#as to why cedar is barking

[raydioactivegeorg]

oh is it the squirrels

[cedarboots]

somehow it slipped my mind that instead of going on the internet when i'm stressed i can do rope bondage

[headspace-hotel]

I love the moment when you finally realize why a species has that name

Earlier I was collecting some bark from Eastern Red Cedar and

[chadleys]

for the sub-astarion fic, just do whatever you see fit but could you atleast sprinkle in a mommy kink with a side of biting kink pls 🙈🙈

›› pairing: astarion x f!reader

›› wordcount: 1k

›› genre: smut, sub!astarion, dom!reader

›› rating: 18+, mdni

›› synopsis: just astarion being the goodest boy, that's all.

›› warnings: mommy kink, biting kink, teasing handjob, d/s dynamics

you love having him like this, in your lap, pressed so close there’s barely any room to decipher between the two of you. which is how you like it, how you know things are meant to be. the two of you; halves of one whole.

you lean back against the rough bark of a cedar and astarion leans against you, his pretty back sealed to your chest with a thin layer of sweat. his scars brush your nipples with every movement.

before you is a canyon, dropping steeply down to the valley below, and the misty mountain range beyond. all of this illuminated in the silvery glow of a full moon, big and brash in the sky, daring you to look at it.

which there’s not a fat chance of.

astarion’s gaze is glued downward, between his legs, where your hands are cradling his swollen balls and stroking lazily at his hard, aching cock.

as for you, you can’t keep your eyes off the side of his beautiful face, your nose buried in his silver curls.

you kiss the nape of his neck, gently, teasing, and astarion’s entire body shudders against you, his grip going tight on your thighs. ❝ darling, ❞ he says, and the usual brash confidence in his voice is nowhere to be found, replaced by a wheedling whimper.

there’s no helping the giggle that climbs out of you, even as your cunt drips, soaking the blanket you laid out to shield yourselves from the dirt and grass.

❝ yes? ❞ you query, and your hand strokes meanly over the tip of his cock, precum slicking the way as you squeeze.

❝ gods, ❞ astarion gasps, going rigid in your arms. ❝ well. i was going to ask if … mm … if you’d deign to go any faster? please? ❞

he turns, trying to give you his best ‘ i’m a beautiful vampire and i always get my way ‘ look.

all you see, however, is the most desperate, wanton little thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. and he is perfect.

it’s almost enough to make you want to speed up, to milk him until he’s spilling all over your hands in record time.

almost.

another quiet laugh bubbles out of you, and you hook your chin over his shoulder to see exactly what you’re doing to him.

his cockhead is red and impossibly swollen, glistening in the moonlight. there was no need for any oil tonight; he’s wet as any woman.

❝ i take that as a no, ❞ he mutters, and his grip once more tightens on your legs as he starts to drive himself up, fucking your fist.

you tut, immediately releasing his cock, leaving it to twitch wetly against his abdomen, utterly disappointed.

astarion makes a beautiful, frustrated little noise, bucks once more, and laxes back against you.

with the tip of one finger, you tease the head of his cock, just underneath the frenulum, and are rewarded with a fresh flood of precum and astarion’s exasperated sigh.

❝ you can cum like this, or not at all. ❞

❝ i — ❞ he’s about to argue with you, glaring at you out of the corner of his darkened eyes.

you give him a stern look, and he must think better of it, gaze slowly slipping away.

you sigh. ❝ you’re always so eager to try and wrest control, my love. ❞ affectionately, to show him you aren’t upset with him, you rub your nose just below his ear as you purr, ❝ why can’t you just let me take control for once? to make you feel good? i know you’ll love leaning back and relinquishing control, showing me just what a good boy you can be. ❞

the words ‘ good ‘ and ‘ boy ‘ strung together have the most gorgeous effect on the vampire in your lap. he sighs and lists back, head thrown to one side. leaving you the perfect access to his long, pale throat.

no hesitation, you sink your teeth in.

astarion yelps and his cock twitches where you’ve grabbed hold of it again.

❝ mother, ❞ he admonishes, breathless. his gaze retrieves yours; he’s joking, but only somewhat.

you decide to play along. ❝ yes, my sweet darling boy? ❞

he sniffs, looking bashfully away. ❝ i’m supposed to be the bloodthirsty vampire around here . . . ❞

starting to slowly pump your hand on him again, you press your breasts harder into his back, so he can feel how hard your nipples really are. ❝ mm, guess what? right now, you’re just my good boy. ❞

a hitch of breath, astarion’s hips aching to just thrust up into your grip until he cums.

you shush him, keeping a steady, defiant pace with your hand.

the first sign of his impending climax is a tightening of his balls in the palm of your hand as you roll them gently. the second, his nails digging deliciously into the meat of your thighs as he starts to pant.

❝ love — ❞

❝ i know, astarion. i know. just let it go, darling. be the good boy i know you are and cum for me. all over yourself. ❞

amidst the soft moist sounds of your hands pushing him over the edge, astarion gasps and his hips thrust sharply up, every muscle in his body going taut. the sight is incomparable. you could watch astarion lose himself time after time and never get sick of it.

cum shoots in thick ropes over the vampire’s toned abdomen, his thighs quivering, cock throbbing and twitching between your fingers as you glide one knuckle along that sensitive spot just below his contracting balls.

❝ by the gods, ❞ astarion chokes, as the strings of cum die out, the remainder oozing instead over your hands and wrists.

❝ someone was pent up, ❞ you giggle, slowing your ministrations. ❝ think we got everything or should i try for more? ❞

astarion grabs for one of your hands to still it, and you find that his fingers are trembling. ❝ please, no. i . . . i do think that’s enough for one night. ❞

❝ hm. fine. ❞ you scoot back just enough to be able to cant your hips up, dragging your wet cunt along his lower back. ❝ my turn, then. ❞

[minaturefics]

Though I Know My Heart Would Break

Request: For the poll that Legolas won! You guys sent in a few prompts, I've incorporated: sick (injured, rather) fic, hurt/comfort, everyone lives, and reader confesses first! Hope you guys like it! (Title is from Hozier's Francesca that has me in a chokehold)

Legolas x Reader

Gender-neutral reader

Content warnings: Mild injury (no overly graphic descriptions)

3.7k words

---

You walked through the forest, ducking under the cedar branches, weaving between the cypresses. The air was rich with the scent of herbs — thyme and sage, marjoram and parsley. The late afternoon sun filtered in through the canopy, specking the forest floor with light. Legolas’ footsteps were silent on the soft ground, but the steady clopping of the horse he was leading reassured you of his presence.

With the coronation over, and Eowyn and Faramir wed, attention was turned to restoring Minas Tirith and setting up a settlement at Emyn Arnen. You and Legolas were tasked with surveying the land and forests around Emyn Arnen. Sam was curious about the plants, hearing how new and different they were to those back in The Shire, but Frodo’s reluctance to stray further than the Citadel kept him in Minas Tirith. 

You paused by a cluster of pink rockfoils, thumbing the thin stems before plucking a few small flowers and tucking them into a waxed pouch. 

“Mellon nin,” Legolas said, sounding half-amused, half-exasperated, “Why do you pause and pluck? You have been doing so since we arrived. ”

“They’re for Sam. He might have agreed to stay in Minas Tirith, but I saw the shade of disappointment in his eyes. I thought perhaps I could bring the forest to him instead.”

His lips tugged up at the corners. “And what will you give the forest in return?”

“What do you mean?” You frowned and stood. 

He smiled, soft and knowing, eyes wandering over the barks and branches. “These trees have been left at peace for many years, the bushes and shrubs untouched. They are not used to wandering fingers and restless feet.”

You glanced down at the patch of rockfoils, the decapitated stems looking more brutal in light of Legolas’ words. Your lips twisted and he chuckled, and your eyes drifted back to him.

He had always been so full of light and laughter, even during the endless days and dark nights, even after Gandalf fell, even after the hobbits were taken. Ethereal, that was what people said of the elves. Otherworldly. 

But he looked so human, so normal, standing in a patch of sunlight, laughing at the concerned expression on your face. There were smudges of dirt on his boots, dew dotting the bottom hem of his cloak, and even a small leaf lodged in his hair. 

Yes, Legolas has always just been Legolas to you. 

Perhaps that was why it had been so easy to lose your heart to him. How could you not? While the others regarded him with a deference, or awe in the hobbits’ case, or even confusion at his elf customs, he had never truly seemed so different to you. His eyes, brown and alive in the light, still crinkled at the corners when he smiled. His voice, low and melodious, still cracked when he spoke of sorrows. And his hands, delicate and strong, still bore soft calluses from his bow. 

The last couple of days had been so indulgently wonderful. Without the threat of war or the constant need for secrecy and vigilance, being out in the wilds once more was soothing. It was a great secret joy, of course, that you had Legolas’ undivided attention. 

He had been more loose limbed and free with touches. Hands grazing yours as you walked, his knee against yours while you sat. His eyes too, seemed to melt into an amber by the fire, a tenderness in his gaze. It felt as though the seed of friendship had slowly, slowly, started to grow into something more. 

“Shall we continue on?” He said, and inclined his head towards the distant sound of water. “We can set up camp and leave our things while we walk the forest.”

You nodded and smiled before looking away, eyes scanning the forest floor before they landed on a patch of flowers. They were strange looking, three pronged with large paper-like petals. You knelt by them, carefully cutting the blooms with your knife, and idly said, “It is beautiful here, is it not?”

He hummed in agreement. “I could envisage residing here for a time, should Faramir allow it.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder and chuckled. “You should speak to Sam. Aragorn has already consulted him on some of the gardens in the Citadel, it would not surprise me if Faramir would ask him to Emyn Arnen to design something.”

“Those flowers,” he began, stepping closer and inspecting them, “they are… strange. I do not know what they are, and perhaps it would be better to leave them be.”

“Are they poisonous?”

He leaned in and sniffed them. “No, but as I said before, this forest is unaccustomed to such things. Gifts must be freely given, and what is not must be a fair exchange.”

You dropped them into the pouch and laughed, continuing through the forest. There was a strange note in his voice, something older, wiser, than the Legolas you knew. But what harm could there be in a few cuttings? The forest was vast; a few flowers and leaves here and there would not be any loss at all. “Come now, Legolas, you speak as though —”

A stone caught your toe, your knee buckled, and you fell to the ground. Sharp pain jolted up your wrists and knees, then a hot stinging spread across your palms and shins. You blinked, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the rotting leaves in the dirt, before warm hands rested between your shoulder blades.

“Are you alright?” Legolas said, crouching and easing you back into a sitting position. You stared at him, eyes drifting from his eyes to his lips. Had he always had such beautiful lips? “Mellon nin, are you alright?”

“Yes… I —” The shock of tingling subsided from your hands and legs and only a dull throbbing remained. You looked down at your knee, the same knee that had been shot, and found your trousers ripped and the old wound reopened. It was not as bad as the initial wound, though still relatively deep, and was bleeding sluggishly through the matted dirt. “Oh, I’m… bleeding.”

His eyes darted from your knee to the divot in the ground where a leaf caught in your fall was stained with blood. His lips tightened before he let out a soft sigh. “It is as I said: a fair exchange.” An easy smile spread across his face, the hand on your shoulder loosened its grip, and his voice took on a merry lilt. “However, I do not believe we will have any more trouble on our little trip here.”

The shock of the fall had subsided and you looked at the pouch still clutched in your fist. “Well, I suppose I should make the most of it then, and collect what I can for Sam.”

He laughed, squeezing your shoulder affectionately. “Never one to pass up an opportunity. Come, let us set up camp by the river and have a look at your wound. I do not wish for the matrons at the Houses of Healing tomorrow to claim I have neglected you.”

He pulled you to your feet, and looped an arm around your waist to help you hobble along. His arm was warm, his grip firm but gentle. Pressed up against him you could smell his scent, something fresh like grass or water, unsullied even by a couple of days in the forest. The both of you found a suitable spot under shelter by the trees, and after tying the horse up, he led you to the banks. 

His nimble fingers pried apart the shredded remains of the fabric by your knee and started to wash the wound. He dressed it with some honey from his pack and untouched moss from the forest floor and some spare wrappings you had in your supplies for such an eventuality. 

While he worked, you watched his hands. Long and lithe, they were precise and delicate with their motions. If only you could reach out, and lay your hand on top of his, to sweep your thumb over the back of his knuckles. But your hands were still muddied, and the new closeness you shared with him was too new and too tenuous for something like that. 

Legolas set up camp with a practiced efficiency, and soon the both of you were sitting beside each other by the fire, eating your supplies of bread and cheese. The fire crackled and popped, and around you the forest became alive at night. Owls hooted in the trees, and critters rustled in the bushes, and then, very softly, Legolas began to sing. 

The words were lost on you, but the melody was enough. The notes drifted in the air, curling around you, seeping into your skin. It sounded slow and adoring, leisurely and lazy, and the sensation of lying on sun-warmed grass, your lover’s touch skirting up your arm, filled your body. You leaned back on your arms, sinking into his voice, letting it carry and caress you. 

When the last few words rang in the air, you opened your eyes. Legolas was looking at you with a fond expression, eyes half-lidded and lips in a soft smile. 

“That song,” you whispered, “what is it about?”

His smile widened and he said, “I’ll tell you another time perhaps.”

-

Legolas stood on one of the parapets that overlooked the entrance to the Houses of Healing. Your wound was not healing as well as it should, most likely because of how bad the initial arrow wound was, and you were getting it redressed by the matrons. He sighed and let his eyes wander from the stone flagstones, to the rooftops, to the plains. In truth, the sight of your flesh, angry and inflamed, shook something in him. Even something as minor as your wound, was enough of a risk for infection, for fever. 

