#false colour image

[nosasblog]

Carn Glas Chambered Cairns, Inverness: An Update

by Jonathan Wordsworth The following is an addendum to the previous Carn Glas blog post of July 2023. Drone image of Carn Glas after clearance of gorse looking north to Inverness and Moray Firth ©AHickie It took two more days of work in August to clear the remaining gorse scrub off the cairn to reveal the monument in its glory.  With funding from Historic Environment Scotland we were able to…

[helianskies]

he's so small!

[arminreindl]

Croc colours and patterns

Somewhat inspired by a recent post by Joschua Knüppe, I feel like it's a good thing to remind people just how diverse colours and patterns in modern crocodilians are. When I see people make art, it often seems to stick to grey or yellowish-brown tones, which is of course not incorrect. But theres a lot of, imo, underappreciated variety still. It's also worth noting beforehand that patterns are most striking in younger individuals and naturally become more muddy the older and larger an animal becomes. But as you will see, even some decently large and old animals may maintain a striking appearance.

Take this alligator for example. Gators tend to be on the darker side, dark greys to black, sometimes countershaded and sometimes pretty consistent. Some individuals, like this one photographed by Gar Luc, still retain clearly visible stripe patterns from when they are younger.

Or take one of my favourite species, the Cuban Crocodile, which can appear almost bright yellow with a dense pattern of leopard spots. Of course like with the gator you can find individuals that are much more drab, with washed out colours, but individuals with clearly defined patterns still exist.

Then there's gharials of course. They can range quite a bit in colouration. They can be brown, especially younger ones and females and I've seen males range in colour from a drab grey to almost a light blue or even something that could be described as metalic black.

Black Caimans are also pretty interesting in my opinion and pretty easy to tell apart from other species once you pay attention to their colour. They are primarily a deep dark black of course, but what sets them apart from spectacled and other caimans is that very fine pattern of thin white stripes across the flanks that creates this beautiful contrast. They can also have patches of brown like the one on the right.

Orinocos also vary a great deal. Tho I know less about them than I wish I did, I know that individuals can range from drab brownish greys to yellow to somewhat earthy browns that almost range into reds.

The next ones a bit of an outlier. There are specific cave dwelling dwarf crocodile populations in western Africa with striking orange colouration. Tho this one is not exactly natural pigmentation to my knowledge and instead the result of the chemicals present in the water they inhabit, brought there by bat guano. Still very pretty animals.

And then there's Paleosuchus, the dwarf caiman which contains two species. Again highly varied. The first image, which I believe is a Schneider's dwarf caiman, shows a very earthy brown. The others, which unless I'm mistaken are Cuvier's dwarf caimans, show colours ranging from dark with a rusty head, black to this still beautifully patterned individual. Of course these variations are also subject to change with age.

While salties aren't exactly known to be the most vibrant, I'd be remissed if I didn't mention this specific one. It's kept in a zoo in Germany and has this almost bizarre colour combination of creamy white underbelly and chocolate brown top which I've never seen in another saltwater crocodile. Photos by my friends Markus Bühler from the Bestiarium blog and René Dederich

Spectacled, Broad-snouted and Yacare caimans I'll give a quick shout out. I think most people are familiar enough with how they look like and while their colours aren't anything special, I still think one should appreciate their patterns of spots and stripes and facial markings.

The last one I wanna highlight is the false gharial, Tomistoma, another one of my favourites. Part of the reason why being its at times beautiful reddish-brown colours.

[b1rds3ye]

Hellooo‼️‼️I just stumbled in your blog and I saw the LED mask request thing and I suddenly have brainrot😭😭 it's such a idea idfk i just love it‼️‼️

ANYWAY🤯 reader comes back from a mission, solo or not! Is up to you :] and then they just have a bullet stuck in their mask. Just straight up a bullet stuck, very big cracks on their mask. It can still kind of work, only one side so when they see them reader simply waves while the other half of their LED mask just shows: ':D' as if there wasn't a bullet in their mask.

That's all! I hope you are having a good day, afternoon, or night‼️‼️make sure to stay hydrated because I'm a walking desert☺

THATS SUCH A BITTERSWEET IMAGE THOUGH, I LOVE YOUR BRAIN ANON!!

A part of the operation had to be done solo by you - it needed your specialised skill set and it was too risky sending others with you because stealth was crucial. You succeeded in distracting the enemy. That transmission was half an hour ago.

The 141 never leave their own behind, the extraction point is far enough from enemy territory that they can spare some time to wait for you. Price and Ghost are going through extra logistics, Soap is distracting himself by disassembling and reassembling gear and Gaz is just... watching. Watching for a sign that you are there. And soon enough, amongst the fog of dust kicked up by fallen buildings and bodies, is the silhouette of you. The faint LEDs emanate a light that refract off the dust, creating a halo-like glow where your head should be.

As you approach closer, it is silent. There are no light-hearted quips from you, just the audible crunch of your combat boots against the dry earth. If it weren't for your unmistakable stature and gait, the rest of the 141 would have thought it was an imposter who had stolen your mask.

Johnny only utters a quiet "Jesus..." as the details of your mask come into view. A bullet was now embedded in your mask where the side of your temple would be, a chilling reminder of the clutches of death you narrowly escaped from for now. It shone maliciously against your darkened mask that could only let out the occasional spark and whir of short circuiting.

Every few seconds, there would be a flicker of the LEDs working. It was hard to distinguish with the cracks that splayed across the mask like a web, all stemming from the bullet that had made itself at home millimeters away from your head. An eye was missing, that section of your mask completely disconnected from the software. Broken circuitry had the odd pixel flickering in a false positive in various colours before dying.

But despite the stakes, your mask was smiling.

"You broken?" Gaz asked tentatively.

You pause in comtemplation, perhaps the voice amplifier in your mask was fried or you're just too tired to speak - none of the 141 would blame you for either. Instead, you offer a thumbs up before trudging over to Ghost, his eyes trained on you. You rest your forehead against his shoulder and he responds with a slight grunt, but he surrenders to your tired antics. Tilting your head to the rest of the 141, your broken mask flits to a "z_z".

There's a pat on your back from John, both to comfort and to also make sure you don't fall asleep. His hand settles on your shoulder, strong and ready to haul you to the helicopter.

"Good to have you back, Sergeant. Let's get you - and your mask - patched up."

With some encouragement from Johnny and Kyle, you're coaxed to extraction. As you sit on the ride back on base, you bring a hand to probe the damage of the bullet. The metal is colder than death, so smooth it slipped from your grip like your own life had you conducted in the mission any differently. It seems the rest of the 141 knew exactly what you were thinking as your fingers traced every crack of your visor.

But before they can question you, you retract your hand and sit up straight. You're here and you're alive. Granted a little cracked, your soul a little more jaded than in the few hours prior, but for now the legend of the mask lives on.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[red-riding-wood]

Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly. 

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined. 

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.   

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room. 

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

MASTERLIST • REQUEST

Please let me know if you would like to be added/removed to any of my taglists and notified of new works!

Taglist: @emotionalcadaver @zablife @shelbydelrey @look-at-the-soul @brummiereader @mrkdvidal1989 @fiercelittlemouse @ohwellthatslifesstuff @minaethrym

[therandomartmaker]

[Image ID: A digital artwork with a top-down view of Danny Fenton with long pointed ears and arms placed across his chest inside of a coffin in an unburied section of the earth. There is a window to his face, and under it has carved: “HIS IMMORTAL VISAGE, HE WHO IS UNDEAD, our son, LIES WITHIN may he find rest in his false death” with ‘Our Son’ and ‘May he find rest in his false death’ written in a cursive font. The writing glows a bright green, contrasting the dull dreary colours of the rest of the artwork.

On Danny’s left hand, (our right) is a faded imprint of his Danny Phantom insignia, and mirroring it on his right hand is the Fenton ‘F’.

The window to his face has several light shines on it, particularly some that go over his face, and one that obscure the Fenton ‘F’ in addition to a crack in the glass. Two hand prints are visible on the glass, as well. /End ID]

Day 25: “It finally sunk in for Jack and Maddie: no matter how alive he seemed, Danny was actually dead. So they buried him.”

A quick idk doodle for the start of ectober week since i don’t actually have the motivation to complete an artwork :/ I also still don’t have a definite danny design lol

a few things to note:

The yet to fade handprints, the light obscuring the Fenton ‘F’ on danny’s right hand while also making him seem paler, the crease showing an unfitful rest in his brow and his slughtly pursed lips.

[greenscreen-dress]

Everybody needs good neighbours ~♪

Happy halloween, @aliteral-ghost! I've been meaning to properly draw False for a while now, and finally got a chance to do so for your @mcyt-halloween gift!

...Not quite sure what level of spooky this is though. Maybe a 2? Blood on the Clocktower is intrinsically pretty spooky and the game False played was extremely fun, so I wanted to try designing a haunted-looking False in full fortuneteller garb.

Fun fact: below all those opacity layers and blue filters, False's outfit is mostly coppery bluegreens and browns in honour of her Empires look, with the dark green cape matching her hermit skin's jacket.

(early WIP image with flat colours & minimal effects below the cut ↓)

Anyway I hope you like it! :D

[ascendanttarot]

PAC: Reassuring Messages From The Universe

Hi everyone! I have a feeling some people may need a pick-me-up at the moment hence why I made this reading. I think this may be my longest reading so far! There will be signs listed before to ensure the message is for you. If you resonate with one or more signs, that is meant to be your reading. At the end, each pile will also have a quote and channelled song to listen to that resonates with your reading. The specific lyrics that I heard are listed below the title. :)

Please remember your fate is not set in stone so your answers may change depending on the actions you take and will take if you please. Tarot is not a substitute for professional advice. The images I’ve used are not mine.

From left to right, Pile 1, 2 & 3.

Pile 1

Signs:

You may be a Lana Del Rey fan, or at least have one of her songs be your one of your favourite songs

You may be really creative. Specifically, I see most of you here are artists because I just saw an image of someone’s hand covered in paint like a make-shift palette to find the right colour, or someone wiping away excess paint on their skin

You may be left-handed. To be honest, this kind of relates back to the art thing because I just heard someone swearing because their pencil sketches were smudged by their hand again lol

You are a ride-or-die friend. I’m not picking up any signs that the people who picked this pile could be ‘low maintenance friends’ because all I could feel was a loyal and passionate heart, particularly towards their friends

Okay this is an odd message but some of you here are DEHYDRATED, like you’re not even thirsty anymore this is beyond that. Please drink some water if you haven’t at all today

Back to music here, but do some of you spend hours making playlists? I just saw someone using a lot of their free time to curate playlists. I even saw some of you here like making playlists for specific people

Another weird message here but I just smelled crayons, so I’m interpreting this in a few different ways: you may be connected to your inner child, or you may work with children/have plans to work with children, or you would like to be a parent/are a parent

Your Cards: The Emperor, Knight of Cups rx, Page of Wands rx, Justice rx, The Star, 10 of Pentacles

Your Reading:

Okay, the first thing I heard while looking at these cards were the words, “Lost time” and I think that sums up half of your reading quite well.

The cards show that at the beginning of this particular situation, you felt like you were fully in your power. A very Mars-dominant energy to be in, or an Aries energy to be in wherein you felt like you could take on anything. It’s like this was a time when your confidence was at an all-time high about yourself, but also about something. For most of you, this ‘something’ was a project. For some of you, this could be a relationship. The point is, this was something in your life you felt was given to you like you’ve waited for this and finally you’ve got it, but that hope didn’t last.

