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matchingbatbites · 4 months

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praline sweet

Mature | 1.8k | Read on Ao3

This is a belated birthday gift for @tboyeddie! Sorry this took so long, I had like 4 versions of this going at once and couldn't figure out which one to actually use! I wanted to give you something soft, though, so hopefully this fits the bill! <3

CW: Omegaverse, Alpha Eddie, Omega Steve, Pre-heat fluff, Rated mature for a little dirty talk and some indecent thoughts

The call is unexpected, when it comes. Robin's voice is familiar on the other end of the line, but what she says-

“Hey, Steve hit his pre-heat today, and the party is bringing him stuff to add to his nest, just to make our scents stronger. Pick out a t-shirt or something and bring it over when you have the chance, yeah?”

Eddie blinks, almost pulls the phone away to look at it, make sure it's real, because what?

“I uh, I didn't know Steve was so close to his heat.”

“Yeah, it's kind of early, but he said that's not weird. All you need to worry about is bringing something to add to his nest. Got it, loverboy?”

That's kind of a big deal. Omegas in pre-heat want to be surrounded by the scents of their pack, to have that sense of familiarity as their bodies slowly adjust in preparation for what is basically a three day sex marathon. This is Steve's first heat that Eddie is really aware of. He'd apparently had one a couple of weeks after the spring break from hell, but Eddie had still been hospitalized at that point.

So now, three months later, Steve's heat seems to be right on time. The fact that he apparently wants Eddie's scent in his nest makes the alpha nearly kick into a purr. It ignites something deeper, too, the desire to bundle Steve up in the nest, to hold him and keep him safe, to stretch him open on the alpha's cock and help him through his heat instead of leaving him to suffer alone-

And yeah, killing that train of thought immediately while he's still on the phone with Steve's best friend.

“Yeah, sure. I'll head over this afternoon.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Eddie.”

Eddie can't resist bringing a few things with him to Steve's. He grabs a couple of shirts, soft ones he's worn so much that they nearly have holes in them, and an old sweatshirt that used to belong to Wayne, that Eddie snagged for his own not long after he moved in.

Somehow, Eddie makes himself wait until after lunch before he heads to the Harrington house. He's nervous the entire ride over, only because he doesn't know how this is going to go.

The thing between him and Steve is new, like three-weeks-old new, like only-Robin-knows new. It's a gentle bond built through joking and talking and just spending time together, and it's so, so fragile, at least to Eddie.

Because Eddie's never dated anyone - much less courted an omega before. What if he fucks it up? What if he does something wrong that makes Steve break up with him and their friendship is ruined and Robin fucking kills him for hurting Steve? Fears that he has yet to voice, that he’s shoved to the back of his mind every time he's seen Steve since they started dating.

He tries to shake it off, but he’s still nervous as he rings the bell, announcing his arrival. It’s not long before the door swings open to reveal Steve on the other side. He looks a bit rumpled and sleepy, like he’d been napping before Eddie showed up, but he chirps when he recognizes the man on his doorstep.

Eddie grins as Steve blushes at the involuntary reaction, but doesn't comment on it. “Hey, Stevie. Robin said you needed some stuff for your nest, so I brought you a few things.”

The omega seems to melt a bit at the gesture, and the scent of praline pecans fills the entryway as Steve says “Thanks, Eds. You wanna come in?”

Eddie nods and follows Steve inside, waiting briefly for the younger to lock the door behind them before he guides Eddie up the stairs to his room. He passes the clothing over to Steve, who immediately takes one of the shirts and presses it to his face, inhaling Eddie’s own black tea and clove scent.

“I didn’t realize your heat was so close,” Eddie says as he props his hip against the desk, and Steve glances at him as he begins to add the shirt into his nest.

“Yeah, it’s actually early. I was gonna talk to you about it, but I wasn’t expecting it so soon. I, uh. I think being around you made it happen faster.”

Eddie tamps down the alpha pride that swells at the admission, that Steve’s omega is reacting to him, to his presence. “Well, we can talk about it now, if you want?” he asks instead, and Steve turns to look at him, the second shirt in his hands. He wrings it nervously before turning and tucking it into the walls of the nest, a bit closer to the head of it this time - easier to smell. Eddie’s Alpha preens.

With that task done, Steve takes a breath and turns to face Eddie once again.

“I like you, Eddie. Like a lot. I had some time to get to know you even before we started dating, and I really, really like you. I know we’ve only been together a few weeks, so it feels way too soon to ask you to spend my heat with me - I don’t want you to feel like you have to, just because you’re my alpha - but I’d really love it if you would stay for some of my pre-heat? If you want to, no uh, no pressure or anything.”

His alpha. Steve called Eddie his alpha.

Eddie’s been so worried, so scared of fucking things up that he’s been taking it slow, carefully feeling out each step before moving on to the next. He hadn’t realized that Steve was so far ahead, that he was already so comfortable with claiming Eddie as his after only a few weeks of dating, not even courting yet. And Eddie wonders-

He’d already been half in love when he asked Steve out. Had Steve felt the same?

For the first time since he decided to take that chance, to ask Steve on a date, Eddie’s worries disappear as Steve’s claim instantly quells the alpha’s fears. He crosses the room to stand in front of Steve, and can’t resist reaching out to touch him, one hand settling on Steve’s neck and the other on his waist. The omega hums softly and leans into the contact, and Eddie smiles.

“Stevie, sweetheart, honey. I would love to stay with you; for your pre-heat or your full heat, whatever you want.”

Steve blinks at him, hazel eyes wide with surprise. “You don’t have to, Eddie-”

Eddie shakes his head. “I know, but I want to. Gotta make sure my omega is taken care of during his heat, yeah?”

Hands snap to grab Eddie’s shirt as Steve actually trills, the sound high and delighted before it shifts into a pleased purr. Eddie laughs and tugs Steve into a sweet kiss, and feels the vibrations against his hands, his lips. It quickly peters off into a gentle hum as they just stay there, holding each other and trading soft kisses.

“I am a little disappointed,” Steve says after a moment. “I was kind of hoping we could have our first time before my heat hit.”

Eddie shrugs and rubs his thumb over the twin moles on Steve’s cheek. “I mean, we still have a few days, technically. If you're, you know, feeling up to it. If not, our first time doesn't have to be during your heat. I can help you this time without fucking you.”

“You say that, until I’m in the middle of it, crying and begging you to fuck me, to come in me and knock me up.”

And fuck, the mental image that conjures up. Eddie takes a deep breath to settle his Alpha, to calm the sudden desire that shoots through him at just the thought of it. The scent of sweet praline floods his senses, and he can practically taste the teasing undertone as Steve grins at him, clearly aware of what he’s doing.

Eddie gives a playful growl and goes to respond, but is cut off when Steve's hand shoots up to his face, covering his mouth as he yawns wide. He forgot that Steve had been sleeping when he showed up, and probably hasn’t slept enough to satisfy his instincts.

“Is this what the next few days are gonna be like? Lots of naps?”

“Not just naps. There’s also cramps and snacking,” Steve corrects, and Eddie just shakes his head fondly. He reaches over to grab the sweatshirt and passes it to Steve. “Well, let’s get you back to bed, then. I need to run back home and grab some stuff since I’m staying, and I’ll feel better knowing you’re all cozied up and safe.”

Steve smiles, something soft and gooey, but as he takes the sweatshirt and holds it up, reading the logo on it, it shifts. He looks at Eddie, unimpressed but with a teasing shine in his eyes as he says “Atlanta Braves? Really?”

Eddie just shrugs and doesn’t bother to hide his grin. “Wayne's from Georgia.”

The omega just shakes his head before pulling off the sweater he’s currently wearing and slipping on the navy sweatshirt. “This feels wrong,” he says even as he tucks his nose into the collar, eyes fluttering as he inhales the alpha’s scent, and Eddie chuckles.

“I’m sure the Cubbies will forgive you this one time, sugar.”

Steve rolls his eyes but smiles as he climbs into the nest, and Eddie watches as he bundles himself up in the soft blankets. He looks so fucking cozy, and the alpha can’t resist leaning down to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “I'll be back soon, okay?” he says, earning a soft chirp from the sleepy omega.

It only takes Eddie about half an hour to collect what he needs and get back to the Harrington house, and Steve is still asleep when he makes his way back into the bedroom. He toes off his shoes and shakes the omega gently, trying to wake him as carefully as possible.

“Stevie?” he says and gets a soft grumble in response. Eddie huffs a laugh and tries again. “Baby, I’m not gonna get in your nest without permission. You gotta invite me in, sweetheart.”

Some part of Steve’s sleepy mind must recognize what Eddie’s asking, because a hand appears from the mess of blankets to grab Eddie’s shirt and tugs him closer. The alpha smiles and lets himself be pulled forward until he’s laying with Steve, their arms wrapped around each other and Steve’s face pressed into his neck.

Eddie’s purr rumbles low in his chest as he starts to doze, and the room is flooded with the scent of spiced pecans and home.

#cj i hope you like this!!#we've talked before about pre-heat fluff and i just wanted to give you some of that #i did try to make it spicy but they were not cooperating 😔#so fluff it is #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #joey writes #omegaverse

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cleo-fox · 3 months

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Wildest Dreams

Summary: It's nearing ten o’clock at night and James Conrad is standing on your doorstep.

Pairing: James Conrad x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (female receiving), friends to lovers, mutual pining.

A/N: Sometimes, you're having a conversation with @sarahscribbles and something she says triggers your latent James Conrad brainrot and words happen. Saz, this is dedicated to you. 😘 (Also, everyone go read her stuff).

It's nearing ten o’clock at night and James Conrad is standing on your doorstep.

You didn’t even think he was in the country—last you’d heard, he was somewhere in Vietnam. Not that he was exactly keeping you apprised of his movements. The nature of his work means that he turns up or calls unexpectedly and sends letters inconsistently. It’s something that you’ve grown used to over the years—you’ve had no other choice, really.

The question, though, of whether or not you’ll be waiting for him is not really a question so much as it is an inevitability. Of course you will. You always will. Like it or not, the man is your weakness, your Achilles heel, the crack in your armor.

Your hands shake as you fumble with the latch and chain and open the door.

There’s a moment where you catch his first, unguarded expression—a flicker of relief, so quick you might miss it if you didn’t know him as well as you do. It strikes you as odd—you’d expect him to be glad to see you, perhaps, but relieved? Not necessarily. Especially not after the last time you’d seen him—that disastrous Christmas two years ago when wine and seasonal sadness had prompted you to say more than you intended about your feelings for him.

He’d said you were better off as friends.

It still stings, even thinking of it now. You haven’t spoken of it since. He hadn’t been back since then, either—that in and of itself wasn’t necessarily unusual for him, but you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to his absence this time around.

Before you can think about whether it’s a good idea, you’re stepping forward to embrace him. You always forget how tall he is, how he takes up space and towers over you, how that makes you feel small and safe. He still smells the same—Ivory soap with a hint of cloves and a little bit of musk—and your name still sounds too good in that deep purr of a baritone.

“It’s good to see you,” he says into your ear.

Is it just you or is he holding you awfully tight?

It’s probably just you. Isn’t that the sad theme of all of this? Just you with the feelings, just you with the broken heart. Just you, secretly pining for him since university and having it all come to nothing. Just you. Alone as always.

“You too,” you say, even though seeing him makes all the old bruises and scars on your heart ache with a renewed fervor. You release him and gesture to your door. “Come in.”

You notice a cut on his left cheek, a small, yellowing bruise blooming around the edges of it. It must be a few days old. He carries a duffle bag slung over his back—a huge, beat up leather thing he’s had since university. He sets it on the floor as you lock up behind him.

“What are you doing here?” spills out of your mouth before you can think about how it sounds, despite the fact that your eyes are drinking him in like he’s water in a desert. “I thought you were in Vietnam.”

“Pacific,” he says. There’s a slight shadow in his expression, like there’s something he doesn’t want to say. “Just got back this evening.”

“Do you want tea?” It’s the only thing you can think to do.

“Please,” he says.

You don’t need to ask him how he takes it because you know. English Breakfast, splash of cream, no sugar. You could make it in your sleep.

You busy yourself in the kitchen, fishing out a packet of shortbread biscuits from the back of your cupboard while the kettle boils. Out of habit, you take out the pair of chipped mugs you’ve had since university. You’d unintentionally taken one from the refectory during a particularly sleepless week in the middle of exams and been too embarrassed to return it. He’d teased you about it at first, but he had then stolen his own mug the following week in what he described as “solidarity with your crimes.” When you moved into your first apartment, he’d given you his as a housewarming gift.

“This could really hurt my career if they found out about it,” he’d said solemnly as his eyes danced with barely repressed laughter. “I thought it would be best to give it to you for safe keeping.”

You’d rolled your eyes and laughed at him then, but you always wrapped them extra carefully when you moved—as though by keeping those mugs whole, you could also keep Conrad safe.

The faint ghost of a smile that you catch when you bring the tea and biscuits out to the living room warms your heart and gives you a little spark of hope. Perhaps all isn’t lost. Maybe things can go back to the way they were before that disaster of a Christmas.

You set the mugs and shortbread down on the table and take your seat next to him on the couch.

Your tea is still too hot, but you pick it up anyway, just to give your hands something to do. Maybe the slight sting of the hot ceramic against your palms will help you keep you grounded.

“I presume you’re not telling me where in the Pacific for a reason,” you say.

