew that Arthur trusted Dutch, him and Hosea raised him, after all; but he wasn't stupid either. And the plans Dutch claimed to have planted seeds of doubt in almost everyone.

Arthur's response was a sigh and a kiss on top of your head, his arms hugging you just a bit tighter. There wasn't really much he could say to comfort you, he always tried to be honest and he couldn't know how the future would unfold, after all.

But you trusted him. That he would do the right thing.

With Arthur's heartbeat echoing under your ear and embraced by his warmth, you were slowly being lulled to sleep by his regular breaths.

Whether you'd stay outlaws forever or not, this really was all you had wished for.

[mydearlybeloathed]

𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 (?)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you, now a successful singer, and sanji, now a pirate, reunite unexpectedly when you return to baratie for a one night only performance.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: opla!sanji x fem!singer!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: use Y/N, zeff is a meddler, mild angst

𝐎𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

When Sanji woke up that morning, he hadn’t expected a song would be the one to bruise his ego.

It was a relatively normal morning, filled with shuffling around the Going Merry with a pen and pad asking for special grocery requests. It was the usual, for the most part; Zoro wanted alcohol, Luffy asked for lamb, Nami needed brown sugar for something she wanted to make, and Usopp requested chocolate chips. 

All a routine order to convince Zeff to hand over, Sanji mused, flipping shut his notepad as the Merry docked at Baratie. Another supply run was nothing out of the ordinary. They’d be out by the next morning if he had any say in it. 

Then he saw the mischievous glint in Zeff’s eyes, and suddenly, Sanji was nervous.

“What?” He tried to laugh it off. When all Zeff did was clap a hand on Sanji’s shoulder, the Strawhat cook’s curiosity turned to panic. “Zeff, you’ve got that look. What is it?”

Zeff shrugged and led the way further into the kitchen. It was early in the morning, breakfast being prepared as the two spoke. “Ah, nothin’.” He smirked to himself. “I’m just debating whether I should tell you, or let you find out.”

Sanji blinked, now very, very concerned for his own wellbeing. “You should definitely tell me.”

The old man let out a laugh and completely ruined Sanji’s day with just two simple words: “She’s back.”

There was no need for elaboration; Sanji knew exactly who she was. His heart dropped and all color drained from his face, jaw effectively slack. The sight had Zeff’s chest hurting with how hard he laughed.

“I—Why in the seven hells would she be comin’ here, Zeff?” Sanji clawed at his hair, sitting back against a counter and stumbling for his senses. “Last I checked she wanted nothing to do with this place.”

Zeff tutted. “Last I checked she wanted nothing to do with you, little eggplant. She left Baratie with nothing but fond memories of me.”

“That’s—!” Sanji faltered, lips pursed. “That’s fair, actually.”

“Just thought I’d warn you,” sadi Zeff as he moved to shoo a younger cook away from some vegetables and started to chop them himself. Sanji took his place beside him and found himself a knife, mincing some carrots to speed the process along.

Zeff smiled warmly. “She offered to come sing for the guests. I wasn’t about to turn her away. I raised you both. It’s natural I miss her. Then you said your crew needed more supplies the same week she’s here, and well… Would it be wrong to admit this is turning out really well for me?”

“No,” Sanji snapped back. His neck ached and his shoulders were tense, but he just kept on chopping away with practiced ease. “How in hell is any of this good?”

“You two used to be fine as friends,” Zeff reasoned. “It’s only when ya’ tried bein’ more that things went south.”

Sanji didn’t need Zeff to remind him that he’d completely, utterly, definitely screwed up any chance of being at least friends with you again. He knew that. He’d accepted it long ago. It didn’t mean Sanji was any less heartbroken about it.

“Relax,” said Zeff after he had enough of the suffocating silence. “She’s over you. You’re over her.” He finished up the vegetables and called back over the nervous little cook. “I’m sure you know her career took off. She came back to sing for Baratie before her tour ‘round the seas.”

He clapped Sanji on his shoulder and shook him a bit. “One night only. It’s sure to be great.”

Sure, except everything that Zeff had just said was entirely wrong. Sanji was in no way over you.

And Lord knew you weren’t over him either.

Across the sea-top restaurant was you, face pale, eyes wide and glaring daggers into Patty and Carne. The pair stood exchanging worried glances as you sputtered out words they could hardly understand.