As we moved on, I felt heavy feelings of frustration. Like you were ready to spring into action but something or someone else was telling you to wait, like they were stringing you along. At the back of your mind, you knew you were being taken advantage of, but you decided to stick with it anyway. I just heard, “It’s worth it.” So maybe this was something you wanted for so long that you felt like you had to stick to it because you couldn’t see how another opportunity could be better than this. I’m really sensing this was a career move for some of you here. Maybe some of you were promised a promotion but you didn’t get it. Maybe some of you were given false hope by a higher-up that this project idea of yours would be taken seriously, but you just had to wait for the right time.

And these people kept giving you excuses. If this were a relationship, I could sense that maybe this was someone who you thought would be ready to fully commit to a relationship, but they never ended up being mature enough to make that decision. It could even be a platonic relationship, and this person wanted you and them to be more casual friends, but you were ready to be a ride-or-die as I’ve stated in the signs above. The overwhelming feeling here is that you got the shorter end of the stick.

But, of course, this doesn’t last. The universe is trying to tell you that if you were broken down before and were able to build yourself back up again, then you can do that now. For most of you, I feel you’ve already left this situation and are worried that this was a mistake, and that you shouldn’t have left in the first place, but the cards are saying otherwise.

Your hope was burned out because of what you’ve gone through. You’ve sacrificed your hope and your sense of self, but the next chapter of your life won’t ask you to do that anymore. If anything, this new chapter will nurture all of those traits you have always felt were intrinsically part of who you are.

If this were a relationship, you’d probably take a break from dating for a while, but your friendships will be a cornucopia of love and support, with new and old friends alike. If this was a job or project, a new opportunity will not only cause success, but stable success. The universe is giving you the new direction you need. “One door closes so the other one opens.”

Thank you for letting me be your reader, Pile 1!

Your Channelled Song: Let The Light In by Lana Del Rey and Father John Misty

“Put the Beatles on, light the candles, go back to bed”

“Put the TV on and the flowers in a vase, lie your head”

“Ooh, let the light in

At your back door yelling 'cause I wanna come in

Ooh, turn your light on

Look at us, you and me back at it again”

Pile 2

Signs:

You may be a blunt and direct person, and you may have even gotten in trouble for this in the past. Really, I could sense you’re just a BS detector. I also saw someone rolling their eyes and saying “C’mon, talk to me straight I’ve got things to do!” haha!

I just heard ‘homebody’, so I feel like plenty of introverts have picked this pile!

You may be the sarcastic, unintentionally funny friend. If you know you know. But to specify I saw someone in a group setting saying something like “I hate half of the people in this room/I didn’t want to go—I got dragged here by my friends, please don’t talk to me” and someone laughing because they didn’t think you were serious (You were)

You’ve got a dry/witty sense of humour when you do try to make a joke intentionally, but either no one gets it, or it may be a touch too dark for their taste (Nothing problematic though!)

I got tempted to swear so many times writing out these signs so you may swear a lot. Like sometimes, if you’re in a professional environment you may find it difficult to filter out your words because of how automatic it is for you

I also feel like you’re really articulate. The first word I actually thought to describe your humour was ‘sardonic’ and I wasn’t even sure what that word meant so I can guarantee you that did not come from my mind (Yes, I had to Google the meaning)

For astrological signs, you may have Scorpio and/or Virgo in your chart. Possibly a stellium. With how active your mind is coming through in this reading and how much communication is highlighted in this section, I would not be surprised if your dominant planet is Mercury, or if you have many aspects involving that planet in your chart

Your Cards: The Hermit rx, 2 of Cups, 5 of Swords, 2 of Swords rx, King of Wands

Your Reading: Pile 2, please don’t get mad, but when I opened up to your energy, I was expecting a different message than what I delivered right now. I was ready to get serious, to go into deep waters and dive face first. But when I saw the cards… I may or may not have audibly giggled.

Not in a bad way! Hear me out before you scroll, I promise I’m saying this with the same fondness as a best friend, but pile 2, I know you’ve been in hermit mode for a while and are very comfortable staying there, but the universe isn’t really going to let that slide. For most of you, I could see you not wanting to go out but being pushed to do so by a friend. For some of you, you’ve even been convinced by some of your close friends to go on blind dates or new places to meet people in general, and you go but you really don’t want to.

The message here is clear: You’re going to meet someone new. For most of you, this will be a romantic partnership. For my aromantic folks or my readers who are simply not at all interested in romance, this will be a platonic relationship. Whatever this is, I could specifically see one person here coming out of nowhere and earnestly offering you love or friendship with respectful persistence, you wouldn’t even know what to do with them at first. I think a lot of you here have closed yourself off, not to your pre-existing close relationships, but to new people. This person is going to test that wall you’ve built around yourself and despite how much you try to intimidate them, they are not going away. Think of someone with ‘golden retriever’ vibes, which is funny because as I was tapping into your energy I got ‘black cat’ vibes from you. (I just heard, “The Arthur to my Merlin” and “The Gwen to my Morgana” whether platonically or romantically doesn’t matter, but wow, do I have some Merlin fans/old Merlin viewers in this pile)

In all seriousness though, I don’t think you have this boundary up for no reason. I’m seeing a very specific message of someone in the past that you used to trust no longer being in your life because they’ve done you wrong. This could possibly even be a betrayal of trust? Like you told them a secret, but they shared it with one person, and it quickly spread through word-of-mouth. The severing of that relationship was as fast as the betrayal done by the other person.

This made you more guarded towards newer people in your life. But also, I could see this even had a domino effect making you wary of new experiences and environments too because you’re scared you’ll meet a new person that way.  The universe is saying this past relationship has clouded your judgment and will cloud your judgment when you meet this new person. What you don’t realise is that this person could actually be good for you if you take a chance. Some of you may be worried about co-dependency. The universe is actually saying that a relationship like this will actually make you more independent, and this is because this person is emotionally mature enough to actually commit. They’ll give, you’ll take. You’ll give, they’ll take. It feels like two people who genuinely see each other as equals, and therefore respect each other as such. Their commitment and genuine belief in you will make you a more confident person in the future, but more importantly, you’ll be bolder in your choices in life. You’ll grow to have a brave heart that other people will appreciate in you, and that you’ll appreciate in yourself. “Fortune favours the bold.”

Thank you for letting me be your reader, Pile 2!

Your Channelled Song: King and Lionheart by Of Monsters and Men

“We won’t run, and we won’t run, and we won’t run”

“I’ll be here to hold your hand”

“'Cause you're my king and I'm your lionheart”

Pile 3

Signs:

Your sun sign may be an earth sign or an air sign. I also feel like some people who picked this pile may be a Leo rising or have a Leo Midheaven, but more on the Leo rising actually

I feel like some of you here may have curly hair

You may be a part of the LGBTQIA+ community

You prefer winter palettes over lighter and pastel colours for your clothes. I’m not getting a specific style but the colours here are striking. Either an all-black outfit but with the same shade of black making you appear more put together, or someone wearing jewel-toned colours like emerald green or a very striking purple

You may like wearing statement pieces. I saw this image of you in someone else’s point of view, admiring a watch you always wear or commenting on how they know you’ve just been in the room because they smelled your perfume. Picture this, someone walks into an office and just says, “Was pile 3 here—actually, you don’t need to answer that I know they were here.” And the other person who doesn’t know you getting really confused so they clarify by saying, “Oh, I know they were here because they’re the only one in this building that wears (insert fragrance here)”

Some of you here may have a ritual of listening to music in the morning while you’re getting ready to hype yourself up. All genres are coming up right now, (No, seriously. It went from Gangsta’s Paradise to successful by Ariana Grande songs to It's a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock 'N' Roll)) but what unifies these songs together is that it’s there to put you in a good mood in the morning

You may be interested in working for yourself by either starting a new business or working your way to the top. Highly ambitious energy coming from this pile, but in all the best ways possible; it makes your energy infectious. Yes. That word specifically. Just a really great energy to be around

Your Cards: 5 of Wands, 3 of Pentacles, 8 of Swords, High Priestess, The Star (clarified by 3 of Cups)

Your Reading:

Okay, I want to preface this reading by saying that this pile feels similar to pile 1. You may not have had the same circumstances, but the arc is similar, so if you are attracted to pile 1, feel free to read it as a supplementary reading after this.

There’s a very clear energy here that you may have had a falling out with people in your life. This could be a group of co-workers, friends, or even family members. There was chaos surrounding your previous situation and you felt like people were constantly at each other’s throats. If it was not as aggressive as this, it is possible that at the very least you were in an environment you did not feel safe. I think these people showed their true colours, so to speak, and it made you realise how you shouldn’t have trusted certain individuals involved. The thing is though, I can feel you being an outsider in this situation. Like from the start of all of this, you made it clear to everyone you did not want to get involved. I literally just heard, “Get over yourself.” from this pile, so maybe some of you here may even feel that people were blowing up a whole pile of nothing, and/or that they all needed to act more maturely about the situation. I also feel like one person may have taken something personally when they shouldn’t and that could’ve made you particularly frustrated because you felt this person missed the point completely.

I could see that you tried providing counsel to try to smooth things out, but no one listened. This was your last straw. You left or will leave this situation and the universe applauds you for doing so. I think a lot of people in this situation had a victim complex. This is not a judgment on them, it’s simply a message that they have a lot of unhealed wounds they need to work on. You didn’t stand by this though, and this led to you making your boundaries clear and cutting yourself off completely. For some of you, this may be a temporary situation (I heard, “Fix this or don’t bother coming back.”) but for most of you, this may be a temporary step away from these people.

The universe saw that you trusted your gut and left and are rewarding you as such. I think you have a logical mind and are not used to making decisions intuitively, but this all happened because you did what felt right, and this show of trust is going to lead to positive effects.

For the people who picked this pile, I’m getting a strong message that your intuition is a muscle, and that’s true for most people but it’s especially true for yourself. I think you’ll be asked to make more quick decisions in the next phase of your life, Some decisions have larger consequences than others, but most will be small and trivial decisions such as, “Which café should I visit today?”. Before you might’ve picked the familiar or logical option, but now you’re allowing more spontaneity in your life, and this may even surprise you a little bit. I just heard one of your friends saying, “But you always go there!” and seeing you shrug before saying, “Well, I’m in the mood to try something new.”

This will reward you with a new sense of self. The 3 of cups traditionally has a more social meaning, like friends who see each other as equals coming together to celebrate, but for you, I could see this as different sides of yourself finally living in harmony with one another. With all of that stress gone, you’ll finally have the chance to recognise how deeply complex and interesting you are, and you’ll do so with an acceptance you may have not known you needed. “To know myself is to love myself.”

Thank you for letting me be your reader, Pile 3!

Your Channelled Song: “New Person, Same Old Mistakes” by Tame Impala

“I can just hear them now

"How could you let us down?"”

“Two sides of me can't agree”

“Feel like a brand new person… I don’t care I’m in love”

[wisteria-blooms]

sunburns & dragons (charlie weasley & reader) (3/??)

CHAPTER DIRECTORY

TAGLIST: @badgerqueen07 @superduckmilkshake @k-k-merlin @kisskittenn @pluiesdefleurs@lilianelena39 (let me know if I've missed you! otherwise, comment or DM me to be added) Uhm, before you start, peep this gorgeous GIF set below by @alicent-targaryen. Please just browse the entire #sam-heughan tag like I did for the past hour lol. A/N: Also, I don't think the most thorough editing job. I'll go over it again and fix hiccups.

CHAPTER 3: After an unplanned first 'date', having Charlie over for dinner sounds more scrumptious than any perfectly-done filet mignon. However, you should've known that involving him would involve more people than you would've liked. (3.7k words)

CHAPTER 3: IN TOO DEEP

It was the same dreadful feeling of getting in trouble when you were a child. A premonition that a scolding was coming.