He nods. “Correct.”

He looks tired, you think. There’s a tightness in his jaw that’s new, a distant look in his eyes that seems different than his usual brand of stoicism. You want to be annoyed by his lack of detail, but the weariness makes you pause.

“Are you all right?” you ask.

His laugh is short and humorless. “As I ever was.”

You tilt your head. “That’s not really an answer.”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “It was a difficult job.” He pauses for a moment, his gaze sliding to the wall across the room, to a landscape painting you’d found at a thrift shop. “I didn't know if I’d make it back, to be quite honest.”

You’ve never seen him like this before and it’s somewhere beyond disorienting. Conrad is ruthlessly capable and appropriately confident; the idea of something being beyond his skill set is baffling as it is unsettling.

“I’m glad you did,” you say softly.

You expect him to give you a slight half smile, perhaps nudge his shoulder against yours. But instead, his gaze remains fixed on the middle distance, an odd, melancholy sort of cast to his blue eyes.

“You don’t really seem like you’re all right,” you say gently.

There at last is that little half smile that you were expecting. Somehow, it’s less comforting than you thought it would be.

“There’s a certain amount of clarity that you get from an experience like that,” he says evenly. “You're forced to confront a lot of things. Choices you’ve made. People you’ve hurt.”

You think he’s referring to what happened two years ago and you try not to flinch. He can’t know that you still think about that, that you’re still hurting. That you haven’t stopped loving him, even though you’ve pretended that you have.

He pauses for another moment, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “In the moments when I thought I wasn’t coming back, the only thing I could think about was you.”

Air vanishes from your lungs. You’re afraid to even hope, as if even acknowledging the possibility would jinx it.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

He finally looks at you and your heart creeps into your throat. “I was not entirely honest with you at Christmas.”

You realize that you’re holding your breath, but you can’t help it.

“I thought that by turning you away, I was keeping you safe,” he says. “I thought by hiding the truth, I was saving you from a lot of pain.”

Your heart is pounding. You lick your lips. If he means what you hope he means, you need to hear him say it—you can’t believe it otherwise.

“And what is the truth, James?” Your voice wobbles just a little bit.

His gaze is locked on you, infinite as the stars. “The truth is that I’ve been in love with you for years,” he says softly. “And when I thought I wasn’t coming back, all I could think about was how much I regretted not telling you.”

In the moments leading up to this, it felt as though time was slowing. This is the moment, though, where everything stops. In this moment, it’s just the two of you—Conrad with those devastating blue eyes that peer right into your soul and you with your broken heart and wounded pride.

He wanted you all this time.

You raise a shaking hand to wipe away the tear that’s somehow escaped the corner of your eye.

All this time.

“You have every right to be angry with me.” His voice is low and soft, just for you to hear. “And I understand if you need time. But I came here tonight to tell you that if you still want me, I’m yours.”

You are feeling entirely too much. You want to kiss him. You want to scream at him. You want to hold him and never let go.

All this time.

“James, I—” Your voice catches in your throat and you take a deep breath, fighting back a sob that’s bubbling in your chest. You set your tea back down on the table. Your hands are shaking.

“I—I don’t even know where to start. I—” Your voice catches again on that sob in your chest. You pause again to collect yourself. You open your mouth to speak and a strangled sort of laugh tumbles from your lips instead.

“God.” You wipe another stray tear from your cheek. “You’re such a fucking idiot. I mean, not just for making all those assumptions about what was best for me, but also just—” Your voice catches again and you pause. “I never stopped wanting you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly and there’s a flicker of something like hope in his eyes. “Does that mean you’ve forgiven me?”

You take a shaky breath. “Yes and no.” You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. “You should have asked me if safe was what I wanted, instead of just making that decision for me.”

He nods. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing is safe, James,” you continue. “It’s an illusion at best. You could live a perfectly dull life in the suburbs and be hit by a bus on your way to your perfectly dull job.” You pause, weighing the words that you want to say next. “I never wanted safe,” you say, your voice catching again in your throat. “I just wanted you.”

There’s a moment of quiet and Conrad looks well and truly chastened.

You take another deep breath and reach for his hand. The look that he gives you then—like he’s afraid to hope that youstill want him—is almost enough to make you abandon what you want to say next and kiss him on the spot.

“I know what I want,” you say quietly. “I understand the risks. You don’t need to throw yourself on the sword to protect me and you certainly don’t need to make those decisions for me. I need you to understand that if this is going to work.”

He nods. “I do.”

“Okay.” You exhale. “Will you shut up and kiss me now?”

The look of relief on his face is like sunshine.

“Come here,” he says softly, pulling you into his lap, your legs framing his hips. He cups your face in his hands, looking at you like you’re something wonderful, like he can’t believe you’re his.

Then he takes a deep breath and finally closes the gap between you.

You’ve waited years for this kiss. From the early days of your friendship coalescing around late nights and stale coffee and jokes that are only funny at two o’clock in the morning to the agony of watching him leave for basic training and then Vietnam and god knows where else. This kiss was never guaranteed—and in part, that’s why it’s so good. It could have been taken from you by any number of dangers or even just Conrad’s own foolish need to protect you.

But you finally have it and it’s everything you had thought it would be.

His mouth is slow and soft against yours, his tongue moving in a gentle caress that makes you feel every year of waiting and yearning and hoping. You mourn the years lost, but you can’t help but savor how perfect it feels as a result. Your hands map the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones as your tongue traces the soft line of his lips. You want to remember every part of this moment—every part of him.

It’s a few minutes later when you part, both of you slightly breathless. You rest your forehead against his.

“I shouldn’t have waited so long,” he says softly. His eyes are still shut.

You press your lips against his forehead. “Make it up to me, then.”

He slides a hand up to the back of your neck and pulls you back into another kiss.

You can feel the press of his growing erection against your thigh, but for now, it’s enough to just kiss him, to let your body melt against his and feel his hands in your hair, on your hips, framing your face. He makes a low, soft noise in the back of his throat when you nip at his lower lip, somewhere between a moan and a sigh and you think it might be the best sound you’ve ever heard.

But the longer you kiss him, the more you want, and it slowly begins to build a far more frantic need low in your hips. His hands become bolder, sliding along the curve of your waist and hips, stroking your thighs, squeezing your ass as he pulls you ever closer. You, in turn, press yourself more firmly against him, rolling your hips against his until he makes that low groaning sound that leaves you weak.

But it’s his hand wandering up to slip that first button on your blouse that makes you pull away from him, breathless.

“Bed?” You intend it as a question, but it sounds a little more like a plea.

His smile is devilish as he undoes the second button. “I thought you’d never ask.” His gaze slides back down to your open blouse and he quickly slips the third and fourth buttons.

“I thought we were going to bed,” you say with a smirk as the final two buttons come undone.

“We are,” he says as he pulls your blouse off your shoulders. You shiver under the weight of his gaze as he stares greedily at your breasts.

“You seem a little distracted,” you say.

“Well, I can’t very well leave a job undone,” he says, trailing a finger along the scalloped edge of your bra. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

“Yes, you seem deeply concerned with propriety,” you say, shooting a pointed glance at his finger.

“Very much so,” he murmurs, his fingertips caressing the curve of your breast and then skimming behind your back to unhook the clasp in one single, swift motion.

The straps slip down off your shoulders and he tugs the garment away from you.

He lets out a low groan as he looks at you, which sends a bolt of slick desire straight to your cunt. His hands cup your breasts.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, rolling his thumbs against the sensitive skin of your nipples. You squirm slightly in his lap and he gets a devilish look in his eyes.

His mouth quickly replaces his right hand on your breast.

He’s too good with his mouth. That’s the first thought you have as his lips and tongue cover your breast. But then he catches your nipple between his teeth and gently teases and pulls at the sensitive skin until it puckers and hardens in the heat of his mouth. Your hands rake through his hair, curling into a fist when he finds a particularly good spot. You are arching into his touch, your hips rolling mindlessly against his.

“James,” you gasp out. “Bed, please.”

He laughs quietly against your breast. You expect him to release you, but instead he moves his mouth to your right breast.

“Fuck,” you hiss as his tongue and teeth exert the same kind of blissful madness on your right breast while his hand kneads and teases the left.

You find yourself torn between begging him not to stop and begging him to take you to bed and you’re honestly not sure which one you want more. But a minute or so later, he releases you, lips curling into a smirk.

“I think you enjoyed that impropriety,” he says, eyes sparkling with a combination of desire and laughter that leaves you dizzy.

“You’re on thin ice, James Conrad,” you say, though you can’t hide your smile.

Desire overshadows the laughter in his expression, like the moon eclipsing the sun. “Let me take you to bed and earn my forgiveness, then,” he says.

You slide off his lap onto wobbly legs, but you don’t have to worry about it for very long because he immediately sweeps you into his arms and carries you down the hall to your bedroom.

In your room, he sets you down on your bed and divests you of your jeans with such speed and efficiency you find yourself wondering if it was part of his training.

You slide back on the unmade bed, looking up at him as he looms above you, handsome and a little dangerous in the moonlight that breaks through your curtains.

He allows himself a moment to just look at you, his gaze moving slowly up your body, drinking you in like he’ll never have enough.

Finally, he crawls onto the bed, his gaze intent and hungry, filled with purpose.

He stops at your hips, spreading your thighs wide, licking his lips as he looks you over before lowering himself to kiss the gusset of your underwear.

You can feel the hot rush of his breath against your cunt, the thin, damp fabric the only thing that separates you from the warmth of his mouth. He kisses the fabric again, his nose nudging against your clit.

“James,” you choke out.

This is all he needs tonight. His hands immediately go to your waistband and pull the fabric down and off your hips.

You both groan at the first brush of his mouth against your cunt, though the noise you make is admittedly much closer to a whimper. His tongue circles your clit slowly at first, teasing and tasting and testing until he finds the motion that makes you gasp his name.

You’d thought he was joking about earning your forgiveness, but the way he moves is as though he believes his absolution is truly on the line.

Or maybe he’s just really good at this, you think. It might not be that deep. You don’t need to overth—

Almost as though he can tell that too many of your brain cells are available for coherent thought, he slides one long index finger into you, curling and searching until he finds the spot that makes you gasp and dig your heels into the firm muscles of his back.

He’s building a warm, whirling tension in your hips, burning bright as a meteor about to strike. You grasp at the bed sheets as the rolling crescendo of sensation threatens to overwhelm you.

His free hand snakes up to find yours clasped in the sheets. His fingers twine with yours.

Something about this little gesture of affection after all those years of wanting and hoping strikes at something deep within you. You’ve never loved anyone like you’ve loved him. You don’t know that you ever will love anyone like you love him.

And maybe it’s that thought, or maybe it’s just a coincidence, but this is the moment you come completely undone.

You cry out as your back arches, pleasure rushing through you. His grip on your hand feels like the only thing keeping you tethered to reality as your whole body succumbs to the feeling. He slows the pace of his tongue to match the rolling swells of the aftershocks as they roll through you.

“James.” It’s the first coherent word you say and he draws away from your cunt reluctantly, though not before placing a soft, lingering kiss against your clit.

Before you can make a joke about how he’s overdressed, he’s sitting up and peeling that ridiculously tight shirt over his head. Your lips part as you feast your eyes on that beautiful expanse of muscle, firm and perfectly sculpted—

—and painted with a massive bruise across his ribs, brilliant and purple as a sunset.

Your post-orgasmic stupor is momentarily forgotten as you roll to your knees, crawling over to him. “You’re hurt.”

He looks confused for a moment before following the path of your gaze. “Oh, that. It’s nothing. Looks a lot worse than it is.”

“The same way your broken finger was nothing?” you say, fingertips trailing to just beneath the edges of the bruise. The broken finger had happened in your last year of university during an unsanctioned game of rugby. He had insisted it was just sprained, even though it was nearly black in color. You knew better and had dragged him to the hospital, where he was informed that not only was his finger broken, but that it was so badly broken that he’d need surgery to set it. Over the years, it had evolved into your go-to example of why he needed to listen to you, the damning piece of evidence that proved he could be too stoic and hardheaded for his own good.

Privately, though, it was also your way of saying that you cared about him, that you worried that his high tolerance for pain and admittedly impressive abilities might lead to him not asking for help when he needed it.

He rolls his eyes, but his gaze is fond. “You’re never going to drop that, are you?”

“Never. You should know that by now.” You put your hands on his shoulders. Should you tell him what you feel? You hesitate for just a moment, but it’s enough for him to notice.

“What is it?” he asks.

You suck in a deep breath. “I want you to be okay with me caring about you.” Your voice is softer than you intend.

He frowns slightly and places his hands on your hips. “How do you mean?”

“Stuff like this,” you say, tracing the edge of the bruise. “I know you say it’s nothing but…” You swallow. “And maybe it is but…you’ve always acted a little like my caring about you—even as a friend—was this massive liability for me.” You place your hand over the bruise. “And it’s never felt that way to me at all.”

You can’t quite read his expression. “What does it feel like?” he asks.

You move your hand over his heart, feeling the steady, even beat under your fingers. “Like you’re someone that I love and I want you to be okay,” you say softly. “Is that really so horrible?”

He runs a thumb along your jaw, leaning his forehead against yours. “Not at all,” he says.

You pause for a moment, your hand on his heart. “I just—I don’t want safe, okay? Just you. Let’s start with that.”

