#it instantly squashed the quality

[lemmetreatya]

Maybe It’s Foreboding (Or Not) — Miguel x fem!Reader

word count: 1.9k 

content: no extreme warnings, modern au, fem!reader, reader uses female pronouns, reader commutes to work by train, reader knows basic spanish, hc that miguel speaks both irish and spanish — and that he’s irish on his father’s side (idk if this is correct or not), use of petnames, id say miguel is a bit ooc — but hes not — he just doesn’t have all that canon trauma going on sjsksk

FINALLY DID SOMETHING OF GOOD QUALITY FOR ONCE????? had to get back on my shit yktfv!!! also psa for the translations — i do not speak fluent spanish and not a lick of irish so please!! if there’s anything incorrect/needs changing, dont be afraid to tell me!! hope you enjoy ❤️❤️

Your usual commute to work was barely ever eventful. It mostly consisted of you getting onto your train — hoping you’d get a seat — and feeling despondent every time you noticed no seats were available. 

Which was expected: You had to use a busy train in order to get to work on time. Any earlier and you’d have to wonder around your office’s surroundings to waste time and any later would have you clocking in late. 

This timed train was so much more convenient for pace but it just never granted you those graceful minutes to sit down. 

But alas, you stuck with it, because what else was there to complain about? The trains weren’t too full so it didn’t mean you were squashed like packed sardines and it was relatively quiet due to most passengers being too mellow at this time of morning to make any lucrative noise. 

“Sorry, Miss.” 

At first, you ignored the deep sounding words, assuming they could have been for anyone. But then a soft tap bounced just over your thigh and so you looked down to see what the disturbance was. 

Looking up at you was a man with focused eyes. He wore a plain black suit with matching trousers. His white shirt had two buttons undone and he wore no tie. You couldn’t help but noticed how tossled his hair was. Clearly he was on his way to some type of occupation.

“Would you like to sit down?” He asks. 

“Oh! I…”

You lean off from the pole you were supporting yourself on and adjust your bag on your soldier. Maybe this man was pitying you because you looked tired. You honestly weren’t and were genuinely just being comfortable, but you guess your lax composure compelled this reaction from him. 

“No. Sorry, I was just being lazy. I’m fine, you don’t need to give up your seat for me.” 

You shake your head and deny his request but the man continually persists. He was already starting to get up from his seat. 

“No, en serio, sit.” He moved his briefcase over with his foot. “Can’t have a pretty lady like you standing now, can we?”

And it’s not like you agreed; Flattery of any kind from a stranger was always met with caution, but concerning he was going out of his way to give you a seat, you guess it’d be rude to deny it. 

“Oh…How kind.” You stagnantly laugh. 

The man took your place from before, now standing over you as he held onto the pole. He placed his briefcase between his feet. As you finally sit down and change your bag from your arm to your lap, you look up at the man with a grateful smile.

“Thank you.” 

He only smiles at you acutely before offering you a curt nod. That was the only interaction you had the whole ride before you got off at your stop and made your way to work. 

The next time you see the man isn’t until two days after the first ordeal and towards the end of the week. 

He sees you before you see him, regarding he boarded the train sometime before you, and instantly flags you over.

“Miss!”

Weirdly, his call made you smile, and you pot on over, not expecting much. 

“You really don’t have to.” You try as he gets up and out of his seat. He’s however already shaking his head. 

“Don’t be silly. I already told you why you do so I don’t wanna hear anymore complaining.”

With rolled lips, you nod as you meekly sit down. Having an abash austere about you, you struggle to look up at him as you speak. 

“Thank you. It’s very kind of you.” 

“No need for thanks.” 

You wait several seconds before looking up to give him a communal look of gratitude but you find he’s already looking down at you. You find difficultly baring his coarse stare and so you look back down at your lap. 

Throughout the ride, you can’t help but notice how his leg kept innocently brushing against yours. 

Once again, no more words were shared between you and like before, you get up and leave for your stop once it comes. 

“You know how this goes.”

This is about the sixth time the man has offered his seat up for you, and quite frankly you do know how it goes, but it just never seems like a good enough reason to therefore take his seat. 

“Señor.” You muse with a light smile as you board the train. “You really don’t have to.” 

“Oh, but I really do. Come. Sit.”

The man is already out of the seat, hand widely displaying towards it — it’s yours. 

Despite the seatless train, most people know by now not to sit in it’s stead. The man himself is tall and wide enough to deter anyone from trying, but most reoccurring passengers know the deal as well as you do.

As you take your seat, the man smiles down at you. His smiles have gotten a lot warmer over the various interactions. Per usual, he places his briefcase down near your feet and brush his knees with yours. You believe it’s going to be another wordless journey but the man opens his mouth, closes it, before saying: 

“And please, call me Miguel.” 

He jogs your knee with his, so you were aware it was you he was talking to, but you still looked up at him with a slight expression of confusion. For some reason, it was as if moths — the Night’s Butterfly — were flitting around within the neck of your stomach. 

“Sorry?”

He sighs out of his nose. It was not out of annoyance, but as if he too was experiencing some emotions of nervousness. The man however had enough confidence to look down at you and attempt to gain your gaze. 

“As opposed to señor, call me Miguel.” 

Your mouth lets out a small ‘ah’.

“Miguel.” You repeat. 

So his name was Miguel. 

It suited him, and made slight sense concerning he seemed to know Spanish well, but even more so because it was as if he had metamorphosed right in front of you. It wasn’t a physical change, but being able to put a name to a face definitely altered your perception of him. It was as if he’d become more human. 

With a soft hum, you look up at him with an inquisitive contort. 

“Miguel.” You taste his name in his mouth once more. “Is that what you’d like me to call you or is that your actual, real, government name?” 

The man’s expression was unreadable. 

“Well, what do you think?”

You shrug, unsure why he’s asked the question, but you give your answer anyways. 

“I’d think it’d be kinda stupid for you to give your government name to a stranger on the train. So I’m guessing it’s a nickname or at least a pseudo one.” 

Miguel’s eyes clip towards the moving view behind you, before training back onto your face. 

“Looks like I’m kinda stupid then.” 

You pause, register what he’s said, and then let out a tinkling laugh as you shake your head meticulously. Miguel chuckles a few seconds after you, and he can’t help watching you as he does so. 

There’s a pause. 

“I’m not much of a stranger anymore though, right? We’re more acquaintances than anything.” He tries. 

“But Miguel, you don’t even know my name.”

“Only because you haven’t told me.” He shrugs.

This is the most quick-fire that he’s ever been but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying it. 

“You want my government name or the pseudo one?” You muse. 

“It’s only fair that you give me the government one.” He catches himself before adding more gently, “Only if you’re comfortable doing so and kinda stupid like me.”

Once again, you can’t help the smile that braces your mouth. You tell him your name, the government one, and Miguel knocks your knees together in concur. 

“Ah. Hermosa nombre por una hermosa dama.” [1]

He says, and regardless of whether you understood or not, you knew what he was getting at. If his words didn’t convince you then it was the silky look of— admiration? That gave him away. 

Your cheeks heated, and your head dipped. All you could force out was a humble Thank You. 

“Where I’m from, we have this saying.” 

Miguel angles his breakfast snacks in your direction and you wordlessly take a small handful. 

Surprisingly, your usual train was a lot quieter this morning. Maybe it was due to school holidays season, but there was enough space for you and Miguel to both have a seat. Your journey so far had been non-stop chatter. 

“Más í an ceann í, beidh a fhios ag do chroí sula ndéanann tú.” [2] He reprises wisely. 

It wasn’t Spanish, and you knew Miguel spoke Irish (“That old bastard was only good for one thing.”), so the translation was pretty much lost on you. 

“Is that so?” You say with a hum and a crunch. 

Miguel is also crunching on some of his snack, palm covering his mouth as he chucks the small pebbles towards the back of his throat before he’s shaking his head. 

“Nope, that was a complete fucking lie. No such saying exists like that, I just made it up on the spot.” Miguel leaves room for you to let out a burst of laughter. “But, if it was a saying, I’d live by it like it was gospel.”

Shaking your head, you finish the portion of snacks that were in your mouth before you reply. 

“Maybe you should paten it then. Make sure no one else gets the chance in saying it’s the gospel they wrote.” 

“Maybe I should patent it…” Miguel echoes to himself with a deep laugh. “Yeah, maybe I should.” 

The both of you lull into a comfortable silence. The sort of silence you could fall into with a long time friend who was low maintenance, or a family member who you tolerated sharing the living room space with. It was the type of stilling that didn’t require speech but welcomed it if it came. Mornings with Miguel were the calm before the inevitable storm and the small pick-me-up that pushed you out of bed. 

But then as you pondered how he made you feel, you realise that you only knew Miguel within the context of your work commute. You’d only ever spoken to this man within the short time that you travelled to work; Never before, never after. Had you gotten just one train earlier or later — heck, one carriage — different that fateful day, it would have inevitably changed the course of your life and the starting foundation of the friendship (?). 

Life truly was funny in how it dealt it’s cards. 

“What does it mean anyways?” You ask with piqued interest. 

Miguel makes a WTF face, a face he made often, before he’s scrunching up his packet of finished snacks and dumping it within the blue convenience store bag he had. You recognise that everything he’d purchased was in Spanish. 

“What does what mean? Be more specific.” 

“Your fake saying you lied about.” 

Miguel turns his head to look at you, those deep insightful eyes of his analysing you, searching for something. You’re not sure if he found what he was looking for. Whether he did or not, you wouldn’t know. 

The man only turns forwards again and snorts. 

“Don’t worry your pretty lil’ head about it.” He concludes. “You wouldn’t want to know.” 

________________________________

[1]: Beautiful name for a beautiful lady 

[2]: If she’s the one, your heart will know before you do

[jakeyt]

Bloodstream: Chapter 1

By: @jakeyt + (my lovely sis) @joshym

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, f!OC x m!OC

Bloodstream Summary:

Folklore. Stories passed down through generations. Imaginations run rampant with their tales of sorcery and the supernatural. 

But for Tommie, it was different. Somehow it was more. She had become transfixed by a local legend — one that told of an unlawful love affair between a witch and a vampire. To Tommie, it was an alluring tapestry woven with threads of forbidden love and timeless secrets.  Yet something about it felt strangely familiar to her—but why? 

It was only a story…wasn’t it?

Word Count: 10.8k+

Warnings: witchcraft; vampirism; death; mentions of bodily harm; grief; mentions of lgbtq+ oppression (it's the 70's, people were assholes); Vampire!Jake; lots of eventual smut (minors DNI !! 18+ only !!)

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a/n: this baby has been brewing for a good while now. . . it all came to us after walking around an abandoned cemetery near our hometown.

truly, @joshym and i have worked tirelessly on the chapters, the (massive) plot, and the general outline of the story. so, after sitting on it for a bit, we decided its finally the perfect time to share it - during the spookiest month of the year. . . october!!

this chapter is more of an opening to the story than anything. . . there is so much to come, and this chapter barely even begins to scratch the surface ;)

enjoy, loves!!

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Chapter 1:

Harvard University

Cambridge, MA

PRESENT DAY

Friday, October 27th, 2045

｡˚☽˚ 𓃠 ˚☾˚｡ 

The wind whistled in dreary tones around her head as she hurriedly trekked down the bustling halls of campus. 

It was finally fall break on campus. And she was beyond ready for the much-anticipated break from the grueling work that came with being a college student at an extremely prestigious university. 

Even though it was only her first semester at Harvard University, the work had come incomparable to the work she knew was normal for your average college student. Her friends, whom she’d just parted from a few months ago, who were going to typical universities, weren’t feeling the torment she was feeling in this season of life.

There were certainly a few redeeming qualities of going to school at Harvard, though. 

The initial reason she’d decided to come here had been to live with her Granny M, who already lived right there in Cambridge, as she attended school. It had already been what dreams were made of. . . being that her Granny M was her favorite person on the entire earth. 

The second redeeming quality had been the boy she’d met during orientation, who she had instantly clicked with. The wonderfully down to earth, charismatic, and completely handsome Andrew Burnett. Andrew was a tall man, Irish as they come, with the warmest, most kind eyes she’d ever witnessed in real life. He was everything a woman could want in a man, and she had been smitten right off the bat. And, luckily, it seemed he had been, too. For they’d spent hours getting to know each other during the week of orientation, and had started dating the first week of classes. He was truly impeccable.

The third (and most) attractive part of being in Cambridge was being away from the stifling environment of her home in Plymouth. Her parents were the opposite of her in every way. They had been pros at squashing every curiosity she could possibly have, as well as dampening her individuality. 

Her father had come from a strong religious background, bringing it into the home. . .

making her mother follow his lead in making sure the home never had anything suspicious come through. 

And, of course, she regularly challenged that. 

With her clothing choices (black, black, and more black), makeup (always donning a particularly murky shade on her lips), and music (only ever music with deep themes and broody singers; Amy Lee, having been her biggest icon for years).

Then, the candle’s small light had become a blazing flame, when at thirteen years old, she had become completely and utterly transfixed by all things witchcraft and wizardry. It had occurred seemingly overnight. The heartiest addition to things outside of her parents’ perfectly crafted and regulated norm, one could say. 

It had come when she’d first witnessed Harry Potter at a slumber party in middle school. She’d been hooked right off the bat. Though, it wasn’t even Harry Potter that’d transfixed her—or any of the characters in that universe, for that matter. 

No, it had gone further—deeper.

The lore of witchcraft and studying the lifestyles of witches had become everything to her. So, from that point on, she’d wanted to constantly research the logistics and legend of it all. . .though, unfortunately, her parents would have none of it.  

And while her Granny M had never exactly encouraged it, she didn’t stop her from reading and spending countless hours at the library when she’d visit her in the summers growing up. The one rule her grandmother did have was to avoid delving into any local legend. 

Granny M always said it was “too risky.” And when she would ever question her Gran, she’d simply respond with, “That’s all I’ll say, love. Please, just avoid it, my sweet T.” 

So, she did avoid it. She would respect that one wish of her grandmother’s if it meant she could freely read to understand every aspect of it all. 

But, here on this cloudy, windy day, nearing All Hallows’ Eve, something was about to change. 

She’d practically skated to the front desk of Harvard’s library, asking for the latest additions to her favorite section. 

And little did she know: the fascination—the strange obsession—would become more than what it had always been. It would almost eat her alive in curiosity, enchantment, and imagination.

She had gone to the same section as always, plucking the most recent addition.

When she’d gotten to the counter again, new book in tow, she’d scrounged around in her messenger bag for her student ID to check out the book. . .but hadn’t had any luck in locating it. 

“Looking for your ID?” The student worker had asked with a sympathetic tone. 

She huffed, still searching through the mess to no avail. She blew her inky bangs out of her eyes, looking up with an apology plastered on her slim features. “Yeah,” she said, closing her bag and wrapping the strap around her shoulder once more. “I’m sorry; I’m a mess. I can’t seem to find it and I have no clue where in the hell it could be. Can I still check that out without it?”

The student looked apprehensive, letting out a slow breath through his pursed lips. “Name?”

“Thomasina Lowe,” Tommie said, her voice raising an octave in hopes that being positive may help her case. 

“Shit,” the student worker gasped. “You’ve got five books out right now, and almost all of them are overdue.” He shook his head, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Nope. There is no way I can let you check this out and still have a good conscience.”

Tommie’s chest pinched with irritation at the condescending way she was being spoken to. “Seriously? I can’t be the only student on this campus with late books.”

“No,” he said, as if talking to a child. “But you also don’t have your ID. Double whammy for you, Thomasina.”

Tommie’s blood pressure rose up to her ears. And just as she was about to interject again, she heard the wind harshly swoop the door closed behind a student. She and the worker both looked towards the doors, shocked at the sudden rush of wind. And to her relief, it was Andrew. He was covering his head with his book bag, sheltering him and his damp shoulders. 

Tommie glanced behind him at the doors he’d come through, seeing there were now raindrops falling steadily from the sky that was dry just moments ago. And as if on cue, the accompanying sound of thunder clapped and echoed throughout the old building.  

He made eye contact with Tommie almost immediately, his smile reassuring and sweet. Chances were, he had already deduced she was in trouble, as Tommie’s face rarely hid emotion well. 

And as soon as he’d arrived next to her, he was taking both thumbs and softly smoothing her eyebrows back down to normal. Tommie felt her own grin perk her lips the slightest bit. 

But, of course, keeping with his wonderfully sunshine-y personality was the student worker, who hastily broke up the moment with a chastising tone and the shove of the book towards Tommie and Andrew. “Please find the ID and the other books and come back another day.”

Tommie’s nostrils flared as she looked at the book. But just as soon, she felt Andrew’s hand on her back, rubbing circles. 

Towering over her, he spoke to the worker, who had to look up a healthy distance to make eye contact. “I’ll check it out,” he said, his voice, ever-calm and cool, thick with his charming Irish intonation. He slipped his ID from the wallet in his back pocket, sliding it across the counter to the student worker. 

The worker seemed hesitant, but Andrew raised a brow, and nodded his head toward the book. There was no way the worker could deny him, so within seconds, Tommie was walking over to the couches in the coffee area that sat at the back of the library, Andrew’s long legs keeping in line with her fast pace. 

And, when he was back from the counter with two warm coffee cups, he sat them down on the table. Then, taking the seat in the armchair opposite Tommie, he curiously asked, “What’s this book about?”

She was only staring at the back of the book, having just completely read the summary. Her shock was obviously apparent on her face, because when her boyfriend spoke again, he sounded concerned. “Love? You alright?”

Tommie blinked several times, then placed the book down on the table between them. She pushed it to him swiftly, and with a raised brow, he read the back of it as well. 

“Local legend,” he remarked, his interest peaking. “How interest—. Oh.”

“Yeah,” she replied, looking down at her coffee, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic to bring a sense of comfort. The nerves were wracking her. “One of the most famous. This is the third book I’ve come across this semester that’s had to do with it. It’s fucking tempting me, but I have to respect Gran’s rule. Right?” Tommie shook her head, tucking her short brown hair behind her ears. She took a swig of the sweet liquid, tongue burning a bit from the temperature. “But it must be a sign that it keeps coming back to me. . .right?”

He looked contemplative, studying Tommie’s face and exchanging glances at the book and her eyes. Andrew was usually one to be the voice of reason to Tommie’s impulsive ways of thinking, but never one to deny her curiosity as it’s one of the things he’s come to cherish most about her. 

He scanned her face, her amber eyes catching the light just right as they revealed her desire to crack open the book and dive headfirst into the forbidden tale. 

“What harm will skimming a few pages do?” he reassures, attempting to conceal his own fascination with the fable. He smiled as her face lit up instantly, her hands quickly moving from her warm mug back to the book. She looked at him in silent question as her hands stilled on the leather bind, waiting for one more seal of approval before turning a single page. “Go on, then. Open it up.”

He scooted his chair closer to her as she slowly opened the book. The tattered pages held a woodsy scent; earthly notes with subtle hints of sweet musk infiltrated their nostrils as she lifted the hardcover. 

Her fingers skated across the title page, the name written in faded golden ink. “A Dream in Gold: The Legend of The North Atlantic Forbidden Lovers.” 

“There’s no author. . .,” she uttered as she turned the first few pages, searching for some indication of who wrote the curious novel.

“That can’t be,” he said. “There must be mention of one somewhere, at the very least a scribe. How old is this thing, anyways?”

Andrew lifted the book, studying the cover, the first page, even the last page in hopes of finding anything that suggested who wrote it or when it was published. Perplexion clouded his features as his mission proved unsuccessful. 

He flipped through the worn pages that looked more like manuscripts. Intricate artwork detailed oceanic voyages and battles fought between ships navigating the harsh waters. Storm clouds with golden lightning bolts, and night skies littered with sparkling constellations. 

“Wait, I may have found something,” Andrew stumbled on a page almost entirely blank aside from what appeared to be two faint, obscured signatures. “It’s autographed?” He questioned. 

“Maybe they’re the mysterious authors,” Tommie noted. 

Andrew hummed in confirmation as he turned back to the first page of the novel, reading aloud the contents.

“Two creatures of sworn enemies, plummeting in the trenches of a love so dangerous and rare. A love that would move mountains and uproot the sturdiest trees, that would beckon storms with gales too fierce to be measured by humankind. Forbidden by the laws of nature, punishable by a sentence no less than death of the highest degree.” 

Tommie found herself entranced as Andrew read the words that garnished the pages, his voice adding a certain depth to them as she somehow felt she’d heard them all before. Maybe in a dream? Her skin prickled with goosebumps when she felt a strange sense of deja vu, an occurrence she’d felt all too often in her lifetime, but this time felt. . . different. 

He continued reading, oblivious to her state of mind when a sudden deafening clap of thunder boomed from the sky, shaking the foundation of the old library and effectively knocking out the power. 

They sat in silence for a moment, startled by the intensity of nature's call. The lights flickered back on, illuminating their faces once again as they stared at each other with a hundred questions. 

“Keep reading, Andrew,” she urged. 

He did as she asked and carried on.

“A woman of sorcery, a man of the undead. Bound together against all odds.”

Tommie closed her eyes, listening intently to the words he spoke. Vivid images of the story came to life in her head.

“A union against Mother Earth's decree over her land. She punishes all her children for such an act, raging her waters in remonstrance.”  

She suddenly saw a woman dressed in obsidian toned filigree lace, her feathered hair cascading down the delicate features of her face. By her side was a man. His slim, yet broad frame clothed in black, his chest embellished with ancient atocha coins attached to a chain made of burnished silver. His chestnut hair rested atop his sturdy shoulders.

The sound of something slapping against the floor abruptly broke her from her trance. She opened her eyes to see a thick, ragged card lying beneath the table, its design mimicked the artwork of the book. 

“What have we here?” Andrew said as he bent down to retrieve the peculiar card that was tucked away inside the novel.

Tommie leaned over a bit, squinting as she tucked her head in front of him to get a better look at the card. 

Holy shit, she instantly thought. 

The man pictured on the card was the exact same one Tommie had imagined as they’d been reading, just minutes-prior. 

How in the hell? 

She’d always been aware of her extremely vivid imagination, but it had never been so apparent as it was at that moment. Something about it felt different this time. . . it felt stronger. 

Andrew noticed a sudden shift in her expression, her eyes widened as she took in the image of the card.

“You’re a thousand miles away, Tom. Tell me what that mind of yours is conjuring up,” he implored. 

She decided to keep this to herself, afraid she would fail in trying to explain the phenomena to Andrew as she couldn’t make sense of it herself.

“Tarot,” she quickly blurted. “It’s a special sort of tarot card.” She dug through her bag filled with books until she found the one titled Holistic Tarot: An Integrative Approach to Using Tarot for Personal Growth.  “I just finished reading this book on them, they’re incredibly fascinating.” 

She carefully took the card from Andrew, brushing away some of the dust that had collected on it over the years.

Printed underneath the portrait of the man: The World.

She thumbed through her book until she found the section that detailed the symbolism of each card.

“This one of your overdue books, love?” He quipped, nudging her shoulder playfully. 

“Look,” She pointed to the image depicting a similar card as she read the meaning to him. “The World card symbolizes completion, fulfillment and wholeness. It often signifies achieving a long-term goal or fulfilling a dream, and indicates travel to foreign lands, connecting cultures as one.” 

Andrew nodded but had a confused look about him, “Why is this card so different from the ones in your book?” He asked.

Tommie couldn’t put it into words. She just had a sense that there was something much more significant about this card, something other tarot cards didn’t possess. This one was rare, one of a kind. 

All she could do was shake her head in response to his question. 

Andrew held it delicately in his hands, turning it around and investigating the pale card with dark etches of an almost-mystic male face. “It looks different for one,” he remarked, placing it down next to one in the book. “The ones in your book are full of color. . .and the faces—they lack the intricate detail this one possesses.”

He was right, the depiction didn’t even come close to the ones featured in the book. 

“I’m not sure,” she retorted, grabbing her coffee in a swift motion, leaning back in her seat to nurse it as Andrew continued to investigate, flipping the pages to find one similar. 

She took a break from the whirlwind of her thoughts and watched him move, his concentration endearing and lovely. He was always so willing to dive right into all of this with her, even if it wasn’t his own interest. Perfect man. He complimented her so incredibly well—encouraging her wonders of life when others only wanted to dampen it. 

Though she’d only known him for a couple of months, their meeting seemed destined. He brought comfort and peace to her otherwise jumbling, lurching train of a life. 

He peeked back, his eyebrow raised. “You’ve gotta see this.”

Tommie leaned forward, sitting her drink on the table. He had the tarot book laid open, next to A Dream in Gold, still spread wide to reveal yellowing pages.

The stark white card was laid between. . .and as soon as Tommie made the correlation Andrew was waiting for, her eyes nearly bulged out of her head. 

“Oh my god,” she breathed, in utter disbelief. 

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Plymouth, MA

October 30, 1971

It was the most serene and spooky Autumn night, the moon nearly full. An almost-white mist, overtaking the grounds of the old, abandoned cemetery. 

The winds flurried around your loose curls, enticing your coming enchantment. They resembled the voices of the dead, beckoning you nearer. 

“Not quite yet,” you hushed back, placing your open palm on the nameless cemented block of a grave you’d always felt a certain gravity pulling you towards, placed hidden at the back of the plots. “Soon, my friend.” 

The natural fog was alluring to you, drawing you nearer to other old, crumbling stones and markers. Mossy and forgotten, the graves that held loved ones, were treasures. The generations—the centuries— that had passed since most of these lovely souls had moved from one life to the next— it was daunting to most. 

But not to you. 

No, it was like finding precious gold. The remains of these people, being so near, still, even after their souls had departed to their respective realms, . . .it was taken for granted by many. 

Though, not by you.

You danced to their forgotten songs, answered their muffled cries beneath the cold soil. You cherished their abandoned stories, each one so vastly different from the other. You shared in their joy, you grieved in their sorrow. 

You wanted to help them, to ensure their restfulness in the forlorn afterlife. 

Tomorrow night, on All Hallow’s Eve, you would set forth your per annum spell of peace over the lonesome graves. The most sacred night of the year, the only one of which allowed this spell to be cast. 

Most witches strayed from performing this enchantment, the strength it required, being far too great for most to conjure.

But you were different. 

The dead gave you strength; your devotion to them, a driving force for your power. 

The other witches and warlocks in your coven were threatened by you and the sheer amount of power you possessed. You were never one to conform, never one to obey the stringent rules of your High Priestess. 

When you chose to repeatedly use your gift for the betterment of mankind, above the orders given to you by the High Priestess, you were shunned. Expelled from your coven, never to speak to your sisters or brothers again. 

“No witch or warlock must ever misuse their powers for the sake of anyone other than the coven from which they reside. Such misuse is considered an act of treason and will result in immediate banishment. As such, all those remaining in the coven are prohibited from communicating with the banished. Those who do are subject to banishment as well. ”

All of your sisters and brothers followed orders, cutting all ties with you, acting as though you’d never existed. 

All of them, except Sage and Daniel. Your dearest companions. 

Sage had momentarily desired to join you in your exile. She couldn’t bear residing in a coven that you were no longer part of, but you wouldn’t allow for it. You wanted her to stay, to grow in her magic alongside her sisters and brothers. Fellowship, dire for a witch—making banishment all the more harrowing.

She was a free spirit like you, like Danny. . .but she could flourish wherever she may be. 

You and Sage made a vow, a sacred covenant to remain in touch with each other in secret.

Daniel, though. . . 

After your banishment, he lost all respect for the High Priestess, rejecting her order and suffering his own banishment as ramification. 

It had also been murmured in shared spaces that witches and warlocks in your coven, who were attracted to the same sex would be mutilated—dismembered, even— if their true ideal for love were to be exposed. 

So, Danny knew, deep in his heart, that he already couldn’t stay around if that were to be the case. He would have lost his life, or been severely harmed if he were to have stayed. 

Things needed to change in the world. But, alas, you were stuck in a wretched time where who you loved was frowned upon unless it fit an acceptable societal norm.

Even though Daniel had never explicitly told you, you knew him. . . And his wandering eye, for other men, was not hidden from your protective watch. He’d watched your back, and you’d watched his for nearly two decades.

Danny was your closest confidant. He’d been a dear friend since the day you had both entered the coven, each of you, so young. Only eight years old, due for commencement to your trainings at Luminara Institute as a magic bearer.

The coven had been your home for more than half of your life when they’d dismissed you. It had been a gut punch to be exiled, but your best friend leaving with you had softened the blow.

Though, you’d still been nearly frozen in your banishment, not sure what to do next. 

For the past few years, the two of you had wandered the earth together as a pair, a sister and brother in search of anything to fulfill the heavy emptiness in your lives that you just couldn’t place. 

When you’d migrated back to Massachusetts, Sage welcomed you back with open arms. It was funny, as much as you’d enjoyed distancing yourself from the coven, and leaving that life behind, you treasured the fact that you still had a connection to other sorcerers—specifically Sage. 

Being distanced from the coven was good for you, as you struggled with the feeling of being confined when you only longed to be free—whole. . .a feeling you still hadn’t quite achieved, even after leaving Luminara.

But, being apart from it all left you completely out of the loop with several bits of news. Whether it have been new rules for witches and warlocks (some you still had to abide by, given your gift), or all of the whispers of general supernatural happenings. All that fluttered around the spacious halls of the Academy, unbeknownst to you.

If it weren’t for Sage.

Part of the precious vow you’d made with Sage had been to meet at least once a week to discuss things—keep you up on the latest. It was special that she’d been intent on doing so. If she were to ever be discovered doing so with an exiled sister, she would instantly meet her doom. 

So, you had a special place, on the outskirts of Plymouth, flush with the overbearing branches and leaves of towering trees. It was far from the Institute, never risking a prying sorcerer, overhearing any conversation.

A small eatery, only about ten tables total in the entire establishment. . .only ever regulars surrounding you in the multi-colored, creaking wooden seats. 

On this night, after a quick visit to the cemetery you religiously visited every October, you were sitting across from your sister. Her caramel skin, the most beautiful shade, complimenting her bright blue eyes. 

Her hair fell in thick, black waves: gold accented pieces held tiny braids throughout her hair. Her locks fell down to the middle of her bicep, where she wore a shiny gold cuff. Sage was always decked out in gold, warding off any vampires as she’d had a particularly scarring incident with one as a teen, before she’d joined the coven. 

You watched her lips, stained with dark lipstick, take a generous swig of her sweet red wine. Her lips left a perfect mark on the rim.

“Your lips leave the most gorgeous imprint,” you remarked, almost absentmindedly. Sage’s beauty had stricken you since the first time you’d met her. 

Her eyes sparkled and she winked at you, shaking her head. “You’re too much,” she smirked. But just as soon as her eyes glinted, they were growing wide. “Oh, shit, y/n. Speaking of imprinting. . . I’ve gotta tell you.”

“Fuck,” you rubbed your right brow, preparing for the latest gossip. “What is it?”

“Interspecies imprinting. . .completely against our written law. . .against Mother Nature’s law. All of that shit, y’know?”

You nodded slowly, a sort of gloomy feeling made your heart sink. This subject made you strangely sad. You’d never been able to pinpoint why. You’d equated it to just seeming wrong. It was wrong to shame the love one had for another, no matter the circumstance. Any law against love just felt. . . unnatural. 

“A vampire and a witch,” she took another sip of her wine. She gulped it down, eyes still wide as she divulged more. “One of our sisters, in fact. She’s currently in the dungeon awaiting execution.”

“Sage,” you gasped. “How in the hell are you being so calm about this? Our sister is awaiting her death and you’re shooting the fucking breeze about it.”

She blinked rapidly, seemingly taken aback by your sudden outburst. “You like hearing the latest, y/n. I’m giving you the latest.”

“I don’t like you sounding so nonchalant about death, Sage.”

She looked down, pursing her lips and crossing her arms over her thin frame. “She knew better, y/n. Vampires are terrifying and not to be messed with,” she reminded, moving her hair to flash you her jugular. The thick, white scar, sticking out above her smooth flesh. You inadvertently flinched at the sight. “Those fucking blood suckers are hideous, heinous creatures. And interspecies mating is fucking law. It’s in the bylaws. Mother Nature forbids it. You don’t do it. You know this.”

You grabbed your own glass, taking a sip of the red and licking the tart remnants off your lips as you placed it back on the table. “What is she going to do? Do you think they’ll really go through with her execution?” 

Sage shrugged, her dainty fingers going to mess with a Sweet N Low packet. “I don’t know. It’s not so simple,” she noted, stopping her movements to level you with a serious stare. “There’s more.”

“What is it?” You wondered aloud.

“The witch is a relative to our very own High Priestess,” she stated. “But from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t matter. It’s interspecies morherfucking mating— and breeding,” her icy eyes struck yours. “She was imprinted.”

Your blood ran cold under her stare, and with her words. “Oh my god,” you breathed. “She’s with child?!”

“I’d hardly call it that, such an innocent name for something so vile,” she tossed the Sweet N Low packet to the floor, leaning in so her face was mere inches from yours. The sweetness of the wine on her breath filled your every sense. “A vampire and a witch cannot conceive a child, y/n . . what they produce. . . more the likes of a demon. A barbaric creature possessing powers that go against the will of Mother Nature.”

The anger in her eyes turned to fear. “If it’s born, Mother Nature will unleash her wrath in ways we’ve never seen. And that’s not even the worst of it.” She leaned back and took her wine glass, downing the rest of the blood red liquid and wiping the remnants off her mouth, smearing her lipstick. “That thing they’ve created will put an end to all of us.”

You swallowed the massive lump in your throat as you struggled to make sense of it all. 

“Has this ever happened before?” You quietly asked, your voice trembling as the thought caused your throat to tighten. You took the last few drinks of your wine to ease your state.

“No,” she answered. “And for good fucking reason. It’s the law, y/n. They are set in place for our own safety.”

The feeling of the blood rising to your ears came before you even realized it was on its way. The chatter of the other patrons in the room sounded muffled, as though you were dunked below water. 

How could she be so cold about these laws and these rules when . . .?

You slammed your now empty wine glass on the polished wood of the table, causing Sage to jolt in her seat. 

“Those are the same laws that got your best friends banished, Sage. The same laws you were ready to break to join me, but I wouldn’t let you. Tell me, then. Was your safety, or anyone else’s safety at risk with us there—breaking the ‘law’?”