That was what you felt as you followed your father down the hallway. But you weren’t going to be asked why Draco was crying after you pushed him (see: age three) or why you scored so poorly in an third-year elective over Christmas break (see: age thirteen). No, twenty-three was going to bring on a different slew of problems.

When you and Lucius were situated in a dark corridor and shielded from the view of the other patrons, you braced yourself. Deep in the shadows, you definitely looked like your father. You never quite got his platinum blonde hair or pale blue eyes; your colouring was always a touch darker. But here, you were the mirror image of him, displeased expressions and aversions to losing and all. 

You clenched your jaw shut as did Lucius until he finally gritted out: “What are you doing here? And in this get-up?”

“Why does it matter what I wear?” you snapped back. Lucius was draped in some of the fanciest emerald robes he’d owned, so whatever meeting he had was definitely important. 

“I don’t particularly care for what you’re wearing, but rather, who it belongs to,” Lucius clarified. “And for you to be here with that Weasley—”

“His name’s Charlie, father.”

“They’re all the same, a stain on our reputation, and speaking of such things,” Lucius continued, his voice gaining volume as he spoke. “We Malfoys have one to upkeep. Either bring some acceptable friends of yours or—”

Lucius quickly glanced around him to make sure there was no one important passing by. When he saw a woman exit the powder room, he waited pleasantly for her to pass before resuming his speech. One that you’d heard a million times. 

“Don’t present yourself here with him.”

“Oh, what does it matter?”

“You will leave this instance,” he commanded. “With the Weasley child.”

“He is not a child, and you can’t tell me what to do,” you countered, your voice rising too. “I can be here with whoever I please. In fact, we’ll have Jacques seat us so we can stay longer. He always has a spot in the restaurant for the Malfoys.”

“You will not,” he hissed. “I have more associates joining me and I won’t be—”

When an elderly couple turned the corner down the hall, you and Lucius both shut up immediately. At the same time, you choked out smiles at each other to give the guise of a pleasant conversation, not the whisper-shouting match that was actually going on. It was in that moment of much-needed silence that you realized something important: Lucius falsely assumed you and Charlie were together. Not in the form of a fling, but he falsely assumed Charlie was the boyfriend you were parading around yesterday. 

“I’m going back to Charlie. Good luck with your meeting.”

You spun away on your heels. As you ditched Lucius, you walked thunderously back to the front. Arguing with your father always put you in the worst of tempers. First, he threatened to have Goyle over because you were unpaired, and now, he was upset with your choice of partner? It was like arguing with a wall.

Up front, Charlie was waiting for you, two drinks in hand and a pastry bag in between his fingers. In the time you were gone, his order had been served. He handed a drink to you.

Trying to suppress your frustration, you asked Charlie in a whisper: “Can you follow my lead?”

“What was that?” he asked, leaning downwards. “You’re too quiet. Or too short for me to hear you.”

“Lean closer, then,” you instructed.

“Okay.” Charlie complied immediately, arching down even further until his lips were a touch too close to your ear. From the view of a bystander, it gave the appearance of him kissing your cheek, maybe his lips grazing your earlobe… You repressed a shudder, having to remind yourself that he just was fooling around like his younger brothers often did.

“Walk out with me,” you whispered. 

You extended your right hand, motioning for him to take it. And without a second of hesitation, he did. Those long, callused fingers wrapped around your smaller ones for the second time today. His grip was firm and protective. You turned your head slightly to see Lucius was looking, and sure enough, he was. Luckily from him, Mr. Lemieux was turned away from the spectacle. 

You imagined he was wearing his teeth down with how hard his jaw was clenched. Worn dentition was soon going to be the least of his problems if he kept pissing you off. 

“Let’s get out of here,” you said. 

“Tell me about it.”

You led him out back through the double glass doors. Your brisk walk turned into a jog down the street. You were trying not to trip on cobblestones or spill your drink again. When you’d reached a safe distance from Cauco, you burst out laughing. And so did Charlie.

“What was that?” he asked. “Actually, what is this?” He raised both your hands that were still tangled to each other. “A change of heart for me?”

“No, this is pure subterfuge,” you responded through fits of laughter. 

“What possessed you to take my hand?”

“My father told me to get out, so I did. I couldn’t leave you.”

“I didn’t know you had a flair for dramatics.”

“You don’t know me well enough!” you laughed. 

“Charlie?” a voice rang suddenly from the corner. “Is that you?”

Both of you whipped around.

It was Molly Weasley. Oh, you know, no other than Charlie’s mum.

Molly nearly dropped her woven baskets full of groceries at the sight of well, firstly, her son who was back home once a year if she was lucky. And secondly, you imagined at the shock of the two of you holding hands. 

You quickly removed your hand from Charlie’s. Now your expression really read like you’d been caught in this imaginary romp in the sheets. 

“What are you doing back in England?” Molly asked, bringing her son in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She cupped his face and gave it two firm pats, trying to ascertain that Charlie was real and not some apparition.

“Apparently, you can’t bank vacation for ten years straight,” he said. A blotch of red was forming on his cheeks from Molly’s hand. “Pretty ridiculous, I reckon—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” Molly then demanded. “I could’ve prepared properly for you. A proper room, a proper meal.”

Charlie jolted. “I didn’t know until two days ago, I promise, mum. I’ve been on a train for the past day. I’ve barely slept all of last night.”

“Well, you’re just in time for a big lunch.” Molly looked at you. “(Y/N), dear,” she said, her voice much sweeter with you. “So lovely to see you, too.” 

“Likewise, Mrs. Weasley,” you responded.

“(Y/N), won’t you join us for lunch as well?” Molly hummed. Then she turned back to Charlie. “Charlie, you’ll be elated to know that Bill is home, too.”

You could never refuse Molly. You also weren’t in a rush to get home, knowing your father may be there, ready to have an argument about the scene you caused at Cauco. And the guilt was starting to settle in, so you shook it off with a nod towards Molly.

As the three of you walked up the grassy hill that led up to the Burrow, Charlie pestered Molly over the validity of her statement about Bill’s being home. “Is he really? You’re joking me, surely.”

“Why would I ever joke about that?” Molly asked. “You know I’ve always asked you to come home more often.”

Charlie groaned as he opened the door to his childhood home. “I should’ve brought home more Romanian parchment for him.”

“Why Romanian parchment?” you asked.

“It’s lighter and less resistant to tearing and burning. Easier for him to carry during expeditions and less to worry about goblins burning them.”

“I’m sure that’s the last thing on his mind right now,” Molly hummed. “But I shouldn’t spoil what your brother is going to tell you, no, I shouldn’t...” She seemed to be fighting with her own morals as she entered the house. 

“Good,” Charlie said as he let out a sigh of relief. “But now I should’ve bugged him for more Egyptian hide.” He pulled the hem of your jacket. “If I was wearing that instead of this jacket, my pocket would’ve lived to see the tale.”

“Is that yours, Charlie?” Molly asked. “I should’ve known, seeing as it’s so tattered up. But nothing I can’t fix.”

“You’ll have to fix (Y/N) up, too. I spilled coffee on her,” Charlie admitted sheepishly.

“Of course, I’ll tend to you, dear, in just a moment…” Molly unloaded her baskets on the counter, eyeing her assortment of meats, cheeses, vegetables, and breads. “Let me get the stew going first. It shouldn’t take more than a couple of minutes.”

As Molly worked, you peered around the house. You’d been here many times throughout your school years and knew every nook and cranny. Though, you were always cooking things up with Fred and George in their room upstairs. You’d met Percy, Ron, and Ginny but never overlapped much with Charlie or Bill. Regardless, you’d always appreciated how inviting it was compared to your abode located upstate. Every bit of you felt warm from the sun seeping through the windows. In the house, things were stuffed to the brim until it was precariously close to exploding: books on the bookshelf, mugs in the cabinet, non-perishables in the pantry, spare blankets in the closet. And even though the Burrow was enclosed by farmland, Molly and Arthur were very friendly with the neighbours. You barely knew yours.

You were about to ask Molly if you could offer any assistance when you were interrupted by footsteps.

“Bill!” Charlie recognized his brother immediately. 

“Charlie?” Bill said. No sooner, he’d jumped down the last two steps and enveloped his younger brother in a hug that almost toppled him over. “What are you doing back in England?”

“It’s a long story,” Charlie said. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Bill started, trying to conceal a grin. He reached out for Fleur’s hand as she came down the steps behind him. “Fleur is expecting. We’re due in the next month or so.”

“What?” Charlie exclaimed. “Already?”

“What do you mean ‘already’?” Molly scolded suddenly from behind him. “It’s about time you settled down as well, Charles Weasley. You should consider staying put for once. I pray you won’t jostle your wife around like you do yourself—”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” Charlie whispered to you before getting dragged off by Molly. Bill followed him into the kitchen.

“Hello, (Y/N),” Fleur said as she came down the last step. Despite being heavily pregnant, she was more than graceful.

“Hello, Fleur,” you responded. “Congratulations on the pregnancy. You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” she said, a proud smile on her face.

You waited awkwardly in the living room alone for a couple moments. You really wished Fred or George or both of them were here to give you someone to talk to. When Molly finished up giving orders to Bill and Charlie, you felt it appropriate to tiptoe into the kitchen. 

“Hello (Y/N),” Bill was the first to notice you creeping in. “Long time no see.”

Bill, as you faintly remembered, was indeed the tallest of the bunch. He was fit but not as muscular as Charlie, if what you saw this morning was anything to go by. He was more laid-back as well, and less prone to making remarks that would receive a scolding from Molly. 

“Indeed!” you responded, feeling more at ease. “And congratulations on the baby.”

“Thank you.” A smile broke out on Bill’s face. He was radiant, his blue eyes crinkling from his smile. His face wasn’t as angular and defined as Charlie’s but he was very handsome in a more boyish way. 

“I didn’t expect you to be here, you’re usually with Fred and George,” Bill said as if reading your mind. “Do you have some news of your own you want to share with me?”

You gave him a puzzled look.

“Mum told me she saw you and Charlie holding hands this morning, after your date,” Bill whispered, glancing slyly at Charlie. “I didn’t know that you were together. Charlie writes to me about everything. Apparently he left out an important chunk.”

Oh. Your date. “Oh, I’m not sure I—”

“That’s okay, I won’t press you. I’ll just ask Charlie,” Bill said, letting you off the hook. You breathed an internal sigh of relief. “He’s a tough read is all I’ll say. He dilly-dallys around a lot, especially around women.”

“Does he?” you said with a laugh. You thought of Charlie’s words to you earlier in the day.

 “One day, he’s saying he’s met this girl. Next week, he’s in love. Then, he wants to propose, and before I know it, I’m standing at the altar.”

Right, Bill wasted no time. Conversely, Charlie denied he was the same. 

Bill smiled. “I reckon so. But it’s no doubt you were able to read through him. You’ve always been smart.”

Your words caught at Bill’s sudden compliment. “Thank you, Bill. But I’m really not.”

“Come on, it was one class almost ten years ago,” Bill said with a teasing grin. “Nothing to beat yourself up over.”

“How do you know?” you asked, your cheeks heated. You’d never overlapped schooling with Bill and yet he knew about—

“Fred told everyone about the cursed elective the three of you took.”

You groaned. You were going to give Fred a piece of your mind next time you saw him.

“Bill, could you be a dear and call Fred and George over for lunch?” Molly called from the windowsill. She barely looked up at the stew she was seasoning. “I’m sure they can afford an hour for lunch now that their busy season is over.”

“Sure thing,” Bill acquiesced, throwing down the dishcloth. “I’ll talk to you later, (Y/N)." 

Molly replaced Bill’s spot in front of you and took you by the arm. “Now, follow me upstairs and let’s get you fixed up. I told Charlie he’s going to have to be more careful around you.”