“Okay.” His eyes trail down your face to your lips, but he waits for you to close the gap.

You do.

There’s a part of you that wonders if you said too much too soon, if you have instead succeeded in scaring him off, but he kisses you so deeply that it immediately mutes your anxiety, blunting the cacophony of your fears into a muffled background noise that’s easy to dismiss. When your hand starts to drift toward his belt buckle, he pulls away, the desire in his eyes setting your body aflame. “On your back, my lovely,” he says softly.

You lie back on the bed, staring greedily as he finishes undressing.

He cuts a striking figure, lit by the moonlight streaming in through the curtains. Even with that wicked bruise splashed across his ribs, he still looks like something divine and he’s staring at you like you’re equally remarkable. The thought makes you shiver.

The mattress dips as he crawls back onto the bed and positions himself over your body.

The tip of his cock nudges against your stomach. You reach between your bodies, wrapping your fingers around the hard length of him. He’s long and thick, big in a way that makes your toes curl in anticipation. A low, pleased groan rumbles in his chest.

He leans in to kiss you as you stroke him slowly, savoring every sound he makes, every sharp intake of breath. After a moment, he places his hand over yours, guiding your hand away. You angle your hips up toward him, wrapping one leg around his waist.

He presses the tip of his cock against your soaking cunt and you suck in a sharp breath. He looks at you and grins as he slowly drags his cock from your entrance to your clit and back, coating himself in your slickness.

“You’re a tease,” you say.

“Just making sure you’re ready for me,” he says, eyes glinting too much for that to be the whole truth.

“I can tell when you’re lying, you know.”

The tip of his cock slowly slips inside you and you gasp.

“Can you?” he says casually, like you’re just having a chat over drinks. He eases back out.

“What happened to the man who was going to earn his forgiveness?” you say.

He grins, pressing his cock back against your entrance. “Oh, I think you’re enjoying this.”

It’s a difficult assertion to deny, especially with the way he rocks into you slowly, each time going just a little deeper—but never quite deep enough—before drawing back. It’s not long before your hips are rocking with his, urging him deeper.

“More,” you breathe.

A smirk curls at his lips. “More?”

You don’t know that you have the words to describe the particular empty ache you feel, or the fact that you know it’s only going to be soothed by the steady, rocking thrust of his cock fully inside you. “Please,” you say instead. “Please.”

“I’ve waited too long not to savor you,” he says. He eases inside you another inch or so before pausing.

“James.” There’s desperation in your voice that you’ve never heard before, a slight whimper that makes you feel wild with need. “I need you.”

“You’ll have me, darling,” he says as he leans in to kiss you. He’s easing forward slowly, but this time, he keeps going until he’s buried to the hilt, hips flush against yours. You whimper, relishing the feeling of him inside you, close as you can be.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “I knew you could take me.”

You can’t help the way your body reacts to his praise or the soft moan that falls from your lips.

He notices. Of course he does. You feel him smirk as he kisses you and he pulls back slightly to look at you. “Do you like hearing me call you my good girl?”

You nod, but you don’t need to—your cunt flutters around him, tensing.

“Oh, I can feel how much you like that.” He lowers his voice. “My lovely, good girl.”

He slowly rocks his hips once and your breath hitches.

“So very, very good,” he purrs. “You’re taking me so well, darling. And every time I call you my good girl, you feel even better.”

You shudder again as he settles into a devastatingly slow rhythm. Maybe it’s his size or maybe he just knows his angles, but he’s hitting every sensitive place inside you in just the right way and god, you never want him to stop.

“Do you want to be very good for me?” he says in that same low voice.

“Yes,” you breathe. It’s hard to describe how much you want to please him, how much you want him to say your name in that low, deep purr of a voice and tell you that you feel incredible, that you’re doing so well for him. You want to give yourself over to him, let him claim you as his.

“If you want to be very good for me,” he continues, “you’ll come on my cock.”

“Yes,” you say. “Please.”

“Let’s see what we can do about that.” He’s shifting his weight slightly, propping himself up on his left arm, bringing his right hand to your clit. His fingers slowly roll over the throbbing bundle of nerves and you moan.

“Oh, that feels good, doesn’t it?” he says. “I don’t think you’re going to last very long if I keep doing this.”

You whimper something that might have been words at one point, but disintegrated into an unintelligible mess of vowels and consonants somewhere between your brain and your mouth.

“In fact,” he says, his voice dropping impossibly low, “maybe you’re going to be a very, very good girl and come more than once on my cock.”

You whimper, your hips rolling with his. The combination of his fingers on your clit and his cock inside of you is driving you crazy, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” he rasps. “Can you be a good girl and come on my cock?”

You can feel your orgasm building, that coil in your hips winding tighter and tighter. You nod.

“Look at me and tell me what you want,” he says.

“I—yes.”

“Yes what?”

“I want to come.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I said.”

“I want to come on your cock.”

“Still not quite right.”

Something like a combination of a laugh and a whine falls from your lips. “James—”

“I want to hear you say it, love. All of it.”

“Fuck—” You can feel yourself inching closer to the edge.

“Tell me.”

“I want—” You shudder against your impending release. “I want…I want to be a good girl—and come on your cock.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Now come for me.”

You’re not sure if it’s the fact that he made you say it out loud or because he told you to come or if it’s just a very well timed coincidence. Either way, your back is suddenly arching and your cunt is clamping down hard on his cock as you careen into an orgasm that makes your whole body tremble.

But as good as it feels, you can’t help but be captivated by Conrad—the way he slows his pace, the sound he makes. You can tell he’s struggling to stay in control and the fact that a man noted for his cool head and ruthless calm is struggling to keep his composure because of how you are making him feel is somewhere beyond incredible.

He pauses for a moment, seemingly to collect himself. He looks at you as you tremble through the aftershocks, drinking you in like he can’t quite believe the wonder of what he’s seeing.

“You’re heavenly,” he says softly.

You reach for him and he leans down to kiss you, his hips still moving at that agonizingly slow pace.

“I think it’s your turn, though,” you murmur against his lips.

He draws back and that intense, hungry look is back. “My turn?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Did you not tell me you were going to be a good girl for me?”

“I just came on your cock,” you say. “Wasn’t that the agreement?”

“I believe I said that if you were very good, you would come more than once.” He accompanies this with a sharp thrust of his hips as he lowers his lips to your ear. “And I know you want to be very good.”

Your breath is already hitching, your back arching as your legs lock around his waist. “Fuck.”

His voice has dropped again to that low growl. “Do you know how utterly incredible you feel when you come?”

His fingers are back at your clit and you whine.

“It took every ounce of my strength not to spill myself inside you the moment your sweet cunt started trembling around me.” His breath is hot on your ear and you can’t help the way that your muscles clench around him.

He groans low in your ear. “Fuck. Yes. Like that.”

His pace is still so slow and steady and that almost makes the buildup more unbearable. You don’t understand how you’re already so close, but you can feel the tide of your orgasm rising once again.

“Oh god,” you moan.

“I can feel how close you are,” he growls. “And I’m not going to be able to hold back.”

“Come for me,” you say, your voice rough with desperation.

“You first,” he says. “Then I’ll make you mine.”

“I’ve always been yours,” you choke out before your voice cuts off with a cry as your orgasm starts to crest. It’s just as intense as your last one—the edges of your vision go white and fuzzy and you let out a primal moan.

Conrad’s pace increases as he fucks you through it, his mouth open in a soundless gasp.

“James,” you whimper.

He lets out a low moan seconds before you feel the warmth of his release inside you.

He leans down to kiss you and it’s as though you’re both moving through molasses—every touch, every sound feels slow and sweet. He finally lets his head drop to your shoulder when his hips still. He exhales slowly, the heat of his breath warming your shoulder.

“We should have been doing this for years,” he says after a moment.

“I mean, there was a reason why I called you a fucking idiot earlier.”

He lifts his head to look at you and he’s failing to hide his smile. “I suppose that’s difficult to dispute.”

You press a kiss against his forehead. “You can keep earning my forgiveness. I certainly enjoyed this first attempt.”

“Mmm, I have several other ideas.” He kisses you softly and slowly before slowly pulling away. “But let’s get cleaned up.”

He makes you stay in bed while he fetches a wet washcloth from your bathroom and carefully cleans you up. It’s sweet and intimate in a way you don’t expect—no one’s ever done this for you before.

He returns to bed and you curl up together, your cheek resting on his chest, his fingers tracing patterns on your shoulder.

You’re quiet for a bit, mulling the question that sits on the tip of your tongue like the sword of Damocles, ready to fall and smash your easy peace to bits.

“What is it?” asks Conrad before you can summon the courage.

“Hmm?” you say, though you’re pretty sure he’s going to see through your lie.

“You’ve got something on your mind.”

You pause, wetting your lips. “How long are you in town?”

His grip on you tightens, like he understands. “For now, as long as you want me to be.”

You lift your head to give him a skeptical look. He strokes your cheek.

“I’ll have another job eventually,” he says. “But not quite yet.”

“Okay,” you say.

He’s quiet for a moment. “This part of it…it’s not going to be easy.”

You hear the unspoken part of this—he’s giving you a chance to back out, to call this a one off, to keep yourself safe.

“Once again, I never said I wanted easy,” you say. “I just want you.”

He draws you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of you head. “You have me, my love,” he murmurs. “I’ve always been yours.”

#james conrad smut #james conrad x reader smut #james conrad x reader #james conrad x female reader #james conrad x female reader smut #james conrad x reader fanfic #james conrad x yn smut #james conrad x yn #james conrad x you smut

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tiredwitchplant · 9 months

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How to Use Herbs : Rosemary

Hwello there. We have talked about rosemary and its uses in a previous post. If you haven't read it, please click here: Rosemary

Now I shall provide some spells, tonics, recipes and etc on where you can utilize it. Let us begin :)

Author's Note: From I noticed a part is usually a teaspoon. You can add more according to your needs, but I would always start with that measurement first.

Alchemist Formula for Binding:

One part benzoin gum (Saturn, binding)

One part patchouli (Saturn,binding)

One part Solomon's seal (Saturn, protective)

One part rosemary oil (Saturn, protective)

One part frankincense oil (Sun, success)

Mental Focus Magical Tea:

I part rosemary

1/2 part spearmint

1 cup of boiling water

Mix herbs in a small jar

To brew, pour 1 cup of boiling water over 1 teaspoon of the herbal blend.

Steep for 5 - 7 minute. Strain and drink.

Spells:

Remembrance for Lost Love (Heartache Healer)

6 drops of rosemary oil

3 drops of peppermint oil

1 drop of lavender oil

White candle

Add the oil to the top of the candle, one at a time, in a clockwise direction around the wick.

LIght the candle and gaze into the flame

Visualize your fond memories of the person who left your life. As you do this say, "I thank you for the time we had together, I thank you for the love we shared, I thank you for being an important part of my life. We have parted, we move on, we remember. I wish you the best life has to offer and hope you have found happiness."

Allow the candle to burn out of its own and dispose of the remaining wax away from your home or bury it in the spot you and the past partner enjoyed together.

Broom Cleansing Spell

Use one or any combination of the following botanicals: broom, cedar,fennel, hyssop, rosemary, sage, vervain.

Arrange the botanicals and tie them to the bottom of a branch withraffia, visualizing, charging and knotting. (Any branch may be used,however an ash branch is considered particularly powerful.)

Sprinkle with salted water or any preferred purification formula.

Sweep the area.

Disassemble the broom outside, away from the cleansed space.

Bury the components in the ground or toss them into living waters, flowing away from you.

Ghost Keep Away Spell (Boundary Line Spell)

Place three peeled cloves of garlic in a bowl, together with one handful of sea salt and one handful of fresh rosemary leaves.

Grind and mash the ingredients together.

Sprinkle them to create a boundary, as needed.

Bad Habits Bath

Add the following to a tub filled with warm water:

Essential oil of clary sage

Essential oil of frankincense

Essential oil of lavender

Essential oil of lemongrass or May Chang

Essential oil of rosemary

Enter the bath and inhale the fragrance, and accompany with affirmations and positive visualizations.

Kitchen Witch Recipes:

Super-Quick Bonus Recipe for Gwion’s Red Onion Pickle Bliss

Fills one pint-sized jar

Prep Time: 10 minutes

Cooking Time: 20 minutes, plus 30 minutes to cool in the fridge

1 medium red onion

3 tablespoons sugar

1/2 cup water

10 black peppercorns

2/3 cup white wine vinegar,

rice vinegar, or apple cider vinegar

1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes

1 sprig rosemary

1 clove garlic, peeled and halved

Slice the onion very thinly and place it in your clean, dry jar. Set it aside.

Add the rest of the ingredients to a medium saucepan and bring to a boil until the sugar has fully dissolved. Stir carefully so you don’t break the rosemary. The sprig is in there to add flavour, and you’ll discard it before the next step.

Let the pickling mixture (the water, vinegar, and spices) cool down for about 10 minutes. Discard the sprig of rosemary and pour the remaining

ingredients into the jar of onions. Make sure all of the onions are submerged

in the picking liquid. If you have to, use a spoon to push the onions down in the jar. Seal the jar and put it in the fridge to cool. The onions are ready to eat once they are cool, about 30 minutes.

Serve them on avocado toast, burgers, salads, or just with a fork straight out of the jar. Remember to kiss your partner or partners before eating the onions out of the jar, unless they’re into pungent kisses.