Her face contorted to one of remorse. She took your hand in hers, rubbing the backs of your knuckles with her thumb. “I’m sorry, y/n. . . you know that’s not what I meant. But after what they did to me. . . it’s hard for me to understand why anyone would want to sleep with one of those evil creatures, especially knowing what could come if it.” 

You felt your features soften as well. It honestly broke your heart that she’d experienced such terror from another supernatural being—any being, for that matter. All things had the ability to be evil. But the fact that she’s experienced it firsthand from the exact supernatural creature you’d been discussing made you feel empathy with her harshness. 

Shit, for all you knew, the news could have caused some severe trauma flashbacks for her. . . 

Your blood pressure settled back to normal and you wrapped your hand around hers, squeezing a bit in reassurance. “I understand, babe,” you said, your voice finding its normal calm tone again. “I’m sorry—you’ve possibly relived traumas because of it. . . And I . . . I didn’t think about that before I snapped.”

“I know why you did,” she soothed. “I get it. And I’m sorry, too, for not taking your situation into consideration before I went off.”

Your cheeks lifted a bit with a smile. Deciding to change the subject, pointing to your empty chalice. “I need more wine,” you giggled. 

Her own eyes lit up with yours. “Let’s.”

And as she waved a hand over to signal a waiter or waitress, you zoned out in contemplation, your smile fading. . .

Interspecies mating. . .

You’d always thought it a ridiculous law to forbid it, so you hadn’t ever gone so far as to think about a child coming of it. 

Could something conceived out of love truly cause so much harm to the earth? Could it really be what Sage said it was? A demon? Truly? You had never once thought that any of you could be capable of creating such a thing, especially out of something so pure.  

You had to physically shake yourself out of it, blinking a few times to rid the thought. You knew it would plague you endlessly if you gave it enough headspace. 

You would give yourself time to grieve the fate of your estranged sister another time. 

Tonight was simply about time with a dear friend, and you wouldn’t let yourself ruin such an occasion. 

⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆

Plymouth, MA

October 31, 1971

When you arrived at your treasured cemetery on your most favorite, sacred night of the year, the evening was chilling in the best way. You’d worn your thickest black tights with your favorite long sleeved black dress, which stopped at your mid thigh. Your pointed black boots and black wide brimmed hat completing your outfit. 

You giggled in spite of yourself. Because, admittedly, right now, you looked like a stereotypical witch. On Halloween. 

Letting your snicker fade, a small grin stayed on your lips as you reacquainted yourself with the lovely souls that occupied this graveyard. You touched the stones you’d familiarized yourself with over the years, the precious souls that lived in each spot whispering haunting welcomes. 

Your favorite sound.

A thick blanket of fog hovered just above the headstones, illuminated by the moon that shone brighter than ever before in the cloudless sky. It suddenly all seemed much different than the night before. Something peculiar hung in the air that you couldn’t quite place but felt deep within your bones. 

Then, it happened.

You heard a rustle amongst the overgrown ivy leaves, like a rabbit quickly fleeing from its predator. But this was no animal. Especially not anything so innocent as a bunny.

You could feel its energy.

The presence from the being near you was unlike any you had ever felt before. Your spine grew a chill that made the cool air of the night feel warm as the hairs on your arms stood to attention. 

He was here. And he was hiding. . . from you. 

You could hear him quietly breathing, even from a distance, you interpreted the coldness of the stagnant blood beneath his flesh. 

A cold-blooded creature, hiding in the dark. . . A vampire.

Your sworn enemy. You’ve never once encountered one, only heard of the horrendous tales told by your sisters and brothers who had. 

Sage. . . dear, sweet Sage. 

You adjusted the gold necklaces that never left your neck, feeling a certain comfort and safety in the jewelry. Your thumb smoothed across the dainty moon pendant of the necklace that Danny had gifted you recently, the peaceful enchantment he’d put on it calming your nervous heart.

It was simply known that one must always wear gold as a means to ward off an attack from such a creature. So, you never took off your faithful chains. 

Instantly, you became angered; your blood boiled at the thought of him infiltrating your sacred place, of him disturbing your spell of rest over these dear souls. A fire burned behind your eyes as you prepared yourself to defend these grounds.

“You don’t belong here,” you asserted. “These souls are precious and you do not deserve to walk amongst them. Leave, now.”

Suddenly, there was a clap of thunder so great that the ground beneath your feet shook, nearly knocking you down as you braced yourself. Not a single cloud in the sky, yet a storm threatened to brew. His work, no doubt. 

You heard him running against the bushes and you tried to follow him with your eyes, but he was too quick. Reaching your hand out, you channeled his location the best you could. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you mustered up every bit of strength you had. 

Finally. . . you found him. 

Your eyes caught him, crouched beside a grave. . . but not just any grave. The grave of the soul you heard crying out to you the night before, the one from which you’d always felt so much sorrow and pain. 

Your mind became clouded with the need to protect this cherished soul as you stormed him, ready to fight him off when suddenly. . .

As you made your way to him, you watched his body unfold, slowly and gradually, broad shoulders and chest expanding to match a stern exterior. His face contorted into one of true valor and love for the grave at which he stood beside. 

It was strange. 

Vampires were, literally, cold and heartless beings. Not caring for anything or anyone. Their sole purpose on the earth, to cause suffering and death. . . or at least that was what you had been told.

“My brothers. . .they sleep here,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. His eyes swept down, casting the stone a watchful stare. His hands pressed firm to the cold cement, showing his protection over it. He pressed his hand even more firmly to the old stone. 

You stood in shock, but did your best to keep a confident front.

This must be a trick, you thought, trying to find a meaning in his behavior. There is no way he—a heartless vampire—would feel such a need to safeguard anything—much less a corpse. 

It could only be a ploy to distract you, and then cause the harm he’d originally intended.

A classic trait of a vampire—to plot a distractive ruse against their prey. 

He was simply luring you into a vulnerable state— only to strike just as you’ve earned his trust. 

You held firm as you would not let him deceive you. If it were truly his brother, wouldn’t that mean he was also a vampire? Was he naturally born? Or turned? If it were his naturally born, vampiric brother, he wouldn’t be buried. You knew that vampires were not buried after death, their bodies disintegrated to nothing once they perish. There would be nothing to bury. He was lying to you.

“You—you need to leave. You are not meant to walk these grounds. I know what you are,” the quiver in your voice revealed that you were not as gallant as you attempted to convey. You motioned to the graves he was now obviously guarding. “They are not what you are. I would sense it if they had been.” You quickly grabbed your golden moon pendant and rubbed it fiercely in search of calming your tattered nerves.

No matter what, you were not going to leave. You made a vow to protect this burial ground and that is what you intended to do. Any fear over this heinous creature would not stand in your way. You were prepared to die for these souls.

He turned, facing the two matching headstones, nameless and nearly crumbling from years of standing in one place, the earth shifting time and again. 

Then. . . 

He turned to face you, the light of the moon chased after him, illuminating him as a spotlight would. Over his face fell a scant shadow, from the overhanging trees and bright light from the full moon. He stood against the still black canvas of the night sky.

As he looked to you, you saw his eyes, more crestfallen than angry, cutting through your exterior. 

You had always been told that these creatures were revolting. Every image depicted in your books at Luminara showed them as ghastly, repulsive looking beasts. 

That was why you were utterly shocked as you finally caught a glimpse of his face, glowing against the moonlight. . .

His lips were pillowy and plush. His cheekbones, contoured beautifully as the gleam touched them, sat high in the midst of his stark features, his flawless skin not nearly as pale and lifeless as your textbooks had described it to be. 

The most intriguing part of his face, though, were his eyes. Once you looked into them, it felt as though you couldn’t bear to look away. They were cavernous; the color of dark coffee, positively enchanting as they seemed to look straight through to your soul. 

When you did finally pull yourself away, your eyes traced back to his mouth, his lips sitting so full underneath a. . .mustache? 

The swift line of hair above his upper lip complimented him extremely well. It added to his already sharp and alluring features. Though, it caught you off guard; you’d always been taught to believe that vampires couldn’t grow facial hair—whether they be naturally born or reborn. 

Admittedly, you’d been taught a lot of things about vampires that you weren’t sure you could believe as you stared at the one in front of you.

He was clothed in a suit of black, hugging his sturdy body in every way it should. The black button down underneath the opened jacket, unbuttoned just enough to show a smooth, toned chest. Silver medallions sat on the exposed skin that was lifting and falling with deep breaths. Not so often as humans do, but enough to catch your eye. This ‘man’ was an undead creature. How. . .? 

Your eyes followed his movements as he tucked the hand not holding tight to the stone in the pocket of his slacks. You watched as his firm pecs flexed beneath the thin material of his shirt. 

His long, mousy locks blew in the subtle wind. 

He was. . . beautiful. 

A far cry from any account you’d ever heard of these creatures. 

“I wasn’t always like this. . .,” His voice, low and velvety, just a hint of a woeful tone. The despair beneath the tough exterior came off of him in waves. You felt it from him, making your chest heavy with sadness. “This monster you see before you—this so-called life—I did not choose. It was forced upon me– the desolate existence of an alleged killer.” He called himself a monster, yet there was nothing monstrous about him in the least.

His eyes, no longer hard, but rather filled with unshed, glistening tears. They threatened to fall down his cheeks. But, as soon as they appeared, they were gone. 

It didn’t matter how quickly they’d evaporated, though, you had seen them. The raw emotion.

He was telling the truth. And these graves—they were his brothers. You felt especially solid in this belief as you now knew the briefest hint of his story—he hadn’t chosen this life. 

You believed him. 

His cold heart was broken. Shattered in a million pieces. And you could feel every bit of it.

“How are you—?” You gaped, shaking your head the slightest bit. You squinted at him, trying to dissect the creature in front of you. “I’ve always thought your kind to be cold and unfeeling. How are you able to hold even the slightest bit of grief over your resting brothers? And enough to visit them after their death?”

He straightened further, his brow rose with his next words. “They were all I had,” he sniffed. “They were my livelihood, stolen from me before their time by the clutches of hatred and the waves of the ocean.”

“But still. . .” You edged closer, your proximity to him causing him to tense the slightest bit. Trying the best you could, you activated every bit of calm to expel from you, showing him your true intention. You didn’t mean him any harm. He was different. You could tell. “How are you so attached?”

“For one, the man which was laid beneath here,” he placed his hand on the initial stone that had caught your eye. The same one that has drawn you in for all the years you’d come to this cemetery. “Was my twin. The other half of me. We shared a womb, making our bond worlds different from any other. We were tied tighter together than many people. He held me up, and I held him up. But not the way I should have,” his voice cracked as he spoke of this one. And your chest ached for him. What a terrible loss to face. “We came into this world together, and he left over a century before my time. It was a nasty break in our tie to each other. One I had foolishly never prepared for.” 

He skated his hand from one grave to the next. He snickered as he looked affectionately at this stone, a tear glittering against his chocolate orb as he spoke. “And this son of a bitch—was my younger brother. The biggest pain in my side, but on the same hand, the brightest light that I had in my life,” a tear fell to grace his unblemished skin. “His death pains me for many reasons as well—but mostly, I grieve him so deeply because I didn’t appreciate him enough when I had him. Not nearly enough,” he tapped against the stone with his fingers a few times, then removed them to curl into the unoccupied pocket. 

He continued, “It also doesn’t do one well to believe everything they read or hear. Oftentimes, you’re not getting the whole truth,” he peered down at you, your skin growing goosebumps under his piercing stare. “Do vampires share some characteristics? Yes, of course,” he took a step nearer to you, his chest mere inches from yours. You had to crane your neck to keep eye contact. “But are we all inherently different based on who we were as humans before? More so than anything else.”

“I understand,” you whispered, feeling utterly transfixed by every word that slipped from his pretty lips. “It makes sense.”

“But you,” he grew even closer to you, twisting a lock of your hair sitting on your stiff shoulder in his fingers. “A woman of magic. A sorceress. A dealer with the devil himself.” He dropped your hair as his sparkling eyes fixed on yours yet again, his mouth upturned in a faint, captivating grin. “a witch.”

You shuddered at hearing the name come from his lips. The way he said it. . . so chilling as it effortlessly rolled off his tongue. Almost hedonistic— he had been waiting to say it. 

He knew who you were, just as you did him.

“I’ve heard stories about your kind too, you know.” He turned from you as he looked up at scattered stars, tracing their patterns in the air with his finger. “How you prey on innocent children, feasting on their flesh with your gluttonous, carnivorous desire. . .” You found yourself staring at him with a curious gaze, watching as he strategically pointed to each constellation. It was alluring, charming, even. “. . .that your pallid skin is crumpled and decayed. Your nose hooked and your teeth jagged, your beady eyes like that of your feral feline companions.” 

He stopped and looked at you, his eyes following a trail up and down your figure. “You certainly don’t meet the physical clichè.” He smiled, displaying his beautiful, stark white teeth that lacked the pointed fangs you’d always been told about.

Everything he said about witches, it was all a product of a sinister stereotype. . . never once had any of it been true. Your kind has tried to put these horrid accusations to rest for centuries.  

And if that were the case, it must also mean— that everything you’ve been made to believe about his kind, is perhaps not true, as well, though you never truly believed any of it.

You somehow always knew that they couldn’t have been as diabolical as you had been taught, that it had all been wild embellishments on the truth to turn your species against one another. 

“Well, I can promise you I don’t feast on children. That rumor has plagued us for centuries and to be honest, I haven’t a clue where it came from.”

“There are plenty for my kind that I am oblivious to their beginnings as well,” he smirked.

Your mind was clouded with a billowing spiral of questions, most of which you just couldn’t ask. They would simply linger in the air, maybe to be answered someday— but right now you wanted to focus on him. 

Something you couldn’t quite shake, though, was why you hadn’t ever seen him before? In all the years you’d spent wandering through the blessed, abandoned grounds, never once had you encountered anyone. . . let alone him.

You couldn’t help but blurt, your thoughts a frenzy. “What’s your name?”

“Jacob.” He didn’t hesitate, nodding towards you a bit to signal your response. 

“Y/n,” you said, feeling silly to tell him. It felt as though he should have already known it. “It’s funny,” you started, the smallest grin curling your lip as you shook your head, studying him. 

“What is it?”

“It almost feels as though we’ve met. But on the same hand, I’ve never witnessed you walking down this garden of lost souls before,” you pondered aloud. “Why haven’t our paths crossed until now?”

He looked to the headstones of his brothers, longingly and with anguish filling his eyes. “I don’t come here often. It’s dangerous–for me, at least. I seldom come. And when I do, it’s out of desperation to speak with them again.” 

“How many times have you come?” You whispered, as though you were sharing a secret. 

He cleared his throat. “Well, counting tonight . . .,” he paused. “A total of three times since they've been buried.”

“And when were they buried?” You questioned, admittedly dying of curiosity. 

He eyed you for a few quiet moments. The crickets nearby, vyed for attention from the night with their tell-tale creaks. You stayed focused on him, not letting any other thing distract you from his contemplative stare into the black abyss of sky behind you.

With one last glance at his brothers’ graves, he locked eyes with you once more. It was as though he was challenging you. Questioning your intentions. You decided to step towards him. And, against your better judgment, you reached to touch the black of his suit sleeve.

Looking down, he breathed in a deep breath. It was still so strange to you that he breathed so deeply for someone who was, quite literally, undead. 

All of the rumors and legend didn’t add up to the man standing in front of you. 

“1830,” he finally stated. 

Your heart dropped to the pointed toes of your boots. 

Damn. You had not expected that. 

You gaped for several seconds, but found your voice to vocalize the time it had been since. “One hundred and—.”

“Forty-one years,” he finished.

Holy shit.

So not only were you meeting a vampire, you were meeting one who had been around for nearly 200 years. 

Swallowing, you felt the most intimidated you’d been since you first made contact with him. It was unbelievable you were speaking with a human who’d been around for an entire century, plus some. . . You had never been around someone so. . . What was the term? Ancient? 

“You’re in shock,” he said, his velvety tone bringing you back to Earth. 

Your eyes connected with his, blinking several times. 

“Yes,” you said, unashamedly. “I am in shock. You are correct.”

He quietly huffed, a small smile gleaming his features. You saw his perfectly white, straight teeth again. Without wanting to admit it, you were still looking for the legendary fangs that his kind were supposed to have. 

“No fangs,” you said absently, still glancing his teeth. 

“Yes, fangs,” he said, shaking his head at the idea. You raised your brow. “Not now,” he confirmed. “But when needed, they appear.”

“When needed?”

“So many questions.”

You scoffed, but didn’t stay on it. The night was becoming chillier. You couldn’t help crossing your arms, the smallest gust blowing your hair from around your face. 

And then you saw it, his eyes dilated and zoned in on your neck. But as soon as you saw it, he was shutting his eyes, silently mouthing words to himself and tucking his hands deeper into his pockets. 

Now, you were intimidated for new reasons. 

Starting to edge away, you watched as his desperate, sad eyes followed you. They stopped you from moving any further. It wasn’t right to immediately be fearful just because he had natural instincts. That was unfair and you knew it. 

He was lonely. He had to be.

“Do you have friends?” You questioned, channeling empathy into your tone. “It’s been so many years. . .”

“I’ve had a few. Here and there,” he nodded. Then, he shrugged, his thick brows creasing, forlorn. “But they come and go. When I am forced to stay.”

You hummed, not sure how to respond. It was very sad to contemplate. Him, never changing, and everyone around him aging. . .

“I’m sure watching the rest of your family age and leave was hard,” you said, soon realizing the callous way that must’ve sounded. You smacked a hand to your forehead. “I’m sorry. That was — I don’t know. . . I’m sorry.”

“No, trust me when I say I’ve heard worse in my lifetime,” he reassured. “But our other family—they were gone before my brothers and I left to fight in the naval forces. To begin, my father actually left my mother after she’d given birth to Samuel,” he motioned to the younger brother’s grave. He let out an angry breath, seeming to still be disappointed in his father’s decision. Even after all of these years. The genuine emotion in his heart perplexed you. “Then, my mother and sister were killed by ruthless villagers. Terrible, ungodly men who sought the blood of vulnerable women while my brothers and I were away. . .before we. . .switched paths.”

So much information. You weren’t sure how to digest what you were being told. Everything he was sharing, a new discovery that you couldn’t wrap your mortal brain around. Magic couldn’t help you when it came to this vampire. This enigmatic creature. 

You decided to get back to the point at hand. “So, only three times? When it’s been more than a century?”

“It’s too hard to visit often. When your brothers are dead in the ground, and you're eternally alive. . . It’s enough to make one unbearably sick with overwhelming grief. It’s best for me to stay away,” he replied. “I came once to bury them. Then another to visit after they’d been laid to rest,” he rubbed under his eye, flicking the tip of his nose with a finger. A tick. “And then tonight.”

“And why tonight?”

He looked thoughtful again. He didn’t want to divulge the information. You could tell. You reached a hand forward, this time touching his chest. Where a heart should be beating. . .but you couldn’t feel the dull thrum beneath your open palm. 

It was offputting . . .and strangely comforting.

He looked down at your hand, and his stare at your brave touch made you recoil and move to bring your hand back. You tucked it back where it had been, nestled in the crook of your warm elbow. 

“You don’t have to ans—.”

“I came tonight because I’ve heard before that if you come on All Hallows’ Eve to visit past loved ones, a sort of portal opens and you’re able to communicate with those you’ve lost,” he pushed it out quickly, seeming almost ashamed. “I never believed in it. I didn’t want to—didn’t want to get my hopes up. I never accepted it could actually be possible. I still don’t know if it is.”

You nodded, understanding. Your eyes smiled. “I see,” you uttered. You stepped nearer again. “I come for a similar reason. To use my power to send well wishes of peace in death. Talk to those who are forgotten, long gone, in the ways my abilities allow me to.”

“That’s beautiful,” he spoke, his dark eyes boring into yours. “Truly. I didn’t know a witch could be so . . . Full of love.”

“Really?” You scoffed. “You thought so poorly of witches that you assumed they couldn’t love?”

“I didn’t quite say that,” he winked. Leaves crunched under his boot as he, too, took a step. Towards you. You couldn’t help but shiver the slightest bit. And not from the October breeze. “But you are hardly one to talk. Immediately going into defense with me. Assuming the worst. Lies you’d heard.”

“Fair,” you nodded, ducking your head. Looking back up, you matched his gaze, which had unwaveringly stayed on you. You’d felt it burning into you. Tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, you straightened your hat. “I apologize for my assumptions.”

“And I, mine,” he softly responded. “And that’s why you’re here? To speak to them?”

“Yes,” you agreed, straightening and smoothing your dress against your thighs. “And what you heard was correct. Tonight of all nights is the only one with which you may communicate with those you’ve lost,” you paused, pursing your lips with a sad smile. “But only with certain power. And I’m afraid you lack that as a non-warlock.”

You didn’t tell him that not all souls responded when you’d cast the spell to seek the lost in their present realm. That sometimes, you encountered the precious few that did not want to be bothered, longing to stay quiet in their death. 

And especially, you didn’t want to mention the nagging thought in your mind. That, sometimes, if you couldn't reach them, it meant the worst. That they’d gone to a place unreachable. A place that was unreachable, even for one like you who garnered enchanted abilities. 

You ached for those souls, knowing that if you couldn’t reach them, they were in a place where peace would never be able to find them again. No magic could come to them to console them in the afterlife. It crushed your heart. 

Saying this to him was not an option, as you feared for his younger brother. You’d heard plenty from his twin’s resting place. Feeling so much energy from him it was though you’d talked to him as a living being. He wasn’t completely gone, in a place void of peace.    

But you’d never sensed anything from the other. The other headstone, where his younger brother laid, was only ever silent. It never showed signs of a present soul when you’d touch it or speak to it. 

You decided to offer what you could. Attempt seeking his twin. . .and even his other brother. . . If only for Jacob’s sake. 

If you ended up discovering he was in the unspeakable place, and completely gone. . .you would play it off. You could do that. Maybe even enchant Jacob to not know better. 

The flitting of your heart told you that you could at least reach his twin. You felt you had to offer this to him. You wanted to bring his heart a sense of comfort and ease. 

Help him in whatever way you could.

“I can help you. . .,” you said with a hushed tone. “. . . I can help you hear them again.”

He looked at you with silent bewilderment, questions haunting his eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Without another word, you grabbed his hand and took him to the headstones. To your surprise, he didn’t hesitate in the slightest. With you, he knelt down to their level, and you placed his palm upon the one that belonged to his twin brother and set your own on top of his.

You had expected his skin to be cold and lifeless to the touch, but he felt warm. His skin was soft against your fingers, causing a slight hitch to your breath. 

“Close your eyes and clear your mind. Listen–hear.” 

He nodded as his eyes squeezed shut, you doing the same. 

You instantly felt his twin; you heard his unmistakable voice you’d come to treasure over the years of protecting his resting place. 

He was strong; he knew his brother was near. 

You filled Jacob’s hand with your energy, the wind whistling heavier around you, whipping your hair around as you felt it transfer through to him entirely, as you allowed it to reverberate through his soul.

His strong hand suddenly tensed under your touch, and you knew the voice of his beloved brother was echoing throughout his body. 

“Joshua. . .” The name whispered off of Jacob’s tongue so quietly that you nearly missed it.

The name– the name of his twin. The one he’d spent everyday of his mortal life with, from the very moment they were conceived. From the moment they were born. He’d been the one with which he shared his mother’s womb. A bond broken by a death so tragic and untimely. 

One doomed to walk the earth, alone, for the rest of eternity, cursed by the burden of an eternal life filled with isolation. The other, sleeping beneath the cold ground. Their fates, each designed much differently, yet their souls still tethered even in the midst of a tragic end. 

Two souls, forever sharing the other half.

You finally had a name to attach to this darling spirit, and you smiled upon hearing it for the first time. 

You tightened your hold on his hand, feeling his joy at hearing his brother speak for the first time in 141 years. But with his joy also came his sorrow. The immense sadness he had carried with him for more than a century, crashing down upon you as the two of you connected your souls in this most intimate way. You felt it with him. 

You turned your head when you felt his hand flinch a bit under yours. He was still focusing, his eyebrows bent in deep concentration. A few stray tears slipped down his cheeks.

The steady rhythm of your heart lapsed. Seeing him in such a state made your chest pinch. This was the most connected you’d ever felt to another—including Daniel.

It was shocking, to say the least. 

Then, suddenly, he hushed, sniffing tears back. “Samuel. . . Please, y/n. Help me to hear Samuel.” 

Your heart sank. 

The moment you’d been afraid of had come. You knew he would ask about his beloved Samuel, and the last thing you wanted to do was deny him. 

You were scared– scared of hearing the inevitable silence that you’ve come so accustomed to from his place of rest. Scared of him hearing nothing from his dear brother.

You were hesitant for a moment, an inner battle being fought within you. Would you break his heart by denying him? Or would it be by attempting to call out to his brother, only to be met with the stillness you’ve heard at his tomb for years?

He looked to you again, your heart aching as his eyes were much heavier than before. 

You knew that you had to try, if only for the sake of Jacob. You knew it would take every ounce of your strength to try and call out to his muted brother, but looking into his mournful eyes, you made up your mind that it would be worth it. 

Grasping his fingers tightly in your clutch, you moved his hand to Samuel’s stone. And once again, you settled your palm above the top of his hand. He held it firmly to the stone, more tears whisking down his cheeks at what he anticipated. 

You felt your own brewing at your ducts for the defeat you knew was bound to occur.

Drawing a deep breath, you prepared, mustering up the sheer power you knew it would take to reach out to Samuel and draw anything from his spirit in return. 

Repeating the share of energy you’d emitted to Jacob over Joshua’s stone, you tried your damndest to maximize the amount. And just as before, you felt the energy translate to him from you.

His hand tensed, waiting for what had transpired over his twin’s grave. But you knew this was already different than before. Your experience told you so. 

With Joshua and the other souls, you could hear them so clearly. Their spirits would stir as they would come to. . .as they would greet you. . . 

But here, there was nothing. 

Silence. 

You could feel the hope Jacob had conjured, seeping from his pores. Where it wasn’t visible to the normal, human eye, if you opened your eyes, you knew you’d be able to see it. The look of it, floating from him, drifting into the growing fog of the night.  

Pressing harder, you squeezed your eyes shut, so tight you saw stars. . . You needed something. 

Come on, Samuel, you chanted internally, willing him to respond. 

Suddenly, you felt the words to a familiar spell falling from your lips. They came of their own accord, lighting up the fires that were starting to extinguish in your heart. 

One last resort. 

You made another quick decision and placed double hands on Jacob. Where you had one on his hand, you placed another on his back, trying to get your power to work through him. 

Maybe the familial tie would bring this lost soul to you. . . 

But, alas, nothing. 

You sighed defeatedly, yet still kept your eyes closed and your hands on your counterpart. Beside you, there was a choked sob from Jacob, shaking you from your thoughts of despair. 

Feeling the immense sorrow with him, a few tears dripped down your cheeks. More welled in your throat, the longer you sat there, hearing him cry into the night. 

All of the crying stopped when you felt the earth shake at your knees. The sound of tree branches cracking around you roused you, alerted you.

And as the ground continued to rumble, you felt, underneath your hands, the stone crack.

⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆｡˚☽˚ 𓃠 ˚☾˚｡⋆⁺₊⋆☾*ੈ☁︎🃁𓉸︎☽⋆⁺₊⋆

a/n:

we can’t wait to share more of this story! please let us know what you thought! this world we’ve created is intricate asf and it's going to have many twists and turns. . . sooo, we’d love to know if you have any thoughts on what’s possibly to come :)

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taglist:

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[fellpyrean]

@meowlevolentweek here for day 3! Curious/Eldritch, frankly don't know if this actually qualifies but I am blowing you a respectful kiss anyway. (~600 words)

__________

“Alright,” Parker says, pulling the car to the side of the road as Arthur jerks back to attention. 

Trees press close to the sides of the road, tall and narrow and scraggly, and Arthur tries to hide the sheepishness from his face as he glances towards Parker from the corner of his eye and somehow meets his gaze head on. Parker leans in close, exasperation clear on his face, and taps pointedly twice beside Arthur’s left hand - where he held his coat’s cuff casually up to cover his hand up to the fingertips. 

“I’m not blind, Arthur. You’ve been keeping it covered since you came out of that church’s basement.” 

Arthur winced, fingers twitching as he felt it tighten around his wrist and Parker’s eyes snapped immediately to his right hand, already half-lifted to close around his left’s cuff. He knew before it even went up that his grin wouldn’t fool him at all, but he still did it and tried not to grimace as Parker’s expression immediately and quite impressively, really, managed to become even less impressed than before. 

“It’s fine, Parker, really!” 

And instantly, he knew that was the wrong thing to say. Parker had smelled the metaphorical blood and Arthur instantly wondered his chances at outrunning him if he bolted for it. He’d not seen that look on Parker’s face for years; not since he’d looked up blearily at him through a whiskey haze, and he knew that set of his eyebrows usually reserved for actions best described as dubiously legal and a lot of frantic smiles and explanations on his own part to keep his partner out of jail. 

He jerked his left hand back, tight to his chest and squashed himself up against the car door, but Parker was faster. It was endearing - an excellent quality in a detective, those reflexes, and his tenacity like a hound hot on the scent - but Arthur felt the sweat already on his back as Parker fixed him in place with sheer stubborn concern. 

The thing on his wrist tightened, bit into the skin with its edges, and Parker grabbed his hand in an instant as Arthur sucked in a breath and swore. 

“No no no, really Parker, really it’s fine! It’s nothing, just a little. A little thing no no -” 

It was not a large car. 

Gods knew what it looked like from the outside, rocking wildly on the deserted roadside, but for a crazed second Arthur wished maybe that had been the truth as Parker managed to wrestle his left hand away and ripped down the cuff with an anticipatory grimace already perched upon his face and - 

Stopped. 

It all went rather still, then. 

As the tight coils of the slick black snake clutched warily about his wrist, its golden eyes flashing in the low light. He could see Parker’s eyes tracing it; twined about his palm, its golden tongue tasting the air wildly as its delicate, finger-thick body wrapped about Arthur’s wrist before…. Before it simply melded back into the black marks etched into the skin of his forearm in tangled coils of scaled black. As it then sank fully into his skin, like it was nothing more than simple ink from an ill-thought night and Arthur didn’t have enough time to look away before Parker’s grip tightened, and his own dark eyes fixed him in place like a wanted man. 

Arthur cleared his throat nervously, his smile strained and brittle beneath his partner’s extremely obvious judgment. 

“See? He’s, ah. He’s just a curious little fellow I picked up in that church! Came out of a book actually! And honestly he barely takes up any room at all! He could be ah. A pet maybe?” 

[watchtowerindistress]

we are not our demons (19/24) - bruce wayne x batmom

Gif source: ladybeniko

Author’s note: I still can't believe how long that last chapter was. Just imagine that was an extended edition lol.

Now finally the two chapters that I've been hyping up to for a long time. [See you at the bottom.]

Beta-read by Heidi.

Words: 3.5k

Warning: temporary poisoning (things are gonna get weird)

Please reblog/leave a comment.

Series Masterlist | Want to be tagged? | Read on AO3

Bitch, break her back, she protect and attack

Get that strap let them buckle, foot on neck, give no air

Whole world wanna be us

And my main bitch, she my day-one

- Best Friend by Saweetie (feat. Doja Cat) -

Was she really doing this?

She swiveled her head around to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Ellie had no idea how she’d be able to lie her way out of this one if she was detected. She actually made sure to wake up at the crack of dawn without encountering the few insomniacs of this house.

Holding onto the straps of her rucksack sitting over the material of her thick coat, her intense gaze met the bottom of Jason’s glass box. Before Ellie could further talk herself out of this one, her hand shakily reached for the handprint scanner at the side.

Relief made her let out a big exhale. Despite her worry if it didn’t work, the glass case opened in front of her eyes.

Thank God for Bruce’s insistence to grant her special privileges in this lair.

That flare of guilt rising in her chest was instantly squashed again when the cold metal of the crowbar touched the inside of her palm. At least there wasn’t any blood left on that piece of weaponry.

Maybe he was wrong to trust her.

Without wasting any more time, the crowbar was placed into her backpack. Trying to give herself a dose of courage, Ellie exhaled deeply.

Her choice was already made.

“Do you know how early it is, Rhodes?” The threatening quality in the woman’s voice should’ve scared her or at least sent a shiver down her spine, but honestly the events of last night hardened her. Turned her into marble.

Her gaze briefly met the display of her cell as she passed the bridge, leading her out of the city and towards the direction of the island.

“I think we both know how early it is. Besides, Ivy, I didn’t call to ask you about the time. We’ve got to meet. I’ve got a deal to make with you.”

“Another?” Ellie could hear the sultry smirk in her voice. It didn’t even bother her that Ivy was a flirty person, it was just who she was. Ellie expected it from her by now. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were turning desperate for my company. You do realize that you’d owe me after this again, right?”

“Not if we do this right, we’d be even.”

The ongoing pause hanging in the air kept the suspense between them before Ivy finally spoke again, “I’m fascinated. Go on.”

“I want you to help me to break Harley out of Arkham,” Ellie declared with a confident air that astonished even her.

Ivy’s slow and rumbling laughter filled the car and forced Ellie to narrow her eyes in speculation. Not knowing if she should label the plant lady’s reaction as cynical or earnest. “I like the way you think, little one,” she assured her with a wondrous tone of voice.

Before Ellie could even utter anything more, the line went dead with a beeping sound. Her hands loosened on the steering wheel with an offhanded gesture of incredulity when she muttered, “Great,” under her breath.

It was time to have a little faith now.

As soon as she arrived in the parking lot of the asylum premises, Ellie took her laptop from her passenger’s side and booted it up. Hacking into the network took no more than a few minutes when she registered her arrival on the guest list.

But unlike the last time Ellie entered the asylum, now she had every intention of helping someone else in a selfless quest for once. Ensuring it was still there with the sideways tilt of her head, her rucksack was sitting in the middle of the backseat.

Ellie revealed a satisfied smirk on the corners of her lips as soon as she included her alias on the top of the roster. The vibrating noise emanating from her phone caught her attention before she swiped the display and discovered the new text message.

Ivy: Already inside. Waiting for that prison break of yours.

“Time to get to work,” Ellie whispered with high anticipation and with decisive motions tied her hair into a high bun. Not long after that, she stepped out of her car. She stashed her laptop bag under her arm and held her clutch in her other hand.

Her walk towards the entranceway proved to take a longer period than she would’ve liked, giving her far too long of a shot to mull over her thoughts. This facility harbored so many bad memories for her, and she doubted she was the only one. This mental institution used to have a good reputation for actually helping their patients before it became an institute of the state. How their clients were dependent on the benevolence of its caring donors.

Ellie’s thumbs pressed against the integrated keypad on her phone display until her message came through.

Ellie: On my way. Sit tight, plant lady.

Ivy: Pffff

She stashed her device in the back pocket of her jeans and found the confident step in her walk when she needed the grounding tactile sensation of the coarse strap underneath her left palm. The pad of her index finger pressed once on the button by the door to indicate her presence before she was swiftly invited inside with a buzz.

As soon as Ellie was inside, she did a sloppy salute meant for the security guard sitting behind the metal scanner. Her back was turned to the camera as long as she couldn’t keep her program running in the lobby of the asylum.

“G’day, how’s it going?” Placing the laptop bag, her small clutch with essentials such as lip salve or soap and phone into the plastic container (like she was used to this process). Ellie watched it slide under the machine from the other end.

The blank expression on the man’s face shifted into neutral sympathy before he replied with a shrug, “What can I say? A lot of crazy in here and a lot of crazy just waiting outside.”

Ellie’s lips twitched in agreement when she nodded. The staff sitting right next to him barely lifted his head when he asked, “Name?”

“Albright, Vanessa,” Ellie curtly answered and waited a few seconds until his eyes met hers in recognition.

“Welcome back, Dr. Albright.”

“Thanks.”

“Who do you want to meet today?”

The basket slid towards Ellie with calm motions, giving her the opportunity to hang the strap over her shoulder and hide her phone inside the clutch for later.

Ellie’s eyebrows rose to her forehead when she tried to give off an air of professionalism, letting her soft waves fall into her face with the tilt of her head. “Quinzel,” she said as a statement.

The security guard frowned with bewilderment. “Huh, this one doesn’t really get visitors.”

Smiling demurely to herself, the woman reminded herself to breathe more calmly. She brushed her fingers against the edges of her frames, craving something to do with her hands. “That’s okay. She could use some company.”

“How long do you intend to stay for?”

The guard was creating a key card for her to use when Ellie shrugged. “About thirty minutes. Just an introductory session, nothing more. I requested a separate room for that.”

The man took another brief glance down at his electronic files and nodded in agreement. “Yes, no problem, Dr. Albright. Please take a seat in the waiting area at the end of the corridor and expect an employee to lead you in the direction.”

Nodding in agreement, Ellie replied, “Much appreciated, Sir,” before she meandered her way through the hall and sat on one of the plastic chairs around the corner.

Pretending to use her phone out of boredom, she started the program which would ensure her anonymity. It might have been still in a beta phase, but it was still enough to get her through this building. No one would be able to run the facial recognition software on a surveillance video that flickered extensively.

After a glance at her surroundings and ensuring that—yep—Arkham Asylum was known for its run-down ambience, Ellie was convinced enough that security would blame their retrograde technology for the unfortunate devices they had to deal with.

Truly a pity that they were state-funded.

The woman barely needed to wait about seven minutes before a nurse specialist escorted her. Small talk was hard enough for Ellie in regular situations, so this time was extra tense. To continue playing the part to get to her goal.

“Everything alright so far? I heard something happened last night. Can’t be easy for the patients to have the Joker constantly disrupt their routine.”

The woman—whose name tag said ‘Thompkins’ - shook her head at the reminded crux the green-haired psychotic always put their facility in. “I swear that guy keeps on giving us a bad reputation. Lockdowns and power outages left and right, and only because of him. One day there’ll be a 24-hour feed just for a news program called Arkham Breaking News.”

Ellie’s eyebrows rose in morbid fascination as she pursed her lips. “Sounds pretty interesting actually.”

Ms. Thompkins sighed heavily inside the slow-moving elevator. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

Ellie’s eyes slid sideways towards her young features before they landed on her ID that was labeled ‘medical student’. “At the end of your degree course?”

The brown-haired woman nodded in accord, humming under her breath. “Doctorate in medicine.” The elevator dinged and indicated their arrival when the doors opened. “Here we are. Go in that direction.” Her hand waved straight ahead while the other held the doors open. “Can’t miss it. Just pick the room ‘457’. Quinzel will be led to you straight away.”

Ellie nodded her head in recognition. “Got it. Thanks. Good luck to your studies, Miss Thompkins.”

Thompkins tilted her head before offering a soft smile. “Call me Leigh. You’re pretty young for a doctor yourself.”

Ellie’s features turned into a blank slate when she retorted, “As I keep hearing. You must hear it a lot as well. Thanks for the tour.”

The heels of her autumn boots clanked beneath her when she swiftly turned around and walked in the direction she was led to. As soon as she was left to her own devices again, breathing came easily again, Ellie noticed with immense relief. The secluded room she found herself sitting in was painted in such a dull gray tone that Ellie felt bored and impatient to begin with.

Off to a great start.

Ellie’s phone was lying right in front of her when the knock against the door pulled her out of her musings. She put on an amicable smile on her face and stood up from her chair as soon as her target was escorted into the room.

The nurse briefly nodded his head in acknowledgment before uttering, “Doctor.” He pushed his patient further inside before turning towards the bleached blonde with the blue and pink tips. “Sit down, Quinn. And don’t be a troublemaker, you hear me?”

Harley lurched forward and sent the man a pointed smirk. “I don’t make promises, hot stuff.”

“Ring the bell when you’re done,” he said, facing Ellie again. He barely accepted her nod when he closed the door behind him.

Ellie casually waved her hand towards the seat opposite her. “You look pretty thin, Miss Quinzel. What do they feed you in here?”

Harley’s blue eyes twinkled with malice and stretched her arms over her head. “It’s Doctor actually. What can I say? Liquid diet gives me the right kick as it pushes its way down my throat.” The mental patient settled down on the seat opposite from Ellie. Her eyebrows raised and her eyes roamed over Ellie’s figure as the idea started to sound enticing to her. “You should try it sometime.” She paused deliberately before hissing dangerously, “Doctor Albright.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes at the woman’s high intellect. That wasn’t mentioned in her file, only that she seemed unpredictable. She should have noticed that nothing Harley Quinn did was by chance, and nothing escaped her watchful eye. Especially when her eyes swept over the key card in a fleeting second.

Her stringy-wavy hair fell like a waterfall over her right shoulder when she tilted her head. “I go by Quinn now.”

Ellie decided to lay most of her cards on the table when she exhaled a heavy sigh after dropping her glasses on the table in front of her. No more facades. “I’m not here to psychoanalyze you.” She was looking her straight in the eyes while tapping something on the display of her phone.

Blue eyes darkened before fascination led them to roam over her more carefully. “No, you aren’t.” She leaned forward on the table between them until the muscles in her upper arms pushing through her thin tank top were put on dominant display.

“You must have quite an enthrallment with me to visit me then. Or are you one of those groupies? A few months ago, there were quite a few who were lusting after Riddler, it was like watching Manson porn. Quite fascinating actually.”

Ellie’s eyebrow raised at the colorful image Harley painted in her head. “Sounds riveting.” Her mouth twisted into a tense grimace when her timbre turned into a dark whisper. “I’m here because of what your boyfriend did last night. I want the Joker. And you are going to deliver. Help me find him, and I’ll get you out of this place.”

Harley’s jaw tensed at the reminder. “Maybe I was wrong,” she whispered. “Perhaps you’re just desperate. Did that Robin kid mean something to you?”

Her body was half turned away when she reached behind her. “Today is not about me. It’s not even about you. But the people you’re associated with.” Ellie was facing forward again and placed a milky-white substance between them. She was waiting and patiently tapped her finger against her lips.

“I want you to drink that,” Ellie calmly ordered, like she had no issue putting her through immense pain to reach her goal.

Blinking slowly, Harley’s eyes caught the label on the liquid bottle. “That’s soap,” she needlessly mentioned.

Without pausing, Ellie answered, “I’m aware of that, Quinn. What’s one more bit of liquid diet for you?” Her fingers tapped against the surface, almost out of boredom.

Her hands stroked her legs before her head looked over her left, indicating the camera pointed towards them.

“No audio. That video has been put on a loop ever since you sat down. You will drink that,” Ellie whispered without emotion, like she was just stating facts to her. “As soon as you’re led back to your cell, you’ll vomit. Maybe even faint. They’ll send you to the hospital ward. Right where you meet Ivy.”

Like a switch had been flipped, Harley’s head jumped in the air. A slow and giant smile tugged on her lips. “Why didn’t you lead with that?” Her eyes didn’t shy away from her when she uncapped the liquid soap and poured it down her throat—and not even flinching—like she was just having some milkshake.

A gratified sigh exhaled from her lips and a light thump echoed on top of the surface as the empty bottle stood between them. “I feel like a little girl all over again.”

Tiredly, Ellie’s eyebrows lifted high. “Didn’t expect you to drink the whole thing, but same thing.”

Ellie’s eyes nervously watched the two women in the backseat of her car while they bickered about stuff she wished they wouldn’t talk about at this very moment.

“I’m still mad at you.”

Harley tucked a flaming red curl through her fingers. “But you came for me, Red.”

As adorable as that little display was, it was still too distracting. “Could we please get back to the task at hand?”

Silence ensued which gave her the impression that for now they’d behave. Something rustled behind her before arms nestled around the seat by her head. “What am I supposed to call you other than my hero?”

“That’s Rhodes,” Ivy contributed with a lascivious voice. Ellie’s flickered to her naked legs wrapped around the passenger seat. Thankfully her feet weren’t touching anything, or she’d seriously rethink this decision to take those two with her.

“You’ve kept things from me, Ivy.”

“And I want you to tell me which way to go,” Ellie reminded her.

“You’re no fun,” Harley grumbled quietly before turning serious again. “Funhouse. It’s in the North of the city.”

Her lips thinned at that description. “You mean that rundown, weird carnival?”

Her warm breath felt chilling against the shell of her ear when she trilled with a melodious voice, “Hope you’re not afraid of clowns. They can be quite vicious.”

Suspicion lit up in Ellie’s narrowed eyes at being so close to Harley. She slightly turned her head and briefly studied Ivy in the rear-view mirror. “How did you get this one out?”

The coiled veins around her jaw twisted with the curling smirk. Her green eyes turned to a darker moss with every seductive whisper. “I told you my plants have their ways.”

“Fine, keep your secrets.”

Harley’s eyes switched between them curiously during their interaction as both braided pigtails bobbed with her energetic movements. “Probably a good idea. We still have to keep our break-out strategies for future references, y’know?” she interjected with a high-pitched voice. Who knew that after sitting together ten minutes in a car, Ellie would be getting used to that idiosyncratic accent or voice?

“So, what’s the plan here, darling? I mean, you have one, right?” Ivy spoke slowly.

“Break the bones of everyone who stands in our way and send the Joker to Arkham where he belongs. And you two can ride off into the sunset,” Ellie answered blankly.

“Aww, we like that plan, don’t we, Red?” Harley’s fingers intertwined through Ivy’s. Her friend’s—girlfriend’s? — answer was to roll her eyes and face the outside world passing them by through the window, but still accepting her affection despite their tension hanging in the air.

“Don’t worry about Red.” Harley waved a hand in the air. “She’s still mad at me for having bad taste in men.”

Ivy’s reply was to scoff contemptuously. “I’m not talking to you. I’m only here because I uphold my deal with Rhodes. I couldn’t care less what happens to you.”

Harley laughed uproariously, like it was the most ridiculous thing she ever heard come out of her friend’s mouth. Her lips were only a breath away from her neck when she whispered, “Liar.”

Harley faced forward again, excitedly clapping her hands. “Can we go shopping before we’re wreaking havoc?”

Ellie kept quiet, instead focusing on something else than just Quinn’s constant mood swings.

“I mean, Ivy always looks perfect, but damn it, I want to look spectacular when I kick Joker’s ass,” Harley exclaimed rather fiercely.

Mild stupor gleamed in her brown eyes at the adamant sentiment. Before long she slowed the car next to the curb. “Fine,” she sighed. “But only one of you gets out. And with one I mean Ivy.” Ellie’s meaningful gaze met Ivy’s when she looked over her shoulder at her two companions. “Stay under the radar. I have no interest in anyone getting locked into a jail cell, with us so close to the finishing line.”

Ivy chose this moment to speak up before Harley could feel insulted. Her trademark smirk was on full force. “I knew I liked you for a reason. I’ll make it quick. Don’t worry about it.” With a placating smile and a swagger to her walk, she stepped outside.

“You know…” Harley began, pushing her head right between the front seats until her face was almost prodding the side of hers. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t trust me.”

Being stuck in a car with Harley Quinn started to sound like one of her worst decisions ever made.

Ellie gazed at their surroundings through her side window. She wanted to get out of here as fast as possible before people discovered their selfless nature and called the police on witnessing a certain Quinn running rampant.

“I don’t. We don’t have to trust each other. In the end, we’re a means to an end to each other, and I’m fine with that.”

Ellie could feel her silent and probing gaze on her before Harley tilted her head in enthrallment. “Your pragmatism truly reminds me of Ivy, you know?”

A green shadow crossed her peripheral vision when Ivy’s body inched closer. “Speak of the botanist,” Ellie muttered quietly.

She turned the key in her ignition when the back door was wrenched open, and a plastic bag was thrown in Harley’s lap. The door slammed shut again.

“You take care of me so well, Red!”

“Finally, we can get things done,” Ellie mumbled.

A/N: Yep, that was Thompkins. Don't know if I'm gonna feature her for future projects though. Didn't want to copy the character from Gotham, so I re-named her Leigh. 

Tagging: @mellowstatesmanhandsempath​ @ravenmoore14​ @alwayshave-faith​ @ikranfuad​ @daydreaming-gemini​ @bluegalaxyprime​ @liadamerondjarin​ @steph21369 @andrewswifes-blog​  @yanna-banana​  @blackmagicwoman

[starlight-phantom]

Thoughts on Sonic Prime, the Netflix series? ^^

I binged it yesterday bc I got curious from seeing from the gifsets you were reblogging (oh, messed up alternate timelines my beloveds) and I really enjoyed it! :D

So, any notes? Anything in particular that caught your eye or that you'd like to see in future episodes? 👀

Well, I mean, I haven't really thought about it too much since we've only got eight episodes so far so I'm gonna wait till we've got the whole thing before I judge the series. But from what we've got so far:

I really like it.

It's not my favourite Sonic series, that's still Sonic X but nostalgia and the fact that it has a lot more episodes probably plays a big part in that so I'm not gonna hold that against Prime.

This personality for Sonic is a little bit different than what I'm used to but I still think it works really well and he manages to carry the show with his little comments.

I adore the alternate universe versions of the characters and how they take one aspect of them and change it, i.e Tails is a genius but if he never met Sonic and learned to have confidence in what makes him different so he becomes Nine, Amy is extremely kind and empathetic but if she couldn't talk about her feelings they go out of control and she becomes Thorn, etc. It's a simple concept but it works so well and they do it in a way where you don't need prior knowledge about the characters but if you do, you get some more enjoyment from it.

The worlds are all really interesting, my personal favourite so far is the pirate one, probably because there's no "We can't trust you!" Kinda thing going on like the other worlds 'cause that kinda conflict just irritates me after a while. And also just... Pirates are fun and the voices they have in that world are fun.

Speaking of voices, the voice acting is really, really good. I was a little nervous when they said the cast was gonna be different from the games because like... The voices have changed so many times... And it always starts arguments... But I really like this cast, especially Devan Mack as Sonic. Like he's not copying anyone, it's his own version of the character and he's got the cockiness, the cheekiness, the awkwardness, everything works perfectly. Not to mention, he nails the more serious scenes too like when Nine shows him the Grim and he has to turn him down. Apparently a lot of the cast were in MLP but I never saw that series, it wasn't on any channels I had growing up so I can't really comment, but they sound great in this series!

Another thing I love is the animation. I love the sheer amount of squash and stretch they use, it really gives Sonic's speed this zippy quality and just gives off this really fun vibe. And the fight coordination is really good, like that fight between Sonic and Shadow in Green Hill was great to watch. Not to mention, the effects they use for the prism powers look great. And my absolute favourite thing: They animate Sonic's ears to convey emotion. Instantly won me over with that.

Although, the thing I'm most looking forward to seeing more of has to be Shadow. Ngl it's been quite a while since he was written this well. I like the IDW comic version but even that has its problems sometimes. But I like how he is working towards what's best, he just sucks at communication and butts heads with Sonic because they both think they're doing the right thing. And while I don't like the characterisation of Shadow fighting Sonic on sight every time he sees him that most modern Sonic stuff does, I will say in Prime it's completely justified. I still find it funny that the first thing Shadow does when Sonic joins him in the void is punch him in the face.

Honestly, the only thing I'm not enjoying about Prime at the moment is the Chaos Council. I just don't find them funny or threatening. It's literally "oh here's five weird versions of Eggman with their own gimmick" like... Cool. Can we have just plain Eggman back please? The only thing I like about the Chaos Council is Rusty Rose. They might get better in the new episodes but I'm not holding my breath. They just really don't appeal to me.

But honestly on the whole, I'm really enjoying the series so far and I love all the small details they put into it like the aforementioned ear movements, how Rouge sleeps upside down, how Tails' tails are a lot thicker than Nine's tails because he actually uses them, the fact that the story ties back to the original Sonic game's themes of anti-industrialism in different ways, etc. Not to mention the little easter eggs like Tails' passcode being 1992, the year he debuted in Sonic 2, and Big's New Yoke identification code being 1998, the year he debuted in Sonic Adventure. I hope we get to see more things like that because they put a smile on my face.

Honestly, I hope the new episodes put more focus on Shadow now that he's finally got Sonic to come pick him up but I think he really has a lot of potential. And I'm really, really curious to see what Rouge's world is gonna be like. A lot of people are saying they'd like to see a Western style place which I agree would be pretty cool. And I hope more of the alternate universe characters interact with each other like how Rusty Rose and Black Rose did because that could lead to some interesting dialogue.

I didn't mean for this to become an entire goddamn essay but apparently I had some Opinions. Also none of my mutuals are really into Sonic so I don't get to talk it often so I guess it all just kinda exploded here.

[everygame]

Break Thru 

Developed/Published by: Data East Released: 1986 Completed: 18/04/2023 Completion: Got to the end by feeding credits. Version Played: Retro Classix / MAME Trophies / Achievements: n/a 

Stop! Before you read this, you should know that you can only order a physical exp. 2601 from my ko-fi shop until May 1st! Remember, as a subscriber, you get 35% off instantly!

You may have seen recently that the “Retro Classix” line of Data East re-issues, available on GOG and Steam, are being delisted at the end of April, and wondered “should I get those before they’re gone?” Well, I’m here to answer this, because I took a cursory look at them, downloaded the one that I think is earliest in the Data East chronology (Express Raider might be earlier?) and gave it a shot.

No. You don’t want to get any of them. Break Thru is probably the worst retro release I’ve ever played! To be clear, I’m not talking about the quality of the original game (which I’ll get to–it’s no great shakes, but it’s not the worst I’ve ever played) but the release, which is bare-bones to the extreme. Buy this and you get the arcade rom… and a 3D arcade wrapper that makes it feel like you’re playing it in Grand Theft Auto 3. You can, thankfully, turn that off, but what you can’t turn off is terrible smeary graphic smoothing, and you–at best–have to mitigate it by also using the included CRT filter. Now, I’m not a fan of “perfect pixel”–I prefer even a weak attempt at a CRT filter, usually–but the one here is nasty (maybe even worse than the Astro City Mini) with horrible curvature and a general dullness.

And that’s… it. There’s no save states, no dip switches or settings, nothing else. You'd be better off being handed a zip file with the rom in it.

I’m not entirely sure of the provenance of this series of Data East reissues. Before the Retro Classix line these were all included in the similarly weird “Johnny Turbo’s Arcade” series for Nintendo Switch, which all seem to have been yanked from the eShop at the end of October 2023 (which is after the Retro Classix versions were put on sale.)  I assume that whoever has the Data East rights has been selling them off cheaply but with limited and non-exclusive rights, which is why you get things as tossed off as this, but it’s interesting to note that the Johnny Turbo’s Arcade releases managed to have better graphical options and save states, so they at least did the bare minimum.

(Though it gets odder. The Retro Classix versions were also on sale on Switch until November 2023, from the same publisher as the Johnny Turbo’s Arcade series, “Golem Entertainment” though they all have the same crappy emulator wrapper as this release, even though the at least slightly better Johnny Turbo’s Arcade versions were already there. Confusing!)

Anyway. You now know to let the Retro Classix line go off gently into that good night in the hope that the next suckers to buy a job lot of Data East releases goes to the effort of putting them out nicely (I’m looking at you, Digital Eclipse). But should you play Break Thru anyway? The answer to that is… also no!

Gradius was released in early 1985 and set the benchmark, and this doesn’t even reach the lofty heights of Sega Ninja. A side-scrolling shooter with five levels, the “twist” here is that you’re driving a car, though the stand-out thing about the car is that it does two things that cars don’t normally do: it shoots bullets and it can jump, awkwardly, into the air. The latter quirk is supposed to be the highlight–as you now have to leap over obstacles, and can even leap to land your car on enemies and squash them.

There’s one power-up (a three way shot that’s generally on a timer, but sometimes it isn’t) and a small number of enemies. Shockingly, there are no bosses.

The thing about Break Thru, really, is that it… sucks. There’s little to no variety, the enemies don’t do anything much (only a few have interesting attack patterns) and the controls feels so bad that I actually had to test this release against the MAME release just to make sure the emulation wasn’t fucked up here. I mean, to be fair, the emulation could be fucked up on MAME as well, but the car in Break Thru controls horribly. You can speed up, but it feels like it makes everything on the screen speed up, and there’s no sense of friction. You get the idea–that you’re supposed to speed up to dodge bullets or enemies–but it just doesn’t seem to work.

In fact, once you know the levels, the majority of Break Thru is absolutely trivial, with the only speed bumps the few enemies that you only seem to survive randomly. There’s a helicopter that I couldn’t kill that you just need to be lucky to leap past, and a gauntlet of small tanks in the final level that almost goes full bullet hell.

I guess there’s actually a wee animation at the end to make this feel worth beating, but without a final boss or anything it feels wildly anti-climactic. Everything about this, really, is just very, very bad.

Will I ever play it again? If there really is a Digital Eclipse Data East collection I’ll boot it up… once.

Final Thought: Something else a bit strange: there were 17 Johnny Turbo’s Arcade releases, but only 12 “Retro Classix” releases, which is why I picked up Break Thru and not Shoot Out (I think the earliest of the Johnny Turbo releases.) I have spent too long thinking about this!!!

Hi. Thank you so much for being a supporter. I'd like to ask you for one more favour--could you check out the fundraiser my best friend Steven is running to help cover travel insurance costs? I know there are so many deserving causes, but Steven has a stage 4 brain tumour and it would mean the world to me if you considered donating, or sharing his page, to help make his remaining time the best ever.

[treedaddytreeexperts]

Stump Crushing Tree Administration Tree Daddy Tree Specialists

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Stump smashing, otherwise called stump crushing, includes utilizing particular hardware to crush tree stumps into little wood chips and mulch. This cycle not just kills the apparent leftovers of tree expulsion yet additionally forestalls potential dangers, for example, stumbling and bug invasion. Tree Daddy Tree Experts utilize cutting edge stump crushing hardware worked by gifted experts to convey better outcomes with insignificant aggravation than the encompassing scene.

One of the essential advantages of stump pulverizing is its capacity to advance tasteful allure and recover usable space. Unattractive tree stumps can bring down the excellence of a property and impede finishing endeavors. By really eliminating stumps through crushing, Tree Daddy Tree Experts assist land owners with improving the visual allure of their outside spaces, establishing a cleaner and seriously welcoming climate.

Besides, stump pulverizing assumes a vital part in moderating dangers related with extra tree stumps. Stumps abandoned after tree expulsion can present perils, particularly in high-traffic regions like yards, walkways, and carports. They can cause mishaps, harm yard cutting hardware, and become favorable places for nuisances and parasites. By instantly and completely crushing stumps, Tree Daddy Tree Experts dispense with these security concerns, guaranteeing a more secure outside climate for land owners and guests the same.

One more huge benefit of stump pounding is its commitment to ecological manageability. Rather than depending on substance stump evacuation techniques that might hurt the encompassing biological system, stump crushing produces normal wood mulch that can be reused and reused. The mulch created from stump pounding can be utilized to advance soil, control disintegration, and improve arranging projects, advancing maintainability and limiting waste.

Furthermore, stump smashing offers viable advantages for future arranging attempts. By wiping out tree stumps subterranean level, Tree Daddy Tree Experts set up the ground for future planting or development projects. This permits land owners to utilize their outside space without the obstacle of obstructive stumps, working with scene plan adaptability and flexibility.

Tree Daddy Tree Experts' mastery in stump pulverizing reaches out past specialized capability to envelop a guarantee to consumer loyalty and comfort. They comprehend that each property has one of a kind necessities and inclinations, and they tailor their stump squashing administrations likewise. Whether it's eliminating a solitary stump or clearing a whole property, they approach each occupation with impressive skill, productivity, and meticulousness.

All in all, stump squashing is a fundamental piece of tree organization, and Tree Daddy Tree Experts are confided in specialists in this field. Through their high level hardware, talented labor force, and devotion to client assistance, they give proficient and powerful stump crushing arrangements that upgrade the magnificence, security, and usefulness of private and business properties. With Tree Daddy Tree Subject matter experts, land owners can depend on top-quality stump squashing administrations that convey excellent outcomes and inward feeling of harmony.

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[fusion360]

Fall Gardening Tips and Tricks for Utah

As summer comes to an end and autumn begins, it's time to shift gardening focus from the scorching sun to the gentle, cooler days of fall. Fall gardening in Utah offers a unique set of challenges and opportunities, thanks to the state's diverse climate and landscape. To help you make the most of this season, Kilgore Landscaping Center gives you their fall gardening tips and tricks and offers a range of garden bed landscaping products. Whether you're a seasoned gardener or a novice, discover valuable insights and practical advice for a thriving fall garden.

Understanding Utah's Climate Zones

Before we go into specific gardening tips, it's important to understand Utah's diverse climate zones. The state can be broadly divided into three primary climate zones: Northern, Central, and Southern Utah.

Northern Utah: Northern Utah experiences cooler temperatures and more extended periods of frost compared to other regions. Cities like Salt Lake City, Ogden, and Logan fall into this zone.

Central Utah: This region, which includes areas like Provo and Nephi, has milder winters and warmer summers than Northern Utah.

Southern Utah: Cities like St. George and Moab in Southern Utah enjoy a semi-arid climate with mild winters and hot summers.

Understanding your specific climate zone is crucial for successful fall gardening since it directly impacts the types of plants you can grow and the timing of various gardening tasks.

Plant Cool-Season Vegetables

Fall in Utah provides an excellent opportunity to grow a variety of cool-season vegetables as long as you have the correct garden bed landscaping products. Some popular cool-season vegetables to consider planting include:

Lettuce: Varieties like Romaine and Butterhead are excellent choices for fall salads.

Spinach: Nutrient-rich spinach is a cool-season favorite that can be harvested multiple times.

Kale: This hardy green not only adds visual appeal to your garden but also offers great nutritional value.

Carrots: Plant carrots in late summer to enjoy sweet and crisp roots in the fall.

Broccoli: Fall is an ideal time to grow broccoli, as it matures in cooler temperatures.

Cauliflower: Similar to broccoli, cauliflower thrives in cooler weather and can be a delightful addition to your fall garden.

Radishes: Radishes are a quick-growing crop that can be harvested in as little as 30 days.

Pumpkins and Squash: If you planted pumpkins or squash in the summer, they should be ready for harvest in the fall.

Plant cool-season annuals in late summer to early fall and spring-flowering bulbs in late September or early October. Perennials and shrubs can be planted throughout the fall, provided the soil is workable.

Revamp and Enhance Your Garden

Fall is not just a season for planting and maintaining. It's also an ideal time to revamp and enhance your garden space with the use of garden bed landscaping products.

Garden Borders and Edging: Installing decorative garden borders or edging materials can instantly elevate the appearance of your garden.

Retaining Walls: If you have sloped terrain in your garden, consider adding retaining walls to create terraced areas.

Pathways and Stepping Stones: Enhance accessibility and aesthetics by incorporating pathways or stepping stones like natural stone, brick, or concrete pavers.

Decorative Rocks and Gravel: Introduce decorative rocks and gravel to your garden beds for visual appeal, weed control, and moisture retention.

Raised Beds and Planter Boxes: Fall is an excellent time to install raised garden beds or planter boxes. These structures provide better control over soil quality and drainage while adding depth and dimension to your garden.

Plant Spring-Blooming Bulbs

For a burst of color in your spring garden, plant spring-blooming bulbs in the fall. Bulbs like tulips, daffodils, crocuses, and hyacinths can be planted in Utah gardens during the fall months. Here's how to do it:

Choose High-Quality Bulbs: Select bulbs that are firm and free from mold or damage.

Plant at the Right Depth: Follow the planting depth recommendations for each type of bulb.

Provide Well-Draining Soil: Bulbs can rot in soggy soil, so make sure the planting area has good drainage. Kilgore Landscaping offers a range of garden bed landscaping products including raised beds to improve drainage.

Planting Technique: Dig a hole for each bulb or use a bulb planter tool. Place the bulb with the pointed end facing upward and cover it with soil.

Conclusion

Fall gardening in Utah offers a unique and beautiful experience, with the vibrant colors of autumn serving as a beautiful backdrop. By understanding your region's climate, choosing the right plants, and following essential planting and maintenance tips, you can create a stunning and delicious fall garden. Kilgore Landscaping Center is happy to answer your questions and show you which products are right for your garden.

[cwdressings]

Exploring the Versatility of Cava Balsamic Date Vinaigrette: A Perfect Dressing for Salads

When it comes to creating a delicious salad, the dressing can make all the difference. A good dressing enhances the flavors of the ingredients and brings everything together in a harmonious blend. If you're looking to elevate your salads to new heights, look no further than Cava Balsamic Date Vinaigrette. This exquisite dressing adds a unique twist to your salads, combining the richness of balsamic vinegar with the sweetness of dates & the effervescence of cava. In this article, we'll explore the versatility of Cava Balsamic Date Vinaigrette and how it can transform your salads into culinary masterpieces.

A Perfect Balance of Flavors:

Cava Balsamic Date Vinaigrette strikes a perfect balance between sweet and tangy flavors. The natural sweetness of dates complements the rich, aged balsamic vinegar, creating a delightful combination that tantalizes your taste buds. The addition of cava, a sparkling wine, adds a touch of effervescence, lifting the flavors and providing a refreshing twist. This well-rounded flavor profile makes the dressing versatile and adaptable to a wide range of salad ingredients.

Complementing a Variety of Salad Ingredients:

Cava Balsamic Date Vinaigrette pairs exceptionally well with a variety of salad ingredients. Its sweet and tangy notes can enhance both fruit-based salads and savory vegetable combinations. When used with mixed greens, the dressing adds a touch of sophistication and depth. It also pairs beautifully with salads that incorporate ingredients like roasted beets, goat cheese, caramelized nuts, or even grilled chicken. The versatility of this dressing makes it a great choice for any salad lover.

Elevating Simple Salads to Gourmet Delights:

One of the remarkable qualities of Cava Balsamic Date Vinaigrette is its ability to elevate simple salads into gourmet delights. Whether you're preparing a basic garden salad or a more elaborate creation, a drizzle of this vinaigrette instantly transforms the dish. The complex flavors of the dressing add depth and dimension, turning an ordinary salad into a memorable culinary experience. With just a few simple ingredients, you can create a salad that impresses both your palate and your guests.

Experimenting with Complementary Ingredients:

Another advantage of Cava Balsamic Date Vinaigrette is its compatibility with a wide range of complementary ingredients. By experimenting with different combinations, you can create unique and exciting salads that suit your personal preferences. For example, pairing the dressing with fresh strawberries, crumbled feta cheese, and toasted almonds adds a delightful twist to a traditional spinach salad. Similarly, combining it with arugula, roasted butternut squash, and shaved Parmesan cheese creates a savory-sweet masterpiece. The possibilities are endless when you have such a versatile dressing at your disposal.

Cava Balsamic Date Vinaigrette is a true game-changer when it comes to salad dressings. Its unique blend of flavors, combining the richness of balsamic vinegar with the sweetness of dates & the effervescence of cava, creates a delightful symphony for your taste buds. With its versatility, it complements a wide variety of salad ingredients, turning simple salads into gourmet delights. So, the next time you're looking to add a touch of magic to your salads, reach for a bottle of Cava Balsamic Date Vinaigrette and let your creativity soar. Your taste buds will thank you!

[12shreeguruji]

Making Mocktails Made Easy With Shree Guruji Syrups

Summer is the perfect time for tantalizing your taste buds with refreshing drinks of fruity flavors. Shree Guruji is one of the most renowned manufacturers and suppliers of premium quality crushes, syrups, sharbat syrup, and more. 

When you return home after a day’s hectic schedule or invite friends to your place to enjoy an evening together, a glass of mocktail can freshen up yourself and spirit almost instantly. 

Therefore, the entire range of Shree Guruji’s products can be a perfect choice for those who love enjoying fruity mocktails when the sultry summer drains them off their energy. 

Why Are Shree Guruji Syrups Ideal For Mocktails?

Flavors

When you pick syrups and squashes from Shree Guruji’s collection, the variety in store remains overwhelmingly numerous. If you prefer the traditional feel of sharbat, you can opt for the alternatives like the royal Gul e Gulzar. 

On the other hand, if you are fond of fruity flavors, pick from the collection of crushes of pineapple, orange, blueberry, litchi, Kiwi, mango, guava and more. The assortment also includes different types of thandai such as kesar pista, rose, kesaria, badam, etc. 

Therefore, regardless of your personal preference, you will undoubtedly find something matching your requirement in Shree Guruji’s extensive collection. Pick the right one and make refreshing mocktails of your choice with these products. 

Package Variety

Another aspect that makes buying concentrates or crushes from Shree Guruji for making delicious mocktails at home remains its package varieties. This means you will find a pack of multiple fruit crushes available in a pack of 6. 

These packs often cost less than the total sum of 6 crushes taken together and are perfect for making mocktails for your guests for a party. 

Be it a house party or a formal gathering, all invitees might not like the same flavor equally. Keeping multiple mocktails made with different fruit flavors can be a smart choice for any host. 

No Grain Syrups

If you are not opting for the fruity crushes that often come with a little bit of pulp as well, most of the Shree Guruji syrups remain homogeneous and grain-free. No matter how you prepare the mocktail with these syrups, the taste always turns out to be taste bud tantalizing. 

Especially the syrups and thandai varieties especially remain perfect for summertime beverages. The mint leave syrups can be ideal for making mocktails if you want your guests to feel rejuvenated right after the first sip. 

The smooth texture of the mocktails that Shree Guruji syrups ensure remains one of the primary reasons for buying these products. 

Unadulterated Taste

All Shree Guruji products feature authentic taste and flavor. This means when you buy Kiwi Crush, every sip of the mocktail made with this syrup will taste like garden fresh kiwis. The preparation of mocktails often involves adding a few more ingredients to the basic syrup. 

However, the flavors of the Shree Guruji products are so natural and imposing, that these additions do not diminish the taste. 

To buy the best quality sharbat syrup or squashes, check out Shree Guruji’s collection today. You will find a plethora of varieties to choose from and all the products carry the mark of excellence.

[userd40]

All about prints

Pop art took everyday life and regular objects and made them saturated with hues, formidable outlines, and creative overlays. The fashion’s vibrancy is uniquely integrated into ordinary objects like soup cans, culmination, a p.C. Of gum, and equipment, or in media like newspapers, magazines, and comic strips. Pop artwork made mundane and commonplace objects into high-quality ones, completely breaking the creative norms and cultural hierarchy that turned into in region at the time.

Pop artwork is instantly recognizable and can be noticed from miles away because of its zest and active colorings and styles, infamous imagery from popular media and products, and the innovative inventive strategies that characterised the pop artwork fashion. It often used repetition, symbols, overlays, and dots with number one coloration pallets of vivid reds, blues, and yellows. Pop artwork additionally incorporated humor and irony which made the portions so relatable to the hundreds. Artists used satire to poke a laugh at tendencies and fads,These may be traced again to 14th century when investors from east used to import the florals to European states and that is once they won the popularity. Floral prints have been actually considered as a standing symbol because they had been so exceedingly priced however slowly Europeans discovered to copy them and started generating them at inexpensive charges. Slowly it became widely to be had with Italians producing some relatively embroidered florals.

Floral Pattern

Chintz, one of the maximum well-known floral material, become genuinely considered the most expensive material of that time and from that ear to now, the love affair with florals nonetheless maintains to move on. The splendor of this material lies in its versatility- they may be available in millions of colour, styles and textures that florals are cross-to in each season and each event.

And with millions of plant life to take its proposal from which might be gift all around us, there may be no give up to the creativity of designers. The floral colorings are so vibrant and fresh that makes you sense full of life.

Bring out your inner girl with gorgeous floral clothes, skirts, shorts, pants, shirts, kurtas, shoes or even swimsuits and sunglasses with our styling tips. And if you would love to offer a subtle appearance, simply cross for a informal floral get dressed with an accent.

doodle pattern

Have you ever gotten in problem for doodling on your college papers? Or maybe you tend to appearance distracted for the duration of displays and conferences at work due to the fact you’re drawing as opposed to enticing with the speaker.

Well, your instructor or boss is probably amazed to discover that doodling certainly offers massive benefits for your mind. So in preference to seeking to squash the habit, take gain of it to reinforce your concentration, creativity, and ability to study — all at the same time as enhancing your drawing abilties.

For insight into the blessings of doodling and a few creative physical games to get you started out, examine the guide beneath.

It’s not unusual to aimlessly draw when your thoughts is in any other case occupied, along with in the course of a smartphone name, meeting, or lecture, or while you need to meditate or loosen up. This is the art of doodling — the act of drawing, sketching, or scribbling with out a final goal or product in thoughts. In reality, doodling can be taken into consideration a sort of procedure art, which means that the real act of doodling is greater critical than the completed product.

Doodling is precise to each person drawer, so there are not any suggestions round what a doodle have to seem like. For some, it’s repeated strains or shapes; for others, it’s drawing the identical word (like your name) in a selection of patterns. What you choose to doodle relies upon on what you’re comfy and acquainted with — however there’s no wrong way to do it!Pop Art Techniques and Characteristics Let’s test the defining traits of father artwork that made it this sort of effective motion.

Consumerism Theme: Capitalism, intake, and materialism are critical themes of dad art. Campbell soup cans, Coca-Cola, and cereal bins are many of the many imageries used to depict famous logo names and well-known product packaging. Pop art emphasised materialism by displaying off the affluence of postwar society thru these merchandise. Fame and Celebrity Culture: The obsession with repute and movie star tradition is another most important subject of father art. As people fed on Hollywood, films, magazines, and television, as did artists to create superstar-stimulated creations. Fun truth: The famous expression “Fifteen mins of reputation” got here from Andy Warhol’s famous quote, “In the future, all of us will be international-famous for fifteen minutes.” Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley had been a number of the many celebrities used in pop art designs.

Doodle leaves

Have you been inspired by using autumn? I have! It’s tough not to be, after I see all the fantastic golds, reds, or oranges brightening the bushes, and now carpeting the floor. I’ve been taking into account exclusive approaches to draw with leaves. Leaves make notable topics for doodle research, because they’re

clean-to-discover transportable are available different hues and shapes simple & complicated — precise for every age and competencies they’re an excellent excuse to move on a scavenger hunt Go for a stroll for your outdoor or close by park. Try to discover leaves in as many specific styles and sizes as possible. If there aren’t many sorts in your vicinity, search for variations in the equal tree. See if you may find at the least 10 distinctive types.

Doodling with Leaves : 5 Ways to Draw

1. CONTOUR COLOR LAYERING You will want different colored-pencils or pens. Start with the handiest leaf shapes and increase each time to a more complicated one. Look at the edges — are they smooth or jaggedy? Are they curved or pointy? Are they symmetrical?

Have you been inspired through autumn? I have! It’s difficult now not to be, once I see all the appropriate golds, reds, or oranges brightening the timber, and now carpeting the ground. I’ve been deliberating unique approaches to attract with leaves. Leaves make brilliant subjects for doodle research, because they’re

easy-to-locate transportable come in extraordinary hues and shapes easy & complex — correct for all ages and capabilities they’re a perfect excuse to head on a scavenger hunt Go for a stroll on your outdoor or nearby park. Try to find leaves in as many extraordinary styles and sizes as viable. If there aren’t many varieties in your vicinity, search for variations inside the identical tree. See if you could locate at least 10 one-of-a-kind kinds.

Doodling with Leaves : Ways to Draw

1. CONTOUR COLOR LAYERING You will need extraordinary colored-pencils or pens. Start with the simplest leaf shapes and strengthen every time to a extra complicated one. Look at the edges — are they smooth or jaggedy? Are they curved or pointy? Are they symmetrical?

Doodle each leaf shape as an define in a different shade. Layer one shape over some other shape like this, till you’ve got a pleasing composition:

drawleaves1

Alternatively, more youthful doodlers can trace the leaves to compose your design.

2. MAPPING THE LEAVES This drawing calls for a chunk extra staying power and observation of the traces at the leaf. Lightly cartoon the define of the leaf (or use a light coloured-pencil as I did). Then, word the strains jogging via the leaves, referred to as veins. When you start drawing the veins, they begin to resemble roads or rivers on a map. Do the strains move up or down from the petiole to the top of the leaf?

[mspoodle1]

6 flower arrangements resized, done then separated. So that's 36 options plus each flower bundle has at least 2 variations and the vases are all recolorable. Mix and match galore.

I'll do the upscaled version for the mod later on. I need a break from these so I don't get it all mixed up. lol

[masonxomount]

False Doubts - Mason Mount

For @katyhoran02 <3

Tag list: @whiskeypowder​ @chloereddy @mountsmason​ ​@ofxinnocence

Just ask if you’d like to be added!

Gif by @mountsmason as always! 😘

Btw I haven't used Mason's mum's name as it feels a bit strange to do so (just a personal preference) :)

Mason’s parents’ living room was pretty. You’d always thought that ever since you had first come to the house. 

The only problem was, you were doing such a lovely room an injustice. You had escaped to the quiet of this room to have a moment to yourself. Thoughts that had been plaguing you for many months had caught up with you hard during this trip to Mason’s parents. It had just made all of them seem more real to you. 

For the weeks recently passed, feelings of discontent had circled you. Ever since Mason had broken up with his ex, and now was with you, every now and then one of his friends would mention her - and you would wonder whether they preferred her. Of whether they wished she was still in the place you now fulfilled. 

You didn’t know that much about Mason’s ex, in truth you didn’t like to know much, but the little details you did know made you wonder how you matched up to those qualities. Were you better? Had Mason chosen you because he wanted to squash loneliness or did he actually want you? He had given you no reason to think negatively, but the doubts were always there, regardless of whatever you did. 

Stupidly, you had started to cry. You were silent, tears just falling down your cheeks with no sound coming from you. You were looking out into the garden at the back of the house. How peaceful the day looked today... You wished you could have that inner peace yourself. 

“Y/N?” 

You hadn’t heard Mason’s mum walk into the room. 

“I’m sorry.” You instantly apologised but you weren’t sure for what exactly. You hastily wiped the tears from your face and tried to appear presentable. 

“Are you ok, love?” 

It was clear that you weren’t, but you couldn’t begrudge her for being concerned. 

“I’m fine, I’m sorry.” You apologised again. You were worried you appeared ridiculous to your boyfriends mother as you were standing crying in her living room. 

“I don’t want to sound harsh but you’re clearly not. Sit with me.” 

“I-”

“Y/N sweetheart, you can tell me.” 

She guided you down to sit next to her on the sofa. You had begun to pick at the skin around your fingernails. Anyone would be able to tell you that you were very upset about something. 

The woman sitting in front of you was waiting patiently for you to speak. She didn’t pry or say anything else until you opened your mouth. 

“I’m worried about me and Mase.” You confessed. 

“Oh?” She looked very worried. 

“Oh not like that!” You said quickly, cursing your choice of wording. “I worry I’m going to disappoint him in the end. That I’m not good enough for him.” 

The look of confusion left your boyfriend’s mother’s face and was replaced by a mixture of pity and fondness. You couldn’t decide what was worse, the confusion before or the pity now. You didn’t want to be pitied. However, it wasn’t pity that was the resounding emotion, the fondness was the feeling that prompted Mason’s mother. 

“If there’s one thing I know about my son, Y/N, is that he loves you.”

You found yourself blushing at her words. And to your embarrassment and delight she continued. 

“You deserve him, and he deserves you. I can’t think of anyone else that I would want to see him with.”

If Mason’s mother carried on like this you were going to end up crying again, but this time for a totally different reason. About ten minutes ago you wouldn’t have believed a single word that you were being told, but the sincerity in which the words were said had convinced you. Hearing it from someone so close to Mason was one thing, but hearing it from him would be another. 

As if she could read your mind, Mason’s mum studied you and then said, “Y/N, I think you should talk to Mason about this. I think he needs to tell you all of this, not me.” 

The smile she gave you was enough to make you want to talk to your boyfriend. Everyone always says that communication in a relationship is key, and at the moment you and Mason were lacking in that department. You had been feeling like this for months, and had never once breathed a word of it to him. 

“I will.” You promised. You received a nod and a reassuring smile in return. You would do it tonight. 

+ + +

You had allowed yourself to relax into Mason’s arms later on into the evening. There hadn’t been a suitable time that you could speak to him about the conversation you had had earlier. Now seemed like no better time than any to bring it up. 

“Mase?” Your voice was muffled into his chest and you wondered if he had heard you. 

“Hmm?” He hummed into the top of your hair. 

“I’m not a disappointment to you, am I?” 

Mason moved back from you so quickly so he could look at your face, searching whether you were joking or being completely serious. When he was met with your solemn expression he knew you were being serious. Your question was not a joke. 

“Of course not! Why would you say that?” 

Mason stroked a hand down your hair in an attempt to comfort you. He couldn’t think of a reason as to why you had asked him that. There hadn’t been an event that would force you to think that you would ever be a disappointment. 

“I just… I just worry that I’m not good enough for you.”

You were not going to cry again. 

“God, Y/N, you are so good for me. I can’t think of anyone better.” 

“That’s what your mum said…” You mumbled, actually low enough that Mason didn’t hear. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing.” 

Your boyfriend looked at you worryingly, before cuddling you closer and squeezing you to him. 

“Y/N, you are the best thing in my life, and I’m so so glad that I met you. Please don’t ever think that you’re not good enough. I love you so much.” 

You snuggled closer into Mason, grasping the front of his T-shirt to pull yourself as close to him as possible. His body heat surrounding you wasn’t smothering even though it was all you could feel. It was comforting. 

Mason was pressing soft kisses to your hairline. You had honestly never felt more loved.

Masterlist

Request HERE :)

[dragonblobz]

I'm on my bullshit again. No lemons. Just Shinigami goodness. Wrote this to In Keeping Secrets of Silent Earth 3 by Coheed and Cambria.

Ryuk has been around for such a long time. Ever since she had found that notebook sitting on that tree stump years ago. Cover soft looking and beaded with dew. It had looked as if it had been there some time. And, although the pages looked weathered and yellow, there was no mold or outward damage.

Surprising given its location in the middle of the woods. She’d only even seen it because she’d stopped and knelt to retie her shoe. Just an alien black square looking sharp and unreal sitting on that stump just off the jogging trail.

She can remember how the thing had felt when she’d picked it up. Soft in texture. Like careworn leather.

The words “Death Note" emblazoned on the cover had made her feel a little unsettled. Eerie out here in the predawn misty quiet.

A silent voice inside her mind had whispered that maybe she should put it right back down on that stump and keep running. As far and as fast as she could.

Another voice, vapid and cunning, had laughed at the absurdity of such a book, with such a title, being left out here in the middle of nowhere.

She hadn’t left it there. Without opening it, she’d tucked it under her arm and continued on her morning run.

She performed all the menial tasks of her daily life, forgetting all about that Death Note leaving dew marks on her dining room table.

Breakfast was bland. Work was tedious. No different than any other day. Even when she’d reentered her home and plopped her work bag next to the thing, her eyes really didn’t focus on it.

It was the tall bony Shinigami standing in her kitchen that finally arrested her fuzzy mind from the blandness of living.

He hadn’t even been looking at her. Instead, the spinous processes of his vertebrae pressed onto the dark material upon his long back as he leaned over her counter. Observing a bowl of fruit as if it were a still life masterpiece.

She hadn’t moved. Was utterly frozen. Just watching this creature as it looked at her food.

“What’s all this junk? Taking up room that could be used for perfectly good apples.” It’s voice, low and yet raspy, grated on her eardrums as it lifted a hand and poked a claw into the ripe flesh of an orange. The movement causing several pieces of fruit to fall out of the over filled bowl entirely.

With a deft movement, the creature caught the only apple which had exited the bowl. Rubbed it with the pad of it’s thumb as it finally lifted it’s face to look at her.

It’s face………

Cadaverous. Eyes beady and large and yellow. Nose squashed. Like a mummy who’d decided to affix it’s hair for a punk rock concert. It was even sporting a dangling silver earring on one of it’s little ears.

At her gawping expression, it had smiled. Wide thin dark mouth sporting a row of razor teeth appearing aged and yellow.

“No screaming, eh? Hiya, Y/N.”

She hadn’t bothered to question how this thing knew her name.

“Um…….. hi?” Her own voice sounded dry and distant in her ears. “And you are?”

It bit into that apple, it’s eyes closing. As if savoring the fruit. A stray drop of the juice dribbled down onto it’s chin.

It said a word. But muffled thru a mouthful of apple, it nearly sounded like a retch.

“Ex….Excuse me? I didn’t…… I didn’t quite understand that.”

“Not a good listener tho. Ah well. Nobody is perfect.” It’s long tongue snaked out to swipe at that bead of juice as the creature had studied her.

Raising it’s free hand, it extended a long bony finger. She noticed now the rings glinting on his hands.

“I. Am. Ryuk.” He said it very slowly. As if she might have been a child who might not understand. But there wasn’t a trace of sarcasm or ill temper in it’s behavior.

“So….. Ryuk…… why…… um…. What……. What do you want?”

At this, it’s smile had widened.

“I’m just here Y/N. YOU are the one that picked up the Death Note.”

Imagery of that notebook popped up in her head.

“I….. I did……”

“Yes. You did. And I’ll be with you until you die now. Or I do.” It was leering now. “Whichever comes first.”

“I see….” She didn’t really see. Turned from him and went into the dining room to pick up that notebook. Opening it. Reading the first thing written on the inside of the cover out loud.

“The human whose name is written in this note shall die.”

It had been frightening in retrospect. Not those words. Not that Death Note. Not even the monster standing in the doorway happily crunching it’s way thru a second apple and watching her.

What had been utterly terrifying was that she had not blanched. Had not set this note down and backed away. Had not told that creature to take it and go.

Instead, she’d stood there. Continuing to read. A name and face already coming to mind.

A face belonging to a monster who’d put that apple eating shark mouthed monster to utter shame. The man who’d killed someone she had loved.

Without looking away from the Death Note, she’d reached over and started rummaging thru her work bag. Fingers shaking and fumbling at keys and change.

“Never can find what you’re looking for if your bag is too full, Y/N.” Ryuk looked vastly amused. “You’re not even going to question the validity of the Note? That’s what you humans usually do.”

She hadn’t answered. Simply gasped as her fingers had clutched onto a great fistful of bullshit in her bag. Lifting the whole mess out to drop carelessly on the table. Chapstick and a tampon scattering across the surface.

And there, rolling and coming to rest against an old broken key chain, had been a blue ink pen.

She’d looked up at Ryuk. Eyes wide, almost manic.

“Any person?”

He smiled again. Repeated her words.

“Any living person.”

There had been no eloquence. No artfulness nor ritualistic care taken in that first death. She had scratched the name onto the paper. And a way to die. Almost stabbing it in. Breathing coming out in ragged desperate gasping.

After the deed had been done, the pen clattered to the floor as she’d wept. Fingers numb.

It hadn’t occurred to her that there would be no way to instantly verify this death. Not until that moment. And so, with a frustrated cry, she’d slapped the Death Note onto the table and fled into her bedroom. Right over to the dark corner to collapse, wrap her arms around her knees, stuff her face into her knees, and cry as a child. Ryuk following her, tilting his head quizzically at this suffering.

“Why are you crying? You couldn’t have liked that human if you wanted them to die.”

“Please…… please go.”

But he didn’t. Simply had sank down. Knobby knees on either side of his ghastly face as he sat across from her.

“I told you. I’m here till you die, Y/N.” There was no camaraderie or sympathy in his voice. It had been matter of fact. “But this surely will get boring very soon, won’t it?”

“When will I know if he died?”

Ryuk smiled again. Leering.

“My my. Impatient aren’t you. Actually that’s a quality I like about you humans. As for your question, I guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself.” His eyes glint as his smile turns wicked. “You could always write a name belonging to someone closer. If you’re seeking validation, of course.”

“There isn’t anyone else I wanna kill.”

“Then this is going to get very boring very quickly, Y/N.”

She hadn’t had to wait long. Two days later, she’d received correspondence that her presence would no longer be required at a hearing. The defendant was dead.

A quick Google search verified that the person had died just as she’d written.

Setting the phone down, fingers numb, she'd simply looked up at her Shinigami.

She knew that’s what he was now. She’d been peppering him with questions about himself and his kind. And about the Death Note. He hadn’t answered many of them. At least, not until she’d given him an angelic grin and revealed a bag of bright green apples.

“Your apples can be green???” He'd looked absolutely delighted. And had been far more forthcoming.

“He’s dead. He’s really……. Gone…….”

Ryuk merely grunted in visceral enjoyment as he popped the core of that Granny Smith into his maw.

Without warning, she’d reached forward, patting at another errant drop of juice on his chin with a Kleenex she’d just snatched from the box. The action was mainly impulsive. And she’d laughed.

“You’re so messy.”

The Shinigami had frozen. Utterly motionless. He didn’t breathe himself. Statue still. Simply looking at her.

The years passed by like this. The shock and relief provided by this first killing soon giving way to an almost comfortable routine. She didn’t go on a wholesale slaughter. And often targeted those who hurt children. The pain of such cases resonating with the events of her own life.

And there were so. Many. Apples. Loads of them. Ryuk loved all kinds. Although he did seem preferential to Honey Crisp. She never once could get him to try another fruit. And she DID try. Not even a damn orange.

“It’s yummy. Ya know, for somebody that says he gets bored easily, you sure are picky.” She waggled the bright fruit.

“I’ve watched you peel one of those things. What sort of food makes you work so hard? Now THIS……” He'd held up his half eaten apple. “THIS is the pinnacle of crisp and juicy. Now leave that orange wherever you found it, if you please.”

Time was littered with conversations as simple as these, intermingled with serious discussions in which he was as non informative as ever.

It was one of these more serious conversations which followed an observation on her part.

She’d noticed changes in him. Very slight. But she was simply around him so much that she could see them. His movements had become slower. More careful. His speech slowed as well. As if he might be thinking more carefully. Or even forgetting things. She never once pointed this out.

Not until, one day, after clearing 6 entire apples, he’d actually groaned as he’d flopped upon her couch. Long booted feet hanging over one of the arms.

She plops next to him. Poking at one of the skulls on his belt. He’d long since stopped being surprised by her impulsive touches and nearness. Her humanness. Simply tolerating it.

“Are you hurting, Ryuk?”

“Why are you asking?”

“Oh. No reason.”

“I’m dying, Y/N.”

For once, it is she who freezes.

“I thought Shinigami lived a long time.”

“We do. My time is simply running out.” He’s just watching her.

“You’d said….. you’d said that you guys get more years by taking ours.”

“We do.”

She stops toying with that skull entirely. Turns her body so that she’s facing him directly.

“Is it time, then?” She’s oddly unafraid.

“Time for what?”

“For you to….. ya know…… write my name in YOUR Death Note?”

At this, he chuckles.

“I’m not going to write your name.”

She looks confused.

“But….. why not?”

Now he’s actually laughing.

“Do you WANT me to write your name in my Death Note?”

She chews on her bottom lip. Reaching out to pat his chest. Once again, he doesn’t react.

“I don’t want you to die.”

He laughs again. But there is no more true mirth in the sound.

“Why?”

She counters.

“Why won’t you write my name?”

“I am not entirely sure, Y/N.” The slight confusion in his voice gives credence to this answer.

“Well. I am sure.” She’s staring intently at him. “Everything ends, Ryuk. Nobody ever stays. Nothing is constant. I’ve never had a single person ever remain in my life. Except….. except you.”

He sighs. Patiently repeating himself.

“I will be with you until you die.”

“I don’t care if it’s because you have to be here. You’re still HERE……. Will it be soon?”

That same, toothy leer.

“You know I won’t tell you your lifespan, Y/N.”

“I don’t mean me.”

He just looks at her. She’s never seen his face so expressionless. Then repeats yet again.

“I will be with you until you die. Or until I do.”

“I will write my own name then. Will that do it?”

“Stop being foolish. Be a dear and get me another apple won’t you?”

“Yeah….. I will. But I’m not done.”

“I’m sure you’re not.” He chuckles.

It is as if this conversation opens a chasm in this inevitable process. Everything about Ryuk is changing. And so quickly.

Already emaciated and pale, even his dark lips turn papery and light grey. His hair grays too. Yellow eyes growing filmy where they had been so keen before. As if, when the aging process actually begins in a Shinigami, it is accelerated.

It is barely 2 weeks after this conversation that he gives a defeated grunt, sprawled on her bed as she’s on her laptop.

“I can’t get up.” He barks out a laugh. As if this is genuinely funny to him.

She closes her laptop and rises from her chair. Turning and walking over to the bed to flop next to him. Staring at the ceiling just as he is.

“You want another apple?”

“Thank you, Y/N. But I do not.”

“That close, huh.”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Will the Death Note still work? When you’re gone I mean.”

“Yes.”

Her voice is oddly cold.

“Do death gods go to hell? I cant go to heaven or hell. What about you?”

He doesn’t answer for several minutes. She doesn’t speak either. Finally…

“I suppose we will end up in the same place, Y/N.”

“I'm glad.” She turns her face to look at him. “I’ll need something before you go.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“The Shinigami eyes.”

At this, Ryuk turns his face as well. And they just stare at each other.

“Clever greedy impatient girl.” The insult is almost affectionate. “Are you truly that afraid to die alone?”

“Nobody should die alone. And this way, neither of us will half to. Half my lifespan for the Shinigami eyes. We’ll die at the same time.” She looks back up at the ceiling. He does too.

When he feels her fingers intertwining with his, as always, he doesn’t react.

“I never actually made that offer to you. Merely spoke of it.”

“I don’t care. I want the Shinigami eyes.”

He turns his face to her.

“Who am I to turn down such a lucrative deal?”

She sees his hand coming towards her face. Closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, the picture of her and some old friends on the wall is noticeably different. One face, the face of the friend who’d committed suicide years before, is clear and unblemished. The other faces each have a name and numbers above them.

And when she looks back at Ryuk, she sees that his hair is once again jet black. Eyes just as clear and sharp as she remembers. He leers at her. Squeezes her hand as she’s squeezing his.

“I’ll take that apple as well. If the offer is still there.”

She grins.

“You got a new lease on life and you STILL won’t try an orange?”

He scoffs.

[wizkiddx]

without making this a sap story ive had some not so great news from home and am in one of them moods to not talk abt it. but i need a tom h to hug me , pls could u write something like that?

hey anon - i am sending u all my love, and hope things get a little easier for u as soon as possible. if u ever do wanna chat abt nothing or rant just send me a pm x  I hope this is at least somewhat what u were looking for <33

summary: life is sometimes not good, but your fave boy makes it just a little easier to deal with (with some original help from his brother too)

a bit angsty but i promise mainly fluff (and a popcorn fight?)

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

What drew you out of the sort-of-trance was a two soft but firm knocks at the door - well Tom’s bedroom door. You’d been relaxing with him and Harry, watching the new ‘Line of Duty’ when your mum had called for the daily catch up. Admittedly, she had already tried to call you twice today but somehow you’d managed to miss both of them. On reflection, possible not that shocking because you’d been at a charity golf day with the boys which involved a fair amount of noise, chat and competition. 

Thankfully the boys had both done pretty well, Tom coming slightly ahead but that was the norm between the two. It meant they were both happily basking in their relative victories and not moody and grumpy like they are oh so often when things go wrong. Because to them, against your pleading, begging and sometimes lecturing…. golf was not just a game.  

You and your mum had always been very close, so usually speaking to her was uplifting and made you feel a little bit more complete - what with travelling with Tom for work, her voice was a slice of home. This time though, it was not so much the case. It was just sad news about your home town. Nothing directly to your family or close friends but still, it makes you feel generally down. 

Who knows how long it’d been since you’d hung up on the phone, just staring at the wall opposite. Everything felt just hollow and empty, lacking in meaning somewhat. You weren’t necessarily thinking, more like devoid of emotion, of thoughts, of anything. Just a bit cold. 

“Y/n…Y/n?” His voice sounded hesitant, as though scared he was interrupting your call. When you didn’t respond, the door cracked open and his fluffy head poked in, not that you noticed - your brain was still half absent. Tom on the other hand, was instantly looking you up and down, very much confused as the why you looked so rigid and not present. Noticing the phone was lying quiet on the bed in front of you, he felt safe to enter. He made a beeline for the bed, perching himself down on the edge, in-front of you - so he was blocking your fascinating view of the grey wall opposite. 

“What’s going on in that little head of yours?” His voice was soft and gravely, choosing not to put much energy into his vocal box as he rubbed up and down one of your arms. 

“Hmmm? Sorry, was miles away.”

“Could tell darl.” As he chuckled his eyes crinkled round the outside. “How was your mum?”

“Yeh…um okay, I-I guess.” As much as you wanted to shake yourself out of it, it just wasn’t that easy. Everything was laced with this underlying chilliness. 

“You sure? You dont really sound it?” 

“No, I um…well I’m not sure. I think I’m okay?”

“What happened?” You shook your head in response, making Tom press his lips together with a small nod. “ Don’t wanna talk about it huh?” 

“Not… not right now. Please?” 

With a permitting nod, Tom stood up and squeezed your hand, urging you to follow. Trailing behind him into the living room, he then instructed you to take a seat on the sofa adjacent to Harry, Tom himself disappearing back into the house. It made you pout a little, you wanted him to just look after you a little this evening but that self pity wasn’t allowed to last long - because a piece of popcorn flew into your cheek. You whipped your head around, with mouth open feigning shock, to see Harry smirking at you cradling a bowl full of other possible missiles in hand. 

“And what was that for?” He shrugged his shoulders, turning his head back to the TV.

“You looked sad.”

“…” Your mouth was open, no words coming out though, as you looked at the frizzy haired boy in bemusement. Sometimes you thought you understood how his head worked but at other points, the boy was a bloody mystery. Instead of explaining his thought process (because there almost certainly wasn’t one), he just smiled evily at you - wiggling his brows. And I know you know what that meant.

Sure enough by the time Tom reentered the room, arms full with different objects he’d collected round the house, the floor had been littered with popcorn kernels. You and Harry were squealing at each other as handfuls of the snack were catapulted vaguely at each other as you chased him round the room. It took Tom shouting at the both of you for you to freeze, slowly lowering your hands in ceasefire with a giggle. 

“I leave you alone for two minutes.”

“ It was his fault!” You protested, causing a 5 minute of ‘ he said-she said’ between the two of you, even if Tom wasn’t listening to the bickering. Instead, he quickly whizzed round the room picking up all the obvious popcorn bits and then spread out all the blankets he’d got from round the rented house on the sofa.

 You knew Harry, in his very own and special way, was only doing all this to cheer you up and you couldn’t appreciate it more. Your relationship with him had recently got so much closer, thanks to Tom being busy on set actually filming - while you and Harry just had some quality ‘almost sibling’ times. And now living with him too - naturally he had grown to know your tells almost as well as Tom. 

“Alright children calm down… thought we could watch movie?” Plopping himself down on the cream seat, Tom made grabby hands to you which of course you had to comply with. 

“I’ll um… I’m gonna leave you to- well to the being in love shit. It’ll make me chunder”

“We love you too bro” Tom called to Harry, who was already on his way out - but the tone of gratefulness in his voice was evident, he appreciated Harry noticing that the two of you could do with time together. 

“Don’t make it weird!” Harry’s response had you sniggering, as you pulled the fluffiest blanket over both you and Tom and nestling into his side. 

After a few minutes of Tom pretending to argue with you about film choice, before ultimately agreeing with your choice of ‘La la land’ as he always planned on letting you. The Holland boys were both very talented at subtly being a shoulder if needed, and yes you knew it was all an act - but you weren’t about to call him out. About halfway through he kissed the crown of your head and murmured. “Can tell you’re not watching darling.” He wasn’t wrong to be fair. Yes, you were looking at the screen - but your mind was far away from the plot line. 

“Sorry I um… minds like a runaway train sometimes.” Tom released a breathy chuckle at that before murmuring a ‘come ‘ere’ to you as he all but lifted you up from sitting by his side. You ended up lying almost onto of him, with both of Tom’s strong arms holding you tightly to him. Smiling into his chest, you nestled closer so the soundtrack to the movie played over the top of his constant thudding heartbeat. It took a few moments of you both just staring into the screen, completely contented for Tom to speak, squeezing you slightly tighter whilst the two of you watched Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone twirling on the road.

“I gotchu now lovie” 

And you swore then that all the thoughts racing in your mind were outpaced by those of a different kind. Still intense ideas, ones that buzzed round your brain, but these were happy. Thoughts of ‘how could I be so lucky’ and ‘I love this man with my whole heart’. 

Apparently these thoughts were also a comfort because when Tom looked down at you after what must’ve been at least half an hour, you were spark out. Breathing deep and unchanging, eye locked shut and mouth slightly squashed against his chest so your lips were pressed together. But what made the boy physical pout was the way you relaxed hand was loosely balled round a fistful of his purple hoodie. As if you were clutching at him to keep him as close to you as possible. 

He felt so grateful - not only for you, but also for the fact that he had the ability to make it a little better. You didn’t need him - Tom swore you were one of the most fiercely independent people he’d ever met - yet it was clear you wanted him. You wanted him when you felt down, the same way you wanted to be around him when you were overly hyper and chatting pure rubbish. You didn’t want him because he was the ‘Tom Holland’ you wanted him because he was Tom. 

He couldn’t fix what was going on back at your home (I mean right now, he still didnt even know what was going on). But he did know how to make everything just a little less shit. He knew how to be your person. 

And that would forever be job Tom was most proud of.

once again sending u all lots of love (esp u anon 💕)

would love to know what u guys think if ya made it this far ;)

tagging (link to join) : @hallecarey1 @hollandfanficlove

[lionfanged]

i said ‘munchkin luxray’ to synnie and it instantly activated my brain:

do u think there are designer breed pkmn? not like the furfrou in its stylized fur, but persian-style... well, persians, with flat-faces and all the genetic defects achieved to make it Aesthetic(TM).

i know pkmn on the whole is ~free of irl issues~ but given the prevalence and huge market for pkmn breeding, one would think that modifications to pet-quality (not battle-quality) pkmn would inevitably crop up.

glameows with ears that fold in, squash-faced yampers with breathing problems, domesticated persians bred together with feral liepards to achieve a high energy, but still pet-quality feline pkmn that allows some pampered millionaire a taste of the wild in a diluted form...

this will consume me