In an hour, lunch rolled around and so did Fred and George who got a scolding for apparating right into the home. You learned that Fred’s imitation of Molly wasn’t far off. 

“What are you still doing here?” Fred asked with a genuine look of surprise on his face. 

“I’m not sure, Molly asked if I wanted to come for lunch.”

“How did this chance occurrence happen?”

“We bumped into her at Diagon Alley.”

Fred wiggled his eyebrows. “We?” 

You shrugged. 

Thankfully, you were ushered to the table before Fred could pester you anymore. Bill sat with Fleur, Fred with George, you and Charlie, and Molly at the end. The bread basket perched in the centre was bigger than your head.

“So, Charlie, dear,” Molly started. “What brings you back home?”

“Well,” Charlie responded. “As I was saying earlier—”

“Charlie’s going to meet (Y/N)’s parents next Saturday,” Fred added suddenly. 

“You’re going to the Malfoy’s?” Bill asked, directing a look of surprise at Charlie. Molly followed suit. 

You nearly sputtered into your stew. You hadn’t really discussed that nor had Charlie consented to it, at least not seriously. You figured he was just kidding about having dinner, and now that his appetite had been satiated, so was his curiosity. 

“Sure am,” Charlie responded after a long swig of water. He didn’t skip a beat. 

“You’ll have to find something suitable to wear,” Molly commented, looking Charlie up and down. Her inquisitive brown eyes narrowed at his dishevelled long hair and outfit that looked like he was going to bed rather than dinner. “I’m sure we can find something of your father’s or grandfather’s in the attic.”

“There goes the rest of my afternoon,” Charlie groaned loudly, much to Molly’s chagrin. Then, he leaned into you. “I hope you didn’t have plans for us, (Y/N).”

You shook your head. “I shouldn’t think about taking you away from something so important.”

The rest of lunch was filled with questions about Bill and Fleur’s impending baby and Fred and George’s business. Luckily, no questions were thrown towards you and Charlie. You wouldn’t even know what to say. When lunch was over, Charlie was the first to excuse himself. 

“That was a lovely lunch as always, mum,” Charlie said, getting up. “I’m going to unpack and maybe take a nap. It was a long journey from Romania.”

As he began to head up the stairs, Molly piped up: “Be sure to use Ginny’s room.”

Charlie descended a step back. “What about mine?”

“It’s under renovation.”

“You remodelled my room?” Charlie cried.

“As a temporary nursery. You can obviously still stay in the guest room the duration of time you’re here,” Molly clarified. 

“I won’t even fit into Ginny’s room, let alone the bed. And are the walls still pink?”

“Well, a fair warning that you’d be coming back would’ve been sufficient,” Molly said. “Bill was first to tell me that he and Fleur wanted to move back in for the duration of her pregnancy.”

“But why mine? Why not remodel Ginny’s room as the nursery?”

“Because yours is closest to Bill’s room,” Molly explained. “It provides easier access to the baby.”

“You can always stay with us, Charles darling,” Fred suggested, a grin dancing on his face. “We have a spare room in our flat that’s gone unused for some reason.”

“I’ll consider it as my dead last option,” Charlie said with a shudder. He jumped back on the first floor and ran past Fred, but not before commenting: “There are a million people I’d rather live with before I’d live with you.”

After Charlie left to unpack, Fred and George followed suit to reopen the shop. You lingered around the house for a while longer, offering to help with the dishes which was promptly refused. Instead, Molly gave you a tour of the new nursery, her eyes brimming with pride at her handiwork. And it really was a lovely room with white, flowy curtains billowing in the wind, a vintage wooden cot, and tons of hand sewn blankets and plush toys. You were glad she was so preoccupied with the baby and showing you around that she wasn’t asking about Charlie. 

“It’s beautiful, Mrs. Weasley,” you said, admiring the stitching on the curtains. “Bill and Fleur are lucky to have you alongside them.”

Molly placed a hand on her hip. “You know, dear, I would do it for any child of mine and their partner.”

You eked out a smile in response. You sure hoped she wasn’t insinuating anything about you. 

When you went downstairs, you decided it was proper for you to excuse yourself and head home. It was nearing three in the afternoon and you couldn’t believe how the hours just flew by. Before you left, you went to Ginny’s old room and knocked on the ajar door. 

“Come in,” Charlie said.

You stepped in slowly. Charlie was unfolding his clothes on Ginny’s old bed. He towered over the frame, and he’d be lucky if he could stretch out his legs tonight. Luckily for him, the walls were now a muted pink, not the bright shade they were years ago. 

“I’m about to leave,” you said. “I just wanted to apologise for today before I go. I’m sorry you got caught up in things.”

Charlie cocked an eyebrow. “What’s there to apologise for?” 

“The whole debacle with my father,” you clarified. “I never meant to get you involved. I don’t think well at the crux of an argument.”

“Why shouldn’t I be involved?”

Did Charlie sound offended?

“You want to be?”

“(Y/N),” Charlie said with a chuckle. “I’m always hungry. I’ll be there for the meal if not for the entertainment, or world-class Malfoy hospitality.”

“Are you serious?” you asked. “Because you understand what the deal was right? We’d have to be…” You bit your lip. You didn’t want to finish the sentence. 

“Like we’re dating? Was that so hard to get out now?” Charlie laughed, leaning in closer to you until he was a few inches from you. “I mean, you’re meeting my mum.”

“I’ve already met her, many times over,” you huffed. “And on that topic, don’t you think it’s wrong to lead her on like that?”

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t lecture me about ethics. You’re the one who just tried to swindle your father in public.”

You turned red. “My prospects were looking terrible.”

“Hey, I’m just kidding,” Charlie said. “I’d do the same thing if I were in your shoes.”

“Alright”—you eyed him suspiciously—“Well, if you’re sure, I’ll send you an owl.”

“You know exactly where I’ll be,” Charlie confirmed.

Before you turned away to leave, a sudden thought came to mind. “Charlie, wait. You never told me. Why are you back in England?”

“I really was banking up too much vacation,” he confessed, airing out a rolled t-shirt. “I was strong-armed into taking it, so I chose the off-season.”

“What are you going to do at home?”

He hummed. “I was cordially invited to be a guest professor at Hogwarts two days a week, depending on how often they need me.”

“That is splendid for you,” you said, eyes brightening. “Which classes will be taking over?”

“Just Care of Magical Creatures for now”—he turned fully to you—“I reckon I could sneak in a few dragons for the kids.”

“You wouldn’t,” you warned. “You were Head Boy, you knew the rules.”

“Try me, Headmaster Malfoy.”

He held your gaze, intense blue eyes locking with yours and a smirk rising on his face. For the briefest of moments, you felt a shudder course through your body. He wasn’t being suggestive, you had to remind yourself. Charlie was just more intense and smouldering than his brothers—

Wait, did you just use the word smouldering to describe Charlie? The Charlie Weasley you’d really just met six hours ago? You scolded yourself. You had to focus on the issue at hand. 

“I’ll try to wrangle a way out of dinner regardless,” you affirmed. “I have to free you up for your duties as a professor.”

He broke his gaze. “Let me know if you’re successful,” Charlie said with a laugh. “Catch you later, (Y/N).”

>> NEXT CHAPTER

&lt;;< CHAPTER DIRECTORY

[livingforstars]

X-ray Moon and X-ray Star - February 27th, 1996.

"An X-ray star winks out behind the Moon in these before and after views of a lunar occultation of the galactic X-ray source designated GX5-1. The false colour images were made using data from the ROSAT orbiting observatory and show high energy X-rays in yellow (mostly from GX5-1), and lower energy X-rays in red (the Moon reflecting X-rays from the Sun). GX5-1 is a binary system, consisting of a neutron star and a companion star in mutual orbit about the system's center of mass. The gas in the companion star's outer envelope falls toward the neutron star and accumulates in a disk around it. This disk material swirls deeper into the neutron star's gravitational well, and is finally dumped onto its surface - in the process creating tremendous temperatures and generating the high energy X-rays."

[crypticandmachiavellianaugustine]

Sweet Nothings (Part Two)

Part One

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Summary: part two they live happily ever after, a little bit of angst.

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, tw Beron mentioned, mentions of past torture and abuse, mentions of body image insecurities, smut

English is not my first language, I am burnt out and spent Valentine's Day finishing this instead of studying so probably lots of mistakes ( also watch me fail my exams because I dedicated Valentine's Day to Eris)

___

Dawn had not broken into the sky yet when Y/N woke up, feeling disoriented at first, almost thinking that she had started seeing double and more when she noticed six Willows sleeping on the thick carpet in front of her bed, and the feeling of an unfamiliar warm weight draped over her waist had her questioning her sanity for a moment. She was in her room at the Forest House, that was something she had gotten used to. The smoke hounds were peacefully snoring on her carpets and sofas, and some to her surprise had even become living pillows for the cats. And lastly, the weight on her waist was an arm and the owner of it was still in deep sleep, breathing calmly with his face pressed against her neck.

She wanted to frustratingly growl into her pillow when she remembered exactly how the night before, her bold and tipsy self had begged Eris to sleep in her bed instead of ending the evening with the usual long kiss in front of her door and going their separate ways for the night like they had done in the last few weeks. She was not ready to face him awake so she kept quiet, simmering in her embarrassment.

After their first kiss, in a hidden corner of the palace's gardens, surrounded by roses and falling rust coloured leaves, the awkwardness of two almost strangers who happened to be mates had been quickly replaced by a natural familiarity. They both craved to feel a touch that was only meant to love and comfort and they craved each other. Half sentences and prolonged silences had made them realise that explanations about the past that were beyond strictly necessary could wait. She had her loneliness and he had his scars and they knew how to ease the torment of both.

Y/N noticed that he had slightly opened the windows, just the way she liked it. She hated sleeping in a completely closed room, as strange as it was, she only felt calm with at least one window open. But he had also bundled her up in her covers and his body was warmer than usual, of course he would never waste an occasion to showcase how he could use his powers for her comfort. She expected to be annoyed by how he was protecting her from the cold she felt comfortable in, but she didn't even try to lie to herself and pretend that she didn't find his care for her quite moving.

Luna jumped on the bed with her usual rudeness of small cat and after glaring at Y/N, her beloved cat and first friend at the Forest House curled up on the other side of her mate. She heard Eris chuckle quietly, the cat had woken him up. Y/N felt him kiss the back of her neck.

She turned around and darted him a falsely annoyed look when she noticed that he was immensely amused by Luna's preference for him that morning.

"I guess that now I have two little cats in need of cuddles," whispered Eris in her ear teasingly, alluding to her behaviour since they had gotten closer and earning a light slap on his arm.

After their first kiss she had started to enjoy being close to him way more than she had expected. It had become an anything but rare occurence to get caught while kissing by advisers, servants and courtiers walking in the throne room only to leave hastily immediately after, finding the High Lord on his throne with his mate on his lap.

Unsurprisingly, Eris was the only one immune to the awkwardness of those incidents, usually being very entertained by the escape of the unfortunate souls who walked themselves into mortification by going in his throne room, and by the flushed of embarrassment cheeks of his mate.

He kissed her forehead gently, drawing her close to his chest again. She had contrasting feelings about his hands stroking her back in that moment. It undoubtedly felt good, it was even one of the specific kinds of touch that she had always yearned for. But she could not suppress the uncertainty and shyness about the knowledge of what he could feel through the light fabric of the nightgown she was wearing. Y/N loved everything about her body, a love that she had nurtured and built for a long time. She was not a stranger to the cruel words of those who felt like they had the right to judge her, to tell her shamelessly that her looks and her existence were something that was wrong in their eyes.