Humans were so fragile, so… final. 

He blinked at the thought. Yes, of course, how could he forget? Humans were mortal. Boromir was, Aragorn was. Even the merry little hobbits and Gimli were. How strange to think that such a thing slipped his mind when it came to you, but it was far too easy really. 

There was a vitality that seemed to pour from your being, an almost stubborn resilience, especially in the grim shadow of misfortune. It was the way you would play with the hobbits, even after a long day of walking, or grit your teeth and carry on, even harrowing experience after harrowing experience. When you smiled, the day was better, brighter, and he always found himself trying to get another laugh from you. 

And yet… such a light could be so easily snuffed out. 

He shifted on his feet and watched as you limped from the Houses of Healing. He had intended to go with you, but Sam had wanted to discuss garden plans, and Boromir had gone with you instead. He was about to raise his arm and call out to you, when a figure emerged from behind the line of trees. Boromir walked towards you with outstretched arms and pulled you into his side and helped you along, vanishing from his sight beyond the trees.

Ever since the end of the war, it had felt as though things were shifting between him and you. It was only small, nearly imperceptible changes — softer smiles, more frequent dinners alone, hands that reached and fingers that brushed. And yet… Why did it feel as though you were on the other side of something he could not cross? 

He thought of the cry of the gulls, the perpetual tugging at his heart for the sea. Oh, how he wished he had never heard them. Was this how Arwen felt all the time? Longing, aching. She was happy with Aragron, he knew, but sometimes he would catch her gazing out of a window, eyes forlorn and smile sad. Aragorn knew, understood even, and in those moments he left her to her quiet longing, never hurt or bothered, and welcomed her into his arms when she went back to him. 

But would you understand? Could you accept that there would always be one part of him that belonged to the sea, to the distant shore he would never reach? Or would it be a burden to ask such a thing of you? Maybe you would be better off with someone… mortal. He sighed and wandered back towards the Citadel proper. 

“Boromir, this is unnecessary. Put me down!” Your laughter rang out and you and Boromir emerged onto the courtyard. You were in his arms, limbs flailing as he wrangled to keep you held properly. “Boromir, I — oh, Legolas.”

“Ah, Legolas,” Boromir said as he gently replaced you back on the ground. “I return them to your care.”

He forced a smile onto his face. “How is your leg?”

“Mild infection but nothing to worry about,” you said, hobbling over to him. 

He instinctively reached out and wrapped an arm around your waist. You were warm underneath his hand, warmer than usual, and you smelled strongly of herbal poultice. He could detect traces of burdock and comfrey, and underneath it all, the smell of you. He took a greedy breath, filling his lungs with proof of your life. “You should be resting. Let us go back inside.”

“I’ve been inside the past week. I’m bored to death,” you grumbled. “Let’s sit outside for a while.”

He helped you to one of the stone benches and you collapsed onto it, hissing in pain. You gingerly stretched your leg out and sighed as you settled. He sat next to you, his eyes lingering on your knee. 

“Oh, stop fussing. It’s quite minor, really.”

“I have seen men succumb to infection from unassuming cuts. I do not think I will rest easy until you are fully healed.”

He followed the line of your leg up to your waist, then shoulders, and along your jaw and lips, up to your nose and eyes. Such beauty, destined to fade, to vanish from the world forever. How could he bear it? How could anyone?

“What is on your mind, my friend?” You asked.

“I was just thinking about the fading nature of men. I do not know how your kind bear it.”

“Death?” You chuckled. “But elves can die too, can they not?”

“Yes, but… it is not in our nature. In peace times, it is very rare for our kind to die. For men… even now, where there is no suffering any longer, you still experience the sting of mortality.” His chest constricted. “How can one stand to behold love and light, knowing it will vanish?”

“It is because they do not last, that we relish in them.”

“Even if it will bring you pain later?”

You smiled, gentle and indulgent, and placed your hand on top of his. His shoulders relaxed at your touch, the tension seeping out of his muscles. He wanted to capture the moment, to bottle it somehow, keep the image of you with the sun on your eyelashes and the feeling of the softness of your skin forever preserved. 

“Yes,” you whispered, “even then.”

Something shifted in his heart, just slightly, and a smile crept onto his face. Yes, he thought, especially then. 

-

“Sam,” you said, surveying the small garden. He had done a good job with it — the shrubs were well trimmed and flowers burst in orange and yellow all around. “Are you certain it will look good?”

He nodded and grinned. “It’ll look real pretty with some candles about. I still remember what it looked like in Lothlorien. We don’t ‘ave the sort of fancy holders and the like, but I’ll do my best.”

You smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t know how to thank you for this. I would do it myself but my knee…”

“No thankin’ needed. If anything, I should be thanking you. You brinin’ me those plants and flowers, even when the forest didn’t like you doin’ so.” His eyes fell to your knee. “I’m real sorry it caused you such trouble.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” You chuckled and patted him on the back. You looked around the garden again, trying to imagine the candles and cushions that Sam said he’d arrange for the night time picnic you had planned. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

“I think he’ll love it. Mighty romantic, if I can say.”

You shifted on your feet, stomach suddenly lurching. “What if I’m mistaken, Sam? I’m not sure I could bear the embarrassment.”

The last week or so had been so lovely it had felt like a dream. Nearly every night, Legolas had invited you to sit with him at the top of some tower or parapet. He would point and tell you stories of the stars and of the elves that had come before. There were so many instances where he would lean in close, eyes half-lidded, and talk in a low, murmured tone. You would watch his lips, and watch as he watched yours. But then he would draw back and glance away. 

“The elves are funny folk,” he said with a sigh. “I couldn’t tell you what might be goin’ on in Legolas’ mind, but I doubt he would be spendin’ so much time with you if he didn’t have some… reason to do so. If you catch my meaning.”

“I hope so, Sam. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I need to go to the kitchens to see what cheese and fruit they might be able to spare me.”

He gave you an encouraging smile and with a little wave, you set off downstairs. 

The sun was just setting when Sam called you back to the garden to assess what he had prepared. Candles were dotted all around the courtyard, separated on candelabras and clustered in small groups around the picnic blanket. Plush cushions were laid out and there were little white flowers scattered on the soft wool, perfuming the air with the faint smell of jasmine. 

“Sam,” you gasped. “This is — I cannot —”

“I’ll be takin’ your speechlessness as a compliment?” He smiled shyly and ducked his head. He reached for the picnic basket in your hand and placed it on the blanket. “There, now it’s complete.”

“I’ll repay you for this Sam, I promise.”

He blushed. “Like I said before, there’s no need. Anyway, I best be hurryin’ along. Wouldn’t want Legolas to stumble upon me here and get any wrong ideas.”

You laughed and he vanished back inside. You limped over to the blanket, wincing a little as you lowered yourself, and tried to slow your breathing. Legolas would come, wouldn’t he? What if he took one look at the scene and fled? You shook your head. No, he wouldn’t do that. If you were truly mistaken about his feelings towards you, he would tell you gently and bear you no ill will.

“Mellon nin,” Legolas said from behind you and you turned, heart thumping in your chest. His eyes were wide and a slow smile was spreading across his face. “I received your message. Why have you asked me here?”

You swallowed. Did he not know? “Is it… is it not obvious?”

“I have an inkling, perhaps.” He wandered over, his steps lazy and relaxed, and sank onto the cushions. The tightness in your chest eased a fraction. “But I do not wish to presume what may or may not be in your heart. Will you not give me the truth?”

“Legolas, I…” You cleared your throat. By the Valar, why was it so difficult to speak? He arched an eyebrow at you and you glanced away, speaking more to the picnic basket than to him. “I… care for you. A great deal.”

He took your hand, and you dared to lift your gaze. He beamed at you, and then a flash of mischief entered his eyes. “As a friend?”

You scowled at him. “Do you often plan candlelit picnics for your friends, Legolas?”

He laughed and pressed his lips to the back of your hand. They were soft and warm, his breath hot on your skin. “I am teasing, meleth nin.”

Heat crept up your neck and you tried to withdraw your hand. He held fast and planted a line of kisses up, up, up, from your wrist to your elbow to your shoulder. His eyes were almost sparking in the dim, the dots of candlelight flickering in his dark irises. He kissed your jaw and your nose and your temple before dipping his head to capture your lips.

He kissed slow and languid, as though savouring the feeling of you against him. He tasted tart and sweet, no doubt from the berry and honey biscuits you knew he liked to snack on. The strange tension in your stomach snapped and vanished, and you melted under his touch. His growing smile made you giggle and your teeth knocked against his, making him laugh. 

“I am curious about what you have in that picnic basket of yours,” he murmured. “There will be time for such enjoyment later.”

A flush coloured your cheeks. “I suppose it would be a waste if we simply ignored all the food I prepared.”

“Though, before we continue, I must ask you a question first,” he said, growing grave and serious. His eyes drifted down to your joined hands, and he brushed his thumb over your knuckles. “Could you bear being with me, living with me, when part of my heart is forever owned by the sea?”

You reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “My love, could you bear to be with me? If you stay, you will fade.”

“It would be a worse fate to live eternity without you,” he whispered. “That I could not bear.”

“Legolas…” It seemed all the more tragic that he, of all people, should die. He was light and joy and the thought of him growing cold and dim wrenched at your heart. “You deserve to… I cannot…”

“I have made my choice, meleth nin. Let us be happy together.” He cupped your cheek, a smile spreading across his face. His eyes were soft, but certain, his touch gentle but sure. He kissed the tip of your nose, chuckling, before he slanted his lips against yours. The kiss was chaste and quick, and all the more sweeter for its casualness. 

“For however long we have,” he murmured, “let us be happy.”

“Alright,” you said. You rested your forehead against his, inhaling his scent, breathing his breath. Yours, for now, for ever. “For however long we have.”

---

ok but what is it about the immortality of elves that has me appreciating/relishing/romanticising our mortal lives. i swear this is the second time ive done this with legolas.

Taglist: @sotwk

[katiexpunk]

Are you ever going to do a pt 2 to dream of me? It was soo good! I want to see the morning after and what joel would do while reader/character is asleep or something.

Dream of Me - Part II | Pairing Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Thanks for the ask, Non. <3 I'm so glad you liked it! I've had a part II in my wips for a while, and your ask inspired me to finish it up. It was one of my first fics and I feel like my writing style has evolved a lot since then. So surprise! I also added about 1K extra words to Part I. :) Rating: 18+ Minors DNI | W/C: ~2K Warnings: Dream vibes. Unprotected P in V. Orgasm denial. Pet names. Masturbation. Use of cum as lube. Rough sex/hair pulling. Use of slut one time. Oral (f receiving). Sleeping bag sex. There is an age gap, but it's not specified (make it your own). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. For immersability, the reader has no major physical descriptions/graphic is for vibe purposes only. Masterlist | Notifications | Read on AO3 | Part 1

The world is bathed in a soft, ethereal glow, the kind that seems to blur the edges of reality into a gentle haze. You’re standing in the middle of an open field, the grass beneath your feet feels lush and slightly damp, as if it had recently been kissed by a passing cloud. Above you, the sky is a canvas of swirling colors, painting a sunset that seems almost otherworldly. You feel like you’ve stepped into a painting, the kind that used to hang on walls in museums, ones that used to be meticulously cared for.

In the distance, you see a mountain, its peak shrouded in mist and its slopes adorned with trees that shimmer in hues of gold and emerald. You think that it might be nice to sit in the grass and just watch the clouds roll over the rock giant. Before your legs can fall to the ground, your ears tune to the telltale sounds of water on water, a roaring waterfall unmistakable in the distance. 

You begin to walk, your steps guided by an unseen force, drawn towards the mountain as if it were calling to you, whispering your name in only a language you understand. The air is filled with the sweet scent of flowers in bloom, a fragrance so potent and yet so delicate, like a memory from a time long forgotten. You’re reminded of the perfume your mother used to wear, the lush roses that once lived in your garden, and the earthy smell of fresh-cut grass. 

As you approach the base of the mountain, you notice a path that winds its way up the slope, paved with stones that faintly glow, as if they were lit from within. With each step, the stones beneath your fit light up, guiding you onward, their light casting dancing shadows on the path in front of you. You feel warm and fuzzy, safe and curious, like nothing here could hurt you. 

Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see a figure standing off the side of the path. A man, broad and imposing, yet with a demeanor that radiates warmth, beckons you closer. 

As you get closer, you realize it’s Joel. He looks different, softer somehow. He doesn’t say anything, just holds your gaze. 

“Is this a dream?” You ask, your voice off in the distance, almost as if it was coming from someone else. 

His dark eyes lock on yours, and he takes a step closer. He cages you back until your backside lands against the expanse of a thick tree. He stands, palm flat against the bark above your head, and leans in. Fuck, he smells good — like cedar and cinnamon. 

You look up at him, and he leans in even closer, his face close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. His hungry eyes fall to your lips, and he leans in even further, lips hovering just over yours. 

“Why don’t we find out?” He says, voice low, a syrupy drip of arousal behind his words. 

You jolt awake, but this time there are no soft moans that thread through stillness, instead, you’re met with the wanton sound of skin-on-skin, and deep heavy grunts. 

“You’re a dirty fucking girl, you know that, sweetheart?” Joel groans, once again on top of you, fully awake this time. One hand on your hips, the other braced at your side, he guides your wet cunt down onto him with intensity. He gyrates his hips, the tip of him kissing your cervix, and you let out a breathy moan. 

“Joel, fuck —” 

“Fucking me in my sleep, taking advantage of me,” he groans through grit teeth as he relentlessly fucks into you, taking you hard and rough, “Cock hungry little slut, just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He says, hand leaving your hip for a brief moment to unzip the rest of the sleeping bag down. 

Both of his hands find your hips and he tugs you back and up so you’re on all fours, ass clapping against his lower tummy. “Toldya you were asking for trouble, sweetheart,” he says, trailing his hand up your lower back, causing you to arch for him. His hand grabs the back of your neck with a commanding grip, and he uses the leverage to pull you back onto his cock even harder. 

“Shit Joel, ah” you whimper, a little sore from last night, “it’s so much,” you mewl. 

“You had your fun, baby, now it’s my turn,” he says with a low groan and moves to gather a handful of your hair in his first. He tugs it and your back curves even further, the new angle perfect against the soft spongy spot that makes you see stars. 

“Joel, oh my god, please —” you cry out, a little plea of pleasure, a little plea of pain. He’s fucking you with such intensity, using you just like you hoped he would last night. Last night was incredible, but nothing could compare to this. You’re not sure you’ve ever been fucked this good, ever. 

“You close, baby?” 

“Yes, oh god, please — wanna come so bad, please Joel,” you moan, and he lets out a deep groan of approval from his chest. He tugs on the hair intertwined between his fingers and pulls you up so your back is against his chest, his cock still deep inside of you. 

His forearm comes to wrap around your waist and his lips find your neck, his teeth gliding against the razor edge of your jaw. He sucks soft kisses into your damp skin and continues dragging his thick cock in and out of you just so. 

Your eyes flutter closed and Joel can tell you’re close from the way your pussy walls clench around him. 

“Look so good like this baby, stuffed full of my cock,” he whispers into your ear, sucking the lobe of it between his lips. “‘Ts a damn shame I won’t get to hear how sweet you sound when you come,” he says, voice low, as he thrusts up hard into your cunt and then quickly pulls out. 

Your eyes snap open and your jaw drops. He releases you and you turn around to face him. He can’t be serious right now. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. Bad girls don’t get to come,” he says, a harshness to it, but you see a smirk of satisfaction wash over his face. His large hand comes out to grip his thick cock, and he uses your slick as he works himself. 

“Joel, please —” you all but beg, your eyes soft, chest heaving. His jaw tightens, the veins in his neck bulging as he fucks his fist and takes in the sight of you. You hold his gaze, and another soft please escapes your lips. 

“Fuck,” he groans, “lay on your back, spread your legs,” he commands, much like he does when he tells you to get behind him, his rifle aimed at any potential threats. It might have scared you pre-outbreak, how submissive you’ve become for a man, but that was then and this is now — you follow his orders to stay alive because he knows what’s in your best interest. This can’t be any different, right? 

You do as he says, your hand instinctively finding your way to your wet core, circling on your clit, seeking out the friction you so desperately need. 

“Did I say you could touch yourself, sweetheart?” 

“No,” your eyes drop to his weeping cock, and your hand falls to your side. 

“You touch yourself when I say you can,” he says, voice heavy and a little breathless. His resolve is slipping. He hasn’t let up the pace on his cock this entire time, and you can tell he’s close. You spread your legs even wider, granting him an unobstructed view of your dripping cunt. 

“You gonna come for me, Joel?” You softly moan, a seductive tone to your voice. “Gonna paint my pussy with your cum?” You press your knees down further on top of the sleeping bag. 

Joel’s fist tightens on his cock, and he works it methodically, eyes locked on your wet hole. 

“God, she’s so pretty, I can tell she wants to be full of me, huh, baby? Little cunts just begging to be stuffed,” he groans and thrusts his hips into his fist once more before he lets out an almost painful-sounding moan. Hot cum falls over his fingertips, pools on the top of your mound, dripping honey thick over your clit, down your lips, and into your aching hole. His chest heaves and his fist holds tight on his cock as he lets the aftershocks of his orgasm wash over him. 

On his knees in front of you, between your legs, he rises and adjusts his shoulders. He releases his spent cock and falls back onto his legs, shins pinned to the ground below. 

“Go ahead, sweetheart. Want to watch you fuck it into you,” he says, bringing both of his hands to your inner thighs, holding you open for him. 

Like you did last night, you fingers return to your clit and you pull tight circles there, using his cum as lube. He should be looking at your pussy, but instead, his eyes are locked on yours. He’s so fucking intense, a brooding mass of a man, even now, a slight blush to his cheeks from his orgasm, chest twinged with sweat. You want to know what he tastes like, the salt of his skin on your tongue, the tang of his cum. 

You use your middle finger to gather a little bit of his release on your finger and fuck it into yourself a few times, before drawing your finger out and up to your mouth, slipping the slick digit between your lips. You suck it clean and you swear you see his cock twitch as you do. 

“Jesus,” he groans, and his cock starts to harden once more. 

Your fingers return to your clit. You’re so close, it’s not long before —

“Fuckfuckfuck, yes,” you cry out, eyes closed, your release taking over you like watercolor paint spilling onto paper, blurring the lines your pleasure has always been confined to — until now. You think once again that this might be a dream, but this time you’re no longer in a painting that hangs on a wall in a museum, you are the painting.  

“Shit, that was pretty,” he moans, and you open your eyes to find his cock is now fully hard once again. 

“Did so good for me, sweetheart,” he says, coming to hover over you. His cock smears the remnants of his cum on your belly as he leans in closer, and hovers his mouth over yours. He holds steady there, eyes still fixed on yours before he drops them to your lips and leans in to plant a soft kiss on them. 

It’s tender, softer than you would expect from a man like him. 

He pulls himself up slightly and brings one hand to cup your cheek. 

“You’re gonna do that again,” he says, voice soft, and your eyes widen. 

“Told you you were asking for trouble, sweetheart,” he groans against your chest. “But don’t worry, I’m gonna help you out this time,” he says, trailing kisses down the valley of your breast, using his tongue to lap up the cum that’s gathered on your skin before his head comes to rest in between your thighs. 

And in that moment, your reality outshines the confines of even the sweetest of dreams. 

END

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

The knife in the dark

Azriel's week: Day 3

Hosted by: @azrielappreciationweek

Word count: 700+

You woke up chained to the wall in some dark room that smelled like mold, urine, blood and fear. When your eyes got used to the dim light you could finally take a look around. Your stomach churned. You were in the dark dungeon. Panicking you pulled on shackles with all your strength, but not only they didn't move, the commotion drew attention of your kidnappers.

"Look who's up," one grinned. Together with his companion they stepped closer, malicious sneers on their faces. It was immediately clear to you that you wouldn't like what was to come. You wanted to move away from them, but shackles held you in place.

The other male grabbed your neck and squeezed. "Do you know why you are in this shit?" You shook your head while you were fighting for air. "You can thank your damn spymaster. If he hadn't interfered with our plans, none of this would happen to you," he barked. Now when they stood so close, you could recognise the uniforms of Autumn Court's guards. Whatever Azriel did, it really pissed them off.

"Our lord was angry, so angry," the first one said. "And when he gets angry, somebody dies."

"Now it's your turn," other one growled and they started to kick you and beat you with their big fists. You cried in pain, praying to Mother to stop it. When they finished with you, you hanged there on the edge of unconsciousness, bleeding from nose, mouth and numerous cuts, unable to breathe properly.

"How about we have fun with her before we finish her," one of them said.

"That's good idea," the other grunted. Their hands began to tear your clothes. If you could you would scream, plead, fight them, but you could only cry silently.

You were almost naked when you noticed a flash of a blade behind their backs. Soon after Azriel's face emerged from the darkness. He looked so furious and deadly that he could easily be mistaken for a god of vengeance, a fearsome angel of death. He was ready to kill and he did.

Armed only with his Truth-Teller and silent as night he launched on the males and finished them before they realised what's happening.

Two growing pools of blood wetted your feet. Relieved the horror was over, you swung on shackles, your consciousness slowly started to slip away.

"Hey," Azriel said softly. He cleaned his knife and put it away. Then he quickly untied you and lifted you up, clenching you to his broad chest. "Y/N, hey. Stay with me. Do you hear me?"

" 'hurts," you groaned.

"I know, sweetheart, I know and I'm so sorry," he sounded really hurt and worried. If the most calm and balanced person you knew, became so worried, your injuries had to be more severe than you thought. "Just hold on a little longer for me. Will you?"

You groaned again. Feeling your mind again slipping away, you tried to focus on the closest thing - his face, especially those beautiful hazel eyes with gold flecks that watched you worriedly.

Azriel gently placed a kiss to your hair and covering both of you in the shadows, he set out on his way out. Only then did you see the trigger. There were rivers of blood and death bodies everywhere along your way.

But you couldn't care less. He came to save you. He came for you. These words became your mantra, it helped you to stay clam. In his arms you felt safe.

You squinted against the bright daylight. He got you out of the dungeons without anybody noticing and raising alarm. The entire time his scarred hands held you firmly against his muscular chest heaving with effort.

You were listening to his strong and regular heartbeats, the sound like lullaby to your ears. The smell of cedar and mist was filling your nose. (Did he always smell so nice?) It was so soothing, it felt so right. You were still in great pain, but right now it all felt too distant to even think about it. And your heavy eyelids began to drop.

"Y/N, stay with me," he reminded you alarmed. And you did, locking eyes on his bouncing Adam's apple and tightened jaw, his high cheeks, full lips and lovely nose. (Was he always so handsome?) In that moment you would do anything for him.

As soon as it was possible, Azriel winnowed you to the medical hall in Velaris.

[lisalosingstreak]

Bath Time Menace

Ch1 / Ch2 The Adventures of Cedar Addams

“No Cedar - not in here!” Wednesday pleaded as her half shifted day wolf daughter ran into her office naked and wet through.

“Ruff?” Cedar questioned as she screeched to a halt on the shiny wooden floor beside her adopted mother.

“No Cedar not near my new pages……”

It was too late. Cedar shook her whole body wildly to dry herself off as Enid ran in behind her, immediately raising her hands up to protect her from the spray flinging off her daughter’s sodden fur.

Wednesday had covered her manuscript up with her arms and as the shaking stopped she was glad to see that none of the water had managed to ruin her newly typed pages.

As Cedar looked up as her, her furry wolfish head to one side in sort of an inquisitive fear of her mum’s scolding, Wednesday smiled in relief for the safety of her work but mostly just how adorable her daughter looked. Cedar had only been with them a few months and had mostly settled into their home life well but bathtime always made her half-shift and always ended in mayhem.

Wednesday looked up at Enid who was clearly trying to suppress her laughter, and let out a throaty giggle of her own. Those sultry chuckles had become increasingly common with Cedar in their home - a much welcome change to the anxiousness of their life before the little fur ball had literally leapt out of the woods to become one of their family.

Within a couple of seconds they were both laughing out loud as Wednesday picked Cedar up - damp fur be damned - and held her aloft as the little girls arms and legs flailed around and little yelps and mini barks of joy escaped from her mouth.

“Who’s my little crazy pup then?” she teased as Enid came to join them both and take Cedar back to the bathroom.

“Come now you little menace, I don’t know how you always escape the bath but we need to leave momma alone to finish her work.”

“It’s ok Enid, I don’t mind. She won’t be young forever so I need to cherish these moments. Writing seems to have lost its appeal a little since we became our own pack.”

Enjd snapoed her head to look directly in her wife’s eyes.

“Our own pack? You’ve never said that before Willa…”

Enid’s tears were already falling before she finished the sentence, causing Wednesday to look concerned.

“Is it ok to say that?” She asked.

“Yes - sniff - these are happy tears Willa. My own pack, it’s all I ever dreamed of.”

“Am I part of the dream too?”

“Baby you ARE the dream….” Enid cooed, giving Wedneday a peck on the cheek - with slight difficulty as she tried to hold her wriggly daughter in her arms.

Wednesday blushed, her freckles standing out, never really used to the spontaneous acts of love Enid seemed to bless her with every day.

“Now come on Cedar let’s go and find a fluffy towel for you - Willa are you ok to make some food?”

“Of course my dear, same as usual?”

“Yes, no spice for me on the meat but as much chilli on Cedar’s portion as you know she likes.”

With that Enid walked out of the office with Cedar under her arm, blowing Wednesday a kiss which Wednesday, like a ridiculously lovestruck teen, caught and pressed to her own lips. Why? It made Enid giggle and Wednesday would never tire of hearing that wonderful noise.

NEXT TIME - Meal Time with Cedar

[ficnoire2]

A Little Legendborn/Bloodmarked Symbolism (Spoilers ahead)

Mrs. Deonn has done such a bomb ass job in this series with all the delicious Easter eggs she has planted throughout.  From things being in threes, the callbacks to LB from BM, the foreshadowing.  The list goes on and on.  I like to play with some of these delicious elements (you can find my post of LB/BM color theory here) and have put forth my latest contribution.  

The Mighty Oak/Tree Symbolism

“Vera stands before me, bathed in blood and flame, hair stretching wide and loose like a live oak.” 

The oak represents  longevity, strength, stability, endurance, fertility, power, justice, and honesty.  As we know the oldest mother held Arthur back AND pulled Excalibur through Bree.  What I also found curious was the bit of Celtic history regarding oak trees.  Dara, which means oak tree, is a form of Celtic Knot formed by an endless series of interlocked lines with no beginning or end symbolizing eternity, strength, and unity.  Trees can represent the connection between the spirit world, ancestors, and can serve as entry points to other worlds.  In Legendborn when Sel tries to kill Bree in the graveyard and they have to run, he says “Datgelaf, dadrithiaf”  (I reveal, I disillusion) to open a door over the roots of an oak tree in order to hide from the hounds.  The roots of the tree providing protection and cover concealing the gate to the campus’ underground tunnel system.  

“But I’ve lived long enough to learn to live as the willow, not the oak.”  Valec says this in Bloodmarked before handing Sel his ass in his office.  This was a hella interesting statement coming from Valechaz.  The willow tree represents flexibility and adaptability.  Its branches bend and flex to withstand its environment.  It is seen as a symbol of humans’ capability to withstand hardship, loss, and difficult emotions. The willow tree is also seen as a survivor and a symbol of rebirth.  Baby if that isn’t Valec, I don’t know what is!  He goes with the flow, is resilient, and can and has withstood the storm.  He has survived chattel slavery and chooses his wit and street smarts if you will, as opposed to his strength and power.  However, don’t get it twisted, Valec will wear that ass out if needed. 

Cedar

“When he catches up, his fresh-laundry-and-cedar scent comes with him.  Of course he smells good.”  

When Bree meets Nick for the first time, I remember the cedar note of his scent standing out to me the most.  I have a hundred year old cedar chest that belonged to my great grandparents which reminded me why that note stood out.  Cedar symbolizes greatness, nobility, strength and incorruptibility.  Cedar never rots and according to Celtic astrology, the cedar symbolizes trust.  Well then Nick Davis, enter the chat. In my reading I also discovered that cedar represents the duality of nature.  Fierce and resolute, however, elegant and tender.  These trees are massive and the use of cedar in ancient times to forge vessels, homes, and the sarcophagi to carry the ancestors home is a testament to its strength and durability. If you peel away the winding fibrous bark of a cedar tree you’ll find a fragrant and sensual heartwood with medicinal and spiritual uses dating back to ancient times.

Bottle Trees

“The boundary is marked by bottle trees here and there.  She points to a tree about six feet tall a little ways behind us, on the other side of the gold root barrier.  Colorful glass bottles cover the end of each branch.  The light of the barrier plays off the blues and greens, illuminates the yellows and reds.  ‘When the barrier goes invisible and you’re walking around, you gotta look left and right, keep two bottle trees in sight.  If you see two, you can draw a line between them and know where Volition’s protection ends’.”

Mariah explains this as the crew enters the Volition grounds.  Bottle trees have roots in African lore and culture as well as in the Gullah people in North and South Carolina.  The practice of having bottle trees on the land originated in the Kingdom of Kongo in West Africa.  This practice was continued by the Africans who were stolen and brought to the Americas. According to folklore, bottles are placed on the branches of dead trees.  The bright, traditionally cobalt colored bottles were said to be a lure for evil spirits which became trapped after entering the bottles at night.  The spirits trapped inside the bottles would be destroyed  by the rising sun.  It was said that if a bottle hums in the wind, that was a sure fire way to know you have trapped a spirit.  Traditionally the bottles used are cobalt, which is said to have healing powers but can also range in color from bright reds to yellows.  The practice of placing bottle trees along your property has spread to the Caribbean as well as other areas of the south.  Being a Midwest girl, I thought this was a cool detail as we finally make it to Volition which is a place of protection, honor, and healing.  This was such a fitting detail to include knowing what is at stake for our crew. 

Leather

A symbol of power, protection, rebellion, freedom, and elegance (Valec has a hint of this in his signature as well) leather is strong and durable.  It has been used in everything from armor to boots and served as protection for the wearer.  

“A long line of Merlins in my family.  Ma da makes leather armor and things, pieces we can wear under our clothes if we go hunting in public…The old ways get forgotten, I guess.”  

Lark says this to Bree in Bloodmarked when gifting her the gauntlets his da handcrafted.  By the way, that was so damn sweet it gave me “the sugar” as the old folks used to say.  We know Lark has a nobility and respect for “The old ways” as we see him risk it all to get Sel out of the institute and on the plane.  Lark was showing Bree the ropes at the funeral.  Despite her warranted rage, he was there making sure she was safe in Selwyn’s absence, while giving her a bit of game to further protect her in the presence of the regents.  The scene in the beast where he is being snatched out of the car and he makes eye contact with Bree, 

“He roars, teeth bared.  Punches his fingers deep into the leather cushions on either side of my hips, down to the metal bars that bolt the seats to the floor.  Holds tight, stopping himself.  He growls with the effort, eyes pinned to mine, body nearly vertical, feet to the sky.” 

I kid that this was the worst first day of work ever, but the devotion to his duty, the willingness and readiness to protect Bree is so painfully beautiful it hurts.  Especially since we know Lark is the real deal, authentic as hell and wants to do what is right.  And of course, he was there at Volition carrying Sel back towards the main house because he truly holds honor in high regard.  The fact that he uses ancient materials and seems to have a general groundedness to his personality makes the leather accompaniment so appropriate.  Lark is protection.  Lark is rebellion.  Lark is freedom. 

Taking a deeper look into some of Tracy’s choices shows the painstaking detail she put into crafting these beautiful characters.  The symbolism of trees and their strength and endurance, their ability to withstand is so apt in this series.  The elements of nature that call back to ancient times, the roots, the growth. The way Lark’s family reaches back to simpler times when leather was used to make clothing, act as armor, and is handcrafted really speaks to the authenticity he possesses.  The time it took his da to create something so beautiful for something so brutal and merciless such as battle shows a level of care and respect that is clearly reflected in his being.

Let me know your wonderful thoughts and feedback.  Think I may do a little scent theory next.  

[twistedappletree]

Ok sooooo……. idea for you: Yi city except Jin Ling and Lan Sizhui get separated from everyone else and Jin Ling is being a cute little scaredy cat about the ghosts lol 👻

Ohohohohooooo I’ll do you one better, anon.

JL and LSZ separated from the group, then JL getting separated from LSZ, flipping his absolute shit and being a hilarious flustered mess after finding LSZ again.

Is that what you wanted, huh? IS IT?!

becauseiknowthatswhatiwantlmaooo

“The mist is worse here,” said Lan Sizhui, “Stay with me.”

Jin Ling’s eyes darted around, constantly on the lookout for ghosts as he kept quiet and let Lan Sizhui take the lead. “I haven’t even heard any of the others. Where are we?”

Lan Sizhui studied their barely visible surroundings, catching glimpses of a few shoddy, abandoned stalls. “A market street, I think—and I’m sure we’ll run into them eventually. All any of us can do is go in circles, after all.”

A shadow flew past the corner of Jin Ling’s eye. He jumped and whipped around, his hand trembling on the hilt of his sword. Such a weapon would surely be useless against a ghost but it calmed his nerves to know he at least had something to protect himself.

“Sizhui,” Jin Ling whispered, “There’s something out here…”

No answer.

Jin Ling turned around to find that Lan Sizhui was gone and he was completely alone. A twinge of panic coursed through his veins as he twirled around, unsure if he should move or stay in one place.

“Sizhui?!” he called, frantically searching the mist.

Another shadow glided through the murky atmosphere. He jumped back and gripped one of the arrows in his quiver. With his other hand still on his sword, his mind tried to figure out which weapon would be the best defense.

He narrowed his eyes and frowned, taking a brave step forward as he barked, “Sizhui, cut it out already! This isn’t funny!”

He knew Lan Sizhui was the last person to pull pranks, which made the situation even worse. Jin Ling was growing more worried for his fellow disciple than himself as the unnatural silence of the city chilled him to the bone.

The shadow from before returned, spinning towards him this time in a howling whirlwind. Jin Ling inhaled and finally moved, flying through the mist until he ran into something strong but soft, warm and familiar.

The fresh scent of orange blossom and cedar wood surrounded Jin Ling like a comforting blanket as two confused hands awkwardly encircled his waist.

Lan Sizhui looked down at him and frowned. “Young Master Jin? Are you—“

Jin Ling suddenly pushed against the Lan boy’s chest and sprang backwards, his amber eyes burning with annoyance. “You—! Why did you leave me?!”

Lan Sizhui lifted his brows and blinked, not sure how to respond. “Wha—“

The young Jin disciple spared him no room to even attempt an explanation. “You tell me to stay with you, then leave me behind! Ridiculous!”

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked off to the side, his bangs blowing outward as he sighed. “I called you three times. Something was running around out here and—“ He paused for a moment, cheeks burning as he looked back up at Lan Sizhui with a pout. “I-I was worried, but you look fine,” he mumbled. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

Lan Sizhui’s head was spinning trying to keep up with Jin Ling’s heated outburst. “Young Master Jin, I’m sorry but I honestly didn’t hear you. I thought you were still behind me—“

“Whatever,” Jin Ling interrupted, “Just… don’t wander off, I’m not gonna save you if you do something stupid.”

Lan Sizhui stifled a laugh, no stranger to Jin Ling’s fiery way of showing concern. “The mist really is bad here,” he said. “Maybe this would help?”

Jin Ling’s eyes widened and his imaginary hackles raised when Lan Sizhui offered him his hand, the Lan boy’s long, slender fingers safe and inviting. “Huh?! What are you… I-I’m not a baby! All I said is don’t wander off, it’s not that—“

Once again, the shadow from earlier barreled towards Jin Ling and hit him with a glacial gust of air, this time accompanied by the buoyant, echoing giggle of a child.

Jin Ling yelped and lunged forward, grabbing Lan Sizhui’s hand and hiding behind him, his face buried against the taller boy’s sleeve.

Lan Sizhui watched curiously as the shadow circled around them and disappeared into the mist. He glanced down at the trembling Jin disciple and smiled. “It looks like you’ve made a friend.”

Jin Ling popped his head out from Lan Sizhui’s sleeve and glared into the mist with an irritated expression. “I-I don’t need any friends! Tell it to go away!”

Lan Sizhui gently squeezed his hand and laughed. “It’s okay, it’s harmless. Just a playful spirit.”

Obviously unconvinced, Jin Ling scrunched his nose and went right back to using Lan Sizhui as a shield.

“A-Ling,” Lan Sizhui chimed, his tone gentle and sweet.

Jin Ling looked up to meet his soft, striking amethyst gaze and could swear his heart skipped a beat.

“I promise I won’t leave you.”

Heat spread from Jin Ling’s neck to his ears to his face like a wildfire, every nerve in his body ping-ponging wildly. He narrowed his eyes and sputtered, “Why say it like that…?! You’re so embarrassing!”

Confusion washed over Lan Sizhui’s face as he tilted his head to the side. “Is that not what you were worried about?”

“Shut up,” Jin Ling mumbled. Still holding Lan Sizhui’s hand, he abruptly tugged him along. “Let’s just go already.”

Lan Sizhui lifted his hand to his mouth and chuckled as he was pulled through the mist by the flustered Jin disciple. “Lead the way.”

{ 🖤 }

[thesilliestofgals]

Alright so I FINALLY got the motivation to post this: now sit back and buckle in, because

The Rosabella Beast and Blondie Lockes Sequel Arc: Part 1

(Addendum: If you're new, please read this post, which is the first arc before this one!)

This sequel arc takes place either immediately after or awhile after the Blog Takedown Arc. Daring notices that RB and Blondie don't seem to really... have any friends- in fact, they don't even seem to friends with each other. So, he talks to RB about it. RB is quick to remind him of her trust issues, and the fact that the students don't even seem to like her- why should she step out of her comfort zone if she's just going to be back in it? She's happy just being with Daring... and Blondie- she struggles to admit that, but with some prodding from Daring, she does.

Daring is left.. perturbed and worried. Yes, he's already a fantastic friend, and he'd be more than happy to be her's and Blondie's only one, but... he knows that isn't healthy. Thankfully, he gets a solution to his dilemma: his dear sister Darling is having a get together with some of her own friends- a hexcellent opportunity for the two to open up! With some help from Dexter, he convinces Darling to invite the two.

Through grumbles of "hex this", and "major fairy-fall", they reluctantly attend. They quickly find out that perhaps Daring is wrong about this being a "hexcellent opportunity", because when they walk into the room, Duchess, along with Raven, Apple, Duchess, Ashlynn, Cerise, and Briar (number of people subject to change) are there. The same girls who'd been trying to figure out who the blog runners were. Hex it all.

Because of RB's already established "Beauty" persona, she has an easy chatting the others up, much better than Blondie does... for awhile. Then Cedar comes by to visit, and then the air... changes. RB's smile seems... forced. Her eyes, usually wide and bright, are now narrowed, the light sharper, more dangerous, like a predator's. It's... off-putting, even for Blondie. She's seem RB angry before- like when she discovered a particularly disgusting secret, or like when they found out about the blog being investigated, but this anger... it was different- it wasn't anger- it's hatred. A visceral loathing. And that scares the rookie reporter.

Eventually, the conversation circles towards in on the blog. Everyone voices how relieved they are that it's no longer up. Cedar mentions that she's glad, too- sometimes, secrets are secrets for a reason- for better or worse.

RB snorts, and that metaphorical mask is ripped right off her face. That's rich, she blurts out, sneering, coming from you. Everyone's shocked. They've never seen RB with such unnatural features- an angry snarl, eyes dark, her voice sharp like broken glass. Cedar wonders aloud if RB is referring to her truth curse. RB barks out a bitter laugh. She really doesn't remember? Of course she doesn't.

The air is becoming thick with tension. Blondie looks like she's about to make an emergency exit via the window. RB can feel an all too familiar feeling under her skin. Just like whenever she was writing a new callout post, the beast wants out.

She asks Cedar if she really doesn't remember- or if she's playing dumb to save face. Everyone is too stunned to come to Cedar's defense. In a quick movement, Rosabella's Beast form is on full display. She gets right Cedar's face.

Does this ring any bells?

The room goes dead quiet. The air is suffocating. RB looms over the wooden girl. Her mouth is wide in a saccharine, hysterical smile, filled with sharp fangs and teeth. Her claws tearing right through the fabric of Cedar's dress and digging into the wood of her shoulders, leaving indents.

Look at me, Cedar. Look at me, and try to tell me you don't remember.

The silence is disturbed as Cedar lifts her head, just a fraction to meet RB's eyes.

Finally, the puppet girl speaks. Please, stop, she pleads, her voice just above a whisper, you're scaring me.

RB stops. She stares for a moment. Something flickers behind that veil of loathing and rage in her eyes. She releases Cedar, takes a few steps back, and darts out of the room.

End of Part 1.

[starshinedragon]

SSO: LIFE WARDENS The magic trees of Jorvik

Main tree: Jordrassil in the Jorcrater -> The Crater is where the first pandorian contact happened, Aideen met the centaurs -> She combined the 3 magics (Light, Earth, Pandorian) and fought Garnok. -> Jordrassil is the first tree, manifestation of Aideen’s life powers. -> Also the place where she dispersed, gave up her light and souls to the creatures of the island -> Master portal- planted many other trees on the island, so she can get around quicky in the war. -> Jordrassil has the strongest hints of Aideen’s light (other than MC) would be a top prize for G to corrupt

Life Wardens: Primeival trees -> Fast travel system, their roots for portals after saying the right incantation.  -> From Jordrassil you can fast travel to ANY (living, friendly) tree -> From other trees only to the next in the network -> Guarding and strengthening any magic: Aideen’s or Garnok’s if corrupted. -> They can be awakened and speak, have different personalities.

1. Harvestlands: -> Sleeping Widow: Forgotten Fields. Helped Lisa, 1st one we meet. Wants to reconnect with the other Trees. Protective of the little one also growing in the Forgotten fields. -> Golden Lady: Scarecrow Hill. Grows Golden Apples, which are pure Aideen/Light power. Neighbors and best friends with the Widow. -> Ancient Sentinel: Wildwoods. Protected by the Wild Horse tribes. There is a pandorian rift underwater in the lake, through which Pandorian magic seeps through, infects the area. We close it when Garnok fully corrupts Pandoria and manage to prevent the Sentinel from being corrupted. -> Singing Yew: South Hoof. Helped Justin. Slumbering in the fields, the winds blowing through the branches make a song. -> Silent Poplar: Firgrove Mountain. Very mysterious. Turns out a hundred years ago he was corrupted and almost lost to the darkness, but they used the cleansing ritual to save him. -> Hidden Willow: Fort Maria. Hiding underground in a cave, guarding the library. The first place we go when we unlock the Tree Portal fast travel system. Guards the knowledge about the Life Wardens.

2. Winterdale -> Fire Glory: Ashland. Red pine, likes the warmth there, very lively, constantly talks about how much she likes the warm and finds the fires and the volcano beautiful. -> Glacier Heart: Dino Valley. Sister to the Ashland one, likes the cold. Constantly annoyed by Fire Glory’s neverending chitchat about Ashland, which she can hear. -> Astral Crown: Starshine mountain. Next to the Secret Stone Circle, protects it, she is why the DRs can’t come close to the circle. -> Silver Runebark: Rimefang woods. Silver leafs, revered by the Kallters, likes them, his bark covered in glowing azure runes. -> Wise Leaf : Anvil woods. Helped the druids protect the forest from DC, gives them advice. Talks in verses, metaphors and tales.

3. Springvalley -> Royal Cedar: Blossom woods. Majestic and reliable, he has been guarding the Blossom woods and Springvalley from the storm in Winterdale. -> Everbloom Elm: Everspring plateau. Covered in various flowers, she’s very proud of them. Gives you some random herbs every day if you go say hi to her. The tree is so full of herself, she’s basically giving you an autograph, don’t worry about it. -> Sun Queen: Suncrown lake. Cleansed from corruption by MC and SRs. Protects the Von Blyssen manor and vineyard. -> Twilight Oak: Morrinweald. The source of the valas’ power. Was corrupted by dark powers, later cleansed by MC and SRs.

4. Summerplains -> Restored Guardian: The Great Clearing. Was cut down long ago. We grow it back, like the one in Forgotten Fields. -> Elder Witchwood: Old Morass. She liked to watch the rituals the witches did in the swamp. Quickly becomes best friends with Pi and Mrs Holdsworth. -> Shadow Chestnut: Claymore mountains, hidden. He was tasked with keeping an eye on the Claymores- they have been serving evil for a long time. -> Aspen King: Lone Star canyon. Yellow-golden leaves, huge tree. Likes the Lone Star Cowboys, who bring gifts (anything from horseshoes to elk skulls). 

The New Fast Travel System: -> Advantage of using the trees: you pay for the trailer rides, but you use the tree portals for free. -> With all 4 big areas unlocked, you will need to cover great distances. You have a lot of choices: 1, Trailers (costs money, but most accurate, quickest) 2, Tree portals (free, but less accurate, takes a bit of time) 3, Pandoria portal in-between shortcuts (free, jumps great distances, but least accurate). -> Trailer rides now cost more money the farther the distance you go. Prices: 25 JS:  if you travel inside a great area (e.g. staying inside Harvestlands). 50 JS: if you travel to another great area next to you (e.g. from Harvestlands to Winterdale) 75 JS: travel to another area second next to you (e.g. from Harvestlands to Springvalley) 100 JS: travel to third next area (e.g. from Harvestlands to Summerplains) -> [Keep it in mind, that by our game design the JS cap has been raised to 100.000 and you earn more money, via reworked quest rewards.]

[cedarboots]

@ terfs if butches are a tragic dying breed then why do I see them literally everywhere

[alexiskk]

the prompt with the guitar soemone sent in was adorable - i have another? maybe joel and ellie are playing boggle and ellie is winning by far and bragging and then eventually joel sees the word 'tickle' and ellie gets all nervous and he tickles her as revenge for winning ?

ANON THIS PROMPT IS EVERYTHING TO ME. i had sm fun with it and as always i get very carried away, pretty sure this is my longest fic yet lol

ALSO i literally had to look up the rules of Boggle bc I had never played so if you haven’t either I would maybe watch like a minute tutorial vid on yt just so you get the premise.

here is the one i watched!

https://youtu.be/BJAdXnGAb7k

that’s it enjoy🫶🫶🫶

tw: very mild underage drinking, swearing, lots of sarcasm and fluff

AGAIN I only write Ellie and Joel as a father-daughter relationship, no one be weird or ill punch u

Feelin’ like a Winner Yet?

“Tommy what the hell you have to stay for one more game!”

“Kid, I gotta get goin’ ”

“Ehem Stick in the mud ehm-ehem”

Joel held his fist up to his face and gruffled out a not so subtle cough as he shot his brother side eyes followed by a smug look on his face.

Tommy playfully shoved Joel in his shoulder as he stood up.

“You sir, are the real fuckin’ stick in the mud, and you,-” He raised his eyebrows and pointed at Ellie who was sat criss-cross applesauce across the table from the brothers.

“-you just wanna beat my ass again”

Thursday nights were the best in the Miller house. Often the only night both Tommy and Joel weren’t patrolling and no movie night until tomorrow for Ellie and her friends she’d made in Jackson, so the trio often gathered in the cozy downstairs living room of Joel’s house. The fireplace tucked away in the corner provided warmth throughout the floorboards where we would find the three sat upon surrounding a small coffee table. It also provided the homily cedar smell that lingered throughout the house that Ellie was always quiet fond of, it reminded her of nights camping in the woods with a certain someone. But tonight their was no camping for Ellie, only war against the two brothers in a Miller family classic-Boggle. Ever since Joel picked it up in Salt Lake City on their trek across the US, It had been a game he routinely pulled out whenever Ellie needed reassurance that she was better than Joel at something. Not to mention it it most often ended in laughter filled fights over all the words Joel cheated with. With no surprise, Ellie had dominated 6 out of the last 7 rounds they played tonight by a landslide, only to tie with Tommy in the first, mentioning that she was “just warming up”. But now, her only somewhat worthy competitor was walking out the front door, and she was doing everything in her power to keep from the rest of Boggle night being a snooze fest.

“If you stay i’d let you win!” Ellie pleaded sarcastically.

“Well im stayin’ why don’t you let me win”

“Shut upppp” The whine in her voice was evident as ever as she shot a look to Joel that meant exactly what she had said.

Tommy barked out an entertained scoff at the duo bickering as he slipped on his jacket that was hung on the coat rack by the door.

“Maria needs help with the baby El, you know how much I would love to stay and watch you kick that old man’s ass—again” He threw up apologetic arms.

“If you stay around much longer your ass might get more than just a kickin Tom”

“Anndddd that’s my cue, good luck kid, adios big brother” And with that, Tommy slipped out the front door into the freezing cold of night and headed off towards his and Maria’s house.

Joel leaded his back against the couch he was sat on the floor in front of. He picked up his beer bottle from the table and stared down into it as he swished the remaining liquid around the bottom of the bottle.

“Anddd then there were two” He took a pull from the bottle as he kept his eyes focused on Ellie across the table, who happened to be watching him emphatically.

She drew her eyes to her fingers which were tracing the grain of the dark wooden floorboards, eventually trailing her gaze to the half finished case tucked away on the side of the couch.

“So can I-”

“No” Joel’s stare hardened, this wasn’t the first time she’d asked and it sure wouldn’t be the last.

“One sip?” Ellie threw up her eyebrows as a cheeky little grin crept up on her. She had this man in her back pocket.

He mulled it over in his head for a few seconds while staring up at the ceiling. It always felt like their was no winning with her, in Boggle or argument.

“—Fine”

Ellie sniffed as tried to stifle her growing grin as she caught the bottle as it slid across towards her. What did I say, in her back pocket.

She took a pull of her own with Joel’s judgey stare searing into her but she didn’t care and made it last until she couldn’t fill her mouth any longer. She swallowed hard and grimaced but with the bottle still in hand shot eyes over at Joel, a classic myestvious grin appearing on her face.

“Elliee-Ellie no!”

Joel leaned across the table to snatch it from her hands but it was too late, she had leaned away in time to tip the bottle back and finish off the last of it, taking breaks with each gulp to manage the taste of the foul liquid. Cheeky bastard.

Joel just slumped his elbows onto the the table in defeat.

“What the hell am I gonna do with you”

“Hey, just think, you’ll have a better chance of beating me now-hic”

Her last word got caught in a hiccup from the chug as she slid the empty bottle back to him which he caught and placed with the others.

“Shall we?” Ellie made a grand gesture at the game sprawled on the coffee table.

Joel sighed and rubbed his temples.

“How many more?”

“10 rounds like always,, 3 more if your too old to do the math”

Ellie shook the board as she spoke while Joel rolled his eyes and very lazily grabbed the notebook and ripped two pieces of paper out for them.

“Annnnnnddddddd…..” Ellie held her hand over the cover in anticipation.

“Go!”

She removed it swiftly as Joel flipped the timer and the pair began studying the board.

Ellie pick up her pen immediately and began scribbling down words, Joel taking a few more seconds before following her. He always pretended to look over at Ellie’s words so she quickly put up a hand barrier to block his view.

“Asshat” Joel mumbled, directing his focus back to his own list.

“Says you”

The bickering was non-stop throughout the round until about the last 30 seconds, where both sides became frantic in the search for their final words to connect.

“Times up!” Ellie blurted out as she dropped her pen and began swatting at Joel to stop writing.

Joel swatted back as he finished writing a few last letters. Jesus he needed to practice at this game.

“Welllll how’d ya doooo?” She sat with her list held in her hands.

Ellie was smug as ever this round, with no Tommy there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she didn’t win, so she obviously needed to rub it in Joel’s face as much as possible.

“Don’t patronize me girl” His southern drawl was ever present.

“Fine, I’ll go first then”

She began listing off her words, stopping to cross one off whenever Joel blurted out a mumbled “mine”, to which they would both scribble out the word with their pens. Ellie was quiet surprised with the first 5 out of 8 words they matched on.

“Since when’d you get so smartttt?” Ellie shot him a smiley smug look.

“Don’t push it” Joel paid her no attention and kept his eyes on his list.

But, as Ellie went further down her list, the call outs from Joel became far more seldom, leading her to finish with a whopping 63 points. It was lower than her previous rounds, but her brain function seemed to be slowing down with the night growing later and the alcohol settling into her system.

Ellie twiddled the pen in her hands.

“Soooo you don’t even need to read yours I definitely won right? We can save you the embarrassment.” Ellie reached across the table and went to grab his list when Joel snatched off the surface.

“Uhhh no, not how it works, I could still kick your ass with my crazy good words.” Joel held the list up to the light and put on an imaginary pair of glasses as he squinted up and down at his list.

“Yeahhhhh these look like winners to me alright, buckle up for failure kid”

When in the right mood, Joel loved playing Ellie’s silly antics with her, especially with his brother now gone home he could bring out some of that vulnerability that Ellie always dug out of him one way or another.

“Alright alright start readin’ ya cheater” Ellie crossed her arms she was already for the slew of imaginary words that were headed her way.

To her surprise, Joel started mumbling out more words than he had said all night during this game. After the fourth consecutive actual word, Ellie scurried to her feet and sat over on her knees next to Joel peering over his shoulder as he read to make sure we wasn’t making shit up on the spot.

“Pool”

“Pools”

“Dool”

Ellie flicked him in the back of the head.

“Fix it”

Joel shot her eyes and leaned over to grab the pen from the table.

“can’t even get away with one goddamn word” Joel sarcastically mumbled under his breath as he scribbled out the word.

He went further down his list until he reached the end when he paused and looked back at Ellie once again.

“ I mighta beat ur ass huh?” A menacing grin appeared on Joel’s face as he shook the shoulder she was leaned up on.

“Just count the goddamn points” Ellie was getting a bit frustrated, Joel hadn’t even come close all night, but now he comes outta left field with all of these words? She stared at Joel as he counted up his score, watching to make sure he didn’t try to pull a fast one on her.

Ellie could feel the tension in Joel’s body as she leaned up against him. If the Millers were anything, they were competitive as hell.

All at once, Ellie felt the tension drop in his body as his shoulders slumped forward whilst writing in his final score.

“Awh shit”

Joel threw his pen across the room as he leaned back onto the couch hard. He had a gruff look on his face and turned his head away from Ellie, who had leaned forward to see that his final score had come 2 points shy of hers.

A grin so big she had to bite her bottom lip to keep if from growing couldn’t help but plaster across Ellie’s face as she stared down at the paper.

“Well well well Old man Miller. You talk a lottttt of shit for someone who just lost to a fourteen year old-again.”

Ellie was pulling herself to her feet as she bragged down to Joel who was trying very hard to ignore her, dawning only an angered deadpan stare at the Boggle board in front of him as she spoke.

“I declare, that on this divine night we dub me, thy champion of the Boggle!” Ellie put one foot up on the couch as she shook both her fists wildly in the air. The voice she had taken up reassembled that of a 17 century herald announcing the arrive of a king.

“Now, I see it only fit that thy loser must announce my trrrrriumphant title, as he was indeed, the smartest of asses and therefore-”

“shHHITT”

Joel exclaimed and threw his hands in the air before violently smacking his head with his palm and resting his fingers on his temples.

“What the fuck was that for?…motherfuckin sore loser” Ellie a bit irritated that her celebration was interrupted so quickly, she took her foot off the couch and slowly sat back down, puzzled as to what set Joel off so quickly.

Joel took his head out of his hands and shot her a look of irritated regret. He looked back at the board before pointing down at it.

“ I coulda’ fuckin’ spelt tickle”

Ellie looked over at the board as Joel spoke but when he finished his sentence she didn’t think she could move her body a single inch. She froze and involventarily gulped with her wide eyes glued to the outline of the word Joel had just uttered on Boggle board. She knew if she sat there much longer staring Joel would think something’s off, but there was not a single coherent thought floating in her head at that moment. Somehow with a simple word she had been shut down within seconds. So, she finally mustered up the courage to sit back, where she immediately looked down at the floor and began twiddling her fingers.

“Ahh..yep”

Jesus Ellie really? That’s it? Yep?

Ellie shook her head at her own ridiculously suspicious answer, luckily for her, Joel was in a whole other world, eyes still fixated on the board. He scoffed, absolutely infuriated that he hadn’t seen such an obvious word sooner. He sat back up and started tracing over more new words on the board with his right index.

“Shittt and tickles..and tickled..and-”

“Ok y-yeah we got it”

Everytime he said it Ellie could feel her entire body involuntary cringe. You could hear the shakiness in her voice underneath the irritated tone while she picked at the dirt aggressively from underneath her fingernails, never daring to look up at Joel, who’s attention and glare she could now feel on her due to the interruption.

Joel knew Ellie at this point, maybe sometimes more than she knew herself, and if there was one fact about her that he knew to be true, it’s that she was never shy. especially not with him.

“What’s with you? Seems like you were all hunky dory unti-” Joel cut himself off and stuck his tongue in the bottom of right cheek as his thoughts interrupted him. After a few seconds, his confused expression softened and developed hints at a devious smirk.

“Oh”

He pursed his lips and looked down at the floor as well, almost embarrassed at the knowledge he just acquired. buttttt unfortunately for Ellie, not embarrassed enough.

shit

Ellie stopped and looked up at him when silence filled the air, eyebrows furrowed but she didn’t dare say anything, she just waited. just waited and prepared to run.

Joel sat staring at the floor for a few more seconds when he finally broke the silence.

“Ya know kid,, you have done quite the job wininn’ tonight.”

His gruff nature made it seem like everything he said was truth, but Ellie could hear his familiar sarcasm laced within his words. Her eyes seared into him, meanwhile Joel was simply tracing the designs in the side of the couch.

This was all just a joke to him.

“I feel like I owe you some sort of compensation…whatayouthink?”

Joel finally looked up with the most shit eating grin you could imagine whilst Ellie’s cheeks began filling up with color out of embarrassment.

She was taking no chances. She scurried to her feet and bolted across the room looking for an escape down one of the hallways so that she could climb out a window run to Tommy’s and then-

Shlump

Without even making it halfway across the room, Ellie sealed her own fate. She slipped on the shag rug that sat by the fireplace and had now made friends with the floor.

Unfortunately someone not so friendly was headed her way.

Ellie attempted to return to her escape plan but Joel had jumped up and stomped his way over to her, he now looked down at the girl with one of her ankles in his grasp.

“Graceful”

Joel smirked as he mocked her while she flipped herself over to be facing upwards.

“Shut up”

“You aren’t quite in the position to be making demands El’. In fact you’ve been talkin’ a bittt to much for my likin’. Especially when you got a big secret like that.”

Ellie braced herself for what was coming although she couldn’t help but show her nerves as she twitched aggressively against Joel’s grasp.

“Don’t be an asshole please” nervousness once again settled in her usually snarky demeanor.

“Ehh no promises kid”

With that, Joel dropped her ankle to the floor and dove in with both hands, latching them around her torso. He began digging into the soft spots of her sides with his thumbs while his fingers danced on the backside and let’s just say Ellies composure didn’t last long.

“okokOkHOHOEHEheaoKk JOEHEHEEL” bubbly giggles erupted in the teen causing her to sway side to side across the warm floorboards. The electric ticklish shocks being sent through her body dumbfounded her, causing her to twitch and jerk consistently. She pushed down at Joel’s big calloused hands that was bunching up her t-shirt at the seams but there was no use, the lack of strength from being rendered into a pile a of giggles mixed with Joel’s determination for the task and strength was an impossible combo to beat. She threw her head from side to side as if she was trying to forget about Joel’s rhythmic squeezes that had made their way up to her ribs, but this too had no promising results other than putting a bigger smile onto Joel’s face. He briefly paused his torture but didn’t let up his grasp.

“Feelin’ like a winner yet?”

“Johoheoelllll weHE-we can TAahlk abohout tHiISI-AHAHHAH”

Unbeknownst to Ellie, Joel has pulled her t-shirt up so that it lay on her ribs so that he could bear down and give her the most brutal raspberry’s one had ever seen.

While Joel will admit he is quite shit when it comes to Boggle, this was one game he knew very well. Sarah was always the ornery type with her father, so while Joel hadn’t always been an expert at physical connection, he had plenty of practice at this game, enough to be able to drive Ellie insane.

Anything that Ellie had been holding back up until this point was out the window as Joel’s prickly scruff combined with the eruption of the raspberry on her stomach drove her to madness. Loud laughter and giggles poured out of her as her thrashing became more violent. Joel then pulled her shirt back down and grabbed her flailing arms and held them pinned to the floor at her side.

“JOHAOAHEL AM I FUFHUCKING TEHEEN” Ellie yelled, embarrassed by her flushed red face and post-attack giggles still flowing out of her as she looked up at Joel in anger.

“Nohot cool” She continued to squirm but there was no use, she was still completely stuck.

“N-Noho, what’s not cool is you thinkin’ your all that an a bag of chips for winnin’ ” Joel looked down at her trying to cover up his amusement with her struggles.

“Ever heard of uhhh bragging rights? ohhhh waittttttt you’ve never fucking won so I guess not ” A slightly angered but smug look dawned on her as she sarcastically sassed Joel directly to his face.

Another thing about Ellie that Joel knew was she never knew when to stop pushing, and right now was the not the time or place for her to flaunt her cockiness.

“Huh, so you just wanna get tickled is that it?”

Joel’s nonchalant tone and distracted gaze was met with tension in Ellie’s body at his utterance of that word. She reallly needed to learn to quit whilst she’s ahead.

“You see, cause I think yo-”

Joel’s far gaze was met with something, interesting. To his surprise, laying a few feet to the left of him and Ellie was the black pen he had launched earlier in frustration at his loss. Ellie turned to see the pen as well, but couldn’t quite put the pieces together. Meanwhile Joel’s gears were turning and already ready to put a final revenge attack in motion.

“Welllll since you seem to be so obsessed with titles tonight”

“Joel wha—AC HEY!”

Joel swiftly dropped the grasp on her arms, reached over to grab the pen whilst swinging an arm around to entrap her ankles in his grasp. Like I said, he’s had some practice at this.

“Let’s give you an official one hm?”

Joel removed one of her tattered socks and uncapped the pen with his teeth.

Ellie up until this point had genuinely been confused, but now panic was beginning to set in as she felt the harsh tip of the pen meet the top of the sole of her foot.

“noOH I dOHnT NEHeD it JOEL”

She tried to sit up and push him away whilst squirming her foot, but during her retaliation, Joel saw the resistance and scribbled harshly on the middle of her sole to combat her.

Ellie screamed in response falling back onto the floor and burying her face into her hands at the devilish sensation etched upon her foot. Joel seised the scribble fairly quickly seeing her response and looked back at her.

“Now hold still or this will take longer”

Ellie paused and went to lean back up, but knowing Joel and his word, she leaned back down and braced herself for the sensation.

To her surprise, the process wasn’t quite as torturous as she had expected. While a trail of giggles and “nohoho’s” did seem to escape her when Joel insisted the letters need to be colored in, plus a few complaints from Joel when Ellie couldn’t sit still for the letter positioned in the center of her sole, other than that it was a few minutes of smiley recovery and pure artistry for the pair.

Joel finally threw the pen to the ground and released her ankles from his grasp.

“Now we can show Tommy who won”

Ellie sat up and grabbed her foot to turn it around and look at Joel’s hard work.

“You motherfucker”

Ellie scoffed as she shoved Joel in the shoulder at the results on her sole.

W

I

N

N

E

R

joel miller

the bend of her heel read the old man’s name in the tiniest, scragglyist font imaginable.

“Surprise”

Joel threw up his hands in amusement while Ellie was now doing her best to rub off the very permanent reminder of tonight’s events.

Ellie sighed.

“He’s never gonna believe you beat me at Boggle”

“Who said anything about Boggle?”

[the12thnightproject]

Chapter 46: The Grey - Katsuko fights to keep her sanity in the wormhole, finally coming through to the future… but… which future?

Shingen x OC; Kenshin x MC (Mai)

Previous Chapter: Here

Logline - Disguised as a boy, Katsuko finds herself working for Shingen, but her dangerous masquerade becomes difficult to sustain when she falls for the man with a fatal secret.

I can’t keep watching you chase death.

Is this how she felt? Is this what my mother had lived with every day? The unrelenting greyness that muffled all sound, blinded sight, reached inside and amplified everything dark, muffled everything bright?

My fingers were getting numb… I couldn’t feel my toes. I couldn’t feel.

Come on child. You’ll catch your death of cold.

Had it been like this before? Too long had passed since my last journey through the wormhole. It was familiar, and yet not. No. This was not what I remembered. I could see nothing but grey. The fog invaded my eyes, my lungs, my throat. It was…

The rock you threw was on the wrong path. I fixed it. In the same way, sometimes things need a little nudge to get on the correct path.

Shingen… Sasuke… had we crossed paths in the wormhole? Were they back in the Sengoku with Yuki, while I was … wherever this was? Or were they trapped in here too? For all I knew, they were inches from me, also trapped in this unrelenting grey?

No… they weren’t. If he were in here, I would sense him, wouldn’t I?

I could sense nothing.

How could I escape from a place that appeared to be part of me? I was as one with the fog. There wasn’t a step I could take, a direction I could move that would separate me from the grey. Someone looking at me would only see a fading shadow, perhaps darker in some places, and translucent in others.

The darkness would fade last.

It was as if I were back in that crate, as closed in and impenetrable as a coffin, yet without any physical walls that I could pound on or kick. I tried screaming but nothing came out of my mouth.

How could I stop from dissolving if I didn’t know what to hold onto? Who I was? The adrenaline chaser running away from her mother’s death? The housemaid with dreams of escape? The messenger who played at being a spy? Moon Goddess? Angel? Devil?

The little boy who had fallen into the river. Was this how he felt before a hand reached out to him?

Puzzles.

The little boy… who said to me…

Iekane’s fingers dug into my shoulder. His voice rasped in my ear. “You are indeed stupid, putting me right where I wanted to be.”

Then he flung me away—

The little boy. Who would push a peasant into a flooded river? And though it could have been one of his sisters, playing a joke that was not at all funny… I did not believe that was the case. The little boy. Somebody pushed a small child into the river. Why?

When I got out of here. Yes. When. This was a puzzle I would solve.

When I found my way out.

I wrapped my arms around my chest, holding on to the memories of the nights safely wrapped in Shingen’s arms, when his comforting presence helped me fight off the dreams. I shut my eyes to the grey. The darkness behind my eyelids was better than greyness. I retreated into my mind, pictured that field of flowers that Shingen would someday take me to. I would live there in my mind until the fog lifted.

The fog would lift. I only needed to hold on until it did.

How long was I in there? There was no way to determine the passage of time. It could have been an hour. It could have been a day. I stopped paying attention.

But… I didn’t stop caring. I held on to the fear, to the curiosity, to the love, sensing that as long as I held onto to those, I would not dissolve into the fog.

I have you.

I’m not sure what caught my attention first. Was it a whisper of a breeze? I cautiously opened my eyes to see the fog was breaking up. I put my hand out and felt the brush of bark under my fingertips. Cold and wet against my cheeks – snowflakes. The cedar trees. That hum of electricity.

In the distance, someone’s phone chimed an alert, and I heard a female voice, sounding like it was on speaker say, “I gave her the message, but I think Mitsunari recognized me.”

Then, as I took a hesitant step along the path, I heard, “Theoretically, that would be ok, if that means they’ll take the message seriously enough to protect Hikosane.” I turned toward the sound. I know that voice. And then the voice choked out a gasp of surprise. “Kay- How did you… wait… you’re not…  Katsuko?” That was uttered in such shocked tones that I wondered at it.

“Sasuke?” He was wearing an unzipped metallic parka over a lab coat and holding a cell phone – several generations newer than the last one I had ever owned. But he was by himself. Where was…?  “Where’s Shingen? Is he ok? Did the treatments help?”

Sasuke wore an expression that I had never seen before on him. Shock. He glanced down at his phone, looked back at me, then took a deep breath. “Katsuko… you’re in the wrong timeline.”

I’m what?!

My face must have reflected the surprise on his because he went on. “I’m not the Sasuke I assume you know.”

Then he glanced at the boiling sky, and behind me, where wormhole still raged. “You can’t stay here.”

He wants me to go back into that thing? I’d finally gotten out it. If I went back in, I might never escape.

“How do you know I’m the wrong Katsuko?” No. Wait. He didn’t need to answer that. Likely he already knew where this timeline’s Katsuko was… or where she was supposed to be. “Never mind. Were you the one who told Shingen that I was in the river?”

He looked up from his device. “Well. I will now.”

“What?!” Did I just make it possible for Shingen to pull me out of the flood? “Do you need me to be more specific – dates? Location?”

“My apologies for the temporal paradox humor.” He shot a concerned look at the wormhole. Was it beginning to fade? “Yes, that was me, but you must tell your timeline’s version of me not to poke around too much.”

“Why not?” Lightning and thunder still crackled around us, and the wind pelted us with a slushy combination of rain and snow. I kept a worried eye on the wormhole, caught between the need for more information and the worry that I was going to end up trapped in the wrong reality.

“Because that me will probably poke around that timeline and the timelines are already messed up without me crossing the streams – which may happen anyway if I don’t get you out of here.” He grabbed my arm, and we began running toward the wormhole.

Did he just drop a Ghostbusters quote? At a time like this? “What do you mean messed up?”

Before he could answer, his phone crackled with static and I heard the woman’s voice again, sounding both affectionate and tolerant. “Spidey, did you just drop a Ghostbuster’s quote? Where are you? We need you in Tokyo to help find Kenshin before he tears the city apart.”

I knew that voice as well, but I didn’t want to ponder the implications of it. It certainly confirmed that the timelines were a mess. Aware that he was urging me faster as the storm’s fury abated, I asked, “Sasuke… what happens if I don’t manage to catch the wormhole? Or even if I do? What’s going on out there?” I waved my hand vaguely – out there apparently not only meant this world, but multiple others.

“Don’t worry. Theoretically, if I can get you back, your timeline will stabilize. Our team is working on the others.” We put on a burst of speed - the fog indicating the wormhole’s tether to the ground was dissipating. “You’ll have to jump.”

I didn’t want to go anywhere near that thing again. But somewhere, in some when, there was a grey-eye flirt hopefully waiting for me, and if the only way to find him was to go back into the wormhole, then… so be it. “Will I end up in the right timeline?”

“We’ve improved the accuracy of lateral travel, so theoretically, yes.” Sasuke bent low, offering me his shoulder as a vault. “Go!” I didn’t question how he knew to do that, I just took a running leap, planted my hands on his shoulder, and flipped back into the void.

The grey.

Again.

But I closed my eyes to it and listened for a heartbeat, imagining that it would lead me to Shingen. Those rubber bands that snapped us together over and over – they must be good for this one last journey. I took a deep breath and let them pull me through…

I tumbled out into a quiet evening of Autumn chill.

When was I?

The ground below me was damp, as if it had recently rained.

An airplane roared overhead.

So, I was in the future. A future. Hopefully the correct one this time.

I was alone.

No one was waiting for me.

That… as Sasuke might put it… was non-optimal.

I should have asked the other Sasuke… Sasuke Mach II? where my timeline’s Sasuke and Shingen were. They might be in Kyoto? They might have made it back to the Sengoku era? There were other possibilities, each less palatable than those. I wouldn’t think about those yet.

I supposed the best option for me would be to make my way to Kyoto, to the University where Sasuke studied when he was in the future. Maybe he would still be there, or if not, I would be able to find someone familiar with his research. I should have asked Sasuke (either one of them) what his advisor’s name was – but it had never occurred to me that I would need it.

Getting to Kyoto with no money – bigger problem. While my sword seemed to have been lost in the wormhole, I still had a dagger strapped to my leg. It might be worth something at an antique store. Hopefully enough to get me to Kyoto and get a hotel room for a couple of days. Oh. I would need to buy some modern clothes too.

Ok. That was a plan.

I felt better with a plan.

I was exhausted, alone and lonely, but at least I knew what I was doing next.

@bestbryn

[cannoli-reader]

Brandon Sanderson saved WoT from Robert Jordan’s pointless clothing descriptions!

This is a thing the internet has been saying for nearly 13 years.  I have been reminded of it lately, as I have been exposed to a number of posts criticizing Mr. Sanderson’s writing, and the inevitable defense of his handling of WoT have cropped up.  Specifically that Jordan was bogging down his books with excessive descriptions and Sanderson dispensed with that extraneous crap in favor of getting to the point.

So let’s look at this sample of Robert Jordan’s egregious and overly verbose descriptions.  Under a cut, because, after all, dress descriptions in Wheel of Time take up soooo much space... 

“… each one wearing little more than a robe of diaphanous white cloth.  A warm fire played in the hearth, illuminating a fine rug of blood red. That rug was woven in the design of young women and men entangled in ways that would have made even an experienced courtesan blush. The open windows let in afternoon light, the lofty position of her palace giving a view of pines and a shimmering lake below.

“She sipped sweetbristle juice, wearing a pale blue dress after the Domani cut – she was growing fond of their fashions, though her dress was far more filmy than the ones they wore…What an interestingly sour flavor it had. It was exotic during this Age, since the trees now grew only on distant islands.”

“…set aside her drink and walked through the gateway, her diaphanous pale blue gown shimmering with golden embroidery…” 

“(Mesaana) had chin length dark hair and watery blue eyes. Her floor-length white dressbore no embroidery and she wore no jewelry. A scholar to the core.”  

“Now, there was a handsome creature.  Demandred looked like a knob-faced peasant compared with him (Moridin).  Yes, this body was much better tha his previous one. He was almost pretty enough to be one of her pets, though that chin spoiled the face. Too prominent, too strong. Still, that stark black hair atop a tall, broad-shouldered body…” 

“The building – a thick-logged structure of pine and cedar after a design favored by the Domani wealthy…The room he stood in was wide and long, thick logs making up the outer wall. Planks of pine – still smelling faintly of sap and stain – made up the other walls.  The room was furnished sparsely: fur rug on the floor, a pair of aged crossed swords above the hearth, furniture of wood with the bark left on in patches. The entire place had been decorated in a way to say that this was an idyllic home in the woods, away from the bustle of larger cities.  Not a cabin, of course – it was far too large and lavish for that. A retreat.” 

“As always, (Min) had chosen to wear a coat and trousers.  Today, they were of a deep green, much like the needles on the pines outside. Yet, as if to contradict her tailored choice, she had had the outfit made to accentuate her figure.  Silver embroidery in the shape of bonabell flowers ran around the cuffs, and lace peeked out from the sleeves beneath… Why wear trousers only to trim herself up with lace?”

 “Davram Bashere himself rode slowly through the camp, barking orders through that thick mustache of his.  Beside him walked Lord Tellaen, a portly man in a long coat and wearing a thin Domani mustache. He was an acquaintance of Bashere’s.  

“Like his men, Bashere went about unarmored in a short blue coat.  He also wore a pair of the baggy trousers that he favored, the bottoms tucked into his knee-high boots.”

 “(Cadsuane’s) dress was of a simple, thick wool, tied at the waist with a yellow belt, with more yellow embroidery across the collar. The dress itself was green, which was not uncommon, as that was her Ajah…”

“Today, (Nynaeve) wore a dress of gray with a yellow sash at the waist over her belt – a new Domani fashion, he had heard – and had the customary red dot on her forehead. She wore a long gold necklace and slim gold belt, with matching bracelets and finger rings, both studded with large red, green and blue gems.  The jewelry was a ter’angreal – or rather, several of them, and an angreal, too – comparable to what Cadsuane wore.  Rand had occasionally heard Nynaeve muttering that her ter’angreal, with the gaudy gems, were impossible to match to her clothing.”

 “There were streaks of white in Alivia’s hair, and she was just a bit taller than Nynaeve.  That white in her hair was telling – any white or gray on a woman who wielded the One Power meant age.  A great deal of it.  Alivia claimed to be four centuries old.  Today, the former damane wore a strikingly red dress, as if in an attempt to be confrontational.”

Oh, wait, these were all Sanderson’s descriptions from one section of the prologue and the first chapter of The Gathering Storm. 

So let’s contrast with the Robert Jordan’s first WoT book.  Here are some of his first descriptions of characters, places and clothing:

In the prologue:

“The edge of his pale gray cloak trailed through blood as he stepped...”

“His clothes had been regal once, in gray and scarlet and gold; now the finely woven cloth, brought by merchants from across the World Sea, was torn and dirty, thick with the same dust that covered his hair and skin...the symbol on his cloak, a circle half white and half black, the colors separated by a sinuous line.”

“...he was clothed all in black, save for the snow-white lace at his throat and the silverwork on the turned-down tops of his thigh-high boots.

And in the novel proper:

“Gusts plastered Rand al’Thor’s cloak to his back, whipped the earth-colored wool around his legs...he wished his coat were heavier or that he had worn an extra shirt.” 

“Tam...ignoring the wind that made his brown cloak flap like a banner...”

Somehow the following characters are introduced without a word of what they are wearing: Wit Congar, Daise Congar, Bran al’Vere, Cenn Buie, Mat Cauthon, Jon Thane.  All but Thane have dialogue, too.  Although there is a description of the Congars’ house.

The thatch looked as if it badly needed…attention

And the inn:

The first floor of the inn was river rock though the foundation was of older stone some said came from the mountains.  The whitewashed second story – where Brandelwyn al’Vere, the innkeeper and Mayor of Emond’s Field for the past twenty years lived with his wife and daughters – jutted out over the lower floor all the way around. Red roof tile, the only such roof in the village, glittered in the weak sunlight and smoke drifted from three of the inn’s dozen tall chimneys.

 Casks racked against one wall… polished canister on the plain stone mantel…The fireplace stretched half the length of the big, square room, with a lintel as high as a man’s shoulder…

 A lamp hung over the cellar stairs, just beside the kitchen door, and another made a bright pool in the stone-walled room beneath the inn, banishing all but a little dimness in the furthest corners. Wooden racks along the walls and across the floor held casks of brandy and cider and larger barrels of ale and wine, some with taps driven in.  Many of the wine barrels were marked with chalk in Bran al’Vere’s hand, giving the year they had been bought, what peddler had brought them, and in which city they had been made, but all of the ale and brandy was the make of Two Rivers farmers or of Bran himself.

Other clothing descriptions come when the characters meet or discuss outsiders:

“...’His cloak is like every gleeman’s cloak I’ve ever seen.  More patches than cloak, and more colors than you can think of.’”

“The blacksmith...still wore his long leather apron as if he had hurried to the meeting straight from the forge.”

Then we get a whole conversation with Ewin Finngar, who may as well be naked for all the descriptions we get of his garb.

“‘...his cloak is green. Or maybe gray. It changes. It seems to fade into wherever he’s standing. Sometimes you don’t see him even when you look right at him, not unless he moves.  And hers is blue, like the sky, and ten times fancier than any feastday clothes I ever saw. She’s ten times prettier than anybody I ever saw, too. She’s a high-born lady, like in the stories...’”

“’Their horses, Rand.  I never saw horses so tall, or so sleek. They look like they could run forever. I think he works for her.’”

Then Moiraine actually shows up.

“Her clothes were just as strange.  Her cloak was sky-blue velvet, with thick silver embroidery, leaves and vines and flowers, all along the neck, while another gold chain, delicate and fastened in her hair, supported a small, sparkling blue stone in the middle of her forehead.  A wide belt of woven gold encircled her waist, and on the second finger of her left hand was a gold ring in the shape of a serpent biting its own tail.  He...recognized the Great Serpent, an even older symbol for eternity than the Wheel of Time.”

“...a tall man Rand had not noticed before ... one hand resting on the long hilt of a sword.  His clothes were a dark grayish green that would have faded into leaf or shadow, and his cloak swirled through shades of gray and green and brown as it shifted in the wind. It almost seemed to disappear at times, that cloak, fading into whatever lay beyond it.”

Following that, Padan Fain, Perrin Aybarra, Nynaeve al’Meara, Egwene al’Vere all put in an appearance without any word of what they are wearing, besides a hood, when Egwene pushes hers back to reveal her braid.

“His cloak seemed a mass of patches, in odd shapes and sizes, fluttering with every breath of air, patches in a hundred colors.  it was really quite thick, Rand saw, despite what Master al’Veren had said, with the patches merely sewn on like decorations.

... His long coat had odd, baggy sleeves and big pockets...a long-stemmed pipe, ornately carved, that trailed a wisp of smoke.”  

 That’s 3 quotes in the prologue and 15 quotes in four chapters.  Compared to a dozen quotes in one chapter, by Sanderson.  What’s more, each of those descriptions from Jordan comes as we are meeting characters for the very first time, while Sanderson mentions only one character who has not already appeared in multiple volumes (and Lord Tellaen will only be mentioned twice more in the rest of the book).  Sanderson devoted 693 words to descriptions in that prologue section and chapter, and Jordan 771 words.  I had to look through four chapters of Eye of the World to beat Sanderson’s word count.

And this may be subjective, but to my strictly amateur eye, Jordan’s descriptions seem much more relevant (and coherent) than Sanderson’s.  Lews Therin’s clothing is part of the image of an important or powerful man in contrast with the disaster and mess around him.  Elan Morin’s garb makes him seem above and untouched by it all, as well as giving him a sinister aspect. 

The only thing we get about clothing for the Two Rivers folk in the village is that the al’Thors have brown cloaks.  We get descriptions of Moiraine, Lan and Thom, because they are new and unique to the villagers' experience. Lan’s cloak and Moiraine’s jewelry suggest to the readers preternatural aspects.  Thom’s cloak and garments denote his entertainer profession, catching the eye of audience, the big sleeves and pockets clearly geared toward his sleight-of-hand tricks. And Jordan trusts the reader to understand that, and if the reader does not, it is not knowledge that will seriously impact their appreciation of the story. 

What’s more, these details tell us that Rand is observant and notices the practicality of Thom’s garb beyond the superficial coloration.  That rather than the ragged patchwork affair described by the mayor, it is a solid and useful garment.  Almost like a foreshadowing of the character of Thom himself. 

The description of the Winespring Inn might be a bit superfluous, but it sets the tone and mood.  This is a place of hospitality and plenty, that is impressive to Rand, who has never seen better, but also somewhat parochial.  The Two Rivers people only go outside their district for things they don’t make on their own, they prefer their own alcohol to any other.  This might denote either pig-headed loyalties to their own kind, or a higher quality of production by the locals.  Either works for the story, as we see Two Rivers characters demonstrate strong loyalties to their friends and neighbors, and also find the produce available in markets on their journey wanting. 

The other building described is a brief note that the Congar house needs thatching, which contrasts with the resident’s indolence and preoccupation with the Wisdom and the weather, as opposed to the general pragmatic determination of the more sensible villagers, including Tam. 

What purpose does Sanderson’s verbiage serve?  What do we learn about Graendal that we did not already know?  What do the descriptions of Min’s, Nynaeve’s, Cadsuane’s and Alivia’s clothing tell us?  Do we need Rand’s ruminations about Nynaeve’s ter’angreal?  We saw them in the four previous books. We’ve seen Nynaeve actually use them.  Why do we have to have Rand mention Nynaeve uncharacteristically complain in his hearing that they are difficult to match to her clothes?  If you want to convey that information, she is a major PoV character and it can come up in her own stream of consciousness, or in that of a woman in whom Nynaeve might actually confide that datum, who could more clearly articulate the contradiction between her professed preference for simplicity, and her sartorial behavior. Is there any reason at all to care about the country retreat of Lord Tellaen, or whose retreat it actually is?  Could not “the retreat belonged to a Domani noble of Bashere’s acquaintance, and the simple rustic furnishings likely cost more than those of four farmhouses in the Two Rivers...” have sufficed in place of the 119 word paragraph we were privileged to read before any action or dialogue of our protagonist?

But this is not so much about his writing, as it is comparing him to Jordan.  How does Jordan have Rand describe Min in their first encounter in each book?

“Not the usual plain brown coat and breeches, but pale red, and embroidered.”

- LoC Ch 41 (13 words)

“Her breeches of brocaded green silk fit her like a second skin, and her coat of matching silk hung open, a cream-colored blouse rising and falling with her breath.”

- aCoS Ch 33 (29 words) 

“Her plain brown coat and breeches were very like what she had worn when he first saw her...”

- WH prologue (18 words)

But to be fair, let’s see her first description in her now-normal clothes:

“Her blue heeled boots stirred the dust...a lace-edged handkerchief ... Embroidered white flowers decorated the sleeves and lapels of her blue coat, and paler blue breeches molded her legs snugly. With yellow-embroidered bright blue riding gloves tucked behind her belt and a cloak edged with yellow scrollwork and held by a golden pin in the shape of a rose, she did look as if she had arrived by more normal means...”

- WH Ch 11 (71 words)

“Her short blue coat, embroidered with white flowers on the sleeves and lapels, was cut to fit snugly over her bosom, where her creamy silk blouse showed a touch of cleavage...”

- KoD ch 18 (31 words)

Rand does not really describe her clothes in tPoD or CoT, as he isn’t the PoV character when she first shows up.  In the descriptions we get in Rand’s words, of sexy-clothes Min, Jordan uses an average of 32.4 words.  Sanderson’s description is 74 words.  More than twice the average of Jordan, and longer than any such description in Jordan’s books. 

And again, Jordan’s descriptions are more useful.  The LoC one is Rand suddenly noting the difference in her appearance, well into their first encounter in quite some time. This signals that Rand was initially seeing her as herself first, and as an attractive woman considerably after the fact, after his attention has been drawn to it.  His next initial observation of her is their first encounter after they had sex, and he is more aware of the physical shape beneath the clothes.  

The longest of Jordan’s description of her clothes is their arrival in Caemlyn, where Rand is noting her clothing in the context of their covert entrance to the Palace, and at the same time being drawn into admiring her beauty.  This is a progression from LoC where he was barely aware of her attractiveness at first - now it draws him even when he is actively thinking of her look in a different context.  Also note the pin. Where Rand is counting on Min to help him sneak through the Palace avoiding his other love interests to reach his hometown friends unobserved, Min is almost wearing Elayne’s sigil, although a rose is almost as appropriate considering her destined crown. This foreshadows that Min’s actions in those clothes will be more in line with her BFF’s wishes than her boyfriend’s.  

Both the Winter’s Heart and Knife of Dreams descriptions are also in the midst of action.  Min is entering a room and reacting to the dust, where the elaborate garments contrast with Rand’s and the dirty environment to highlight the absurdity of Rand’s efforts to avoid those he loves.  In KoD, the focus is on her reaction to Rand’s issues and fears concerning women around him, and she’s reading, in support of a general theme of the scenario, where Loial is discussing his book, and his complaints about Rand’s reluctance to provide material fit in with Rand’s own mechanisms for coping with his trauma.

What does Sanderson’s account provide? We get that she’s wearing green that matches the pine needles in the area.  Why? Perhaps for camouflage?  Is she somehow connected to the environment?  Nope. Sanderson just felt the need to specify the color and mention a correlation with another color.  Rand also sees, for the first time, an apparent contradiction with ... something.  The outfit is made to accentuate her figure.  Because she has never done that before? Rand has noticed how snug her pants are, and her shirts have made him aware of her bosom in nearly every book since she started dressing up. What does it even mean “...to contradict her tailored choice...” On its own, I would assume her tailored choice IS to have the clothes made to fit her, instead of cut for a male shape, but accentuating her figure is in contradiction to the “tailored choice”.  Rand wonders at the end “Why wear trousers only to trim herself up with lace?” as if this is new as well, when, again, since Lord of Chaos, he has been observing her pants are too tight to be practical.  Is this foreshadowing of a problem he is going to have with her clothing?  Will the practicality of her clothes be an issue in this book, or ever, for the rest of the series? Not in any way of which I am aware. 

How about Graendal?  In her first PoV we have...

... nothing.  Not a word of what she looks like.  This is right on the heels of Sammael’s PoV in the same chapter, where he describes her thus:

“Her thin blue Domani gown clung and more than hinted.  As usual, she had a ring with different stones on every finger, four or five gem-encrusted bracelets on each wrist, and a wide collar of huge sapphires snugged around the gown’s high-neck...suspected hours had gone into arranging those sun-gold curls touching her shoulders, and the moondrops seemingly scattered through them; there was something about their casualness that hinted at precision.”

- LoC Ch 6

This is immediately followed by Sammael’s recounting her backstory and her personality, as he sees it.  The “casualness that hinted at precision” fits with her depiction, how she affects carelessness, but does everything with a deliberate intention.  In her PoV following his departure, we see this confirmed, as she reveals that the Sharans to whom she made casual references, were placed for psychological effect, but she still adhered to her habitual patterns in enslaving them. 

It’s also worth comparing Sammael’s description of Graendal’s with Rahvin’s in the prior book, where she was similarly described as dressing provocatively, except Rahvin noted her beauty and compared her to Lanfear, the other woman present, and on a scale of women in general.  Sammael makes no note of her attractiveness or sexual appeal. This is another difference between Jordan and Sanderson.  When Jordan has a PoV man describe a woman as sexy, he wants you to know how the PoV man thinks of women, how he prioritizes sex and attraction in his mind.  When Sanderson writes a PoV man describing a woman as sexy, he wants you to know she is sexy.  

Anyway, back to Graendal, in a chapter where she is the main PoV, here is how she describes herself and her garments and accessories: 

“...her streith gown went dead black before she could control herself and return it to mist.”

“Sipping her wine - and suppressing a sigh; it was from the here and now ... - she stroked her gown with beringed fingers”

“...though if her gown changed color, it was by a hair...”

“Her gown shifted to a pale rose, but she let it stay.”

“She kept her face smooth, but the streith had gone a deeper rose, losing some of its mistiness.”

“Her gown rippled through violet shades of red, echoing the anger and fear and shame that rippled through her uncontrollably.”

- LoC ch 23

What do we have in Graendal’s brain?  Concerning her appearance?  Not. One. Word. The only descriptions she gives are of the changing colors of her streith gown, where the purpose is to illustrate how much of her emotions she is revealing, and how calculated her choices to reveal those emotions is.  We see that she has sufficient control over reactions that she can defeat even this high-tech sensitive fabric.  And it makes a more striking contrast when she is badly shaken by Sammael’s presentation and has to show her real feelings and rationalize it as a strategy.  

And just so we don’t write that off as a one-time fluke, in tPoD, Graendal also does not describe herself.  Few characters do, unless they are doing in the context of a public appearance or a meeting in which their appearance might be a factor.  Sanderson’s 37 words of Graendal describing her clothing (modern clothing, not her mind-relevant streith) are 37 more than Jordan does in three different PoV instances in two different books.

Also noteworthy is another error on Sanderson’s part, where he mentions the embroidery on Graendal’s Domani dress.  The point of Domani dresses is that they are sheer, almost revealing the wearer’s body.  They are never described as embroidered in Jordan’s books, though Sanderson also describes them so in Egwene’s PoV in the White Tower. 

And what point is there to the description of her clothing?  As noted above, Min’s clothing is often organically brought up in the context of her actions or Rand’s perception of her.  Graendal’s clothing in Sanderson’s prologue is inserted into a description of the juice she is drinking.  That juice, by the way, is something she finds interesting as a product of the current time, when in prior points of view, she scorns the comforts and products of the 3rd Age, being disappointed that among Sammael’s Age of Legends treasure trove, he is serving contemporary wine.  Her rooms have open windows overlooking a scene of nature, when the last time we were in her head, she is oblivious to the changing weather because  tells her guests she never goes outside, in her mind noting that she dislikes nature and rarely even uses rooms with windows.  This is an important part of her obsession with control, as nature is beyond her power to subdue.  

Jordan’s Graendal has a disciplined mind that sticks largely to important details, lacking in typical forms of vanity and is almost always in control of her reactions and submerses herself in an environment shaped as near to her pleasure and satisfaction as she can create. Sanderson’s Graendal's mind jumps to her clothing in the middle of thinking about the juice she is drinking, and leaves the windows wide open.  Jordan’s Graendal thinks of Demandred’s Mesaana’s and Semirhage’s alliance as a public front, while Sanderson’s Graendal believes the trio thinks their alliance is a secret!  When they were first together on the page, it was in Graendal’s presence, where Demandred openly demonstrated he knew the locations of other two, while Graendal did not, openly asking her.  Later she reveals that she only learned of Mesaana’s location in a subsequent meeting where Semirhage was not present. So if Mesaana’s location was a secret to most, why would Demandred reveal that he knew it, if they were trying to keep their association secret? In Jordan’s last book, at the Garden Party, the trio are openly huddling together, again, under the eye of Graendal.  How can anyone believe they are trying to keep this a secret?  But that’s Brandon Sanderson’s idea of demonstrating how clever a character is - have them ferret out a secret that no one is actually hiding.  Demandred, Mesaana and Semirhage might not have been trying to fool their fellow Chosen, but they did just fine with ol’ B-Sand.  

This could go on for pages and pages, and frankly, “describe” and “description” no longer look like words to me.  My point is, the contention that Jordan is somehow inferior to Sanderson by virtue of his excessive description, while Sanderson’s writing is streamlined and direct, cutting out the fat and getting right to the action, this notion is pure bullshit.  You might not like them, you might not think what Jordan is telling you with his descriptions is necessary, you can prefer Sanderson’s writing as a matter of taste, but you absolutely cannot say that this is a fault unique to Jordan, or an area in which Sanderson is superior.  The real problem with Jordan’s descriptions is that they did so much create a definitive setting and characters, that a reader who has become immersed in these aspects of the story is unable to sit through Sanderson’s lexiconic abuse and word salad and accept it as The Wheel of Time.