Goat for a God: Roasted Goat Leg with Grape Molasses

Great for Deities: Dionysus, Pan and Thor

Serves : 6

Prep Time: 30 minutes

Cooking Time: 2 hours and 30 minutes

1 goat leg (about 3 pounds)

1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon olive oil

2 teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon cumin

2 teaspoons black pepper

4 tablespoons grape molasses

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 teaspoon coriander

2 sprigs fresh rosemary

1 cup white wine + one glass for sipping and toasting while cooking (use mead if you're cooking this for Thor)

1 bay leaf

2 large carrots, chopped into

1" chunks

1 celery root, peeled and chopped into 1" cubes

Open the bottle of white wine or mead and take a hefty drink. (This is optional but deities do like when you drink with them but they can respect if you don't partake.)

Preheat the oven to 375° F.

Liberally season the goat leg with salt and pepper.

Rub the minced garlic all over the goat leg too. If it helps, poke a few holes in the goat leg so you can get the garlic right into the meat.

Place the rosemary sprigs and bay leaf in the bottom of a large roasting pan and put the goat leg right on top. Add the carrots and celery root around the edges. Pour the olive oil all over the goat and rub it around. Coat the carrots and celery root too.

Pour the white wine around the bottom of the roasting pan.

Loosely cover with kitchen foil and put the whole pan into the oven for 2 hours.

About an hour and forty-five minutes into the cooking process, it’s time to make the glaze.

Mix the grape molasses—which is a super-condensed syrup made of grape must—in a bowl with a tablespoon of olive oil, the coriander, and the cumin. You can substitute honey for the grape molasses if for Thor.

At the two-hour mark, pull the roasting pan out of the oven and paint the goat with the grape (or honey) and spice glaze.

Pop the goat and veggies, uncovered, back into the oven for another 20 minutes or until the internal temperature reaches at least 145° F.

When you’re ready to serve this dish, scoop the veggies into a bowl (fornow) and put the goat leg on a platter. If you have access to one, get a cedar plank and serve the goat on it.

Medical Tonics and Infusions:

Infusion- An infusion is the simplest way to prepare the more delicate aerial parts of plants, especially leaves and flowers, for use as a medicine or as a revitalizing or relaxing drink. It is made in a similar way to tea, using either a single herb or a combination of herbs, and may be drunk hot or cold.

Pot Infusion

For a cup:

1 tsp (2–3 g) dried or 2 tsp (4–6 g) fresh herb (or mixture of herbs) to a cup of water

For a pot:

20 g dried herb or 30 g fresh herb (or a mixture of different herbs) to 2 cups (500 ml) of water

Warm the pot, then add the herb.

Pour in water that has just boiled, replace the lid, and infuse for 10 minutes.

Strain some of the infusion into a cup. A teaspoon of honey may be added if desired.

Storage:

Store in a covered jug in a refrigerator or cool place for up to 24 hours.

Tonic Making

Standard Quantity:

200 g dried or 300 g fresh herb chopped into small pieces to 1 quart (1 liter) alcohol—vodka of 35–40% alcohol is ideal, although rum hides the taste of bitter or unpalatable herbs

Standard Dosage:

Take 1 tsp (5 ml) 2 –3 times a day diluted in 1 tbsp plus 1 tsp (25 ml) of water or fruit juice.

Place the herb in a large, clean glass jar and pour on the alcohol, ensuring that the herb is covered. Close and label the jar.

Shake well for 1–2 minutes and store in a cool dark place for 10–14 days, shaking the jar every 1–2 days.

Set up the wine press, placing a muslin or nylon mesh bag securely inside. Pour in the mixture and collect the liquid in the jug.

Slowly close the wine press, extracting the remaining liquid from the herbs until no more drips appear. Discard the leftover herbs.

Pour the tincture into clean, dark glass bottles using a funnel. When full, stopper with a cork or screw top and label the bottles.

Storage:

Store in sterilized, dark glass bottles in a cool dark place for up to 2 years. An amber glass jar is the best option.

Sorry this post is so long @_@ But please enjoy and use wisely. Bye byes~

Sources

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guhmshuda · 4 months

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DESI JAMES POTTER HEADCANON

Disclaimer: this is not era-typical. this is strictly subjective, this is my way of projecting my delusions and hoping I meet someone like James Potter some day!!

James craves parental and academic validation.

Now before I get jumped, lets all be real for one second. You are telling me James Potter is a desi first gen NRI and he does not crave validation? I refuse to believe that!! And it was not that Effie and Monty pressurized him... it was the opposite actually. they did not say a thing and my boy just felt he had to be the best because he has such nice parents who never ask for anything how can he ever live up to it??

He was the kind to lose sleep before important days. Right before the big matches and papers you would find James F. Potter roaming the halls of the school in the wee hours of morning, hands tightly clutching onto a mug that says, "You are ENOUGH" (his parents gifted him this in 3rd year when they noticed he was not doing well). The mug is obviously filled to the brim with either masala chai or cold coffee (the indian one).

2. He smelled like cloves

now this is something I have observed in my day to day life and feel like James too, would partake in. He would be the kind to use "spicy" toothpaste. simply because he thinks they last longer or smth. Effie also makes him homemade oil that has cloves (idk what they do I just associate the spice with him OKAY?) So basically when his partner(s) kiss him, they taste and smell clove. And it is not a comforting spice like cinnamon but imagine a whitewashed Regulus getting used to the sting of cloves and the horrible dant kanti-esque taste because the boyfriend uses them. There is a point when Regulus just starts carrying around a small bottle of clove oil or a box of clove and elaichi daana because James smells like cloves and Sirius like cardamom (FIGHT ME.)

3. Resident Problem Solver

Was he mischievous? Hell yes. Did he still make efforts to make sure everyone was okay? Duh.

James would be the kind to ask everyone about their day at the dinner table and be actually interested in what they have to say. He would notice when one of his friends were having a hard day and just drop a ladoo on their plate or ask them if they would like "non-spicy" chai. He would be the peacemaker. ALWAYS. He DID not like conflict. It hurt his soul to watch his friends fight or give each other a cold shoulder.

4. He LOVED being Desi.

he had the diaspora issue, obviously. But Effie and Monty came from the pre-partition India and tried to hold onto their country as much as they could. So James was super used to all the desi things. He had a head full of thick luscious curls because his mother massaged oil and gave him champi every week. When he moved to Hogwarts his hair suffered a little before the Summer when Sirius visited the Potters. Effie taught both of them how to apply oil onto each other's scalps and then it became their tradition at Hogwarts.

5. When Sirius returned bald.

there is a very popular HC that one year Walburga shaved Sirius' hair off because he was being disrespectful or smth. That year, James developed a variant of Indulekha x Parachute Coconut Oil (come on Desis i know you know what I mean) and made sure Sirius had his long hair back before Christmas. He would personally look after his diet, forcing amla tea down his throat or making sure he is eating 3-4 meals that consist of healthy things and not just meat as Sirius would otherwise have it.

Regulus fell in love with James around this time because he did smth he could not, protect Sirius. He went as far as daring Walburga to try to do it again, James would make sure Sirius grows his hair longer than ever.

ps. he was the one who came up with curl-care routine for the marauders and all of them had PJO cast like hair it was so cute jadfiqgfuiwgiuu okay

6. He did not practice any religion

James was not religious, he was spiritual. He did whatever his mum, who herself practiced two religions, told him to do. Both Effie and Monty believed in giving back to the society more than giving to some religious institute, so imagine a first year James rushing into Poppy's wing with an injured bird in his hand begging her to save it.

7. He was the people's princess.

fight the wall. everyone, even the slytherins, secretly LOVED him and the gulab jamuns he would give out on Diwali every year.

8. Enjoyer of classical music.

I have said it before, I will say it again. MY MANZ LISTENED TO GHULAM ALI. idc if he was muggle or what, he loved his music, language be damned.

he enjoyed urdu ghazals more than anything else tbh.

9. TRAINED CLASSICAL MUSICIAN

he was trained in sitar and he could sing as well. he was basically an in house singer. He learnt electric guitar in his 2nd year and then there was no looking back. If he would not have been a professional quidditch player he would have been a musician or a music teacher or smth.

10. he was a STEM student.

okay this is non-canon but comp sci major James? who also happens to enjoy botany? yes. just the best.

11. James who would slip into Urdu when he was overwhelmed, who loved when people played with his hair. James who wrote letters in Urdu or Hindi or whatever regional language his parents spoke and wrote.

12. James potter who hated how his eyes were brown, just brown, growing up. but then one day his mother told him it is what she loves the best about him.

13. James Potter with bitten lips, he does that whenever he is nervous.

14. James Potter who was born during sunrise, his mother believes he is the sun.

15. James who would lay his life for his friends. James who loved hugging Peter, James who committed crimes for Remus.

16. James who adored and admired Minerva so much that he would try everything to get her attention, except he was her favourite student after Lily and Remus (Sirius was her son, let us all be honest).

17. James who played Carnatic Music while studying.

18. James who would wear short kurtas. james who is obsessed with shawls.

19. James who carried a bag full of supplies his friends might need. Like imagine a pouch filled with hair elastics for Sirius and the girls, painkillers for Remus, fidget toys and stress ball for Peter, and cloves for Regulus.

20. James WHO FOUGHT THE AUTHORITY!!!

-- I WILL ADD MORE DW LET ME THINK--

ADD YOURS TOO BTW COME ON HELP A DEMIGIRL OUT

#desiblr #desi stuff #desi tumblr #marauders #james potter #the marauders era #dead gay wizards #desi james is my love #desi james #desi james potter #james x regulus #james and sirius #jegulus #baby james potter

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violettduchess · 3 months

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A/N: This is my gift for @readerinsertfanfiction 💜 The moment I saw Cyran on your list, I was thrilled. I hope you enjoy!

A huge thank you to @ikemenlibrary for her support and friendship and for being a generous, caring host 💜

Prompt: A servant, someone who knew Cyran from before his time in Rhodolite

Cyran x AU Emma

WC: ~4k

Obsidian: the Past

She runs across the cracked, sunbaked cobblestone streets, her treasure wrapped in a cream-colored tea towel and held protectively against her chest. Her worn leather shoes make a pleasing thunking sound against the stones as she hurries past dusty shop windows and faded porches, carefully dodging people on the street.

“Langsam, Emma!” someone yells as she flies past but she doesn’t listen to their warning. She can’t slow down. She has somewhere to be.

Finally she reaches the edge of town and takes a sharp left, leaving the cobblestones behind for a ribbon of dirt road that winds its way along tired hills covered with sparse sage-green grass and dotted with scraggly yellow dandelions. Another turn onto an even smaller path, a faint thing that meanders through the knee-high growth and then, finally, the faded barn comes into view.

She smiles, pumping her young legs harder, willing them to swallow the distance faster and faster until she reaches the peeling, splintered wooden doors and haphazardly flings one open.

“Cyran? I’m here!!”

The boy, just shy of fourteen, turns away from the wooden beam he has been faux-sparring with, lowering the dull, well-worn practice sword he is so proud of. His hair gleams like fire in the hazy sunlight that shines through the pocked roof.

Emma hurries over, gulping down huge breaths of musty air as she grabs his thin forearm.

“C’mon. I’m dying to see how they taste.”

Cyran laughs, struggling to sheath his sword as she drags him over to the blanket thrown over the hay in a cozy corner of the barn. This is their favorite place to meet, an escape from the outside world they discovered several years ago while exploring. It is here that Emma sometimes reads to him from one of her treasured books. She’s even shared stories she’s written, romantic tales of princesses and dragons, knights and monsters. Cyran is always the hero, the knight who slays the monsters and rescues the damsel in distress. Emma will change her roles in the stories.

Sometimes she needs rescuing.

But sometimes, she is the dragon.

Often they sneak treats to each other, hard biscuits or smoked meat or, if they are really lucky, sweet berries brought across the border from the lush neighboring country of Rhodolite. Cyran’s neighbor is a servant for some of the merchants that make the risky trips over and when he’s lucky, she manages to tuck away a few treasures just for him.

He settles himself down on the frayed checkered blanket and pushes his bright hair away from his forehead, eagerly watching as Emma drops down next to him, laying the tea towel down. Her face is flushed from her run and from the thrill of what she’s managed to bring him.

“Ready?”

He nods, enthusiastically motioning for her to unwrap it already. He has hands that are too big for his young body, growing the way many boys do at this age, in odd fits and spurts.

Emma leans forward, pushing up the sleeve of her too-big dress and carefully pulls back the edges of the tea towel.

The smell hits them first, the warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of the cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger. It wafts up towards them, exotic and tempting. Cyran breathes in deeply and then sighs happily as he looks at her, eyes bright and admiring.

“It smells so good.”

Cyran had carefully been saving up the exotic store of spices, some of them gifts from his neighbors, others decadent purchases made at the market from his meager earnings made mucking stalls and chopping wood. He knew that Emma would be the one who would create something special with them. Young as she was, she was a talented cook and baker, able to make the most fantastic treats out of the simplest ingredients. And now that she had been given such a treasure trove to work with, she had spun pure magic.

The spiced biscuits are dappled dark brown and gold. When she hands him one, it is with a reverence that echos a priest giving communion or a child receiving a shiny new toy at Christmas.

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Together.”

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes.

“Together.”

They bite into the cookies at the same time. Emma breaks into a proud smile as Cyran closes his eyes, savoring the medley of flavor and even better, the knowledge that she made them just for him.

“It’s good, isn’t it?" she asks, grinning. She sees the look on his face, the way he is practically melting with enjoyment.

He lifts his shoulder in a casual shrug, feigning indifference.

“I guess……”

“What?!”

He takes another bite, leaning back on one hand. “I mean, they’re ok. But you know, Hilde’s biscuits are also really good–OOF.”

She’s tackled him, throwing herself at him with all the force of a frenzied feline, her nimble fingers scratching at his sides. Cyran breaks into laughter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and tries to squirm away from her.

“Ok ok Brown Eyes, enough!”

Emma lets him go, sitting back on her heels with a glowing, triumphant smile.

“Never say that about Hilde’s cookies again.”

He pushes himself up, heart pounding furiously in his chest. Only some of it is from laughing. He tears his gaze away from the unsettling beauty of her eyes, traveling up to her hair.

“You’re a mess. You got straw in your hair and your braid is a disaster.”

Emma turns and scoots until she is sitting in front of him. “Since it’s your fault….you fix it.”

Cyran heaves a sigh he doesn’t mean and then settles himself into a comfortable position, reaching forward and with a tenderness and care far beyond most boys his age, begins slowly picking the straw from her messy plait.

Emma’s eyes drift closed as she revels in the attention he’s giving her, the gentle way he untangles her braid and then very slowly begins brushing his fingers through her soft, chestnut-colored hair.

It feels comforting and safe.

It feels thrilling.

It feels like the early evening has come to a standstill and they have all the time in the world.

But their time together is like a rose slowly losing its petals.

A petal falls as he tells her, wide-eyed and shaken, that his neighbor has been killed in her own home, throat opened in the dead of night and left smiling its ghastly red smile until she was discovered hours later. Emma rubs his back, not knowing what else to do. This is not the first death in their village as of late. And it will not be the last.

A petal falls as they lay, side by side, on the blanket in the hay, staring up at the patches of starry sky visible through the holes in the roof. “My parents are scared,” she whispers. He turns his head to stare at her profile and knows it isn’t just her parents who are frightened. “I’ll protect you,” he whispers, voice fierce with youth’s naïve promise. Her gaze remains on the silver stars but she reaches out, taking his hand and squeezes it.

A petal falls as she comes to their favorite spot, face pale as bone, to tell him that her family is leaving. Her father has contacted distant relatives that live far to the north, as far from Rhodolite and the dangers it poses as one can get. Cyran feels like his young heart may break right there in his chest and he will be forced to live the rest of his life with its pieces rattling around inside of him. Though filled with dismay, Emma’s eyes are as beautiful as ever. They shine with tears, rivaling any star they have ever spent time gazing at.

A petal falls as she rushes through the dark, on the night before her family is to leave, her throat burning with feelings she can’t quite name, waves too strong to try and understand for fear they will sweep her away. She bursts through the barn doors and finds him already there, his hair dark as garnet, damp with sweat. He has spent the entire day doing heavy labor, removing heavy wooden beams, hauling ancient and broken equipment, sweeping the dusty, straw-strewn floor. Several lanterns placed around the interior bathe the space in warm, yellow light. The barn is as clean and inviting as he can make it. He wanted to give her one more memory, something beautiful, that she can take with her on her journey away from here. Away from him.

Emma is frozen in place, soaking in all he has done, before finally stopping on the young man at the center of it. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Already his shoulders carry the hint of what manhood will bring him: strength and breadth. Arms that with training will turn hard and sculpted, legs that will lengthen until he is taller than most. He is the faint beginning of what he will become. Emma wonders wildly if she will ever get the chance to see the finished masterpiece.

“Emma,” he says, his voice raw and rough, deeper than she has ever heard it.

She sets down the bundle she is holding, the one she carried so close on the way here, leaving it on top of a weathered wooden barrel.

“Cyran,” she answers, her muscles tense, like a fawn when it hears a crunching in the underbrush.

He starts forward, one hesitant step and that is enough. She flies towards him, throwing her thin arms around his neck and buries her face in his worn linen shirt, clutching him to her. There is power in her small frame, something fierce and bright, a hurricane in crystal. Cyran holds her close, his eyes closing as he breathes in her familiar scent. He’s been teased his whole life because of his last name, but she is the one who reminds him of a rose, who always smells so sweet.

The anticipation of loss that has them clinging to each other slowly ebbs and something else, something that has been burning low and quiet in every laugh, every touch, every glance begins to emerge. She is suddenly aware of the press of her chest against his, of how much taller he is, the earthy smell of his skin. She leans back to look at him and sees the same awareness mirrored in his dark eyes.

Outside a rooster crows, loud and discordant.

Cyran turns his head toward the sound and Emma, sparked by the frantic knowledge that she must leave, grabs his chin, pulling him back to her and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his.

It is a sunbeam bursting through gray clouds. A spark breathing life into a pile of dried leaves. It is hope and promise and wonder.

And heartbreak.

With a stifled cry, she steps away, turns and flees the barn, not wanting to see the look on his face as she leaves, not wanting that to be her last memory of him.

Cyran watches with a thundering heart as the door swings shut. Flooded with helplessness and misery, he notices the bundle she left behind. Tenderly he lifts it, undoing the sky-colored ribbon. It’s her favorite handkerchief, white with pale blue forget-me-nots painstakingly embroidered along the edges, and nestled inside are several of her spiced biscuits. His favorites.

Rhodolite: The Present

Rhodolite is so much MORE than she expected. The streets are wider and cleaner and lined with greenery, more trees and flowering bushes and grass than in the entire garden of the palace in Obsidian. There are more people than she expected too, many standing under awnings and lampposts, peeking through windows and around doorways, watchful eyes in beautiful faces following the royal procession as it makes its way towards the palace.

When she had been told by the Head Chef that they would be accompanying Prince Gilbert and his entourage to Rhodolite, Emma had felt a familiar ringing through the cockles of her heart. Rhodolite is where Cyran was rumored to have ended up. Whispers from the south had traveled her way, over the many years since they parted. He had joined the army when he was of age. He had left Obsidian for the verdure of Rhodolite. He was employed by one of the Princes there. Crumbs of information she had managed to gather, hoarding them tightly like precious drops of mana.

He may not even be here, she reminds herself as her tired gray mare plods along down the street. She and the other servants are at the end of the procession and most of the people have turned away, not interested in anything but the dangerous Prince Gilbert with his sharp smile and blood-red gaze.

Still, Emma finds herself scanning the crowds as they pass, looking for any head of red hair. She spots a few but they are never him.

As the overwhelming elegant palace suddenly rises towards the heavens before her, she draws in a sharp breath.

We’re here…….

…….Is he?

The palace looms closer, a breathtaking monument of pale beauty.

And if so….how in the wide world will she ever find him?

Cyran runs a hand through his thick mass of russet hair as his long strides make quick work of the pathway towards the training hall. It’s late evening and the young, freshly-minted knights are at the end of their training and he needs to make sure everything went well without him there. He knows Lucian is more than capable of leading them through their drills but Cyran has a responsibility to make sure. They are all under his charge.

Entering the hall, he sees several of the knights laughing in a corner. Some are sitting and catching their breath, others are pushing the heavy sandbags they sometimes train with back into their storage room. What he sees reassures him. They look tired and sore, yet satisfied, faces bright with the feeling of accomplishment a tough training session will leave behind.

He’s about to go look for Lucian, expecting a full report when he notices several of the knights standing by the wooden table at the far end of the training circle, the one usually covered with straps for shields and rope and other odds and ends. They’re smiling, far too widely to be discussing anything so mundane as weaponry. Several are chewing. He approaches the table, greeted by his men with smiles and respectful nods. Immediately he notices the tin: it’s round and black, covered with decorative golden swirls.

“What’s this?” He glances towards the first knight at his left, a tall lad with sandy blond hair.

“They were brought here by an Obsidian servant. She said they were a present for us.”

Cyran frowns, a skeptical look on his face as he reaches inside the tin for one of the golden brown cookies.

“And you didn’t think to–” He was going to ask if they thought accepting gifts from strangers was a good idea when the scent hits him, cutting through the sweat and musk of tired men.

The warm spice of cinnamon, the tang of nutmeg, the slight bitterness of cloves, the unmistakable scent of ginger.

He goes still, the breath knocked from his lungs.

Could it be…..

Something in his face hushes the men around him. They watch, curious as Cyran lifts the cookie and takes a bite.

The man who sees everything, ever watchful, closes his eyes as he chews and the knights are transfixed by the absolute stillness that has overtaken their leader.

And then those eyes open and something in them has begun to burn, bright and alive.

The other half of the cookie falls to the dusty ground as he turns on his heel and, practically jogging, exits the training area, leaving behind the half-eaten biscuit and a slew of surprised faces.

The rose gardens are somehow even more beautiful in the twilight of evening. The red petals seem to have darkened, shedding their bright rose-red for a sultry scarlet. Shadows emerge from the trimmed hedges, stretching across the winding stone pathways, giving a visitor like Emma glimpses of hidden benches and secret dirt paths leading into clandestine corners of the gardens.

She has taken several of these more narrow, less-trodden paths, not at all afraid of getting lost. Her heart is a bird, flitting between dark branches, full of a nervous, tightly-wound energy she can’t quite explain.

As the sky darkens to a deep navy blue and the first stars open their eyes, Emma pauses in front of a gray stone fountain. Two swans, nuzzling their beaks together, bodies curved towards one another as a blossoming flower rises above them, water spraying outward in celebration. She tilts her head, the romantic in her sighing at the way the two swans perfectly mirror one another, two halves of a whole, two souls in perfect harmony. So enchanted is she by the fountain that she doesn’t hear the footfall on the path, doesn’t notice the man who has stopped several meters away from where she is standing, the sight of her freezing him in his tracks.

“Emma.”

She jumps at the deep voice, her eyes wide and dark as she turns towards the sound. The owner of said voice is standing, half in shadow, at the place where the small path to the fountain begins, beneath a shadowy arch of crimson roses. She is so startled, she doesn’t even register that he has said her name.

“Oh….s'il te plaît, excuse-moi,” she says quickly, doing her best to remember the phrases of the common language spoken in Rhodolite. “J'espère que ça va…” She trails off, trying to remember how to say she hopes she is allowed to be here but the man takes another step closer, leaving the blanket of shadows and stepping into the fading light.

Even the dusky hue of evening cannot hide the red of his hair.

A gasp as soft as the flutter of a bird’s wing escapes her. The young boy she knew juxtaposed against this tall, broad man before her sends her heart into a tailspin. Her hand flies to her mouth as she takes him in. She sees the same bright light of recognition and admiration and overwhelming emotion plain as day on his beautiful face.

“Cyran?” The word is a whisper, a breathless repetition of the name she has kept in her prayers for decades.

His eyes never leave her, almost as if he has the power to hold her there with his gaze, to keep her from vanishing into the realm of his dreams where she has lived for so long. Slowly, he reaches up and loosens the laces at the top of his tunic. His hand slides inside and when it emerges, he is holding a small square of cloth. As he slowly opens it, her heart falters.

It’s white, with pale blue forget-me-nots embroidered around the edges.

He holds it out to her, his chest rising and falling with every deep breath he takes. That handkerchief has lived next to his heart, in an inner pocket, one he has sewn into every shirt he has ever owned since the day he watched her leave.

“I think…..this belongs to you, Brown Eyes.”

She chokes back a sob, unable to contain the thunderstorm of emotion coursing through her and runs to him, falling into his arms as naturally as a willow bends to the wind, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Cyran wraps his arms around her, sheltering her, holding her the way he has imagined a thousand times. His throat burns with all the words he has ached to say, all those sleepless nights spent remembering the lilt of her smile, the music of her laughter, the bittersweet taste of her kiss.

Emma squeezes her eyes closed, breathing in the scent of him, at once so familiar and yet so strange. Her arms wind around his waist as she presses herself against him, drinking in the sensation of his body on hers.

This is Cyran….her Cyran…..her….

A thought pierces her heart as she suddenly steps away from him, eyes wide, still so beautiful as they glimmer with the remnants of her tears.

“Oh…I…I didn’t mean…..you could be married. I shouldn’t have-”

His laughter is coarse, rough with emotion, a roll of rushing water as it careens over the lip of a cliff.

“As if I could ever love anyone else.”

Love…..

As if summoned by the very word, the moon itself parts the soft gray clouds, flooding the small section of the garden with silvery light. The tinkling of the fountain fills the momentary silence.

Cyran’s cheeks suddenly flush, a hot mixture of embarrassment and panic overriding the elation of the previous moment.

“I…..I don’t mean to presume of course that you feel the same. It has been a long time and…..” He trails off, wincing. Fluster is such an uncharacteristic state of being for Cyran. “Ah, shit. I’m sorry. I–”

His words are cut off as Emma launches herself back into his arms, hugging him fiercely.

“Please, don’t apologize.” She tilts her head up to look at him, still in awe of how she sees the young man he was and the handsome man he has become in his beautiful eyes, in his exquisite face. “It has always been you.”

Cyran drags air into his lungs, hardly able to believe he isn’t dreaming. His rough fingers capture her chin, his thumb running over the sensitive skin just under her lower lip.

Slowly, he leans down as she stretches upwards, eager and nearly trembling with emotion.

He kisses her, his hand still cupping her face. Gently his mouth moves over hers as he tells her a wordless story of longing, of a bruised heart that learned to somehow keep beating.

He kisses her, a strong arm pulling her closer, his lips and tongue weaving the tale of a young soldier who never forgot the girl with the tender heart and radiant spirit. The soldier who dreamed of her face during his darkest nights and longed for her laughter on days of sunshine.

She meets him, kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, sliding her palms along his broad shoulders, clutching him as she answers his tale, confessing without words how he has never left her heart. How his smile was her light in times of worry and despair. How seeing him again has been her northern star from the moment of parting.

Only the moon knows how long they stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost in each other’s yearning.

When they finally part, Cyran rests his forehead against hers, still keeping her tightly in his embrace. He may never let go again.

“You’re….in the employ of Prince Gilbert. I am here.” He frowns ever so slightly as he brushes several loose strands of hair away from Emma’s charmingly flushed cheek. “This could get complicated.”

Their gazes meet and she nods.

“Yes…..but we’ll figure it out.”

And suddenly he is carried back in time to an evening when her eyes shone just as brightly, just as excitedly, a young girl with something to give a young boy, a homemade cookie, an offering of love.

“Together.”

Her voice echoes across the years, that word wrapping itself around his battered heart, a balm, a blessing.

He returns the nod, staring into the warm depths of her soft brown eyes, tenderly stroking the silk of her hair, and answers her now as he did back then.

“Together.”

Tagging: @xbalayage @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @queen-dahlia @themysticalbeing @nightghoul381 @whitelittlebunny @chi-the-idiot @bubblexly @wordycheeseblob

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri cyran #cyran rose #ikemen cyran #ikepri cyril #cyril rose #ikemen cyril #my ikemen valentine gift exchange #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen fanfic #otome fanfic #violettwrites

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possibilistfanfiction · 5 months

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omg hallmark au?!? how abt christmas tree?

[uh. there's a tree at the end lol]

beatrice kisses you. it’s snowing outside and smells like pine and cinammon and her cologne and you’ve kissed her before, in an alley in the dark, but the light from the fireplace here is gentle and bathes her in warmth and she kisses you. it’s a revelation, you think, to be kissed like this, with your eyes closed and a tender hand combing through your hair and the whole world tucked away somewhere else, off this mountainside and hundreds of miles over valleys and rivers and roads away from you here, and now.

beatrice kisses you and you tug on the bottom of her fleece and pull it over her head, the t-shirt underneath coming with it, and a million thoughts run through your head — she’s ripped, first of all, a delight you will revisit soon; the scars that stretch across her flat chest aren’t overwhelmingly surprising, not old but not new either, gorgeous and healed and healing, so much of her unspoken that she wants you to understand; she has a few freckles on her strong shoulders — but she’s looking at you like this is a lot more than a fling while you’re running away from your real life.

you think it clearly, then: this is your real life, too. this is real. beatrice is real.

you trace one of her scars, just for a moment, and then let your fingers trail lightly down her stomach.

‘you’re so beautiful,’ you say and hope it’s right, hope it’s enough.

beatrice, stoic and kind and faithful, takes it in, her eyes meeting yours, gold in the light, and then she smiles softly. ‘you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen.’

you feel the weight of her jaw in the palm of your hand when you bring it to her face; the lightness of it, sharp and soft. i love you runs through your head, unbidden, i’m in love with you, but it’s too much and too soon and you’ll leave anyway, and this isn’t home but it isn’t something else entirely either.

‘please,’ is all you can say, but she seems to understand because she kisses you deeply, like there’s something there she’s searching to tell you. you sink into it, let it wash over you with its warmth.

////

the sheets are still warm when you wake, even though the bed is empty. you don’t mind; the world is heavy sometimes, and you understand.

you take your time to stretch, to wiggle your toes, to flex your hands. it doesn’t escape you, even still, the miracle of touch and movement, the life you have that seems, despite the days that feel intolerable, bigger than you could’ve dreamed.

you put on one of her hoodies — soft and warm and smelling of laundry detergent and a little like her cologne, musk and clove and fresh pine, like this place, an unnamable magic — and pad out to the living room. she’s on the couch looking out over the mountains, snow covered, from her huge a-frame windows, theo asleep at her feet. beatrice seems larger than life sometimes, her seriousness and kindness and strength, her bright, quiet laugh — another magic entirely.

she smiles, small and shy, when you curl up next to her and take her coffee with a wink.

‘this is… disgusting,’ you say, surprised to taste at least three spoonfuls of sugar, and you wait a beat before you both laugh. ‘i would’ve thought you had black coffee, very solemn.’

‘i’m still not quite used to the taste, admittedly, but i thought you might like some instead of tea.’

it’s thoughtful in a way that makes you want to cry, but instead you clear your throat and lean into her side.

you stay like that for a while, her strong arm wrapped around your shoulders and theo snoring softly every now and then. it’s a bluebird day outside, bright and clear and beautiful.

‘even though you’re leaving,’ she says after a while, ‘i’m thankful i’ve known you.’

it aches in your chest, this desire to never move from this spot, to stop running once and for all, to rest in this warm house with its glass wall and the mountains — flowers in the spring, orange leaves in the fall — a home.

she continues, ‘i would’ve longed for you forever, i think, if we hadn’t met.’

and — what do you even say to that? when you imagined this little adventure, you had thought you’d spend quiet days in a silly little town, drink some hot chocolate, instagram the view of the mountains from your window; maybe — maybe — going home with the town hottie and leaving before they woke. you take a deep breath and look at the soft planes of beatrice’s face and then the big, full christmas tree in the corner of the room that camila told you she cut down herself, its carefully strung lights and a few unexpectedly silly ornaments. you can imagine all of it, her care and quiet humor; you had ached, for so long, to be treated with kindness, to be seen and found whole.

you hadn’t expected her — how could you?

‘well,’ you say, your voice rough in your throat, but she gives you the same grace as always, allowing you to clear it without comment, ‘i haven’t left yet.’

she braves a smile. ‘that’s true.’

‘take me back to bed?’

she stands, unfolds herself elegantly and offers her hand. you think you could hold it forever, but your plane leaves this evening and your life looms. still, you kiss her and, after she comes, trace words you can’t say into the soft skin on her back; you think about saying them aloud, but you don’t.

#hallmark au #avatrice #prompts #anyway this is sex that's far too charged for only having known ea other like ten days but #that's how they are! lmfao #butch bea 🥺🫡#tagging for my own organization but. she is butch lol

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honeytonedhottie · 4 months

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my january over-view⋆.ೃ࿔*:･✍🏽🎀

i recorded everything in my notion so that i could track my progress on my january goals and im rly very satisfied with how i've managed myself this january.

my goals for this january was to ;

take my supplements every day

get back into the swing of school after break (maintain straight A's)

continue to improve and manifest my life

do more challenging workouts

embody the wellness girlie aesthetic and implement habits that are health focused

this was my january over-view ;

week one : i drank a cup of peppermint tea, started taking the beauty gummies from the brand ollie (it has essential vitamins, collagen etc and its main focus is skin hair and nails), and i bought and drank a bottle of kombucha to promote digestive health. i did a twenty minutes pilates workout and it was a bit challenging but i think that i did a good job. today i ordered a stanely water bottle cup to make sure that im staying hydrated.

week two : i drank a 16 oz cup of celery juice. i drank a cup of clove, ginger, and green tea. today i drank a 20 oz cup of celery juice on an empty stomach and i took my beauty gummies. i drank lemon water and some sort of earthy liquid (diatomaceous earth). i drank that today too. i followed along and did two pilates workouts from youtube. i walked 15 minutes on the treadmill.

week three : i walked for 15 minutes on the treadmill and even jogged a little. i finished my first book of the year, then she was gone. i've been taking this dietary powder called diatomaceous earth and its an exfoliant for ur organs. i drank a new flavor of kombucha (a strawberry flavor). i had another bottle of kombucha (mystic mango flavor) and i even drank a matcha latte.

week four : i opened up my second girl blogging account so that i can post success stories and stuff. i drank cucumber infused water today in my brand new hello kitty water cup. today i ran out of peppermint tea :( i finished a whole carton of strawberries after dinner. i did a 10 minute belly dancing workout and it was a lot of fun. i finished part two of my book writing process and successfully outlined my book. i drank a bottle of kombucha (strawberry flavored) and i did a winx club inspired workout challenge this morning. i drank a green probiotic drink.

OVERVIEW :

i achieved my january goals of prioritizing my health and have made regular movement a habit. i've been so DILIGENT and consistent and im so so so PROUD of myself. i treat my body with love and CARE and i show my body love through what i eat → what i do → and how i speak about my body. on a scale of 1-10 the month of january's productivity was a (8/10)

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americas1suiteheart · 7 months

Text

Sick Days

[Lemon and Tangerine x GN! Reader (Platonic) ]

[Summary; You've worked with the twins for years now, and whilst they are sharp and get things done rather well, they do have a tendancy to constantly get eachother, including you, sick.]

[Notes; Sorry I haven't been very active. I promise I'll get to those asks soon but this popped into my head and I just really needed to write a full fic.]

[Warnings; Some cursing and mentions of taking over the counter medicine.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

"Achoo!"

"Bloody fuckin'-hell mate, cover your fuckin' mouth when you sneeze," Tangerine scoffs.

The three of you have been sick since your last mission in Bolivia, you're assuming that one of the twins got coughed on or something, because as always--they were the first to get ill.

And just as always, you were the ones to take care of them at first until you finally got ill.

The first week was horrible.

Tangerine's constant bitching and moaning about how he wanted to be back on missions but still complaining about how he felt like shit, that his nose and body hurt, how his throat was sore, and how terrible of a headache he had. Then he would be upset that Lemon was sitting down bundled up on the couch watching Thomas and Friends and how he wouldn't let Tangerine watch his West Ham game on the television.

Lemon wasn't as bad as Tangerine when it came to getting sick though. Lemon only complained once or twice, every now and then but it wasn't constant. Lemon would only ask if you could bring him a pot of tea if you weren't too busy and maybe some blankets. He was content and hell, he'd even admit happy that he didn't have to go on missions for a few weeks.

And then you got sick.

So now its just been constant sneezing, coughing, sniffling, and groaning. The amount of tissues and tea the three of you have been going through is insane, and you're still the one doing medicine runs.

"Piss off mate, I'll do whatever the fuck I want," Lemon says after blowing his nose.

"If either one of you bicker and babble to eachother again I will personally shoot the both of you in the face," You groan.

You hear a grumble and mutter from Tangerine but don't bother with him because it'll only worsen your already terrible migraine.

You walk to the kitchen, grabbing your favourite mug along with some clove and ginger tea, popping the teabag in and pouring the hot water you had just boiled over it into the mug.

"You did it wrong," Tangerine says, a look of annoyance on his face.

"I'm really not in the mood for your bullshit Tan. If you want it done right then you make it yourself you prick," You bite back, proceeding to the living area.

You walk to the couch Lemon was sitting on, one of his legs taking up the whole couch.

Once he looks away from the television and sees you, he removes his leg and opens up the blankets he was under, inviting you to sit with him in his cozy spot, to which you gladly accept.

You sit comfortably next to Lemon, handing him your mug so he can set it down on the tissue covered side table. I'll have to clean that up later, you thought to yourself.

"Feeling any better, y/n?" Lemon asks.

"Sort of. I've still got a god awful headache and my nose is still runny, but its better than I was a couple days ago so the medicine is working at least. How about you?"

"I'm still stuffy but its beginning to slow down now, I'm glad this bloody thing is starting to bug off already," Lemon replies.

"It's my turn on the telly, let me watch th- Achoo! Fuckin' hell!" Tangerine says, a twinge of annoyance in his voice as he complains like a child.

You and Lemon look at eachother, sighing and deciding to let Tangerine watch his game so he stops whining.

"Fine, but only if you promise to stop bitching, okay?" You say, handing Tangerine the television remote and scooting closer to Lemon to make room for him to sit with you two.

"Hey Tan, who's playing West Ham?" Lemon asks, voice still slightly hoarse.

"Man City today, tomorrow its Brentford. Why?" Tangerine responds, eyes glued to the television as he switches it to the correct channel.

Lemon looks at you with a look on his face, then back at Tangerine.

"No reason in particular,"

Manchester City just so happened to be your favourite team. The last time Man City was against West Ham, Man City won. You also happened to be watching the game with the twins that day, and let's just say that Tangerine was not happy that his team had lost and you were happy over it.

It'd been a few years since that game, but you have a feeling that Tangerine would end up being worse than the last time if Man City won again.

Sure, you like it when your team wins, but as of right now you would much prefer it if West Ham won so that way Tangerine doesn't act like a complete bellend. He's easier to anger and agitate now that he's ill.

You all sat on the couch watching the game. Cheers erupted from Tangerine and Lemon whenever West Ham got the ball or made a goal, then a groan of annoyance from Tangerine whenever Man City got the ball or made a goal.

So far it was a 3 - 3 tie with just 3 minutes left of the game, and Tangerine was getting more and more agitated every time Man City took the ball from West Ham.

Once again, Man City taking the ball, then the referee calling over a player and showing them a red card, giving West Ham a free kick for the players offense.

West Ham has the ball now, a free kick. There are 2 minutes left in the game and if they make this shot then the chances of them winning the game are high.

"Bowen takes a free kick, OH MY WORD! A DIRECT FREE KICK GIVING WEST HAM 4 POINTS TOTAL! WHAT A GOAL!"

Cheers and a few coughs come from both Lemon and Tangerine, smiles on their faces. Regardless of their heights, facial hair, voices, jobs even, they still act like children sometimes in both good and bad ways and it makes you smile.

Those last few minutes pass and the game ends, a 4 - 3 score with West Ham beating Manchester City, more cheers erupt from the twins, dopey smiles plastered onto their faces.

Tangerine gets up from the couch to go do something for a minute, leaving you and Lemon sitting on the couch together.

"That was a good game eh? Man City is pretty good too, I'm surprised we even won," Lemon says to you, covering himself back up with the blanket he was sharing with you.

"Great game really! I'm a little bummed though I will admit, but honestly one loss is better than Tan being a prick the entire day," You roll your eyes.

You get up from your cozy spot on the couch and head to the kitchen island, which had a plethora of medicines, syrups, a humidifier, and assortments of teas.

Cough syrup, Tylenol tablets, throat soothing sleepytime tea, chamomile tea, lemon scented vapor rub, allergy syrup, and a new, unopened three pack of tissue boxes.

You groan at the thought of having to drink the terrible tasting allergy and cough syrup again.

"Lem! Tan! Have you guys taken your medicines yet?" You call out to the twins, seeing as Tangerine had just returned to the living area.

Groans emit from the both of them as you give a light chuckle.

The two walk to you, tangerine grabbing the three cups for the syrups, all of your names on one of them to designate which belonged to who.

You pour the cough syrup into your cup at the 120 ml line, holding your nose as you down it to try and get rid of some of the taste, then doing the same with allergy medicine. You open the bottle of Tylenol, grabbing two of the tablets and popping them into your mouth.

You take a gulp of water from your glass then wipe your mouth.

"I'm gonna go into my room and nap, take one of these tissue boxes with you," You say, opening the pack and grabbing a box of tissues for yourself to have.

You walk to your room, opening the door and placing the tissues onto your bedside table, taking one out and blowing your nose, then tossing it into your small trashcan.

You lay in your bed, covering yourself with your blankets and sinking into your mattress.

God I hope I feel better soon.

You fall into a slumber, happy to be resting after nothing but bickering and loud cheers all day.

•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•

Sorry this took a little longer, I wasn't really planning to post it two days ago but tumblr freaked out and did it anyway even though it still wasn't finished, but it is now! I'm trying to post these fics more often and hopefully be more consistent about it. Requests are still currently closed and I'll try to get to the ones that were sent months ago.

#tangerine bullet train #lemon bullet train #aaron taylor johnson #lemon x reader #tangerine x reader #brian tyree henry #fluff #gender neutral reader #bullet train 2022 #bullet train #atj #atj x reader #brian tyree henry x reader

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pin3-vin3 · 1 year

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I've had enough of vanilla and rain and smoke and whatever the FUCK sandalwood is. Here are some uncommonly used scents I've encountered and enjoyed in this life

Fresh clean laundry

Leather

Wood

Paper (old or new)

Sugarcane

Honey

Ginger

Straw

Rosin

Cocoa

Dough

Oats

Herbs (maybe not just mint bc her back is TIRED with how much she carries in here)

Any of the holy hard spices. Not just cinnamon‐ but also anise, clove, nutmeg, AND the savory queens like paprika and cardamom

Root vegetables (Listen. Listen. They're all good and unique and tasty and you need to hear me out on this)

Also since things like candles, incense, soaps, candies and teas can come in many different flavors/scents but will always have some underlying scent from their base material attached to them, they make for good layered/complex scents

This is more of a pet peeve than anything but an easy way to make up cooler scents is to just. Be specific. Especially if your starting idea is super broad. "she smelled like trees" pick a tree "they smelled like bread/pastries" pick one "he smelled like flowers" I'm telling you the are so many unique— and maybe even symbolic if that's your plan— flowers at your disposal rn

NOTHING wrong with these scent choices they're all good and I love them dearly but. I can only read about so many flower boys before I go a little crazy. The world has too many amazing scents for us to be running the one okay scent of general flowers into the ground

#i didn't add the less pleasant ones like plastic (sometimes) and gas and oil and chemicals #or harsher savory ones like cheese and curry powder and meat #but if I'm being honest. someone'd prolly smells like that honestly..... 7 billion of us and all #so sorry timmy ended up smelling like ranch. can't b helped 😞#omegaverse #alpha beta omega #a/b/o #omegaverse scents #omegaverse headcanons #pine.txt #pine.omegaverse

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ubejamjar · 2 months

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B A S I C S

Name: Ajisai Kawanami

Nicknames:

Aji - Thancred and Alisaie

Aj (not AJ) - Aymeric occasionally in private frequently if they are both inebriated

Little star - Parents. Ajisai uses this as an endearment for children.

Age: Early 30s

Nameday: 7th Sun of the Sixth Astral Moon

Race: Raen Au Ra

Gender: Female

Orientation: Bisexual

Profession: Healer, Warrior of Light

P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

Hair: Naturally straight and deep blue, with lavender at the ends. She keeps it short as a matter of practicality and she doesn’t really know how to care for long hair. It grew out between Heavensward and Stormblood but she cut it just before going to that first meeting in Gridania.

Some kids taught her how to braid and she’s been doing it ever since.

Eyes: Orange-citrine with black limbal rings

Skin: Copper, think Southeast Asian; her scales are white

Tattoos/scars: Ajisai has many, many scars that she keeps covered because she wants to look respectable. One does not simply live a life as a soldier, pirate, and hero and avoid scars. I haven’t decided exactly what scars she has because I haven’t looked into putting them on her.

F A M I L Y

Parents:

-> Kana Kawanami Mother, samurai, former rice farmer and sake brewer, Doman Resistance Fighter.

Currently: Alive and fighting on the Gyr Abanian border under Lord Hien’s command.

-> Tatsuo Kawanami Father, geomancer, former rice farmer and sake brewer, conscripted Imperial healer, presumed dead.

Currently: Alive in Dalmasca (maybe?)

Siblings: None, though she thinks of Lyse, Alphinaud and Alisaie as her little brother and sisters. She adores Thancred as a brother, Y’shtola as an sister.

Grandparents: Murasaki Grandparents: Samurai who lived in Monzen; Kana's estranged parents. They died fighting in the rebellion. They never knew that Kana married, had a child, and lived in Namai.

Takemura: A priest at Shisui who raised Tatsuo as his own son. He was old already when Tatsuo was a child and long dead by present day.

In-laws and Other: The Fortemps: She treats them as extended family though their relationships are complicated. Despite Edmont's fondness for her, Ajisai feels he still holds her responsible for Haurchefant's death.

She is unmarried and unattached though she has romantic feelings for Aymeric (which I wrote an essay about)

Pets: None at the moment

S K I L L S

Abilities: Marksmanship - Great with a gun; refuses to use one ever again

Field Medicine - Aside from her healing magic and botanical knowledge, she is trained in Garlean combat surgery.

Life Sketching - Likes to draw everything she sees in her journals. She carries two at any given time -- one is personal, the other is meant as a gift for Aymeric but who knows if she’ll ever actually give it to him because she wrote a love letter in there.

Hobbies: Reading, specifically books about law and history; astromancy and divination; tea making; drawing; talking entirely too much to strangers; ruin diving; research into ancient civilizations

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: Compassion She genuinely cares about the people around her— she wants to do the most good she can do for as many people as she can. It isn’t just about penance, she likes seeing people happy and well.

Most Negative Trait Healing Hubris After years of harsh study and field training, Ajisai believes herself to be the best healer to the point she will not trust other people to heal herself, her companions, or loved ones. She spirals whenever she’s forced to confront the possibility someone might be beyond her abilities (like Haurchefant)

L I K E S

Colors: Summer sky blue, plum purple, lavender

Smells: Cinnamon and clove, sugared pecans, vanilla lavender, freshly baked cookies, pine needles, campfire smoke

Textures: Rough paper, plush blankets, river smooth stones, soft fur

Drinks: Ishgardian tea, hot cocoa, warm milk with honey and cinnamon

O T H E R D E T A I L S

Smokes: Only to be social

Drinks: Only drinks with Aymeric or alone. She drank heavily after the Vault, along with her sleeping potion use.

Drugs: Used sleeping potions to force herself to sleep and was considering using more… illicit substances to numb the pain before she started napping in the Congregation.

Mount Issuance: Story-wise, Ajisai didn’t join a Grand Company. She just.. wouldn’t leave one military to join another. She took porters and aetherytes until she got Pillion from Haurchefant. She calls him Pillion because Haurchefant said she could ‘ride pillion’, not realizing ‘pillion’ referred to the passenger behind the rider.

Been Arrested: Yes, probably for disturbing the peace in Limsa. Many tavern brawl taken too far, maybe some petty theft and other minor crimes before she got her shit together.

Tagged by: @paintedscales ❤️

Dragging these people into getting arrested with Ajisai: @oh-yeah-no @otherworldseekers @corsair-kovacs @amalthea-felsblood @thewitchofelpis @thevikingwoman @disciple-of-frost @viiioca @sasslett @gatheredfates @pumpkinmagekupo @starres-stuff @khaiens @aislingsurrow

If you were already tagged, consider yourself double-tagged or triple-tagged or—

#tag game #ajisaijar

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ctitan98official · 4 months

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What each RE8 lady smells like

Okay, yes there have been jokes going around about Alcina smelling like lavender and the girls reeking of blood and death, but… These are my head canons for how I think they smell. Let’s get into it!

Alcina:

Definitely wears very nice perfume in my opinion. Not too much, just a very light spritz of it.

I also think she might smell like roses. She does wear three of them on her dress, so… Why not? Plus, it does seem pretty romantic.

She obviously does smell a bit like cigarette smoke, but I don’t think it would be too overwhelming. Just a hint of it.

She might also have the faintest scent of alcohol on her because of how much wine she drinks. She does run a winery too so that might have something to do with it.

Donna:

I think Donna smells like flowers.

She loves to garden and tend to plants so it makes sense that she would smell of them.

I also think she smells like fresh herbs and delicious Italian food when she cooks.

She loves to read, so I think she also smells of books and paper. She probably likes to sit in a cozy nook nestled in between a pile of old books and the smell just kind of surrounds her. It’s pleasant and not overpowering.

She might also smell like cedar and other woods when she’s working on dolls.

Miranda:

I don’t think Miranda wears perfume. She finds it distracting.

I think that you can often smell the faint burn of antiseptic on her after she has finished her work in the lab.

She also loves to drink tea, so I think she might have a slight herbal smell like old grey or white tea.

Her home also smells of different kinds of tea and it kind of just clings to her.

Maybe she smells like traditional Romanian dishes when she cooks.

She is very obsessed with hygiene and cleaning, so I think that she would also smell of light soaps.

Bela:

Like her mother, I think Bela wears nice perfumes.

For some reason, she strikes me as smelling of vanilla and warm spices like cinnamon.

Basically, anything in chai tea: Cloves, cardamom, cinnamon, star anise… You get the picture.

She smells like fall. Just very comforting scents. However, I don’t think she smells like apples or pumpkin. I just don’t get that vibe.

I think that she also might smell of old parchment and books considering how much time she spends in the library.

Cassandra:

Cass loves to be outside and go exploring. I think she would smell very earthy.

She smells like the forest, so maybe she has a pine tree scent going on?

I also think that she smells like freshly fallen rain. It’s an invigorating scent and it’s kind of refreshing.

I think she would like crisp and clean smells, so I think that she likes the smell of peppermint.

Obviously, with how much time she spends in the dungeon, that musky aroma starts clinging to her after being down there for a while. But I think she likes to freshen up once she’s done so she can kind of keep that part of her life distanced.

Daniela:

I think that Dani has a very sweet scent, like sugar cookies or birthday cake. It matches her personality.

I think she also wears perfume, but she likes to steal Bela’s and wear it instead of the ones that Alcina gave her.

She is so bright and happy. I think she might also smell like citrus or other summery scents.

Maybe a hint of cocoa butter. I think she likes to moisturize and keep her skin healthy.

Dani likes to soak and take nice long baths. As far as how she smells right after freshening up, it depends on what soaps she has available, but she’s not picky.

Masterlist

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pininghermit · 9 months

Note

This is a long ask but I got inspired 🌟

(This takes place after symphony of the night, where Alucard met reader fighting in the castle and he chooses to not go back to his eternal rest because s/o's sass stole his heart)

Alucard who treats his butch female darling like a princess, like tying her shoes,kissing the back of her hand, tending to her every need and fetching her coat and what not without ever needing to be asked.

Alucard who finds himself wanting to spend all his time with his s/o, wanting to brush there teeth together, cook together...

Alucard who's fiercely protective, even though his s/o can defend themselves just fine but he can't risk losing her, whether it be in death or someone stealing her away.

Whenever s/o is in a room, People needn't look to hard to find Alucard, her personal guard dog.

People don't understand how s/o can have someone who was so cold and aloof wrapped around her finger, truth be told, she doesn't either. What with how when they first met she had told him off for his attitude,(someone likes a gal who takes no sh*t and could kick his ass (0w0))

Sorry for such a delayed response! I suck I know :( but I hope you enjoy it (if you still linger here)

Ohohoho Alucard being whipped for his OP wife *sips tea in pleasure*

He knows you can kick ass. You could be an MMA fighter but you are his precious soft person and how dare anyone even look weird at you.

Annon you are so right with description that I cannot stop thinking about this. Just the gentleness of his every action *i'm soft*.

He will pull a Hua Cheng and not let you step on bloodied/dirty ground. Princess carry you from the mess that very much originated from your actions.

Perfectly peeled apples, crust less sandwiches to challenging people to duel for your honor, this boi is whipped.

In a life where you have been a strong daughter, a brave sister, an enduring captain of guard, only Alucard sees you devoid of the narratives that people have attached to you.

And in the world that sings songs of your valor, you can't help but be swayed by the Dhampir who sees you his beloved. Just you.

Maybe if it were your family, your mentor, or anyone else you would have steeled your heart and avoided the warmth of comfort but with Adrian...you don't. You allow yourself to mellow under his care. To be spoiled with his actions.

"Here all set," you watch Adrian kneel infront of you. The warmth of knitted wool surrounds your kneecap. "Now you won't feel chill even during the hardiest of patrols," your beloved smiles as his hands readjust your pants.

The chill of forest had never bothered you. Crouching for hours as you tracked targets had been a regular task that you did not think twice before taking on. To everyone including you, it was an integral part of your duty.

But Adrian...he knew you better than yourself. The slight stiffness of your knee had been a fleeting annoyance you got rid off with regular warmups.

Yet, it did not escape his notice. Only when you prepared to leave for another patrol did your beloved lead you to a well loved chaise and gently pulled up your trouser.

"Wha-" you wanted to ask him. Bit could not complete your sentence before he took a knitted warmer and wrapped it around your scarred knee.

The warmth of Adrian's touch enveloped your knee. "I scented it with cloves so it would reduce inflammation in case cold triggers pain." Holding his hands in yours, you lean in resting your forehead on his.

Maybe you did not need looking after. You certainly can do without it but you want it when it comes from Adrian. You treasure it. All your beloved's pampering makes you more than a captain or a legend. "Thank you," you whisper it feels blasphemous to be any louder in the moment.

Your hands cup his face and you memorize him with the sincerity of pious morning prayers. Every moment spent without him would pass on the merit of your memories.

Your lips meet his in a kiss. Gratitude, love, and yearning you pour it all in that one parting kiss.

#alucard #castlevania #alucard x reader #adrian tepes #adrian tepes x reader #asks #hermit yearns #seriously this is projecting #house husband au

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esoteric-chaos · 8 months

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Winter Solstice Masterpost - Spoonie Witch Friendly

The Winter Solstice typically lands around December 21st in the Northern Hemisphere (June 21st for the Southern Hemisphere).

Celebrates the arrival of the longest night, and the light returning after that.

The Winter Solstice is celebrated throughout history in many cultures. Traditional customs such as the burning of the symbolic log, the decorated tree, and wassailing.

Correspondences

Colours

Dark Green

Orange

Red

Gold and silver

White

Black

Blue

Herbal

Bay

Blessed Thistle

Frankincense

Chamomile

Peppermint

Rosemary

Lemongrass

Myrrh

Ginger

Cinnamon

Cardamom

Cloves

Nutmeg

Saffron

Pine

Cedar

Holly

Mistletoe

Cypress

Edibles

Citrus Fruits (oranges, lemons, limes, grapefruit, etc)

Root Vegetables

Baked goods

Roasted meat

Nuts

Dried Fruit

Stews

Soups

Pomegranates

Gingerbread

Cinnamon or berry breads, cookies, cakes, etc

Solstice log (edible version)

Cranberries

Apples

Eggnog

Hot chocolate

Mulled wine

Wassail

Mead

Spiced apple cider

Tea

Coffee

Animals

Deer

Bear

Goat

Reindeer

Robins

Pig

Cow

Goose

Owl

Fox

Squirrel

Any animal that hibernates

Crystals

Ruby

Orange calcite

Garnet

Amethyst

Clear quartz

Gold

Emerald

Diamond

Bloodstone

Green Calcite

Spiritual meanings & intentions

Rest

Goal setting

Gratitude

Peace

Beginning

Renewal

Kindness

Ritual

shadow work

Rumination and reflection

Self-care

Personal development

Divination work

Rejuvenation

Healing

Embracing the darkness

Solitude

Slumber

Celebrating with family and loved ones

Need some suggestions to celebrate? I got you covered.

High energy celebrations

Feasting with the folk

Homestead decoration

Creation of a symbolic log (to eat or burn)

Making a wreath

Volunteer/charity work

Creation of a solstice altar

Decorating a solstice tree

Renewal ritual

Low energy celebrations

Snow water

Making herbal fire starters

Lighting a candle for ancestors

Singing/humming

Mug cakes or easy bake cookies

No spoon celebrations

Thanking/writing gratitude

Company of loved ones

Eating premade desserts

Listening to music

How you celebrate the holiday does not matter. You can choose to do any activity that feels right. These are only suggestions and remember that you’re enough no matter what.

#Winter Solstice #winter solstice celebration #Winter Solstice correspondences #Winter Solstice magic #chronic illness #witchcraft #witch #spoonie witch #Wheel of the Year #sabbats #spoonie magic #pagan holidays

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silver-ink-iron-words · 1 year

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Hey there, my hiatus is over

I realize I promised to have this up a couple weeks ago, but hey at least I'm here now

Hope you all like it. And thank you so much for these messages, they really helped motivate me in the periods where I was struggling to write

----

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

A Bird in the Hand, Part 8

The civilian hobbled about the kitchen in full view of the windows, collecting cardamoms, cloves, tea leaves, ginger – before dumping them into the pot to brew. The sight was peaceful, soothing, domestic.

The assassin raised his gun and took aim.

“[Civilian]!” The villain burst into the room grinning from ear to ear. The assassin’s aim swerved, and he halted his momentum just before firing the gun.

“Welcome home, darling,” the civilian said, holding out a cup of tea for the villain.

The villain took the cup and placed it on the counter, instead taking the civilian into their arms. “God it’s been a day. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of seeing you.”

The assassin paused. The villain wasn’t supposed to be home yet. He’d lost his clean line of sight on the civilian.

The villain was too strong to kill – their shadows healed them at lightning speed. But targeting the civilian? What a perfect way to strike the Achilles Heel of the villain’s entire operation.

The assassin tilted his head, and watched the pair. The villain held the civilian securely, the two of them practically melting into each other. The civilian sang softly, and they both floated as a single unit in the gentle river of a melody.

The assassin once again had a clear shot on the civilian. He considered taking it despite the risk, just on the mere principle of seeing two people so happily in love while his home city burned.

But he paused. He thought he’d caught a detail, a little movement. And while it was possible he was projecting, years of bitter work in this business had taught him to trust his instincts.

When the villain first walked through the door, the assassin could’ve sworn he saw the civilian flinch.

---

“What are you getting out of this?” the assassin asked.

To the civilian’s credit, they didn’t scream. The assassin could see them tense, coiled and ready for a mad dash back to the house. But at least they didn’t scream.

The assassin jumped down from the tree, close enough to be a threat to the civilian but far enough still to remain out of the sight of any henchmen. He noted the civilian’s muddy gloves, their kneeling posture, the tall yellow flowers they’d been carefully pruning piled next to them in the grass.

“Like to garden?” the assassin said.

“Who are you?”

The assassin was disappointed, a little bit. His targets – the ones he actually spoke to – always asked the mundane questions. They were never perceptive enough to understand that all the “why”s and “how”s and “where did you come from”s would go unanswered. He’d sort of hoped that someone like the civilian would be different.

“I’m someone with an interest in saving lives,” he said “Now, since I like you, I'll ask again. What are you getting out of this?”

Evidently, the civilian was the expressive type. Their eyes flicked to their trowel, then the surrounding gardens, and lastly to the house some hundred meters away, never realizing how each movement of their retinas projected their thoughts to the assassin.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” they said finally.

The assassin leaned against the tree. It was a deceptive stance in which he looked relaxed and unthreatening, but could spring into action at a hair-breadth’s notice.

“One day, [Hero] is at the top of their game," he began. "The next day, main street is nothing but craters. And then some two-bit villain that no one remembers suddenly becomes god of the city." He crouched down to meet the civilian’s gaze. "Makes you wonder if there isn't a puppeteer somewhere, holding strings."

The civilian blinked. “Did you come up with that on your own, or is that the commonly held belief about me?"

“Are you saying you didn’t shack up with [Villain] willfully?”

The look of revulsion that crossed the civilian’s face said it all. The assassin’s grin widened. He loved being proven right.

“Okay.” He stood up, dusting off his pants, and held his hand out to the civilian. “Let’s go.”

The civilian glanced between the assassin’s hand and his face. “You can’t be serious.”

“Didn’t you hear my bit about saving lives?” He reached for the civilian, but they lurched away.

“Listen,” the civilian said. They slowly rose, their bad leg making it awkward. “You do not understand what is going on here. If I disappear, [Villain] will look for me.”

“Most villains do,” the assassin agreed. “Feels nice to be wanted, don’t it?” He took a careful step towards the civilian, but again they moved back.

“You’re not listening. [Villain] will kill you.”

The assassin shrugged. He leaned forward a tiny bit more.

“Help!” the civilian yelled. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, both equally surprised by the civilian's outburst. The civilian took in a breath. Then, louder, “Help please!”

The assassin was gone long before the guards even entered the gardens.

---

The civilian was a decent actor. The assassin had to give them that.

The couple went about their evening routine like usual – a warm welcome home, dinner, an after-meal tea, and then finally cuddling. The villain’s head rested on the civilian’s chest and the civilian read a paperback, all while Sinatra played on an old record in the other room. The assassin might have even bought it, if the civilian had turned the page of their book once within the last forty-five minutes.

“I would like to discuss something,” the villain said, their eyes still closed.

The civilian’s expression twinged. “Hm?”

The villain opened their eyes, and adjusted so that they were looking the civilian in the face. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“Of course.”

“And do you love me too?”

“Of course.”

The villain smiled, and that almost seemed like it would be the end of it. But then their hand went to the civilian’s jaw, shadows emanating from their fingertips. “So then why did my henchmen see you talking with a stranger in the gardens this afternoon?”

The civilian’s eyes widened. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, I know what it is.” The villain’s shadows warped out like talons, and the civilian jerked back in pain.

“I don’t know who that person was. I wasn’t trying to leave.” The civilian’s voice was strained. “I love you too much to ever do that.”

“My dear, if only I could believe you.” The villain held the civilian down in their writhing. They leaned in until their faces were nearly touching. “What will you do to prove you are willing to stay?”

“Whatever you want. I – ” The shadows entered the civilian’s throat, choking them and cutting off their words. Tears sprang to the civilian’s eyes.

“Come now, love.” The villain lifted the civilian in their arms. “I need to show you what happens when you let your affections stray.”

And then, just before the villain reached the door, they stumbled. The movement was awkward and wobbly – one moment they were striding confidently across the room and the next their knees were on the ground. The civilian dropped to the floor with a yelp.

The villain grasped their head as though in pain. All their shadows had evaporated. "What? . . ."

“Holy fuck,” the civilian said, scrambling backwards. “Holy fuck it worked.”

The villain jerked their gaze up. “What did you do?”

The civilian burst out laughing.

"[Civilian]!" The villain tried to move forward but swooned, only just catching themself with their arms outstretched.

“Angel’s trumpet,” the civilian said, struggling to get their laughter under control. Their wild eyes went to the empty mugs on the table. “Brugmansia candida. Symptoms include difficulty with speech, delirium –” their gaze slid back to the villain, “– and paralysis. I’ve been told it also makes for a rather delicious tea.”

The assassin’s memory flashed to the tall yellow flowers the civilian had been pruning.

“You – ” The villain tried to stand up, but collapsed down again on their knees. “I’m going to kill you.”

“I doubt it.” The civilian rose from the floor wearing a triumphant grin, and limped to the opposite wall. “You never seemed quite unhinged enough to destroy your own power source.” They opened a closet door and pulled out a backpack.

"What are you doing?" the villain asked, their voice hitched in fear.

"Leaving, of course." The civilian went to the kitchen cabinets and threw in supplies. They returned and slung the bag over their shoulders. "As much as I want to stick around and see if I brewed enough to kill you, I best get going. I'll say one thing though." They leaned down and grabbed the villain's chin. "You repulse me, [Villain]. And I never once loved you."

"I will find you." The villain's limbs began shaking as they watched the civilian move away. "It will take mere weeks. Days, even! I don't care how much of this city I have to destroy."

The civilian's footsteps paused.

The villain's words quickened, growing eager. "That's right, [Civilian]. I will ruin this city. Stay here and you save countless lives. Mothers, children, innocent people who –"

The civilian strode back and kicked the villain in the chest. "You try anything like that, and I'm killing myself."

The assassin watched with growing respect as the civilian limped out the front door, the villain screaming their name all along the way.

-----

Taglist:

@d-cs , @asrasmysoulmate

#civilian x villain #villain x civilian #villain #hero #villains and heroes #heroes and villains #whump snippet #whumpblr #whump drabble #whump writing #writeblr #writing snippet #captivity #before any botany peeps come for me #I know this is a mischaracterization of the symptoms of angel's trumpet #but creative liberties and whatnot #seriously though don't fuck with angel's trumpet unless you want to visit the hospital #not a prompt

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