She was aware that her insecurities were irrational. In the last few weeks, Eris had not shied away from making her understand how utterly attracted he was to her. But there was a difference in her mind between being close to him while wearing a proper dress and knowing that in that very moment his hands were feeling love handles through the nightgown while moving around her back. Even worse, she had felt him caress her arms, his intention was to give her more warmth and affection but Y/N blushed vividly, realising that the softness of her arms was not at all hidden by fabric in that moment.

Eris continued touching her tenderly, kissing her flushed cheeks.

"My sweet shy love" he murmured before settling his lips on her forehead again, while his hands continued their gentle ministrations.

Y/N decided not to voice her insecurities just yet, she closed her eyes and tried to clear her head, she would not allow her thoughts to ruin her day before sunrise.

_

Y/N was flipping through a book of traditional autumn court recepies. She knew that she wanted to accept the bond between her and Eris, even if she had not told him yet. Deciding what to prepare was a complicated dilemma. She wanted to cook something amazing, putting her talents to good use, she had been a patissier in the kitchens of the Forest House a few months prior after all, and quite a lot of times her mate had praised her creations after realising that she was the hand responsible for some of the fine patisserie that had been served to his table for some time before their first tumultuous encounter in the gardens.

The book was as exquisite as the foods it detailed, with its beautiful illustrations of the dishes and a motive of golden trees decorating every single page.

Y/N placed the book on one of the finely inlaid desks and left the library.

The next day she was bound to leave with Eris to stay for a few days on the coastal side of Autumn. He had duties in that part of the Court and he wanted to make use of his time there to show her a new part of his home. Y/N was excited to be away from the palace and all of its formalities, and for the first time she had somewhere to go with someone, it would not be solitary wandering but a stay by the sea with her mate. Almost a vacation.

In her life of outcast she had never wandered far from the sea. In her loneliest times, being tossed by the waves had almost felt like a hug. And whenever she had been suffocating under the torment that her own mind sometimes submitted her to, the cold and dark embrace of a marine abyss had never failed to ground her in the present, freeing her from her invisible chains.

In her chamber Y/N had started packing the last things that she needed, the dresses that she had wished to take with her on that short trip had already been prepared.

She packed two of the books she was reading, Eris had assured her that there was a library where they were heading when he had noticed the pile she had prepared for the trip.

Luna was sharpening her claws on the wooden trunk that contained her clothes, visibly upset. The cats and the hounds would stay at the Forest House, and both groups of animals were showing their disappointment. Willow was whining on her favourite sofa, so docile and pleading that it was easy to forget that she was one of the renowned smoke hounds of Autumn.

Y/N packed some of her favourites oils and salves and one of her most beloved scents; the mixture of bergamot, jasmine and roses calming her nerves.

The last few days had not been easy for her. Since the mating bond had snapped, Eris had made sure to get rid of every noble who dared to question her presence at Court, those whose tongues had been raised against her had been stripped of their richness and exiled in a blink of an eye; some, Y/N had discovered, had even lost their lives for the slandering they had spat out about the mate of their new High Lord. The last three of a group of nobles who had particularly hateful things to say about her, had disappeared from the palace the day before, but knowing that they had payed was not making their disgusting words sting less.

She layed down, hoping to distract herself with some reading and some goodbyes cuddles for Luna and Willow, falling asleep shortly after, even with the cat sleeping on her pillow and the hound snoring next to her.

_

Calmness permeated on the coast side of Autumn, an ethereal and not ignorable presence, just like the morning mist that was attenuating the reality around them. The lazy sound of soft waves in the distance was the only disruption of that quiet place.

The hushed and dreamlike scenery of that seaside early morning did very little to cover the Villa that was standing out against a curtain of pale fog.

Wrapped up in her cloak and with the face of someone who could have used a few more hours of sleep, Y/N glared sceptically at her mate. With Eris' description of the place she had expected to see a cozy little cabin, the opulent elegance of the mansion in front of them had come as a surprise.

Normally she would have teased him about his minimization of the place, but she decided to keep her thoughts for a future time, preferably a time with his flames roaring in a fireplace and a steaming cup of tea in her hands.

Eris was keeping an arm around her waist as they walked to the front door of the Villa, pressing her closely to his body and using his power to warm up her cloak. Normally she did not mind the cold, but she had took a liking in allowing him to ease that discomfort, the annoyed and shy glares she had displayed when he had warmed her up the first few times were a distant memory, replaced by an almost pouting expression she had on her face every time she needed his warmth but was too prideful to ask.

Inside, after he removed her cloak and with a flick of his fingers made every single fireplace and candle in the house spark to life, he still refused to free her from the hold of his arm around her waist. Instead, he picked her up and carried her to one of the chambers. Y/N wanted to protest, not knowing what she could say without making her insecurities about her body known, she blushed nervously and gripped his shoulders as if she was scared to fall.

"Sssshhh," she heard Eris whisper in her hear, before feeling him press a kiss on the side of her head.

"Put me down. I am too heavy, you are going to make me fall!" Y/N murmured, she felt almost mortified.

"And I am strong. Relax, my love, you are not about to fall," the High Lord of Autumn reassured his drowsy mate, laying her gently on a bed. He took off her boots and covered her with a blanket, meeting her sleepy and amused stare.

"I have hands, you know?" said Y/N suppressing a yawn and curling up in a more comfortable position.

"I am aware. Delightfully soft and gentle ones, while we're at it" he replied, his amber eyes looking at her with tenderness and his lips curved into a smirk. "Just grant me the pleasure of doing things for you, my little fox."

She did not hear him leave the room, falling asleep quickly despite her plans of staying awake.

_

The sea of Autumn was the opposite of what she had expected. Not a chilling silent expanse like the frozen waters of the Winter Court, and neither blue and lively like the crystal clear sea of the Summer Court. It was just calm.

Y/N was laying on the sand, observing the sky as the sunset was making the lilac clouds gleam of marigold orange light. In a past too far away from her to reach ever again, she had used to love painting the color of every sunset she used to admire, and every sunrise as well; she had painted until she had become incapable of finding the beauty in those afar horizons, so her paints and brushes had been abandoned on a forgotten path, never to be recovered again by the hands that had used them for so long, abandoned by the girl who had frantically attempted to remember the skies she would never see again once every night would fall.

Now on that silent beach of the Autumn Court, a place where she had ended up unexpectedly, her hands where unconsciously twitching, eager to hold a brush again.

There had been many things she had started doing again in the most recent times. Writing just for the taste of it and not only to confide in the silence of paper the small memorable moments of her days. Laughing sincerely. Finding peace in the security and quietness of hours spent in the arms of someone who truly cared about her.

The orange glow of the sky was starting to disappear, making way for cooler shades and silver stars when Y/N heard someone approaching. She smiled when Eris sat down next to where she was laying, leaning down to kiss her tenderly. She could tell that leaving the Forest House for a day was already benefiting him, even if he had spent the day buried in whatever duty he had there, by the sea. The dark shadows that she had got used to see under his eyes in the last few days were still there, but he seemed happier, as if he was breathing more freely. She rarely asked him about his duties as the High Lord of Autumn, only a few times after the mating bond had snapped between them she had shyly offered advice, during the long hours she had spended curled up on one of the sofas in his office, pretending to focus on a book but actually studying him, trying to figure him out. He had always immediately followed her advice, praising her for her ideas and encouraging her to always share her thoughts, advice that she sometimes followed reluctantly, she was still too used to her centuries of silence.

Y/N sat up just to be immediately pulled back down by her mate who had squeezed her in his arms and layed on the sand with a contented groan, her basically resting on his chest.

"Rude," she grumbled, failing to put on an annoyed expression when she felt his fingers brush through her hair. She looked up, Eris seemed almost carefree laying there with his eyes closed and her in his arms. The light of the sun, that was almost completely set on the horizon at that point, made his auburn hair resemble the fire he could create apparently as easily as breathing. Y/N lightly trailed her fingertips on his face, admiring his sharp features and freckles. A smirk curving her lips when an idea made its way into her head. Before Eris could comprehend what was going on she was already up, running to the sea and unceremoniously throwing her dress on the sand, wearing only a garnet red chemise when she abandoned hersel into the calm waters, gasping at the sudden coldness and starting to laugh at her mate who had winnowed to the shore and had tried to grab her before she collided with the placid waves and started to swim away. She did notice him enter the water until a pair of arms surrounded her waist. Eris didn't waste any time before starting to leave a trail of kisses along her shoulders, her shivers not caused by the icy feeling of the water anymore. Y/N could not resist turning around and crashing her lips against his. When Eris kissed her, it was always with his whole self, with his whole soul. And then in one moment it ended. He had winnowed them back to their chamber at the Villa.

"Now, why did you feel the need to do that? We were enjoying ourselves," Y/N grumbled rolling her eyes just to be met with an intense wave of heat, he was drying her off with a dramatically patient and exasperated expression on his face.

"We can enjoy ourselves without risking you getting sick," Eris replied, grabbing a blanket, warming it and wrapping her in, using his powers to make the flames in the fireplace roar to life.

"You are aware that I can take some cold, are you?" Y/N huffed, just to be pulled in for a kiss, hearing him saying something about that morning under his breath. She blushed, she had never really seen Eris shirtless and now the extent of the scars he usually hid by dressing immaculately was completely exposed to her eyes. She had only caught peeks of the scarring, when after his training or their time spent together the collar of his shirt often became undone.

He sensed her stare and for the first time since they had met each other she could tell that Eris was in difficulty, his characteristic boldness melted under her eyes. He looked down, picking up a shirt and putting it on, she had never seen him embarrassed before.

She wanted to ask, to know. But questions were superfluous. She had always known the Autumn Court as brutal and since she had ended up living there, the things she had heard about Beron Vanserra were enough of an answer for her unexpressed question.

Y/N had never learned how to react to someone else's pain, no one had even been so close to her heart to have those kind of moments in her presence. But Eris was her mate, the other half of her soul, the male who had been nothing but patient, protective and caring since the night they had met. So she walked up to him, clumsily trying to think about what to say and what to do to comfort him. She caressed the sides of his neck, with all the gentleness she was capable of, trying to send waves of affection through the bond.

"Please don't pity me" she heard him whispering, almost pleading with a vulnerability she had never witnessed in him.

Y/N didn't know how to respond. Instinctively her fingers started to gently slide the shirt he had put on, off of him. Eris didn't say anything, his eyes fluttering close as if he wanted to hide something. She set the shirt down on an armchair before looking at him. Her hands were at the sides of his neck again. This time she trailed her fingertips on his broad shoulders, his muscles flexing at the contact, Y/N could have sworn that she had felt him shiver. The scars that she was touching almost with reverence were just a small section, she could tell that they continued on his back even if she could not see them from where she was.

Eris tensed up when she hugged him, her face pressed against his chest. The scars there had been clearly made with a dagger, some were deep looking, she asked herself how he was still alive. Her fingers running gently over his back were reading a different story. The scars there were numerous, inflicted with blind violence, the lashings of a whip.

"I am not pitying you," as she said that he relaxed slightly, his lips pressing lightly on the crown of her head.

Eris sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her close to him. At the sight of his intense amber eyes looking at her with amazement and longing she could not resist kissing him softly, trying to express all of the words she found herself incapable of saying. As the kiss grew desperate she felt his arms holding her tightly, his face pressed into the curve of her neck.

They stayed like that for a long time before Eris started to kiss her again. Warm lips on hers, on her neck and then kissing along one of her arms until he reached her hand, and there he pressed a tender kiss on her knuckles.

Y/N became increasingly red the more he continued.

"When you blush your cheeks remind me of rose petals. Your lips feel like roses too". Eris' hoarse voice so close to her ears sent small shivers down her spine. The amber of his eyes seemed liquid, alive, as if a flame was burning inside of them. His usual sharp and attentive gaze was completely lost in his observation of her. His eyes followed the lines his fingers were tracing on her lips, her shoulders, the exposed skin of her chest, before stopping were her underdress started, as if he was admiring how the crimson of the fabric layed softly on her pale brests.