“Bastards!” That they could gather. “Why didn’t Zeff tell me Sanji would be here? The only reason I accepted the invitation was because I knew Sanji was off playing pirates.” You tugged at your hair. “Or he’s supposed to be.”

“Don’t look at us!” Patty said, hands raised in surrender. The burly man offered a consoling smile. “Zeff didn’t know.”

You pointed a finger at him, a wild look in your eyes. “So you think! So you think! I bet he arranged this whole thing behind our backs!”

You knew you sounded crazy. Hell, you felt erratic at this point. Seeing Sanji was not something you were mentally prepared for just yet. You rubbed at your temples. “God, I haven’t seen him since I left.”

“It’ll be fine,” Carne siad, his hands settling on your shoulders and giving you a little shake. “Just fine.”

Patty nodded and caught sight of your agent peering around the corner she was eavesdropping from, tapping her watch with a pointed look on her face. Patty mimed rushed assurances and turned back to you. “I doubt he’ll even have the nerve to show up. Not after everything.”

You wiped a stressed tear from your eyes. “You think?”

Patty started to guide you down the hall toward the room your panicky agent was now awaiting in. “Yep. He’s a wimp like that.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, slowly nodding your head. “He won’t even show up. I’ll go out there, do my set, talk to Zeff again, and book it outta here.”

Your steps were more confident as you headed for your room. Carne rolled his eyes at you, in a fond kind of way of course. “Atta girl.”

You pumped a fist as you disappeared around the corner, and the two men could breathe easy now that they were free of your scathing eyes.

જ⁀➴

Ever since you and Sanji first met, it’d been complicated.

Zeff didn’t believe in letting women work in his restaurant. He knew what type of guest his establishment attracted; from the sleazy rich to the sketchy pirates, Zeff didn’t believe it was necessarily safe for women to work there. 

But then there was you, some scrappy ten year-old from the docks of some port he couldn't recall the name of.

You’d been playing a guitar far too big for you, an upturned hat before you. Zeff was bartering for a fair price on some radishes not too far away. He caught the tailend of a song as you finished, the only word to describe the sound being angelic. But Zeff didn’t have time to listen to street urchins play guitar. 

Hours passed and he was back in Baratie's kitchen, sitting at the table eating some soup he’d prepared the day before. All was well and all was quiet. The ship was back at sea. The storage was fully stocked. The little eggplant was out of the way for once. He had a moment to breathe.

“AGH–AAAAH! ZEEEEFF!”

A moment short lived, and he was back to adolescent induced suffocation. The old man’s brows pinched, a migraine on the horizon. Maybe if he ignored it…

The kitchen doors swung open to reveal none other than the eggplant—Sanji’s face was all red, his hair a mess, and he was dragging a girl behind him with a fist in her hair.

Zeff jumped to his feet, this being the last thing he expected when he heard Sanji’s whistle note scream. “Sanji—!”

“Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!” The girl—you—offered a swift kick to Sanji’s groin. You massaged at your scalp while the boy keeled and flopped over in agony. “Bitch, you ripped out some of my hair!”

Sanji groaned, practically writhing. Zeff nearly felt bad, until he recognized you. “You’re the kid from the docks!”

Before you could offer your quippy reply, Sanji had sent a kick to your shin that had you joining him on the ground. Idiots, the both of you.

Zeff had meant to kick you off when they docked at a port the next month… but, well, you had nowhere to go, and he’d grown used to how you and Sanji bickered back and forth so seamlessly. 

(He’d known before anyone else that you and Sanji had something special, even if the pair of you were too stubborn to admit it.)

Zeff didn’t think he’d ever make an exception to his rules, but then there was you, and there wasn’t much use in saying no to you. 

It started as being a hostess, guiding guests to their tables, and then it was bussing tables. You even tried your hand in the kitchen and were swiftly kicked out after the first fire scare. Then, you’d asked to sing, and Zeff had no objections. 

But even as he grew to think of you as part of his odd excuse for a family, itt was obvious to him that you had no wish to dedicate your life to the restaurant. 

You’d had to abandon your guitar when you stowed away on Baratie, but your voice had no hindering. He heard you when you thought no one else cared to listen—Sanji did too, and Zeff always thought the eggplant realized he loved you the first time he heard you sing.

Sanji wouldn’t try to disagree. He knew there was a point in the timeline of him knowing you where his annoyance at your existence turned into a kind of reverence he had no power to stop. He swore you were a siren, sent from the depths to torment his every waking moment. 

As he grew older his affections only grew worse and worse, until he couldn’t help but kiss you—his very first mistake.

Sanji knew he was far from perfect, and he was far from ever deserving such a sweet love as the one you offered, but God, how he tried.

He failed, always, and that was a torture he tried not to dwell on.

Every time he fell for you, you seemed to fall harder, and he was never good at keeping up. You had dreams and so did he, and as the years drew on, it just… didn’t work, and the on-again-off-again romance was draining you both of any chance for fixing what was left of your friendship.

He tried to blame it on wrong place and wrong time, because he hoped it wasn’t simply wrong person. Sanji promised himself he would keep trying to be good for you until the day he died—but he kept failing. He kept disappointing you, breaking things off only to start them up again, he kept charming other women right in front of you.

Nobody’s perfect, but he could’ve at least tried a little harder.

Then came the day you’d left, finally having enough of his indecision and going out to fulfill all your dreams… With barely a goodbye to him. You’d left a note, of course, but it was short and cold and heartbreaking: “Dear Sanji, don’t miss me. Sincerely, Y/N.”

Sincerely. How was he ever supposed to recover from that?

As far as Sanji knew, you were doing well. There were posters and radio announcements about you, this up and coming star with the voice of an angel. 

And now to the present, where he stood taking a smoke outside the Baratie’s entrance. The moon was high and the stars peaked out from the clouds. The long trail of guests filing into the restaurant for dinner was thinning. 

Sanji took a drag and imagined you, in your room having last minute jitters before heading out to sing. 

“Sanji?” It was Nami, stepping out into the chill night air, concern written all over her face. “You coming?”

His pause was a bit too long, and Nami tried again, “You don’t have to…”

“I…” He wanted to. God, how he wanted to hear you sing again. “I think I’ll stay out here.”

She stood there a moment longer like she wanted to argue, to snap some sense into him and get him to at least try to speak to you. There was so much history, after all, even if Nami didn’t know the half of it. But she went back inside with a hefty sigh, leaving Sanji alone with his tendrils of smoke and wallowing self-pity.

જ⁀➴

Your agent, Flora, was messing with your curls, pulling them over your shoulders as you tapped your thumb on the wood of the guitar hung around your shoulders. 

“Now,” she fussed. “There’s a platform set up at the center of the room. I tested the acoustics at dawn before anybody else could get inside and it's perfect. Just right.”

Her little smile faded when she caught your eye. “Hun, what’s wrong?” She raised a brow. “Is this about that boy?”

You tried to evade the conversation with a roll of your eyes. “Flora…”

“Because I wasn’t going to tell you this,” said Flora. “But he’s been wandering around all day trying to catch a glimpse of you. Ran away every time I caught him. Had to get that Zoro guy to get him to knock it off.”

You aren’t sure why you felt surprised. You yourself had been wandering Baratie hoping you’d catch sight of that familiar mop of blond, but alas. “Do you… think he’ll show up?”

Flora took your hand. “Do you want him to?”

“No.” Yes. You wanted to see him. You wanted to know if he was doing better, if he was better, if all the bad of the past had shaped him into the Sanji you knew he could be.

“Then go out there and sing.” She had an aura of comfort and calm you often envied. “You know what song’s first, right?”

You thought of the setlist your drummer had brought to you that morning and felt your stomach drop. “Flora, I can’t sing that song to him—”

“You’re not singing it to him,” she cut in, starting to lead you out of the little room and down the hall to the grand staircase leading into the dining room. “You’re singing for all those people waiting to hear the songbird incarnate, Y/N L/N.”

You grinned tightly. “No pressure.”

Descending the stairs was the easy part. People clapped as you glided down as light as a feather, guitar around you and a light shining down from somewhere. True to Flora’s word a round platform awaited at the center of the dining room. It was small, but you had a bit of moving room. You accepted the hand of your drummer and stood up on the platform, shooting him a smile as he went back up the stairs to where the rest of your small band was ready to play. 

You turned and suddenly there was a microphone to your right. Had that always been there? 

“Hello, Baratie!” The applause met you at full force, easing some of your tension. Sanji was nowhere to be seen, and you weren’t sure if you liked that. “Look at your beautiful faces tonight. Oh, and there’s Chef Zeff too!”

That got you a couple of laughs before it died down again. “I’m so happy to be back here. Baratie was a home of mine once, and it’ll always have a place in my heart.” Your hand brushed your guitar strings and sent an unpleasant sound into the mic. “All right, enough sappiness. You all want some music, right?”

You cast a glance up at your band, felt a rush of familiarity, and nodded. A steady beat began and you began to strum a practiced tune on your guitar, the callousess on your fingers straining under the pressure. 

“I remember when we broke up—the first time. Saying ‘This is it, I’ve had enough, ‘cause like…’”

“This isn’t working out,” he said, not a pinch of the light you'd come to love in his eyes. He looked cold and unkind, but the frown he was giving you betrayed his own heartbreak.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re… better as friends. I just need some space to think.”

“What? Then you come around again and say, ‘Baby, I miss you and I swear I’m gonna change, trust me…’”

He chased you relentlessly until his hand caught your wrist and spun you around. All his words fell short at the sight of your tears. “Y/N…”

“You said it would be different,” you reminded him. Bitterness flooded your senses. “What was her name? Did you even catch it before you unzipped her dress?”

Anger boiled in his eyes. “I didn’t—I just kissed her!”

“Just,” you laughed mirthlessly, shaking your head as you ripped yourself from his presence and stormed away.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t, Sanji!”

“I’ll do better! I promise.”

“Remember how that lasted for a day? I say I hate you, we break, you call me, I love you.”

You tried not to search for familiar faces in the crowd, instead shutting your eyes and letting the music take over, and not the lyrics.

But you were a weak woman, and your eyes pried themselves free to scan the room.

It was dark around the dining room, and the lights Flora had managed to set up were blinding, but there he was. Sanji was by the door to the lower decks, his icy eyes bearing into you with such an intensity you stumbled over your guitar strings. You picked the melody back up before it was too noticeable, but he was smirking, that son of a bitch. 

Sanji noticed. He always noticed everything about you, annoyingly.

“I’m really gonna miss you picking fights, and me falling for it, screaming that I’m right, and you would hide away in your peace of mind…”

“I never said I didn’t want you to go!” Sanji screamed back at you. “I think it's the chance of a lifetime and if you want to, you should go.”

That’s not what you wanted him to say. You took your ground, staring him right in the eyes. “Do you want me to go, Sanji?”

“That’s not—”

“No, I mean…” You took a breath. “Say the word and I’ll stay. I won’t go. I’ll stay here and sing my silly songs on a crate covered in a tablecloth. Just tell me you want me.”

“I…” Sanji wanted to, you knew, but he was too kind. He wasn’t going to trap you here. You could see him choosing to be mean right before your very eyes. “I don’t care if you stay or go, Y/N. Go if you want to. I don’t care.”

You didn’t go in the morning, and the rich patron sailed away with the offer of a lifetime. 

“I used to think, that we were forever—ever. And I used to think, never say never…”

Sanji hadn’t realized Nami and Zoro were beside him till the jeering began.

“Damn,” Nami laughed into his ear. “When you said you broke her heart I didn’t think you meant it.”

Zoro cast him a teasing look. “You were a douche.”

Sanji’s cheeks burned. “We were kids! I…”

“Relax, we’re joking.” Nami nudged his shoulder before she turned back to you. “She’s watching you, by the way.”

“She is?” Sanji snapped his head back up a little too quickly, but he didn't care. Nami dragged Zoro back to their table, leaving Sanji to stare absolutely starstruck at you. You really were watching, an odd kind of look in your eyes. 

It wasn’t angry or sad or happy… but Sanji was sure he had a similar look in his eyes.

“So he calls me up and he’s like, ‘I still love you’...”

Your eyes locked with his and a burning sensation filled your chest. He hadn't changed much. More handsome you supposed, if you let yourself think it. 

“And I’m like… I’m just… I mean, this is exhausting, you know? Like we are never getting back together…”

He tried a grin and a little wave, and memories flooded back in an instant, both the good and bad. You somehow found it in yourself to offer a smile back, and you knew then, the song was probably a lie.

“Like ever.”

જ⁀➴

“Hi…” He found you on the back terrace of the Baratie, where the fish mouth of the restaurant opened up the starry night sky. 

You weren’t pretending to not be waiting, a glass of your mutually favorite wine across from you waiting for him. 

He sat down, mostly because the smile you offered him was enough to buckle his knees. 

“Hey,” you replied, averting your eyes to your glass. 

Sanji wasn’t exactly sure where to begin, but he started with, “I think Zeff set us up.”

You snorted. “Oh, definitely.”

“Uhm…” He looked out at the sea, then at his wine, then at you, and settled on keeping his eyes there. “You were wonderful. Radiant, really.” The stars faded from his eyes as mischief replaced it. “I liked your opener.”

You rolled your eyes and flushed from your neck to your nose. “Thank you. I had good inspiration.”

“I’d say my bad, but it was a good song.” Sanji felt as breathless as he used to, when he was sixteen and just learning how much he cared about you. “You were perfect. Are perfect. Can I still say that?”

You chuckled. “I—I guess so.”

Silence filled the space between you, clicking glasses and chatter from the bar feeling very far away.

“The drummer was good—”

“I think I still love you—”

You slapped a hand over your mouth, watching Sanji’s mouth open and close like a confused fish. His ears burnt pink and a spark of opportunity filled his beautiful blue eyes. You locked eyes, and Sanji started to laugh.

The sound was better than any music and flowed from his lips like honey. Chuckles bubbled up and out of your chest till you were gripping the sides of the chair you were in as you joined in on his uncontained and unending cackles.

He wiped at a tear and tried to get a hold of himself as your laughter died down as well, and he found himself admiring how you looked under the golden lighting of the terrace. “Would it be bad if I said same here?”

There was a brief pause before you threw your head back again and laughed over and over, drawing closer to Sanji till you were side by side, knee to knee, laughing loud enough to warrant a noise complaint.

“We’re hopeless,” you mused.

Sanji shrugged. “Yeah, but what’s new?”

A lot of things, actually. Things felt different, but the same, and it was odd for you both. The same love was there along with the bad memories tagged along with it, but you and Sanji had more experience behind you now. You were older and wiser and good God, you were no longer teenagers.

Some years ago it had been wrong place, wrong time, wrong… wrong everything.

But now you looked at him and instead of seeing the boy who used to break your heart, you saw Sanji. Your childhood best friend. The man who you once thought could be the love of your life.

Maybe… perhaps… it wouldn’t hurt to give it just one more go. All right, maybe you were getting back together. You could see the pair of you meeting back at Baratie a year later, your tour long over and his crew docked for the week. You’re lovers despite distance, awaiting a someday where your dreams finally align.

Sanji pressed a tentative kiss to your forehead, testing the waters in the wake of your laughter, and asked if you wanted to meet his crew. You nodded, meaning to stand when a boy in a straw hat vaulted over the back of the seat across from you and sat down. Then a girl with orange hair and boy with green, closely followed by a dark skinned boy with tinted glasses over his eyes. 

You took Sanji’s hand in your own and blushed at how he admired your profile like you’d hung the very stars in the sky. Yeah, you could see it.

[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Geralt realising how pissed you are after running into you again…

It was another busy day where knights, men and women of all corners came in to rest their battle-weary feet and drink mead. There would be the occasional brawl but they were nothing when you compared it to battling a cursed wyvern with a blindfold.

You exited the back room having just refilled the pitcher of cool mead when a familiar grunt caught your attention. Just behind a rowdy table of farmers, in the corner, sat the Witcher - Geralt of Rivia - and a bard who was far too chipper while sober.

Inching a little closer, you busied yourself with empty flagons while remaining within earshot of the pair.

“Come on - it’s not a bad lyric. Ah, what do you know? You can wield a sword but not understand the complex meaning behind a beautiful string of words.” The bard said.

Geralt scoffed. “It wasn’t complex.”

An old man slid a few coins across the table for the service which you pocketed and then moved on to the next.

“We can’t stay long.” Geralt told his companion. You glanced back briefly and saw the brightly dressed man staring into his coin satchel, concerned.

“I could swear there was more silver in here. Geralt, I think I’ve been indecently swindled.”

You wanted to confirm that the man could easily have fallen prey to the notorious pick-pockets that haunt the tavern but you stayed silent, now distracted by a customer who ordered some pies.

“Don’t forget the carrots this time.” He reminded.

You wanted to tell him where to shove his carrots but heard your name being shouted from across the floor.

“Y/n, I need a word!” It was the tavern owner who enjoyed paying you less than what you were owed. With a sigh, you trudged over to him away from most prying ears. “You’ve been waiting on those tables long enough. Deliver those pies and refill goblets on the double or I’ll show you out the door.”

You had half a mind to bite back but chose to hold the words at bay. In ten minutes, the pie was ready to be collected from the kitchens. As you walked it to the table, you made the decision to confront Geralt but upon approaching his table, found that the Witcher and his bard had vanished, leaving behind some coins for the hospitality.

Geralt would have heard your name being bellowed. He would have seen you answer the call. And yet, he still left?

Typical!

The farmer who had ordered the food found his plate empty as you swerved around his chair and rushed out the wooden door. Turning left, you followed the small path down to where riders often tied their horses, your own being one of them - spotting the familiar silver hair and lute of the bard.

Words appeared to have failed and rational thoughts had abandoned your mind the second you fled.

Your hand flipped the pie out of its casing and with one, well-aimed throw, found its mark. The bard screamed and the Witcher stopped in his tracks instantly stilling for a few seconds.

Then he turned, his jaw clenched. “Did you throw a meat pie at my head?”

You tossed the empty pan over your shoulder. “You bet I did and I’ll do it again.”

The bard at Geralt’s side grabbed his guitar and hid behind the broad-shouldered man fearing that he would be next. “Oh, they’re pissed. What did you do?”

Geralt exhaled as he pulled stray bits of pastry out of his locks. “I’m not sure…”

“Not sure? You fucking ignored me in the tavern! Friends for years and it doesn’t warrant a simple ‘hello’?” You yelled.

Jaskier peered out from behind, “Oh, he’s always like that. We’ve been friends for several weeks and he pretends to hardly know me - such a jest.” He chuckled to himself quite fondly.

Ignoring the brightly coloured song man, Geralt addressed you, now free from the discarded food. He had indeed acknowledged the your presence the minute he set foot in the tavern but found himself reliving old memories instead - some good, others painful.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me after that business with the striga.”

“The striga?” You repeated, remembering the event he was referring to where he had taken claim over the beasts defeat instead of giving you proper recognition. “That was over a year ago, I was bitter for perhaps a few weeks but no more. But you wouldn’t know that because you ran off with Roach.”

“I didn’t run off - I just - you were injured and I had no reason to hang around while you healed.” The Witcher explained. “In hindsight, I probably should have checked in.”

You nodded vehemently. “And since you didn’t, you’re very deserving of that meat pie.”

“The pie was mean.” Geralt frowned.

“Oh a tale of a strained but beautiful friendship filled with battles and miscommunication - you must regale me with the details.” Jaskier grinned.

You would gladly do so if your old friend would have your company once more. Raising a brow at Geralt, you posed the silent question.

“Don’t you have a job?” Geralt asked.

You squinted in return. “I abandoned my post and stole a pie. I’m surely fired.”

“Fine - but only until the next village.” The Witcher negotiated, knowing full well that his friend would likely be staying for a longer time. He grabbed the reins and pulled himself up on his horse with a small grunt.

You shared a similar grin to the bard and sent a high whistle into the air to call forth your own steed for the journey ahead.

When the horse approached, you took hold of the reins and walked alongside Jaskier.

“While we’re on the topic, I’ll tell you about the time when Geralt fought an ifrit almost fully naked.” You winked and caught the eye roll on your friends face.

Jaskier pulled his guitar to the front and strummed a few strings to start a catchy tune. “Oh, I’m ready for this.”

~ More imagines here ~

[thecupidwitch]

Planetary Magick🌙

Sun

Zodiac: Leo

Metal: Gold

Day: Sunday

Colors: organge, yellow, amber

Stones: Amber, topaz, ruby, diamond

Tarot: The Sun

Herbs: Angelica, poppy, sunflower, marigold, hibiscus, mistletoe

Symbols: lion, hexagram, sparrow hawk, dragon, head, heart, swan

Influences: renown, potency, fortune, tyranny, pride, ambition, masculinity, arrogance, bigotry, vitality, health

Moon

Zodiac: cancer

Metal: sliver

Day: Monday

Colors: blue, sliver

Stones: moonstone, pearl

Tarot: The High Priestess, The Chariot

Herbs: eucalyptus, coconut, jasmine, lotus, myrrh, sandalwood

Symbols: bow and arrow, crab, cat, turtle, Sphinx, owl

Influences: gradtitufe, friendliness, safe, travel, physical health, wealth, protection for enemies, deception, illusion, women, emotions, healing, dreams

Mercury

Zodiac: Virgo, Gemini

Metal: aluminum, Mercury

Day: Wednesday

Colors: violet, gray, purple, indigo, yellow

Stones: opal agate

Tarot: The Lovers

Herbs: hyssop, juniper, betony, carrot, chickweed

Symbols: wand, octagram, the mind

Influences: good fortune, gratitude, gain, memory, understanding, divination, dreams, forgetfulness, communication, business, cleverness, creativity, information, intellect, memory, perception, science, wisdom, gambling, writing, root of dishonesty, deception

Venus

Zodiac: taurus, libra

Metal: copper

Day: Friday

Colors: green, pink

Stones: turquoise, emerald, sapphire, jade

Tarot: The Empress

Herbs: jimsonweed, violet, rose, alder, apple, angelica, olive, sesame

Symbols: sparrow, dove, swan, pentagram

Influences: peace, agreements, cooperation, fertility, joy, love, good fortune, jealousy, strife, promiscuity

Mars

Zodiac: aries, scorpio

Metal: iron, red brass, steel

Day: Tuesday

Color: Red

Stones: ruby, garnet, bloodstone, diamond

Tarot: The Tower

Herbs: ginger, mustard

Symbols: sword, pentagram, horse, bear, wolf, vulture

Influences: war, victory, judgements, submission of enemies, bleeding, stripping one of rank, harness, discord, conflict, aggression, lust, power, courage, goals, protection, motivation, ambition, strength

Jupiter

Zodiac: pisces, sagittarius

Metal: tin

Day: Thursday 

Colors: blue

Stone: sapphire

Tarot: The Wheel of Fortune

Herbs: balm, hyssop, maple leaf and bark, oak, sage, dandelion root

Symbols: eagle, dolphin

Influences: gains, riches, favor, peace, cooperation, appeasing enemies, dissolving

Saturn

Zodiac: capricorn

Metal: lead

Day: Saturday

Color: black

Stone: onyx

Taror: The World

Herbs: alder, apple, ash, asparagus, baneberry, belladonna, distort, hellebore, blackthorn, corm, cypress

Symbols: cuttlefish, mole

Influences: safety, power, success, positive response to requests, intellect, causes discord, strips honor, melancholy

Uranus

Zodiac: aquarius

Day: Thursday

Colors: blue-green, electric blue

Stones: quartz, labradorite, blue topaz, amber, amethyst, garnet, diamond

Tarot: The Fool

Herbs: clover, pokeweed, snowdrop, foxglove, love, rosemary, trees of heaven, hellebore, morning glory, sage, wintergreen, orchids, sweet woodruff

Symbols: dragonfly, butterfly

Influences: breaking connection, sudden and unexpected change, freedom, originality, radical and revolutionary ideas, enlightenment, equality, individuality, rebellion, instability, loneliness, boredom, mistrust of self

Neptune

Zodiac: pisces

Minerals: coral, aquamarine, platinum, neptunium

Colors: green, blue, lavender

Tarot: The Hanged Man

Herbs: morning glory, night-blooming jasmine, pine, water lily

Symbols: the sea, Trident, the spine

Influences: dissolving boundaries, expanding upon ideas, changing established rules, intuition, idealism, sacrifice, glamour, illusion, evolution, decay, visions, art, healing, inspiration, dreams, creativity, compassion, drifting from reality, carelessness, stubbornness, absent mind

Pluto

Zodiac: scorpio

Metal: plutonium, tin chrome, steel

Day: Tuesday

Colors: maroon, dark red, purple, white, black

Stones: snowflake obsidian, clack tourmaline

Tarot: Judgement

Herbs: pomegranate, rosemary, vanilla, basil, poppies, belladonna, foxglove

Symbols: Phoenix, snake, scorpion, fox, eagle

Influences; destruction making way for renewal, rebirth, knowledge, spirituality, transformation, destiny, the subconscious, desire, arrogance, death, obsession, destruction