He looked up, silently asking for permission. Y/N felt as if she was falling down into an abyss, her knees weak as she nodded. She would not shy away. Eris sensed her uneasiness and laid a kiss on her forehead. Y/N closed her eyes, that simple contact was melting something inside of her. It felt like a promise, it was as if he was vowing to keep her safe, to hold her as she shed her last standing walls, completely surrendering to a real love for the first time. She slid the chemise off, the red fabric pooling at her feet.

Eris' eyes were as scorching as flames, his expression as he took her in was charged of the fire she had often wondered about. She was certain that he would consume her and bring her back to life at the same time. Despite everything, when he scooped her up in his arms and layed her on the soft pillows, his touch was gentle, as if she was the most precious and delicate thing he had ever encountered.

"Beautiful" he almost growled, his tone still hoarse, as he trailed his lips in between her breasts.

Y/N had always imagined that feeling his powerful body pressed against the softness of hers would have caused some embarrassment- but in that moment she didn't feel anything other than warm, safe, eager.

Eris' hands, his cleaver and capable hands, were everywhere. Fondling her breasts slowly, before torturing them with his lips. Sliding and squeezing the curve of her waist, caressing the softness of her belly. When he reached her thighs he made a sound that could only be described as animalistic. He looked at her for a moment, his smile feral as he lowered his face to her large thighs, his hands grasping and stroking the soft flesh as he sinked his teeth into one, starting to bite, kiss and tease her inner thighs. She felt reduced to a mess and they had barely even started.

She guided his head up again, her fingers sliding into his fiery hair and slightly tugging, he chuckle before capturing her lips again. She almost begged him to stop his exasperating teasing and in an uncharacteristic moment of mercy, he did- making her gasp of delight as she felt him inside of her, thrusting deeply as his hands kneaded her behind before pinning her wrists over her head and kissing her again. She was whimpering against his lips as his movements became harsher and his mouth attacked her neck. With each thrust she felt herself closer to coming undone and the sounds coming out of his mouth were speeding the process. She took pleasure in seeing him so taken by her, a few auburn strands falling on his temples, his eyes shining like citrines. As they both felt the release of falling over the edge of the pleasure that has been built up with each one of their movements, they both relaxed into the bed- holding each other as if they were both secretly trying to reassure themselves that the other was going to stay, forever.

Hours later when they finally had enough of exploring each other, they were both enjoying the cold silence of the dawn. The water they were relaxing in was not giving signs of cooling down, Y/N couldn't wait to discover all of the small ways Eris could use his powers. His hands, warmer than usual on her shoulders, felt comforting. His fingers gently massaging her, after washing her hair, were lulling her to sleep.

_

During her centuries of wandering around Prythian, Y/N had never indulged in celebrating the Day of Love. And when she had confessed her reluctance in recognising the importance of the holiday, she must have known by the look on his face that Eris had big plans. For him, her grumpy behaviour she displayed when talking about the day had been like throwing wood into a fire, he would give her the most romantic Day of Love she could imagine and he would enjoy watching her pretend that she was absolutely not blushing and melting inside because of his attention. So when he saw her green eyes light up at the sight of their chamber filled with bouquets of all her favourite flowers, he decided not to tease her too much and reduce her to a blushing, smiling mess yet. White clouds of jasmine and elaborated multicoloured orchids imported from the Continent, pastel violet tulips, peonies and roses, that were currently being destroyed by her cats, the one she had called Luna snacking on the red ones. His hounds were politely laying in front of the fireplace, observing the uncivilised small felines cause mischief around the compositions of flowers.

There were few things he enjoyed as much as witnessing the way she glowed in excitement everytime she received gifts. So after breakfast and after unwrapping a set of gold and emerald jewelry, a matching small dagger, the hilt decorated with an intricate pattern of golden leaves and an adequate amount of new books, they got ready for a day in the main city of the Autumn Court, were he literally bought anything she showed even the slightest interest in. They had lunch on a terrace overlooking the forest and spent the afternoon winnowing to some of her favourites places.

Later that night, after almost visiting half of Pyrithian and having dinner on the beach in Summer, Y/N admitted that after all she did have a surprise for him that day. An elaborate honey cake covered in fresh wild berries, with numerous layers and soft cream was waiting for them in their chamber. She had prepared it secretly the day before, almost embarrassed by herself for being too romantic and picking that specific day to accept Eris as her mate. She cut a slice and fed him a piece, his hand catching hers as tears of happiness started falling down his face, his lips kissing her fingertips as the golden thread that bonded their hearts became stronger, eternal. They both knew that they were about to spend a scandalous amount of time in that room.

[lectern-fullcauldron]

do you know your hermistory? hermitcraft debuts in order

Short ID: an infographic illustrating each current hermitcraft whitelist member's hermitcraft debut date by season. Each hermit is illustrated next to an abridged tfc quote that reads 'a great big dysfunctional family'

Long ID below cut

Image ID: a long single panelled infographic on a rainbow gradient background. Down the right hand side reads "a great big, dysfunctional family". The infographic has the numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 8 down the left hand side, each with a corresponding colour on the gradient.

Section one: down the left hand side of this section are the following stats: 'April 2012: Hypno, Xisuma', 'May 2012: Keralis, Joe Hills' 'Jan 2013: Bdubs'. All of the above hermits are illustrated in the section. Keralis, Xisuma, and Hypno stand at the top as founding members of the server. There is an illustration of a leaf block on a two high fence next to Keralis labelled 'booshes' and an arrow points at Hypno reading 'website admin'. Below them, Joe Hills reclines in a Uno wildcard themed bubble reading a book called 'scam'. An arrow points to this bubble that reads 'the original new guy'. Bdubs' appears waving in a small white circle below Joe with the caption '2 eps in S1. Coming soon!'

Section two: a neon green arrow bridges this section to section one. It comes from Joe Hills and reads 'coup!'. Down the left of this section are the following stats: 'June 2013: Cleo, Mumbo', 'Oct 2013: TFC', 'Dec 2013: iJevin', 'June 2014: False', 'July 2014: Tango', and 'Sept 2014: xbcrafted'. Cleo and mumbo sit together with an arrow pointing at them reading 'both too shy to talk to people' - this text also has an arrow pointing at falsesymmetry. Tfc is depicted carrying a pair of binoculars and has an arrow pointing at him that reads 'branch mine advocate' of which the branch is underlined. Ijevin carries a stopwatch and False a diamond sword. Tango holds a minecraft oak door and has two bits of text pointing at him. The first reads 'early iron farm visitor' and the second reads 'redstone genius'. This second text has arrows that also descend down to impulse, doc, and etho in section three. The final hermit in section two is xb, who is lying on his stomach, kicking his legs and looking up at tango.

Section three: the stats down the left hand side of this section read 'Jan 2015: impulse', 'march 2015: etho, doc'. Impulse is depicted falling into a yellow pentagram with the caption 'summoned to help with quad witch hut'. Below this, doc and etho stand side by side (doc a head taller than etho). Doc has a pen and a clipboard and the pair are labelled 'mindcrack refugees'.

Section four: the stats down the left hand side of this section read: 'Feb 2016: Welsknight, Iskall, Scar, Ren, Cub', 'Sept 2016: Beef'. The five hermits for Feb 2016 are depicted in a line with a box grouping cub and scar with a note that reads 'do not separate'. Below them is the caption 'kingdomcraft'. Beef reclines alone below them, with a note beside him that reads 'mesa-ing around' (title of cub's first hermitcraft episode).

Section five: the stats down the left hand side of this section read: 'April 2017: Stress, Bdubs, Zed'. This section is relatively small. Stress is in a GG get gorgeous t-shirt, holding an allium. Bduds is asleep on Zed, wrapped up in his moss cloak. Above him reads 'NHO time!'

Section six: the stats down the left hand side of this section read: 'July 2018: grian'. This section depicts grian t-posing with white wings and orange goose feet. He has two captions, the first reads 'started a war' and has an arrow pointing up to stress as well. The other reads 'horrible goose t-posing to assert dominance'.

Section 8: the stats down the left hand side of this final section read: 'June 2021: Gem, Pearl'. Gem and pearl are depicted hugging with the captions 'moon big' and 'gem is great'. Pearl's face is depicted as a moon and her eyes are craters. She still has blonde hair to match her minecraft skin.

End ID

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Offer me the deathless death”

Andromache the Scythian x Female Reader

request ( found here ) by @nightly-polaris

|･ω･) go wild, you said and go wild, i did. i included as much of the provided details as i could. hopefully, you’ll find it agreeable

cw : 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ // dubcon-ish // ✂️ ✂️😼 // overstimulation

casually quoting hozier for all my andromache fics. that fight scene on the plane and the way she grabbed nile by the jaw tho 😩 wanted to incorporate it in a fic ever since i saw it, and fucking finally did

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Hallucinations. A fever dream.

Anything but reality is what you tell yourself, and what a job you have been doing thus far! Fantastically foolish if nothing else. Cocooned in a bubble of lies that spill forth none other than your lips, and illusions that are carved by your very mind itself, you harbour not a droplet of doubt that the reality in front of your eyes is nothing but bona fide.

People after all are the most masterful at fooling themselves.

Ensnared in a web of deceit weaved by your fingers lie no hapless preys, but you, yourself, who revel in the sweet taste of false security as you do in the richness of the creamy warm chocolate drink that coats your tongue.

Even though business in your shop today is notably satisfactory if not the most profitable, it is not the digits that matter to you the most. Your little shop is borne purely out of your profound passion and desire; obligation is out of the picture. It is where you feel the most at home, doing what you love while bathed in the aroma of freshly ground coffee and cocoa.

Amidst brewing a cup of americano as per the order of a customer with stylish sun-glasses and a striking jawline, your dress is accidentally soiled. Little do you know, the scatter of black and bitter constellations along the pristine white of your sleeve is merely the dawn of a darker, more bitter happening.

──────── ༻✿༺ ────────

Finding you has been relatively easy.

When the familiar dreams begin plaguing her usually dreamless nights, a telltale sign of a new immortal on the horizon, Andromache has half a mind to ignore them altogether. Had she not seen the places that stoke recognition amongst the wild tapestry of images, she certainly would have. But alas, her target, as it so happens, is no stranger to her. By no means does the Scythian know you. Nor you, the Scythian. New immortals bring together with them an assortment of risks, one of them being the exposure of their secret. It is with such knowledge in mind that Andromache feels obliged to set out for you despite her reluctance. You living in the neighbourhood of her temporary place of residence only makes the search all the more convenient.

Being a warrior for many a millennium has developed a vast array of tactical traits into personal trademarks. Those that once upon a time had had to be mindfully exercised, now occur as easily and effortlessly as breathing, involuntary more often than not. Beneath the dark shades of a spectacle perched on a well-defined slope of a nose lies a pair of sage green eyes, scanning the vicinity of wherever she goes like an eagle on a hunt. They have landed on it then, during her visit to a store, standing adjacent to it is a cafe in the name of “Trouvaille”. The Scythian is not one to be easily intrigued, but what a lie it would be to say that the charming building with its vintage air and curious name had not tickled her fancy. Or its owner whom she has noticed is all sweet smiles and dulcet eyes.

Eyes which she has only seen from afar then, now she stares directly into them. Protected by the shades, the intense greens study you with brazen openness, roaming all over your frame, from the tiny clips that decorate your cascading hair like colourful Christmas lights to the butterfly pendant that dangles from a simple silver chain, hovering directly above the dip of your throat, from the little flower prints on your dress, the skirt of which softly caresses your thighs, to occasional glimpse of seemingly soft flesh that teases the Scythian, left uncovered by a pair of white thigh-highs.

It is retrieving you that is the hard part.

Immediately upon arrival, Andromache has read your features for perhaps a trace of recognition. You paying the Scythian a visit in her dreams can only mean one thing after all: that she, too, must have appeared in yours. Yet, no widening of your eyes greet her, only a smile that does not waver.

“Hi, welcome to cafe Trouvaille. What can I get you?”

“Americano will do. Hot.”

Beside the fact that it is broad day light, a few people roam the place. As capable as Andromache is of manhandling you, it is not in her best interest to attract attention. The situation calls for patience. Rushing will spell only more trouble at best. Wait she must, and so, wait she does.

Leisurely, the Scythian sips her coffee, studying you periodically as she does so. It is after some minutes have ticked by, the cup of coffee sitting on the table, empty and cold, that she decides to fish a book, leather-bound and well-worn, out of her backpack. Thumbing through old pages, Andromache spends the better part of the wait indulging in literature, until one by one, people start trickling out of the shop.

In due time, it leaves only the Scythian and you.

The sky has taken on a deep orange hue by the time she stands to approach you. She eyes you surreptitiously, and upon confirming that she is not at the receiving end of your attention, the Scythian moves to lock the door. Ever the diligent wielder of caution, she does not forget to flip the little dangling plate. The letter “We’re closed.” that is carved into the wood will help ward off potential visitors.

Even as she walks towards the counter, you do not seem to notice her for you are kept occupied by the book in your lap, fingers busy scribbling onto paper. It is the tinkle of porcelain on marble as she drops the cup and saucer atop the counter that finally has your eyes zeroing in on her. She watches you watch her. Backdropped by the sunset with her shades finally tucked away into the pocket of her jacket, the sight of the Scythian brings about a subtle shift in your mien. Although fleeting, the furrow of your brows that must have been imperceptible to others, does not go unnoticed.

“Hello, again. I hope you’ve had a good time.”

The smile that you give her is sweet, if not the most genuine.

“Why don’t we save the pleasantries, hm?” The smile that touches her lips, in contrast, has a hint of sourness. “You’ve seen me before.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe I have.”

Your answer only brings about a twofold increase in the Scythian’s irritation. Judging by the slightest delay in your response, she knows that you are well aware that she has not meant it as a query, and so, she says as much.

“It wasn’t a question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

The adamant denial from you has strong, slender digits tightening around the strap that is slung over one shoulder.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? You died, and then you woke up, saw a bunch of people you had never seen before in your dream, including me.”

“But, that was- No. Surely it was-.”

“Look, kid-” Forming into a thin line are Andromache’s lips as she takes a moment to compose herself, slowly huffing out an exhale through flared nostrils. “-I know you’ve got questions but I need you to come with me first.”

“No. No, I don’t think so. This isn’t real. None of this is real. Leave, please. I need you to leave.”

Lips that slowly curl into a smirk and a chuckle that comes out dark and dangerous. “It’s cute that you think you have a choice.”

Battered boots that come to rest just shy of polished loafers.

“You know…your folly is, dare i say, commendable. Reality is not just something you can rewrite, and yet, you managed an impeccable job of tricking yourself into thinking what you believe to be the truth is the truth.”

One foreboding frame that looms like a predator and the one that cowers like a cornered prey.

“Alas, I almost feel bad for shattering your little illusion. But then again, I’ve done a great many questionable things in my life having lived as long as I have. What significance would it make to add another?”

“What I saw in my dream. They really happened.” It is a question albeit not being voiced like one. The Scythian does not find the need to answer. Why bother when the answer already lies in your hand?

At her silence, a look of horror dawns on your features. “You’re a murderer. You and your friends. I’ve seen them. I- I’m not- I can’t.”

“Oh darling, a rose without thorns is but a weed, easy to be plucked, to be trampled on. You’re one of us now. You will come with me whether you like it or not, and you will do so this instant.”

Every single step you hesitantly take back is met with an immediate footfall of boots as they fall right onto the place that your loafers have just vacated. It goes like this for a while, you actively ruining the close proximity, and Andromache rectifying it, until there is nowhere for you to flee, and your hips collide with the counter edge.

“Why me?” She parries your plea with a nonchalant shrug, face impassive. “Beats me.”

“Please, I-” Tears glisten in your eyes, murmuring beseechingly. “Let me go. I can’t kill. I know nothing about fighting.”

While her hands grip the counter on either side of your waist to cage you in strong arms, her lips lower to the shell of your ear, breath warm as she speaks. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You can kill. In fact, anyone can. You just have to listen to me.”

“No! Let me go! I don’t want-” Yells dissolve into a yelp by way of digits seizing your jaw.

“I’ve gone out of my way to exercise great forbearance, but it is running terribly thin. It would do you well not to try it any further.” She husks threateningly, feeling the softness of your cheeks giving under the roughness of her battle-hardened fingers. Salty droplets drench her digits as tears start spilling in rivulets down your cheeks.

“Go on, bite me with those baby teeth. Scratch me with your little paws.” She taunts. “Why, would you look at that! All bark and no bite. How pathetic.”

It is as she says this that your teeth sink into the palm that is pressed tightly against your mouth. The unexpected retaliation has her stance faltering, and although you manage to break free from her bodily confines, the Scythian, being far more nimble and dexterous, hardly has to break sweat in recapturing you.

“You're a stubborn little thing, aren’t you? Two can play that game, although don’t say I didn’t warn you. Breaking men, after all, is considered one of my fortes.”

Wrists locked behind your back in her iron grip, and body bent over the marble counter, Andromache revels in the quavering of your body beneath her own as one wicked hand, like a sneaky serpent, slowly slithers up your thigh.

“Are you-” A whimper flies past your lips when your arms are pulled taunt, shoulders craning uncomfortably. And then, she yanks, hard and unforgiving, until you are forced onto your feet, back colliding with her front. “Are you going to kill me?”

Andromache cannot help but laugh at your question, a rich throaty sound that brings about the erection of soft little hair on the nape of your neck.

Your wrists are released at the cost of your cheeks bearing the brunt of her ire as rough fingers dig into your flesh. They flee from their cage between the two of your bodies to take sanctuary on her forearm, soft fingers grasping the sleeve of her jacket. “Where’s the fun in killing you when I can just have my way with you, hm?” Her hold around one of your thighs remains unrelenting while the hand on your jaw coerces you into craning your neck. Your head rests on her chest with a grunt, and you drown, held spellbound by the intense green of her eyes. “I’d rather enjoy the view of you crumbling beneath me than watch you bleed out only to come alive again.”

Although it douses you in shame, you have to admit that you are not entirely immune to the woman. How can you when she oozes charisma, frighteningly beautiful even as she looms over you with all the grandeur of a great menacing panther.

And then, too many things happen all at once; fingers that crawl into a forest of hair to grab a fistful, with a yank to the side, a throat that is bared for the predator above to conveniently sink her teeth into, the frenzied little flutter of a pulse beneath the flat of a warm tongue, chocked sobs that dissolve into a strangled gasp as a cold hand journeys into the waistband of an underwear.

Previously, your hands have found home on her thighs, fingers grappling fabric, but upon feeling wandering digits inside your underwear, one of them flies towards the offending hand, locking around a wrist.

“N-no. You can’t.”

“You would do well to remember that I am in control here.”

The Scythian’s growl is not only heard, but also felt on your skin as teeth nibble, mouth suck, and lips soothe the stings that afterwards will linger on your body in the form of dark blues and bright reds.

Horror and humiliation dance a wild tango whereas fingers waltz delicately along your folds, a condescending tsk echoing off your nape when they come away wet. Betrayed and backstabbed by your own body, mortification colours your face as not one but two of her sizeable digits sink into your heat with little to no effort. Although sudden, it does not hurt, though it stings, leaves you breathless still. Dewdrops bloom on your lashes and they drop down your cheeks when fingers in your core bury knuckles deep, abuse your tightness. You feel them in the very depths of your body, filling you so deliciously that when they wiggle so much as a little, it is more than enough to sucker-punch a breath out of your lungs.

Between her hot mouth kissing your neck all rosy and sore, her fingers cleverly caressing your insides, and her hand toying with your breasts beneath your dress, it is no surprise that your undoing greets you with a tidal wave of pleasure.

It is, however, a surprise to find yourself being shoved back-first onto the table, legs being pulled wide by fingers twining round your thighs. You are still suffering through a series of aftershocks from your first orgasm when her mouth attaches itself to your quavering folds, that wicked tongue immediately slithering into your hole. It does a cruel little nudge and your fingers wind up entwined in her hair. Instead of a reproach, it is a hum of satisfaction that you earn as the Scythian grabs a handful of your buttocks and devour you like a starved man.

By the seventh one, you are well beyond exhausted, brain foggy courtesy of being fucked into oblivion, and body agonisingly sore, littered with deep hues and teeth marks. Somewhere between third and fourth, if you recall correctly, she has stripped you bare, bar your thigh-highs, and completely rid herself off clothes, magnificent muscles coming into display. You have ogled them with barely restrained awe until your attention is swayed elsewhere by her mouth leaving traces of herself all across the expanse of your body.

Now, once again, you marvel at them, entranced by the impressiveness of her muscles that ripple with every roll of her powerful hips.

You barely recognise the face that is staring right back at you, reflected in the surface of sea green eyes, or the sounds that are oozing out of your lips. Sweat clings to the forehead of the woman towering over you as it does to yours. One of your legs is slung over her shoulder, and the other lies limp and useless between her thighs, as she rubs herself into your core with wild abandon.

“I- I can’t. Too much. It’s too muc- ah!”

“Yes, you can.”

She has taken the hand that goes to rest on one of her hipbones only to weave her fingers with yours. Now, they hover in the air, tightly intertwined, suddenly made much tighter by the white knuckled grip of your hand.

“Slow- nghh please! Be gentle.”

“You do as I say. Not the other way round. Is that understood?”

The desperate nods of your head is met with a bite to the succulent inside of your thigh just above the brim of your sock.

“Answer me.”

“Yes!”

“My word shall be your command, and you will dance to my every desire, won’t you darling?”

“Yes! Yes, I will.”

“You are mine after all, aren’t you? Mine to do with what I please. Mine to use how I see fit. Don’t you agree?”

“I’m yours- ngh- all yours.”

“Good girl.” She moans, movements escalating from lazy strokes to untamed gyrations.

“Andy.” She rasps breathlessly. “I want to hear my name dripping down those pretty little lips when you fall apart.”

And hear she does. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Her name is all you can cry out as your juices mingle with one another’s, the combined essence soiling your thigh-highs as well as the couch beneath you.

Back curving, toes curling, you soar high, high into heaven, swimming amongst clouds, drowning in euphoria. And then, you plummet, down into the pit of hell, down into another one of those little deathless deaths. An intense blinding white replaced by an absolute dark.

When you awake, it is to the heart-melting sensation of lips softly caressing your forehead. You find yourself on the same couch that you have passed out, cocooned in toned arms, face tucked snugly into a warm, musky throat. Reflexively, you begin nosing the soft underside of her jaw before you are startled by fingers wandering down your very naked thigh.

“Look at me.” Obediently, you oblige, reluctantly leaving the pleasant warmth of her neck to do what she desires.

“What have I told you?” All too delicately, or as delicately as the callouses on her hand will allow, the pad of a thumb grazes the apple of your cheek.

Fighting against the urge to slip your eyes shut, you sigh dreamily instead. “That as long as I remain a good obedient girl, no harm will befall me.”

“That’s right. And are you?”

A nod as an answer prompts a pat of a forefinger on your cheek, and then, another. You know what she wants, so you give her just that.

“I’m a good girl.”

Not only do you see the smirk on her face, but you also feel it on your skin as she leans down to drag her lips across yours. “You forgot to mention whose, darling.”

“I’m a good girl, Andy. Your good girl.”

“And will my good girl obey my every command like she had promised?”

“Mmhm.”

A breath catches in your throat as her lips journey down down down, admiring the traces of none other than herself until that ravenous mouth adjourn to your hip, sucking the tender spot on your hipbone to make it all the more vibrant.

Although it has not been the main purpose of her doing what she has done, it is without doubt that Andromache gets a sick sort of pleasure out of seeing you covered in her marks. Every inch of your body and soul, all irrevocably hers.

You have said it so yourself, willingly given yourself up to her. That being said, it is purely her own greed that has her craving more and more and more of you. The scent of you that is sinfully sweet, heady and uniquely yours, makes her ache. The sight of you, like the dewy petals of an exquisite flower, pretty and pulsating, makes her mouth water.

It is with this insatiable hunger swelling inside of her that the Scythian sinks to her knees between your luxuriously smooth thighs.

“One more, darling. Give me one more before we leave.”

And you do, oh how you do even as one bleeds into two and two into three, because a good girl does what she is taught, does she not? And you are a good girl, Andy’s sweet little good girl to do with what she will.

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[arafilez]

੭୧ ⼂ PIECES OF YOUR HEART ﹗

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ bts ot7 x reader ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤangst, hurt, comfort 𓏧 reaction when you realise your crush has a partner ㅤ warnings crying smoking drinking trashing ㅤ﹢ㅤ0.2k / mem wc ㅤ𓏧 ㅤ req

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ KIM SEOKJIN ꒱

The clock strikes nine as you drown yourself in the work at the office. There is nothing more to be done and you are just loitering around but you don’t feel like going home. Not just yet. Images fresh from the small family gathering of your co-worker is still engraved in your mind.

Your co-worker. Your crush.

Since you were new, you should have known he was just being nice when he assisted you in your work for the past few months. Should have never fallen, like a teenager with a stupid, insecure heart. But seeing your co-worker’s partner just made it all the more clear. You are so engrossed in your thoughts you don’t hear the door opening.

“Y/n? What are you still doing here?” you jump at the voice and look across to a confused Seokjin standing there. Seokjin is your friend, joining the company almost at the same time as you, and you both were supervised by your crush.

A hand around your shoulder surprises you and before you can say anything, Jin’s musky deodorant hits your nose and you are in his embrace. The tears flow free and hiccups interlude but he lets you cry, hold tightening at the sound of your choked sobs. “It will be okay,” he whispers, a loose promise, but it comforts you nonetheless.

You have me, he wants to say but keeps quiet as your tears dampen his shirt and wrench his heart. You need time and he is willing to wait for you, always.

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ MIN YOONGI ꒱

“Enough,” Yoongi scolds you as he snatches away the glass of wine, making you whine and reach for his hands. Your head hurts, limbs hurts, heart hurts and everything just hurts too much to care. Whoever said drinking can’t solve issues must have been out of their minds because it can. At least for a while.

He watches you stumble towards him from the couch of his studio and he quickly moves catching you right in time before your legs give up. Sympathy crosses his face as he watches your tear-stained cheeks and red eyes which give an intense proof of how long you were crying.

Frankly, he was quite surprised when your drunk self could make it to his studio without any obstacles. “How long have you been drinking?” he murmurs, to himself mostly, but you let out a quiet groan at his words. Your mind has registered itself into a haze, a repeat telecast of your crush with the partner looping infinite times.

Why were you so stupid to fall for your co-worker? Why couldn’t you just believe he wasn’t leading you on and you were just tripping on his sweet words and innocent escapes?

Yoongi pulls you up, breath hitching as your arms cradle his neck, your faint perfume hitting his senses making him realise how deeply he has engraved you in his thoughts. He brushes them off and strokes one finger down your cheeks tenderly.

“You will have a pounding headache tomorrow,” he tells you, barely being able to hear his own words over the pounding of his heart. He can treat you better, so much better and love you like it’s worth it. But maybe he has to wait for that a while.

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ JUNG HOSEOK ꒱

The cup makes a shattering sound as you throw it to the floor, resonating in the empty house and your emptier soul. It would be termed as dramatic given how you were behaving right now but you were basically led on by your crush, bought gifts, been flirted with just to throw your feelings down a cliff.

You should have known really there was a spouse down the line, the wandering eyes should have been your first sign. The empty promises, and false resolutions were just to kill you slowly. It never became serious, and just when you thought it would, the real colours emerged. The partner came onto the scene.

“Keep the plate down,” your roommate’s voice reaches your ears and you look up to see him stand at the door, a solemn look and a steel curtain on his eyes as he downs your state. You keep it down, hands trembling and sobs racking through your body as soon as it reaches the table.

In quick strides, Hoseok closes the gap between you two saying, “We are here, people who love you, who want you.” “They are not,” you choke on half of your sentence as you cry and he slightly traces his fingers down your clothed back trying to calm you. “They are,” he whispers and his hold tightens, “I am.”

“I should have taken your advice,” you sniffle making him shush you as he holds you against the kitchen counter, heart beating too loudly for him to like, but it’s you. And he would like anything for you!

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ KIM NAMJOON ꒱

“And then I got to know there is a partner,” you explain to Namjoon who hums lightly. You look at him with tired eyes feeling the emptiness grow in your body. You are not sad, you don’t want to cry. You are just empty.

Namjoon hands you a glass of water which you gladly accept and sip on lightly as he says, “Well it is just one instance, and there are plenty of other fishes in the sea. And besides, don’t get disheartened, someone out there is the one you are waiting for.” You nod lightly knowing your friend is actually great at giving advice when it comes to anything.

“How did I not see a single sign, like they were literally so big and neon coloured if visualised,” you chuckle dryly and Namjoon walks towards you holding you lightly against his standing form. “Sometimes you miss stuff when you are in love,” he says and you snort. Love! Right, that is exactly what there was.

“I feel so stupid,” you whisper, face pressed against his t-shirt as he traces the back of your neck to soothe you and says, “You shouldn’t. You can’t control your feelings can you?” You shake your head lightly to a “no” and keep quiet loving his embrace and words. He lets the comfortable silence stay, maybe loving it a bit too much with you in his arms. But not now, you need time and he is willing to give it all.

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ PARK JIMIN ꒱

A whiff of smoke releases from your nose as you lean against the balcony watching the city lights twinkle. A blare of a car horn reaches your ears amidst the chaos in your mind and at the same time the doorbell rings. You balance the cigarette on your lips and open the door to see your neighbour standing.

“Jimin, come on in,” you reply and he shrugs, hands in pockets and hair slicked back as you two walk towards the balcony again. You know why he is here, at least you assume it’s for the incident.

“Heard about the morning news,” he starts and you chuckle, “Yeah, hilarious. I ask my neighbour out and turns out the partner can come from behind.” He laughs loudly making you roll your eyes as he keeps laughing until you glare which finally stops him.

“Well, at least your other neighbour is totally hot and absolutely available,” he says, a hint of sincerity and hope glimmering in his eyes which goes away in one blink and is replaced by a joking stance. You snort saying, “Have some shame, Park Jimin, at least wait a day.” He shrugs pulling the cigarette from your lips and putting it down and asks, “Are you really okay though?”

“Here I thought we would indirectly kiss when you put that on your lips,” you joke, a pregnant pause follows and you continue, “I will be, don’t worry.” He nods and adds softly, “I am there for you, always. And I can listen well.”

“I know,” you smile a little, maybe out of reassurance or maybe out of the sincerity in his eyes and for the first time that day you don’t feel so alone.

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ KIM TAEHYUNG ꒱

Taehyung is blatantly surprised when he opens the door to your tear-stained face and swollen cheeks. You honestly don’t care as you push past him, inviting yourself in your best friend’s couch and lying down. He closes the door softly before walking over and looking at your state again.

“Do I want to know?” he jokes and you kick a throw pillow which doesn’t even reach his chest as he catches it easily and sits down. “Has a partner!” you say and he furrows his eyebrows in confusion before realisation strikes him and he says a quiet, “Oh.”

“Yeah oh! Be in love and get your heart broken is my ritual at this point,” you whine and he sits down beside you shrugging and says “Well, technically you should have understood when-“

“I don’t wanna hear your technicalities, Kim,” you snap and he raises his hand in defeat before sighing and saying, “Come here.” You happily invite yourself into his embrace and cry quietly. The tears dampen his pants but he pays no attention to that as you mumble incoherently about your crush and his heart wrenches with every single sob escaping from you.

As he holds you in his arms he wishes at least one day you will be able to see him like he sees you, and you will know how your ritual may have a solution right away.

੭ㅤ𝅄ㅤ ꒰ JEON JUNGKOOK ꒱

“Fuck your crush,” Jungkook screams and you reply with an equally loud, “Yeah,” before taking the shots from your respective glasses. The bartender pours another one into your glasses which you drunkenly clink and drink, giggling like kids and drink again.

“I told you, you never listen, there was something wrong, I told you,” he repeatedly slurs and you groan putting your head on his shoulders and say, “Well, a fiancée was never in my Bingo Card.” Maybe it’s the drink that finally gets your head but you swear you heard Jungkook whisper, “Thank goodness for the fiancée,” under his breath.

“What?” you register, pushing yourself off his shoulders and looking at him incredulously and he shrugs making you think maybe you did hear wrong. “Your crush is a stupid piece of shit, there are many more people who can treat you better,” he says and you smile lightly, loving the low light in the bar not reflecting the red hue on his face.

“Like me,” he mumbles but is thankful when you don’t catch it but instead go for another shot, his eyes longing for one chance. Any chance. With you.

ー☆ㅤㅤ [ ara's notes ] ㅤ੭𓂃 ㅤit might not be full comfort but i hope you like it, i have missed writing bts omg. ㅤ𓏧ㅤ libraryㅤ bts shelfㅤ navi

੭ 𝅄ㅤ ꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ ㅤ⏤ㅤ @weird-bookworm ㅤ𓏧ㅤ fill this or comment or ask to be added

ㅤㅤ(ㅤㅤ© arafilez on tumblrㅤㅤ)

[mycoblogg]

FOTD #124 : false parasol! (chlorophyllum molybdites)

the false parasol (AKA green-spored parasol, green-spored lepiota, green gill or vomiter) is a widespread agaric fungus. it most often grows on lawns or in parks, especially in areas near human habitation..- it is very often confused with the parasol mushroom (macrolepiota procera).

the big question : can i bite it?? no !! they are poisonous. though consumption has never lead to death, the symptoms* are very unpleasant. most mushroom poisonings in the US are due to this mushroom.

c. molybdites description :

"it is an imposing mushroom with a cap ranging from 8 to 30 cm in diameter, hemispherical & with a flattened top. the cap is whitish in colour with coarse brownish scales. the gills are free & white, usually turning dark & green with maturity. it has a rare green spore print. the stipe ranges from 5 to 30 cm tall & bears a double-edged ring. its stem lacks the snakeskin pattern that is generally present on the parasol mushroom. flesh thick, firm at first, soft with age, white, unchanging or sporadically becoming reddish-brown to pale reddish-pink, almost orange in the base of the foot when cut or crushed."

[images : source, source & source] [fungus description : source]

*symptoms include : vomiting, diarrhoea & colic, often severe, occurring 1–3 hours after consumption.

[astrophysicsblogs]

The Sombrero Galaxy

28 million light years away, the sombrero galaxy is within the nearby virgo cluster of galaxies. Here, we can see the image recently recorded by the orbiting Spitzer Space Telescope, superposed in false-colour on an existing image taken by NASA's Hubble Space Telescope in visible light.

before: