#it's my brother that named the thing Liquid Warmth but

[poet-tree-lines]

since the weather changed again I wanted to put my 'Liquid Warmth’ mulled wine (not ‘mold’ wine eugh) recipe out there

- 1 bottle fruity wine (substitute for other wines at your own risk/discretion) - 1 stovetop burner & suitable size pot (2-3 liter? gallon?) - 1 bottle/package/serving of mulling spices mix (IKEA makes a bottle, some place make a box mix, World Market has I don’t know what since it’s in german, you can also apparently sub in a thing of sangria mix, I don’t care)

- 1 bag of apple cider tea AND/OR - spices of your choice (think nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon, etc., but keep in mind this is fruit themed)

Dump everything but the tea (if you’re using it) into a pot on the stove.

Set the stove to medium heat

Let it heat up. Bring it almost but not quite to a boil

Add tea (if you’re using it)

Let simmer (low low heat) for 15 min. or until you’re ready to serve it, whichever comes first

Pour into cups and consume, once it has reached a drinkable temperature

[ren-054]

Tiny AIW Excerpt…

(This doesn’t guarantee a bigger story in the future, have mercy on me pls /lh)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

(prologue thing?)

They took away everything I had left to hold onto. Everything but them, at least. It almost felt freeing, a relief, in a strange way.

The scent of flowers was thick and sweet to my senses. My thoughts slowly blur together as I drowned in the heavy aroma.

No longer did I have to uphold myself as a person. In this land, responsibility was merely a word. A silly word, at that. I was being offered the chance to be freed from the pressure of my former life on a silver platter by the people who have unfailingly proved their devotion to me again and again. Who would I be to deny them?

Gentle hands of cool metal joints and warm motors take my own of flesh. There is an unspoken promise in our grasps.

Out there, there wasn’t anything waiting for me. Really, I had submitted to my fate long before I came here. Before I met them.

I would miss the surface.. My friends.. My brother..

If I just stayed right where I was, surely I’d be happy. He said so. They both did. And I believe them, as much as they believe in me that I’ll stay. I have nowhere to run, therefore I’d never think to walk.

Here, I’ll be safe. Here, I’ll be happy.

• • • • •

(Main excerpt)

“Sugarcube!~ It’s time for tea!”

I shift as a voice rouses me awake and I groan in protest. I felt so warm… I didn’t want to get up… Get up…

Get up from where?

Eyes snapping open, I sit up, finding myself on a grass and wool-stuffed mattress. A warm blanket made of soft fibers had been wrapped around my body, shrugged off when I began to scan my surroundings.

The room was dimly lit and the air was crisp, making me imagine the walls were made of stone or perhaps bricks. Unfortunately my vision wasn’t the best without my glasses. Candles were lit about the room. There were no windows, but there was a lone door on the far wall. Was I underground?

“There’s my little sunshine!” The same voice from before warbled, followed by the clinking of porcelain. “Come! Come! Before your tea gets cold!”

With bleary vision, I turn toward the voice. At a small wooden table set in the middle of the room sat a familiarly flamboyant red-clad figure with their knees up to their chest as they tried to sit in one of the child-sized chairs. I began shuffling off the bed, brushing myself off.

“M-Mister Hatter?” I mumbled as I walked over. “Wher—“

The Hatter tutted at me before I could finish, placing a delicate finger up to my lips. “Dearest little dewdrop, I told you, you can just call me Sun!”

“Uh, Sun?” I eyed the liquid the bot was pouring into the cups. Yellow flower petals and flecks of green herbs floated prettily along the surface of the unknown brew.

“Hmmm?” Hatter hummed, the swirls in his eyes seeming to glow with warmth at the sound of his name.

“Where am I? I didn’t fall down another hole again, did I?” I rubbed at my eyes. “And have you seen my glasses anywhere?”

“Oh! Those are right here!” Dodging my first question, the Hatter pointed at the other side of the table which sat the other teacup along with the distinct sheen of my lenses against the candlelight. “Come on! Have a sit with this lonely hatter!”

“Ah, right.” I nodded before taking my seat across from the bot, putting my glasses back on once I sat. Ah, vision at last.

The first thing I realized was the room was dingy, dustier than I expected. Before I could really notice any other finer details, Sun piped up once again.

“Very good, my dear,” he praised with a light laugh that made me nearly blush. “Now then, where you are. That’s a simple one!”

I leaned in with anticipation. With a relaxed—almost smug—gaze, the Hatter answered.

“I brought you home.”

[cameronspecial]

I Will Marry You, Rafe

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings:  N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.0K (Exactly, that's so satisfying to me).

Summary: Rafe has an important question to ask Y/N.

Masterlist

Rafe rarely gets nervous. The only time that he really does is when it comes to Y/N. She is his entire world and he would do anything to keep her in his life. And as he stares down at the small diamond ring, he can’t help but feel the layer of liquid that dampens his palms. He wipes it off on his pants as he listens to the MC announce the names of each student. He closes the box and puts it in his pockets when they get to Y/N’s section. “Y/N Y/L/N,” leaves the lips of the MC and travels through the room thanks to the speakers. Rafe is the first to stand out of her group of supporters, “That’s my girl! GO Y/N. I love you, Angel!” He hollers and claps as loud as he can, pumping his hand in the air. He is so proud of how hard she has worked to get her degree with honours. She has kept her grades up and now, she gets to start her master’s degree at her first-choice university. He sees her looking at him with a massive grin. He quickly gets his phone out to take a picture of her getting handed her degree, checking that her family videotaped her walk across the stage. They have prime seats, being right behind the students waiting to go on stage. Rafe’s money definitely shifted hands for him and the Y/L/N family to have such amazing seats. He follows her walk off of the stage, worrying that she won’t be happy with the question he has to ask. 

——

His jacket drapes over her shoulders, providing warmth against the cold night. They are walking up the steps of the house they have been renting since the semester ended. The house isn’t something permanent, just a placeholder until they find a place in Cambridge. Ward didn’t love the idea of Rafe moving out to Massachusetts, but he knows how serious Rafe is about Y/N so Ward agreed to let Rafe work remotely for the year that Y/N is doing the Master’s. Rafe would have to fly down every month for a Friday meeting, but they are going to make it work. 

Y/N cuddles closer to Rafe with his arm draped across her shoulder. “I can’t believe we are done with our undergraduate degree,” she thinks out loud, resting her head on his shoulder. His head darts to check the text on his phone and then looks at her. His lips meet her temple before he removes his hold from her, taking the keys out of his pocket. He unlocks the door and hesitates to push it open. His life is going to change after tonight and he is scared it might change for the worse. He also isn’t sure if he should’ve tasked his fraternity brothers with such an important thing. Sure, Sarah, Wheezie, and Daisy are leading them, but the now-graduated fratboys were never great at decorating or following orders. He knows if he doesn’t enter the house soon, Y/N will get suspicious. His thumb pushes down on the thumb latch and he pushes the door open. The usual darkness is cut with the light from the path made out of candles. She turns to him to see if he is just as confused as she is. All she finds is his small smile and things start to fall into place for her. 

“I will marry you, Rafe,” she utters softly, wrapping her arms around his neck to kiss him. He pulls away with a laugh, “I haven’t even asked you anything yet.” “I know, but I can see right through you. I’ve noticed how nervous you are and how you are always checking your phone for a text. That coupled with the house being mysteriously decorated makes it kinda obvious,” she grins, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. He groans, “Damn, my angel is so smart. You read me like a book. Will you at least let me take you inside and do what I had planned?” She nods and he drags her deeper into the house. 

In the living room, they find eight large characters, decorated with white feathers and fairy lights. Eight characters. Two words and a question mark. MARRY ME? Y/N’s hand finds her mouth. The beauty of the dim room amazes her. Candles and rose petals litter the room and the melody of “Say Yes To Heaven” plays without the lyrics, reminding her of that fateful night during spring break. She turns toward Rafe to find him kneeling on the ground on one knee. In his hand, he holds a small velvet box with a simple but elegant diamond ring inside of it. “When I first saw you at that party three years ago, I thought I was so intoxicated that I was seeing things. Because there was no way that a real-life angel could’ve been right in front of me and ever since that day you have been bringing a little slice of Heaven to me,” he recounts and she can see the tears in his eyes. “You have been my everything ever since that day. My supporter. My defender. My rock. And I want that for the rest of my life, so please say that you will be the angel to my devil for the rest of our lives?” She goes to sit on his thigh and he moves his arms to surround her. Her arms go around his neck and she rests her forehead on his. “Yes.”

He grins at her, kissing her as he puts the ring on her left ring finger. He feels so lucky that he gets to spend the rest of his life with the woman in front of him. People may think that they are too young to be getting married, but Rafe has never been so sure of something in his life.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia

[withleeknow]

HAII! i’m so happy to hear you’re opening requests, your writing is incredible !!

if you remember my idea with the dancing, as you said a short thing, could you write something similar to that maybe?

if not, lee know and yn play truth or dare together one night, “do it, i dare” what happens is free for you to decide 😊

-🍓

devastate me.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: brother's best friend au, mutual pining, kinda fluffy?, kinda angsty?; tbh idek if this makes sense bc my apologies, i finished it at almost 3 in the morning in a delirious state of mind lol, unedited @.@ word count: 0.7k note: hi strawberry!! i chose to do the second one bc i wasn't sure if i could do your original justice with just a quick drabble, but i hope you like this one regardless!! merry christmas heheheh <;33

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation › masterlist › ko-fi

what is lee minho?

to many, he's wonderfully charming, handsome, insanely smart and funny to the point that it's almost annoying, because how on earth can someone have it all just like that? he's kind and sweet. honest and gentle. the perfect man.

to you, he's all of those things and more. much more.

he's the person that you've been in love with for as long as you can remember. the person whose name you will forever associate with the longing of first love. it's beautiful, but it's pain nonetheless.

he's forbidden fruit, the one you want the most but can't possibly have.

your brother's best friend.

but...

if that's the case, if he's off limits to you and you're off limits to him, then why does he have a hand on the wall next to your head, looming over your body with the intensity of a predator? why is he caging you between his arms in the middle of a hallway, at a party in a stranger's house, where anybody could walk by and see you? why are his hips pressed against yours, blurring a line that could be never uncrossed if you take that step? why is he leaning in until you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, until your lips are brushing, so close and yet... so far away?

you know why, and it's possibly the worst thing that you could ever be aware of.

that as much as you're in love with him, he's in love with you too.

you feel it every time his eyes fall on you from across the room. every time his touch lingers on your skin from the simplest of interactions. every time he softens when you’re around. every time you’re alone together and he bites his tongue, swallowing down the words you wish he would say - the words you wish you could tell him yourself.

your voice comes out as a mere whisper. "what are you doing?"

maybe it's because you both have had something to drink. maybe it's just simply liquid courage.

“when are we going to stop pretending that there’s nothing going on between us?” he asks, voice dropping low, husky. it sounds a little vulnerable, just like you.

there’s no point in denying it. the truth is clear as day.

“we can’t,” you say.

“why not?”

“you know why.”

minho sighs, then clenches his jaw before he speaks next, frustration laced into every syllable. “i don’t care what anyone else thinks. i just want you.”

“min-”

“fuck,” he interrupts, leaning his forehead to rest against yours, his fingers holding onto your waist more tightly. “i love you.”

you place a hand on his chest, meaning to push him away but then you find his heartbeat under your palm instead, hammering against his chest like it wants to escape from his body.

in a split second of weakness, a split second where the logical part of your brain falters, your eyes flicker to his lips.

and minho, ever the sharp observer even in a state of mild inebriation, notices.

“do it,” he mutters, his words a stark contrast to the helpless tone that he says them with. “i dare you.”

a shaky inhale from you, an almost pleading look from him. even when he's practically begging you, he's handing you all control. to say no if that's what you really want. to leave and dismiss everything as just some stupid joke later on, and go back to revolving around each other in secret, like a couple of powerless fools.

your fingers grip his shirt, because goddamn, of course you want it. you've never wanted anything in your entire life more than you want him. you already have one foot in already, half a mind to blow it all the way to hell and deal with the fallout when the time comes.

you catch his eyes once more, and the sincerity in his galaxy shakes you to the core.

fuck it.

you pull him in, obliterating the gap.

i love you, but you’re telling him in a different way.

so, if someone were to ask you again: what is lee minho?

he’s a lot of things. charming, handsome, smart, funny. the person you love, the very one that you can’t have. the answer is pretty much the same.

but most of all, lee minho is devastating.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.12.2023]

[calmcoldevening]

Dance

TW: no

Characters: Vincent Sinclair

Description: just a little comfort from this pretty boy.

English is not my native language, so sorry about misspells.

The night always seemed like something forgotten and beautiful. Magical. The sky binds its entire boundless being into the embrace of a light black mantle decorated with a scattering of shining stardust; the wind begins to play with a bit of inexplicable tenderness, winding calmness and inner satisfaction; gentle songs of chirping insects and night birds hover in the air. You can also see something mysterious in the silent, cold light of the moon: the thrill with which silver rays encircle the roofs of houses and streets, wrapping the gloomy shadows of familiar things in beautiful unobtrusive images. There is something unearthly and painfully delightful about it. And to all the oddities that may seem to our wandering mind at this mystical time of day, we will certainly give one name, 'sleep'.

You were sitting in the kitchen, with your head propped up on your hand, with your other palm wrapped around a striped mug. The clink of a metal spoon occasionally hitting the ceramics cut the crystal silence. The tea has been cold for a long time, but you didn't pay attention to it, continuing to periodically sip the sweet liquid. The moonlight from the window gently outlined the features of your face when you once again looked at the wall clock; it's 00:30 a.m. You were sitting in the kitchen for a long time, continuing to burn through the impenetrable darkness on the other side of the window. Bo and Lester had been sleeping with full bellies and happy smiles for a long time, satisfied with tonight's dinner. In principle, they liked that there was a person in this house who could take care of them, as my mother once did.

The only thing that worried you and prevented you from falling asleep in every possible way was Vincent lingering in the workshop. At this time, and usually even earlier, a few hours after dinner, he was already in your room and listened to your measured reading of some book that you particularly liked. The man did not delve into the text, he was only interested in your pleasant, caressing voice, echoing in his head.

But for some reason, today he decided to break this peculiar tradition, and you were worried about it. Having gathered all your thoughts in a heap, you decided to visit the culprit of your inner anxiety. After all, if he's avoiding you on purpose, you should talk about it, shouldn't you?

Putting the mug in the sink, you look at the clock again and go towards the stairs. Climbing to the second floor, you tiptoe to your bedroom with Vincent, trying once again not to step on particularly creaky floorboards. You've been in this house for a long time, so you knew some of its features: for example, that the third step of the stairs is quite flimsy and makes a nasty creak to the point of trembling, as if you were forcefully rubbing a dry rag against a mirror polished to a shine; or that the farthest light bulb in the corridor has been blinking unpleasantly for a week, but no one dares replace it.

Closing the door tightly, you walk past the double bed and stop over the hatch. It was nice that a kind of doctor's or scientist's office was converted into a bedroom for the two of you; you are sure that the initiator was Lester, who immediately saw in you a really nice girl who would certainly take care of his older brother.

As soon as you opened the hatch cover, an unpleasant piercing creak of unoiled parts rang through the room. A pleasant enveloping warmth flows up from the basement, as well as from Vincent himself when he leaves the workshop: his body was so saturated with the smell of old wood, moisture and something else that distinguished this man from millions of others, what you really liked about him.

Going down the stairs, you wiped your sweaty palms on your t-shirt. Taking clothes from Vincent's closet turned out to be a good idea, at least you weren't so hot in it. When you got to the door, you covered the wet wood with your palm. The warmth touched your cold fingers, pleasantly calming and giving quite tangible confidence. The door, surprisingly, opened easily under your slight pressure, without making a sound.

It was even hotter in the workshop. How could Vincent work here in a sweater and a tight jumpsuit? It seems that the boiler was recently stopped: threads of steam were still streaming over the vat of hot wax. The room was spacious enough to accommodate all the equipment a man needed. Now the couch, habitually located in the middle of the makeshift office, was pushed to the wall, freeing up most of the room. An old radio was playing somewhere, giving out classic songs.

At the very end of the workshop, Vincent was hunched over a table. Now he was without his usual overalls, but in simple trousers and a long-sleeved jacket. No new 'guests' have come to Ambrose for a long time.

You quietly approached the man from behind, towering over his tense body. His entire desk was littered with a variety of sketches, ranging from projects of future figures to simple sketches of everything that caught Sinclair's eye. But most of all there were drawings with you. These were all kinds of portraits, both in full growth and in various poses.

"Vinnie."

You whisper, and the body under you shudders, straightening up to its full height. You step back.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," the man hurriedly puts the sketches in one pile, "Hey, don't. They are very beautiful."

You grab one of the most eye-catching drawings and see yourself sitting on the windowsill in your bedroom. The image was fuzzy, rather more like an unfinished work, just a sketch, but it already looked impressive. Pictures immediately appeared in my head, hanging on the first floor of the museum. You chuckled briefly. The next sketch that came into your hands was your portrait in profile. You were struck by the accuracy with which Vincent depicted all the outstanding features of your face: the shape of your nose and lips, the softness of your gaze and the moles on your skin. The last drawing you managed to get out of Sinclair's possessive grip was a sketch where you and a man were spinning in some kind of dance. You were dressed in a light light dress, playfully developing at your feet, he was wearing a classic suit and leather gloves, which he gently wrapped around your smaller fragile body. He must have fantasized when the right music was playing.

"It's beautiful, my love."

You hear a quiet, lingering whine under the mask because of a pet name. Cutie. You'd like to tease him a little longer.

"It's true."

You smile at him affirmatively. Vincent's eyes are barely visible under the mask. You look at the drawing again. Did he want to dance? You pay attention to the music playing for a moment. Something like a waltz should have come up. At least you're familiar with this dance because of a few years in music school, so it shouldn't be a problem.

You put the drawings on the table and cover Vincent's massive hand with your palm. He looks at you questioningly.

"Would you like to dance?"

You give a man a gentle smile, holding out your hand to him. He looks back uncertainly. You wait patiently, rolling from heels to toes in longing. Finally Vincent makes up his mind and puts his hand in your palm. He gets up from his chair and, putting his arm around your waist, leads you to the middle of the room. The man squeezes your hand, interlacing his fingers, puts his free palm on your side. You touch his broad shoulder with your fingers.

Only now do you see this difference in height, which is why you have to lift your head to see his eye through the mask. You hear this wonderful music, and the beating of your heart echoes the pleasant notes. Your breathing quickens, and you look at Sinclair with eyes shining with anticipation.

A particularly strong note sounds, and Vincent begins to lead you. The man gently squeezes your supple flesh, you modestly look away, trying to focus on the music. Vincent grins at your sudden shyness. Your feet move quickly and skillfully on the hard floor; the sole of your favorite sneakers rubs against the stone slabs with force; you hear the light click of Sinclair's heels when he once again, holding your palm with his, spins you around. You can't see his face, but you can feel his gaze watching the movement of your body with fascination. A man strokes the delicate skin of your palm, and you feel goosebumps running down your back. His every touch or glimpse makes your heart flutter wildly in your chest, and long-lost butterflies come to life in your stomach. It is at such moments that your inner rhythm gets lost and your feet begin to slide incoherently on the floor, causing Sinclair to chuckle. You try to regain your inner composure when his big hand presses you especially hard against his body behind the small of his back.

Finally, the waltz ends and is replaced by some light melody. Probably just a few minutes, but it felt like hours to you. Vincent wraps his arms around your back, hugging you to him, and you wrap your arms around his neck. You put your head on his chest and press your ear to his fast-beating heart. Now you can clearly smell his body. The gray turtleneck is soaked with a light aroma of smoke and oil candles that you gave Vincent for Christmas, his sweat-soaked skin smells of citrus soap, and his tousled hair has the smell of your shampoo. You close your eyes, enjoying the moment while a man rocks your couple in an impromptu dance.

He gently runs his palm along your spine, and you shudder, a satisfied laugh comes from under the mask. Small electrical impulses seem to run through the body, they burn, but they do not carry pain, but rather a strange warm feeling accumulating in your stomach and chest. His fingers, rough from constant work, touch your hot skin and gently massage, from which you relax in his arms. Sleep begins to exert its direct influence.

"Shall we go to the bedroom?"

You ask, and Vincent nods, touching the mask of your forehead with his lips in a simulated kiss. You giggle, and he picks you up in his arms, heading for the stairs.

[meguwumibear]

Revelation(s)

Summary: You look up and there before you is a pale man. His name is Nai and his companion is the knife. He seeks authority over the planet, to kill the spiders so that the butterflies may survive...or Nai finds you literally buried in the sand and decides to spare your life for unclear reasons.

Word Count: 2,900

Warning: character injury (mentions of blood), knives (obviously), Tesla’s backstory (nongraphic torture and what happens to their body after), i think that’s everything but let me know if i missed something!

Notes: If you’re all caught up with tristamp there are no spoilers! Takes place before Vash and the gang make it to July.

Nights in No Man’s Land are cool. Mornings are filled with stagnant heat from the planet’s sun. The warmth from the great red giant is oppressive. Its rays burn and blister the skin. Unforgiving and unrelenting, the days here are marred by sweat, liquid hot.

You read somewhere long ago in a book about lost technology that moons were once thought to control the tides. The sea and its waters ebbed and flowed, swayed by the pull of something far, far away. There are no seas in No Man’s Land. No waves to crest and fall. Here, on this dry, barren planet, the oceans are made of the sand and her dunes, moved only by the worms beneath it, not some heavenly body from above.

Still, maybe the five moons of this planet are trying to move and sway something, for there’s a gentle breeze when they’re out that simply isn’t there in the morning. It’s that cool, gentle breeze that you find comfort in this night. You are trapped, half buried in the sand, held there by a collapsed metal beam, but at least you can see the stars.

There’s a nasty gash on your forehead just above your left eye. Blood’s been steadily trickling into the thing for hours, obstructing your vision. The wound stung when you first got it. Now it’s just numb. The only proof you have now of the injury are the ruby red droplets slipping slower and slower down your skin.

The night is quite save for your labored breathing. You figure it won’t be long now.

Footsteps. Somewhere behind you. The metal beam pushing down on your stomach prevents you from turning to look. You wouldn’t have had the energy to even if you wanted. Besides, you’re so far gone it’s possible there aren’t actually any footsteps at all.

A shadow. A silhouette made visible by the moon light. Someone is here and they are looming over your slumped form.

“Pathetic,” comes a disembodied voice. The part of you that remains lucid swears you’ve heard it before.

“Vash?” you ask. Is it possible? Had your traveling companion come back for you.

“Not quite,” the voice tuts.

Then he’s in front of you, large and looming like the horsemen of death. You recognize him and you don’t. His build and frame are familiar, but even in the darkness you can tell this isn’t your Vash. It’s the eyes that make the difference. They’re bitter and angry. Icy and cold like the breeze that’s been soothing you.

“So this is what my brother has been up to,” the man muses. “Traipsing around with you and your ilk. Some days I swear he’s just as pathetic as you.”

Brother. You suppose that makes sense, though the Vash you knew never spoke of a twin.

“Well?” he’s demanding. “Got anything to say for yourself?”

“I don’t know where Vash is.”

He crouches so that he’s eye level with you and rolls his eyes. “I don’t remember asking. I’m not here for him. I’m not ready for him yet.”

Your face scrunches, “What-”

His fingers wind their way through your hair, gripping it so tightly you feel like a puppet pulled by a string. He forces your face closer to his own so that he can inspect you properly. When he survey’s you, his eyes are sharp, like those of a hawk catching sight of its prey. You manage to stare back with your good eye, the one that isn’t pooling with blood, though there must be something wrong with that one too because the man before you is fuzzy, blurred and misshapen, like a picture out of focus.

When he drops you suddenly, your head lulls to the side.

“Pathetic,” he repeats. “I don’t get what he sees in you weak little creatures. I mean, look at you, in this bad of shape due to a little blood loss. What do you think, hmm? Should I leave you here to bleed out drop after agonizing drop, or should I just ago ahead and finish you off?”

There’s a sound, a burst of light, and the man before you is engulfed in a tornado of something sharp and silver. It takes a minute for your brain to process what it’s seeing: millions and millions of swirling knives.

Your eyes widen, “What are you?”

The monster before you smiles, “An independent.”

And then your world goes black.

***

When you wake, it’s into a deep darkness. It’s so dark in fact, you figure you’ve either actually died or been struck blind. With some effort, you manage to peel open your eyes. The room you’re in is unfamiliar. As you sit, a wave of pain cascades down your back and spine. So not dead or blind, then, for death surely cannot be this painful.

There’s a man in the room with you. The same one as before. The one who wears Vash’s face.

“What do you know of Eden?” he asks you. Clutched in his lithe fingers is a thick paperback book, the spine worn with read. The Bible, you realize. His eyes never leave the page.

“The garden?” you ask, your voice hoarse. It strikes you suddenly how thirsty you are.

He rolls his eyes and snaps the books shut. “Yes, the garden. What do you know of it?”

You consider him now that his eyes are on you. There’s a strange look in them that you can’t quite place. Something serious and dangerous.

Your family wasn’t pious. There was a church in the small town you grew up in, but people hardly ever attended. Even the priest spent more time drinking than preaching. Still, you somehow think your answer to his question may determine just how long you get to remain breathing, so you say, “It was supposed to be a paradise for the first humans, but a creature tempted Eve with a fruit forbidden and after she convinced Adam to eat it with her, they were cast out.”

He nods, smiles.

“A world without humans.”

He seems fond of the idea.

“Is that your goal?” you ask him. “A world without humans? A new Eden.”

He stands to leave, “I doubt a thing like you could understand.”

***

A man with hair the color of the sky on a cloudless day brings you some food and water, grumbling to himself about babysitting though he doesn’t stay more than a minute, practically flinging the tray of food onto your bedside table before stomping and storming away.

“Legato,” Nai will tell you later, not long after he gifts you his own name. “He was my first.”

“First what?” you ask between bites of food. You’d refused it at first, but Nai hadn’t liked that. Started ranting and raving about how he didn’t go through all the trouble of having his doctor save your stupid life just for you to throw it away in some half-hearted hunger strike.

(When you asked him why he had chosen to save you, he had no answer).

Nai ignores your question—as he often does—to ask you one of his own. He seems to like to question you, though you’re not sure what you’re on trial for. Your humanity it often seems. “What do you know about plants?”

You shrug from the bed you haven’t managed to leave in days. The doctor worked miracles to repair your back and legs, but they remained mostly lost to you. Stiff and unsteady.

“They’re the source of our water on No Man’s Land.”

He’s sitting reclined in a chair, elbow propped up on the arm rest, two fingers next to his eye, a thumb below his chin as he observes you. The ease and nonchalance at which he studies you makes your blood boil with rage. He’s right to feel so unthreatened by you. You are only human after all. What could you possibly do to creature like him?

“Where do they get it?” he asks, tone bored yet undercut with something sinister.

You sigh, closing your eyes to pinch at the brink of your nose. “I don’t know, Nai.”

He’s smiling when you look at him again, as if he’s caught you somehow. You’ve clearly given him the answer he sought.

“Have you ever seen one?”

You shake your head.

“Would you like to?”

***

You don’t understand what you’re looking at. Surely, this floating white sphere in a tank cannot be what has kept the people of the planet fed and watered for nearly a century or more. At first, you think you may be looking at a gigantic filter, but then the sphere begins to unfurl and you’re left with more questions than answers.  

Still, Nai is looking expectantly at you, waiting for your reaction, so you say, “They’re beautiful.”

Which is true. The creature before you is pale and soft like the moons of the planet, shining and shimmering with an almost blinding white light. It has a head and body not unlike your own: two arms, two legs. And then, of course, there are the wings.

“They’re kin.”

You look from Nai to the creature and start to piece parts of the puzzle together. “You’re related to them. You and Vash both. You’re plants.”

“Independents,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”

He’s staring intensely at you now, arms crossed, icy eyes burning holes through your soul. It takes you some time to realize that he wants you to figure it out, so you give it your best guess, “Independents can exist outside this container.”

There go his eyes. Rolling. They never seem to stay still when he’s with you. “Obviously. Dig deeper. How come I can stand here before you and they can’t?” His tone is condescending and patronizing. He scolds you like a teacher does a disappointing pupil.

“You’re…” you try again, determined not to be disappointing, “sentient?”

He nods lightly yet encouragingly. “Go on.”

“You and Vash,” you continue slow and unsure. “You’re more alive than them somehow. More aware. Conscious and able to make more decisions.”

“Perceptive girl,” Nai hums. You think he might be complimenting you, though his facial expression remains strikingly neutral.

He may be pleased at your perceptiveness, but a creeping unsettledness suddenly begins to worm its way into your heart. “Plants…” you muse aloud. Nai is watching you. Waiting to see what epiphany, if any, you have next. “We humans called you that. That’s the name we gave you. Is it accurate?”

“What do you think?”

You frown. You think this thing in the tank looks an awful lot like an angel.

“Can they consent?” you ask him suddenly. “Do they know what’s happening to them?”

He’s smiling now, something wide and toothy and predatory like you’re a fly he’s caught in his well woven web. He asks you again. “What do you think?”

You think, begrudgingly, that whatever these plants are, you’d die without them.

***

“Are there others?” you ask him one day.

By now you’ve learned where you are: an opulent city called July. A hearty, healthy plant crashed here during the big fall—which you’ve come to learn Nai and Vash caused—and people built their lives around it.

“Other what?” he asks in return. “Be more specific.” He’s sitting at a grand piano beating the same song into the keys over and over and over.

“Other independents.” You’re sitting on the cold floor beside his piano bench, resting your back against it.

He waits until he’s finished playing the song one last time to address you. “There was another,” he confirms for you. “One other.”

He’s shifted his body so he can look at you fully. You turn to face him as well. After months and months of entertaining the beast, you think you finally understand how to play its game. He won’t elaborate unless you ask. He likes to make you beg.

“Who were they?”

“Their name was Tesla,” he says. “I never met them.” He pauses, then corrects himself, “Well, actually, I suppose I did meet them. Twice actually. But by then it was too late.”

Nai only ever feeds you scraps. He likes to keep you hungry. Wants you coming back for more.

“What happened to them?” you ask, humoring him. You think at his core, Nai is incredibly lonely. There’s no other reason for him to keep someone like you around. You’re not like Legato. You don’t believe in him or his desire for a new Eden. If he were to finally sate you and your appetite, you’d both go mad with boredom.

“Humans,” he bites. “What else. You and your kind can never just leave anything well enough alone. It wasn’t enough for you to destroy your own planet and the flora and animal life there; you had to destroy this one too. And on the backs of my brothers and sisters.”

Anger isn’t unusual for him. He doesn’t seem to realize it, but all his anger makes him oh so very human. His emotions bring him closer to what it is he hates the most.

“What happened to Tesla?” you ask again.

“They came to me,” he says, “in a dream. They led me to where the humans on that ship were keeping what was left of their body. Alive two hundred twenty-nine days, and every one of them torture. You humans pumped them full of so much poison there was hardly anything left of them when they died. An arm. A brain. Their eyes. All stored in three separate containers. Preserved like trophies. And he has the gall to insinuate I’m the sadist. Every fucking thing I did thereafter I did for him!”

His fist slams down on the piano. The instrument wails in protest. You jump at the sound.

Talking to Nai can feel like diffusing a bomb. Cut the wrong wire, and he’s bound to explode. You aren’t sure what to say to him now. It isn’t your job as his captive to comfort him. Still, there’s something in those stone-cold eyes of his that wasn’t there before. Something sorrowful.

“Everything you did you did for Vash.”

He sighs, posture slumping. Nai’s tired, you realize. Of what you can’t be sure.

“He’s too weak to survive as a plant so he acts the dim witted fool to win him the affections of humans instead. Why do you think he behaves the way he does? He’s shrinking himself to not seem harmful or dangerous to you and your kind. You’d hunt him for sport or string him up and suck him dry like you’re doing our brethren if you knew his true nature. I had to protect him. I had to protect us.”

An arm. A brain. Some eyes. That’s all that was left of Tesla. Humans consumed everything else. Maybe that’s what Nai is so afraid of. Maybe that’s why he’s so angry all the time. You picture your mother hacked up and pickled. Suddenly it isn’t so hard to empathize with Nai.

“What are you going to do?” you ask him. He’s never actually told you his plan. Just bits and pieces of it. You’re not sure if he wants to keep you ignorant or if he wants you to figure it out for yourself. “How are you going to protect your kind?”

A little while back he brought a preacher to your room. Asked you to share everything you knew about Vash with the man. You assured both of them that it wasn’t much—you’d only traveled with Vash a few weeks at most—but Nai insisted, hanging on every word. You wondered how long it’d been since Nai saw his brother in the flesh.

Vash is involved in all this somehow. Nai needs him in July.

Nai is looking down at you from the bench, lips pressed firmly together into a thin straight line. It’s the first time he’s contemplated sharing everything with you. “The extinction of your kind means nothing while my own remain little more than conduits and shells.”

You nod. That makes sense. Vash and Nai are the only independents. Even if Nai managed to exterminate your kind, the plants would be no more sentient then than they were before.

“You want them conscious,” you say. “Independent like you and Vash.”

He’s smiling now, lips curved upwards, corners of his eyes crinkling. You don’t think you’ve ever seen such a soft and serene expression on him. All his hatred and anger gone as he envisions this humanless utopia.

As quick as the expression comes, it goes. Nai’s face darkens. Lips curved down in a deep, contemplative frown. You dare to ask, “How will you manage it?”

A sneer. Vicious and violent. It warps his otherwise angelic face.  That’s the issue, then. The how. It occurs to you that Nai may have kept his plans from you not to keep them a secret, but because they’re too hard for him to breathe life into. A plan unspoken is one yet to have been made real.

Nai thinks you’re selfish. He thinks every human is selfish. You are tempted by everything. By food and drink and sex. Driven by id, seeking pleasure, drowning out pain. He calls you all Eve and plots a paradise free of your particular breed of sin. He can’t understand that you and your kind are just doing what’s needed to survive on a plant you were never meant to inhabit.

He wouldn’t want your pity, but in a way, he’s earned it.

You force yourself to look up at him as you say, “Whatever you end up doing, I hope it brings you peace.”

[maries-gallery]

no but think about a steamy make out session with breathy kisses and his hands over your body.

PLEASE YES YES YES OH MY GOD! NO BUT THIS!

genre: nsfw, mdni

character: Rio Ortiz

warnings: make out session, grinding and humping, fingering, praise kink, dirty talk, female bodied reader

heart banner made by the lovely @/saradika

For more content like this, check the masterlist

Indeed, Rio loves a good make out session. Ocean eyes pooling with desire, drunk on the sight of you straddling his lap, bare for him to marvel at as you grind against his bulge, wet cunt smearing arousal over the fabric of his trousers.

It's not his fault though, you just look so perfect like this! So adorable and so his. A sight that beats every fantasy he could ever make up in his mind. Lips glossy and plump from kissing, eyes clouded with the same burning need that lashes at his insides, and your chest rising and falling with exertion.

So of course he wants to drag it out, until neither of you can stand it anymore. Your lips so close you taste each other's breath.

His hands dig in the soft flesh of your hips, guiding you as you roll your hips against his. Not to relieve the aching strain in his trousers but to steal another breathy moan from you.

"Ah-! Rio!" You sound so cute like this, another gasp pearling from your lips as one of his hands slide between the two of you to let a teasing finger graze your sensitive bud.

He loves that look on your face, the one that tells him you want more. The one that tells him you want him. And who is he to deny you? A perfect prince always makes his princess's dreams come true, right?

"You want more?" He asks against your lips, punctuating his question by adding slight pressure to your clit, an arm around your waist to hold you against him.

He knows the answer by the high pitched whimper that escapes you, still he wants to hear it. He wants to hear how much you want it, how much you want to feel him and how much you need him.

Maybe it is selfish. But after so many years of wishing for you to look at him this way, with so much love and passion... Of wishing for you to want him like he wants you. Can you blame him for wanting to hear the words from you?

"Yes-" You pant above him, arms laced behind his neck as your eyes meet his, your core nothing but a pool of liquid warmth, "Please, I-I want more."

And of course Rio gives it to you, willing to give you everything you want, god he doesn't think there is a thing he wouldn't do for you. If you asked for his fingers inside of you, he would give it to you. The world on a platter? He will do everything in his power to bring it to you. The moon in your hands? He will tear it from the sky for you.

He might not have as much influence nor power as his brother Silvio does, but Rio is determined by nature. And nothing encourages him more than the smile on your lips.

A grunt comes from his throat as he slips two fingers between your slippery folds, his throat goes dry as he takes in your drenched state, nothing more rewarding than the wetness of your desire coating his digits.

"You're so wet for me." He whispers in your ear, "Can you feel it?"

He bets you do, judging by how you squirm around on his laps for some friction. And this brings a smile to his lips. You're so adorable, desperate for his touch.

A sadistic part of him wants to tease you some more, to make you wait with his fingers knuckles deep inside of you, unmoving, until tears of frustration gather in your eyes. But he loves you, and nothing beats the sight of you crumbling before him.

So he gently bounces his leg at a steady rhythm, fingers curling inside of you to pad over your sweetest spot, delicious sparks of white heat coursing through your veins as your clit rubs against the palm of his hand.

"Cum for me, I want to see how you fall apart for me."

And you do, Rio's eyes on you to take in every little shift in your features, every little whimper and moan of his name, every twitch of your brows and every spasm of your walls around his fingers.

taglist: @aquagirl1978 @randonauticrap @ikesimp100 @ikemen-writer @pockcock @altairring @candied-boys @outofthepapers @vioisgoinginsane @accurine @citizensofcradle @ndoandou @caffedrine @eldiatricc @veervers

[dirty-bosmer]

Forgotten: Treacle

Here with my first and probably only @tes-summer-fest contribution of the year. I've been pretty busy this summer, but I'm happy to have participated at least once :)

Written for @atypicalacademic, who inspired me to continue Scar-Tail's story past his canon quest line. You were so right. He deserves happiness 🥲

summary: Scar-Tail, the wind calls, and the Hist remembers even if you refuse to. On the night you breached your shell, the Shadow blotted out the sky. It was to be your shroud for all your days, first to last, a gift you’ve disgracefully abandoned, and though you may run, the cold loving embrace of fate forever skitters in your wake.

Stop for only a breath. Look down, find it bloody, here, returned to you, blackened flesh under its claws, scrabbling at your heels.

warnings: non-graphic mentions of death and dissolution

Ao3 link: here

Scar-Tail doesn’t speak his name anymore, not even in his native tongue. He wonders, if enough time passes, will he ever forget its rhythm or will it quake within him always like a second bloodbeat? Some days he feels it trapped behind his teeth— the sibilant shape of it, the phantom weight of it, the gathering swell in the hollow pocket of his throat. The Hist still speaks it in his sleep where formless figures call him by the name his brother called him, and even in dreams the name is doused in venom. Even in dreams, the only ones who speak it want him dead.

The knife that sleeps beneath his pillow isn’t there when he reaches, but he feels it like the ghost itch of an amputated limb. His magelight flares. The looming darkness in the corner is revealed as merely shadow. Still he sleeps with the candle burning, for even shadow he is hesitant to trust these days as he was one once not very long ago, remembers that the darkness wears a sinuous smile, and he knows where it hides its teeth. 

Two days, and he’s on the road again, a stranger bound to Nirn by a will and only a will. Rootless, unmoored, his body has become a foreign thing— spines ground down as the face sculptor recommended and belly fattened on unfamiliar foods. In Bruma, he discovered a taste for mead, and he likes it too much. The sweet amber color, the heady wave of its warmth. ‘Like drinking liquid sun,’ he told the barkeep, and it earned a laugh and another round on the house. These days he gets drunk on the smallest kindnesses. These days, he no longer feels like something trapped inside a jar.

If Ocheeva could see him like this, she’d recoil, wouldn’t recognize him. If Ocheeva could see him like this—

Citrine eyes in a face of jade scales. The memory sears sharp, but one day the fleshwork will heal the brand. He scratches at it, picks at it like an old scab, and strews the roadsides in eggshell and pale, stringy yolk as he births himself from the detritus of the life clinging to his heels.

Every new city demands that he is less of his past self, so he chokes it down and rolls new names on his tongue, hoping to forget the bitter taste of the Hist— Maheelus. Tanaka. Vetra-Mahei. Sings-in-Silver— but the sap runs through him like iron through a vein, and though Scar-Tail is fading, if the wind asked his name, what could he tell her? What could he offer if only breath?

—

Wake up one morning and find yourself dissolved beside the shadow left behind when Magnus pulled all darkness from the sky. When you leave the bed, you leave your old body too, a ghost peeled out from the pool that once was your lungs, and you wrangle its waters down a new stream, shape its banks to hold a new life. Touch the mirror. Touch your bare-faced spirit. Ask if it’s the same at the root now that you’ve stripped its branches clean. Become a new shape. Wear a new face that strangers wave to in the streets without fear, for you are a Saxhleel made of grafts. Look, all rough burls sanded down. Every scale is now smooth to the touch. 

Yet the Hist still reads your scars, the ones you thought the magic had healed over, knows you bleed black sap when cut open. You are ku-vastei, cannot be gentled, will never be talcum soft, and when the Hist sees the man you’ve stuffed your soul inside of, it knows his smile required so many knives to be carved. 

—

Salt crusts on his scales as the sea mist dries. “Haul,” the shipmaster says, and Scar-Tail does. He’s been in this town too long but the pay is good and the work is hard, and he’s come to find comfort in the foreign smell of human sweat. In the evening, his shift over, he wanders Taneth’s harbors for the breeze. There, Abrim finds him, always does. He guides Scar-Tail down to the taverns where the rest of his crew sits drinking away their gold, and Scar-Tail follows, drawn to his side like some heat-seeking whelp. Inside, he sits facing the door.

The torchlight throws dizzy shapes on the wall. The tavern churns, and all around him is a froth of people as thick as the head on his ale. He won’t feel the buzz until the fourth beer if he feels it at all, but even without it, he’s content here. Here in the briny stew of the seaport with the salt smell and the raucous laughter, the human heat wrapped around his shoulder. Willing himself to weightlessness, he lets Abrim rock him side to side in the rhythm of shanties he never had the chance to learn the words of. Even when he tries, the melodies don't fit in his mouth, but Abrim’s smile is reassuring. Abrim is gilded in the torch flame. Every part of him is a different shade of brown such that Scar-Tail needs only look at him in flickering light to feel he’s travelled all of Tamriel’s woods, seen every kind of tree there is.

—

Two weeks, and new callouses have formed on the pads of his palms. He relishes the rope burn, the way the thick braids abrade compared to the slender wires of a garrote wrapped tight around each fist. Staring at the old knots on his knuckles, he thinks, this is honest work. This is good work, and at night the only part of it that follows him to sleep is the vision of a stained shirt, gleaming skin in the sunlight, the sweat rolling off like beads of oil. 

Abrim’s ship is packed and set to leave Taneth, and the next time Scar-Tail sees him, he knows it will be the last. The thought floods him with a new kind of fear. It sloshes cold in his chest, clings thick to every branch of his lungs. He thinks, this must feel like drowning.  

But the evening air is dry and spiced in sunset reds. Scar-Tail breathes, regains his footing on solid land. At the taverns, Abrim is as he always is, and he is warm in color, deep in scent, rich in sea-spun stories that fill Scar-Tail with as much envy as they do wonder for the sailors and storm-weavers that long ago swam these waters. Scar-Tail wonders if the villains in these tales were star-made as he was, if their cradles were lined in rot like his nest was with razors. If born on a different day under the light of a different constellation, would they have been heroes? Would they have lived on forever in the hearts of men?

The tavern roar grows muffled at his ears as the crashing waves lull him into dream. He imagines himself a new life, resplendent in the awe of those who survive him, those who love him enough to sing his name to strangers too. In this life, his hands are bloodless. In this dream, he’s never held a knife. Could he have it one day? Can he live a small legend, erase enough of who he once was to one day hear his name spoken with full use of the tongue?

The wondering is ripe, ripe enough to overwhelm him. In the ale’s reflection, he sees the palimpsest he’s become. The pitted wound that is Scar-Tail forms a craggy mantle beneath his skin, and there is little give when he presses, the tissue tough beneath. He is still there no matter how hard he’s scraped, Scar-Tail, full of pride, a mutinous tremor through the din. Though it reaches him as only whisper, that name is wreathed in wire, and the recurved fang of its echo sinks deeper with every twist. 

What will it take to strangle this voice that has stitched its dying breath inside his ears? When he hears it, he feels like a missing person, like a part of him has ceased to exist. A sickness rises inside him; he tastes himself decaying. For all the poisons he’s swallowed, now immune to, it’s the acrid tang of dissolution that sends him rushing into the night to spew his dinner into the sea. 

Scar-Tail retches, turned over in a bout of vertigo. Abrim walks over and pats him on the back. “Uta-’mei, what’s wrong?” he says. “Can’t handle the drink? Come, let’s get you home.” 

Scar-Tail coughs. “What did you call me?”

“I’ll explain it another night.”

“When?”

Abrim’s smile is a sliver of opal in the sandstone. “The next time,” he says, “Come on now. Stay close to me.”

And even if Scar-Tail never learns what Abrim meant, he knows that this name fits better than any he’s given himself before. He likes the feel of it, Uta-’mei, the liquor kick of it rising beneath the sour spit in his mouth, and decides that if he dies tomorrow with no one else to speak it, his ghost will scratch it into his own headstone before he completely disappears.

—

Wake up one morning and find the world you lived in gone to dust. You lay shipwrecked, bare to the bone, alone in the silver light of dawn. New flesh will have to be sculpted onto your frame, but you’ve paid someone do it before. You’ll do it again. This time, even your shadow has left you. ‘Good riddance,’ you say. You will have to remake that too.

The sand of your past life clings to your soles, chafes between every toe. You count the grains knowing it will be the last time its coarse edges erode you. Soon, you will bathe in cleaner waters, be free of it, be glistening, yolk-filled and new. Now that you’re here, and he’s gone—

No, now that he’s here, and you’re gone—

Scar-Tail, the wind calls, and the Hist remembers even if you refuse to. On the night you breached your shell, the Shadow blotted out the sky. It was to be your shroud for all your days, first to last, a gift you’ve disgracefully abandoned and though you run, the cold loving embrace of fate forever skitters in your wake.

Stop for only a breath. Look down, find it bloody, here, returned to you, blackened flesh under its claws, scrabbling at your heels.

Sweet child, the wind calls, have no fear. This shade was to preserve you from the blinding harshness of the day that will turn your eyes to water in your skull. Sweet child, look at you, so lost now. Look, curled up, all fetal, how your own reflection cows you. This shade was to serve you as much as you were to serve the god who wove it, and even with your claws clipped and your teeth hidden behind hand-carved grinning lips, your bones retain their shape, always will until you break them. Raise a hand. Press it to the foamy shoreline to obscure the rippling image beneath. Find each finger whittled to such a sharp point that your touch will forever bear the risk of drawing blood.

—

The shop windows taunt him from his periphery, but he will pass one hundred more if that’s what it takes to prove his presence. His footfalls are heavy, yet he persists, learns how to walk again, how to exert his body upon the world if only to feel it press up against his feet. 

But it is enough to be above ground, free to float like a loosed leaf, released from the mire he was hatched into. The wind tugs on the knobs that are left of his spines, and if Scar-Tail lives, it is not in name but in this ever-changing shape, this new boundary layer surrounding each limb. And he chooses to live here. Here where the sun bakes the earth and the water pulls all moisture from his lips. Here, tasting the salt in the air, the sunshine golden-sweet, like mead. Drunk on its light, he chokes, spills past the brim, and when he laughs it’s because the first breath he ever took was smothered in darkness; all light he’d drank before had been drawn in through gasps. 

One hand in the ocean, the water moves freely through his fingers. He couldn’t divert it, couldn’t destroy it if he tried. To his reflection, he offers the jagged slash of his smile, and he doesn’t care what gnarled image stares back. He says, “Name me. Call me by the sigh that leaves your lips when I’m within you. I shred myself apart to stand before you here, reborn, and did I tell you how it hurt, to push air out of these new lungs?”

The sun sets over the Abecean, bleeds a burnt orange that reminds him of the light that lived in Teinaava’s eyes when they were young. It is by some secret alchemy that a longing still brews for the brother who asked for his heart ripped clean from his chest. Yet he still feels it, yes, love for the brother who believes him now dead, who believes Scar-Tail had been the one to betray him. He will feel it always, he thinks. It’s the gift he’s given himself, to love unbidden, to love when no one wants it, to thirst for life in great bursts that swell within him like sap bubbling out of a wounded tree.

He cannot quell it, not even if he tried. It will ooze from him in the next life too. 

Tomorrow, he will travel north to meet Abrim in Sentinel, or maybe he will cross the deserts and find another town to welcome him home, but when he leaves Taneth, he will shed his last skin, and he considers the last person to speak his name was a woman who had been hired to kill him. When she offered up his heart, what did his brother feel in return? Joy to have fed him back to the soil? Relief to return him to the root?

He hopes so.

[soulofapatrick]

Birthday Wishes - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Tommy decides to throw a celebration for Joel’s first birthday in Jackson 

Words: 1.5k 

Warnings: none 

Y/N’s POV

The Tipsy Bison is as crowded as ever when I step inside, bustling with people of all ages and walks of life who have found refuge in Jackson. Exuding warmth and familiarity with the rustic wooden interior adorned with strings of fairy lights that cast cozy glows across the room. The air is filled with the aroma of beer and the savoury scent of hearty meals being prepared by the volunteers. 

Amidst the lively atmosphere, the sounds of laughter and animated conversations blend harmoniously with the occasional clinking of glasses. Groups of friends huddle together, sharing tales of their jobs of the days, some never having the same each time the sun rises. Families gather around large tables, their eyes reflecting both weariness and determination, finding solace in the company of their loved ones and the fact that they’re safe in the walls of Jackson. 

I’m not one to frequent the Tipsy Bison but I promised the Miller brothers I’d be there tonight as it’s Joel’s birthday and he hates celebrating it but it’s his first birthday in Jackson. Tommy wants it to be special and I promised so here I am, eyes scanning for Joel. I catch a glimpse of Tommy first, his broad shoulders and easy smile instantly recognisable. He’s engaged in a conversation with Jesse and Ellie. However, Joel is nowhere to be seen, Tommy nodding towards the bar when he notices me. 

Feeling a mixture of anticipation and curiosity, I navigate through the crowd, eyes constantly searching for the older Miller brother. Finding him isn’t usually easy as he knows how to blend into the background and keep a low profile but it doesn’t take long to find him today from the overly feminine and sultry voice carrying across the bar. There. Sitting at the bar, trying to enjoy his beer is Joel, a blonde hanging off his muscular arms. She giggling and batting her eyelashes at him while his honey eyes are solely focused on his beer, swirling the liquid in the glass like it’s the most interesting thing ever. 

I’m not going to deny the pang of jealousy stirring within me as Joel has always been handsome with me, it’s just he’s never seen it in himself. His chiselled features partially hidden by the dim lighting as I take a breath before heading over to the two with steady and confident steps despite how nervous I really am. I’m no good at confrontation but the forlornness look about his appearance and posture has me wanting to do something. 

Joel’s glancing up when I touch his shoulder lightly and I swear those honey orbs brighten at the sight of me, the smile playing at the corner of my lips fills me with confidence, “Heya Joel,” I’m greeting him, ignoring the woman, I think her name is Grace. She’s fixing me with a look that would have me six feet under if looks could kill but I keep my attention on Joel who has straightened up and is waving the bartender over, gesturing at another beer for me. It seems to make Grace fume as suddenly she’s standing between me and Joel, shoving me back a few paces. 

“Hands off skank, I was here first,” She sneers, her grip on Joel tightening, “It’s not like an orphan like you could really change him-“ 

I want to turn and leave, feeling a few eyes on me and I can see Tommy making his way over from behind Grace’s shoulder but I stand firm at the way Joel’s face falls again “Change him? He doesn’t need changing, he’s perfect the way he is.” Joel’s head flies up at my words, mouth dropped open a little in surprise and Grace is furrowing her brows and gripping onto Joel even more, “He’s strong, protective and fiercely loyal. He has depth that many can’t comprehend and you, you just want a new boy-toy.” 

My words hang in the air, a testament to the unwavering belief I have in Joel. The room now mostly focused on us, holding its breath for what seems like hours as Joel’s honey coloured eyes lock with mine, surprise still evident on his face. I stand my ground still, feeling Jesse and Ellie not too far behind me in support, refusing to back down to Grace’s hostility. 

Joel’s finally moving, reaching out and gently pushing Grace away as he rises from his seat, voice calm but firm, “That’s enough, Grace.” He doesn’t see the way her eyes widen in disbelief and hurt when he shakes her off of him; he doesn’t hear her whining protests as he closes the gap between me and him with two long strides and he doesn’t hear her begin crying when one of his calloused hands reaches up to cup my cheek. 

“Hey.” I manage to choke out, voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty, unsure what’s happening. My breath catching in my throat at the feel of his touch, both tender and grounding, his eyes searching mine with a myriad of emotions swirling in them. There’s surprise, gratitude, guilt, pain and perhaps something more, but it’s hard to decipher with the knowledge that half the town of Jackson are currently watching this interaction in near silence as Joel Miller is currently showing emotion. Joel Miller, the ‘violent thug, a brutal killer, and a torturer’ is currently showing emotions of want and what I think is love but I’m not really sure as my heart is trying to beat out of my chest and it’s so loud I can barely hear anything else. 

He doesn’t speak, those dark eyes flickering down my suddenly dry lips and back up to meet my gaze. I’m darting my tongue to wet them in anticipation and it seems to snap any control Joel has left. His gaze lingering on my lips, his own mouth slightly parted as he takes in the sight, and without breaking eye contact, Joel leans in, his movements slow and deliberate. The air crackling with tension, the anticipation building between us like an electric current. My heart pounding in my chest and I’m letting my eyes flutter shut, somewhere subconscious highly aware of how cliche this all it. 

As Joel’s lips brush against mine, a surge of warmth courses through my veins. It’s a gentle and tentative kiss, filled with a mix of longing and vulnerability. Our connection deepens with each passing second, the world around us slipping away as if we’re the only two people in existence. I can taste the years of pain, loss and survival etches into Joel’s lips. The touch of his mouth against mine is a testament to the barriers he’s built slipping away and opening up the vulnerability he’s kept hidden. It’s a silent plea for understanding and acceptance and has my arms instinctively wrapping around him, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. 

We eventually have to break apart, breath mingling, Joel resting his forehead against mine. I can’t handle the silence and find myself blurting out, “Happy Birthday Joel.” Which draws a deep and husky laugh, filled with raw emotion, from him before he’s yanking me into a hug that has me melting into his embrace. The strength and warmth of his embrace wraps around me, offering a sense of security and belonging that I think we’ve both yearned for in this harsh world. In his arms, the weight of the outside world fades away, replaced by a simple moment of connection and celebration. 

“Right! Who wants cake?” Tommy’s booming voice breaks the silence and suddenly the Tipsy Bison is full of sound and laughter and joy but all I care about is the feeling of Joel against me. His strong and broad chest pressed against mine and the feel of his beard scratching at my forehead a little, the smell of his musky cologne mixed with something citrusy. 

“Come on baby doll, I think Tommy is wanting me to blow out my candles.” Joel gently unwinds himself from me but he doesn’t let go completely, slipping his calloused hand into mine to tug me with him. Tommy standing near a table adorned with a giant birthday cake, his infectious grin welcoming us as we approach. The room seeming to hush once more, until Ellie begins belting out Happy Birthday and everyone starts to join in. 

Joel’s face flushes redder than I think I’ve ever seen it as he stands there, the soft glow of the candlelight dancing across his face, casting a warm and gentle radiance. His eyes meeting mine with a mixture of gratitude and affection evident in their depths and I can’t help but return the sentiment, my heart swelling with love for this man, barely whispering out a “make a wish”. 

With a deep breath, Joel leans forwards and blows out the candles, the room erupting in applause and cheers before the festivities continue, Tommy and Maria helping serve everyone a slice of cake as Joel makes a beeline for me again. 

“What did you wish for?” 

“Nothing,” He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side, lips pressing to the side of my temple before he’s murmuring even quieter, “I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here.” 

-----------

The Last of Us Masterlist

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[hallothere]

16 (frozen/cold) + 59 (storms/weather) for whoever you deem best for it >:)

someone is going to be happy or die trying

"You tricked me."

"Tricked you? Never. I told you exactly what was going to happen. It's hardly my fault if you don't believe me."

Thurindol tried holding his hands up towards the fire again but that really didn't seem to help. His fingers felt just as numb, as if his gloves hadn't done a thing to protect them.

"We have snow in Gondor," he said, "....sometimes."

"Yes, brother, I'm sure." Radanir nodded sagely, perfectly straight-faced and positively mocking all at once. "And we have the sun here in Eriador- in Arnor now I suppose! Tremendous hot it gets, but I suppose being right on the Anduin and the sea does... something to it."

"You're far enough from the Icebay." Thurindol looked, but with windows had all been thoroughly curtained and shuttered against the wind. It would be biting out there, to be sure. "It's not at all the same."

"Quite right." Radanir took pity on him at last and waved over Techeron, who was proudly passing out the new Weaver's Guild's first-year blankets. They were decadent, colorful, and oblong in utter refusal of perfection- but perfect all the same. Thurindol was able to wrap his around his body twice, but his legs remained free. Techeron would be back with another soon to remedy that.

"We did know this was coming," Radanir started again almost apologetically, "but not that it would howl like this. Not very considerate to ruin the Harvest ball." He paused. "But very kind of you to help rescue that tables and the banners. They would've only needed a little mending but-"

Thurindol shook his head. Odd-shaped as it was, he was confident he'd resist attempts to have this blanket reclaimed from him. Now, or another day. "They are beautiful. And they are yours- your city's. I would not have my heraldry torn down by inconsiderate winds, or starched by a hard freeze."

Radanir stared at him. "It's a new city," he countered quietly.

"Dolindir is old, it's on our maps. And that you'd give it back it's name means you love it and hold it dear. You stopped the sack of Pelargir, it's the least someone could do for you in return."

Radanir continued staring, blinking, alternately and in silence. "Thank you," he said at last. Thurindol had picked thinner finery, borrowed and calculated with his home in mind. He was not the only one of his Gondorian brothers to do so, and chose these rather than something that would withstand the onset of a blizzard. A small blizzard, maybe, but he would have no way of guessing. He had worked his hands numb and face red-abrased by the wind. To save a few banners that had been made mere months ago.

Turning, Radanir looked at the city standard- a bannerman in a star- and blinked hard--..... against the chill.

"Come," he said clearing his throat, "I promised you cider mulled and spiced like nothing the gardens of Gondor could ever dream of." Radanir stood quickly but motioned for Thurindol to stay. "I shall be right back. It's 'liquid warmth' and no doubt the first batch is ready. Can you smell it?"

Thurindol frowned a little, but tipped his head back and sniffed. "I can smell... something. The inside of my nose still thaws."

Radanir barked a laugh. "Keep thawing! I shall return with a draught that warms you the rest of the way, never fear."

He sped off into the kitchens of the great hall- of Bar Halbarad- to fetch his new friend his prize.

[almostcolorfulcolor]

Death Note, meet Supernatural- CHAPTER 8

Relationships: L (Death Note)/Reader, L (Death Note)/Original Female Character(s)

Summary: What if Death Note existed in a world with Winchesters in it? Would L finally have the evidence he needs to prove Light is Kira? How will L fare in a world where monsters are real and not every case is solvable by him? Lucky for him, there's a hunter here to work side-by-side with him.

A/N: Um...hey! Sooooooooooooo sorry for being so late. Since the last time I uploaded, somebody hacked my work email and I've been swamped with work. But as an apology, enjoy a special feature and a 3400+ words chapter! Hurray!

Chapter Summary: A trip down memory lane...or should I say a haunting? Surprise visitor in this one!

CHAPTER 7

Chapter 8: The Boy with the Demon Blood

The warmth on my face feels too nice with the breeze coming in from the sea. With every passing moment, a thought leaves my mind- decimating my todo one task at a time. When the panic attacks came and there was no one and nothing to help me, distract me- I took it upon myself to silence my mind forcefully. Close my eyes and will my muscles unlock. Banish every thought as soon as it came. Lose awareness of the weight on my shoulders and the pain in my chest. Between my stubbornness to make this work and the tiredness in my body, it became…possible after a while. After the shitty month we’d been having, this detour feels surreal. There is a pit forming in my stomach because surely, something is about to go wrong. Peace is not easily found, not for people like us. How things can get worse than they currently are, I am not certain. But they will.

One thing in particular. Ruby.

The demon who’s convincing my friend to drink demon blood to enhance his psychic abilities to kill the mother of demons, Lilith, and rescue his brother from Hell where he was dragged by hellhounds a little over a month ago.

Definitely wrong. I’d been doing everything to stop that from happening but I wasn’t sure how long I could make him see sense. Sam loved Dean, and the fact that Dean had gone to hell because he made a demon deal to bring back Sam from the dead was definitely increasing the guilt factor. Wrong is wrong though, and drinking demon blood is a solid no-no. Even Dean would agree with that. Not that I thought much about what Dean would agree with, or about him in general. My sanity was hanging by a thread, and any prolonged thought on Dean would make me completely lose it. I want him here, beside me, drinking beer and chasing after skirts. And I will make that happen. But not by losing Sam in the process. 

A beer is placed in front of me. Silently accepting it, I bring it to my mouth. Now, there’s warmth beside me too. A very comforting warmth, one I’d recognize in my sleep, one that I never want to go away, one I crave too much. I’m not relaxed now. I’m using every ounce of strength I have to stay as I am and not lean into him. Those arms that have helped me for nights while I cried, those that look so strong, and inviting, are calling my name. But I resist. Comfort is something he doesn’t want now.  

He only wants Dean.

I want him. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The red liquid in a bottle isn’t wine. 

She finally convinced him.  

I drop the groceries, sprinting, knocking the bottle from his hands. The walls are painted red.

My vision blurs as a sharp pain registers in my skull. “What the fuck, you bitch? That was my blood”, snarls Ruby as she presses me against the motel wall.

“Hands off, Ruby. Now.”

Good, atleast he cares this much.

Dropping me and whirling on him, she starts shouting. “I’m not your minion, Sam. I’ve been tailing you for months to convince you to use your powers for good and she is constantly against me. Get her in line. I won’t keep coming here to get insulted. You don’t need her. You come with me now and we can start with your training. Lilith isn’t going to kill herself.”

Sam’s expression is easier to read in his distress. He doesn’t want to leave me like this but he is set on getting revenge, getting Dean back. If he leaves now, my chances of getting him back are next to zero.

Getting onto my feet shakily, I make my way to Sam. The time for caution is gone. Stretching on tip-toes, I cup his face and bring it closer to mine. Sam’s shaky inhale gives me hope.

“Sam, look at me. Can you see what you mean to me? How much I care for you? Can you remember how much I care for Dean? I love him, and I want him back. But I also love you, and I don’t want to lose you. Please, Sam. This is demon blood. What if something happens to you? What if after drinking enough demon blood you turn into one too? It scares me, Sam. I’m so, so scared.”

My eyes close at this point, tears leaking out. I hold his face tighter, wanting to feel him after staying away for so long.

“Sam, please. We’ll start slow. We’ll develop your psychic abilities without the blood. It’s safer, right? And possible too. Please say yes, Sam. Stay with me. Dean is gone now, and until we get him back, we only have each other. Please be with me, Sam. Look at me. I need you, Sam. So much. Hold me, Sam. ”

He isn’t moving. My hands leave his face to find his hands. I place them on my waist and cup his neck. Stroke his chin. Touch his forehead to mine. “This isn’t bad, Sam, right? Please stay with me. I’m begging you.”

Cicadas are buzzing, curtains ruffling. Somewhere near, a dog barks. My heart gives a jolt.

Finally, he gives a jerky nod. Finally, I sob heaving in relief. Finally, the bitch leaves.

That’s the first night we sleep in each other’s arms.

Morning comes, and we’re both still holding onto one another.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The days after that are filled with hunting demons and Sam trying to kill them with his psychic abilities. Few he manages, rest we exorcise after interrogating about Lilith's whereabouts. Every demon that proves useless makes Sam resent me more. Those are the nights he sleeps in his bed turned away from me. We still don’t talk. Barely perfunctory words are spoken, nods given, grocery lists written. I’ve taken to calling Bobby every time I’m alone, which is often. Sam needs his space and every second he’s out of my sight, I imagine Ruby cornering him again and Sam accepting her help. Bobby shares my fear but there’s not much he can do as Sam refuses to see him or any other hunter. The cases we stumble on, he ignores. I note them and ask Bobby to get some hunter on it, wishing I was on it. The thrill of the hunt would make me feel better. It’d feel wrong, without Dean. But those brief moments where nothing matters except you and the kill- I want that oblivion. The only time I get it now is in Sam’s arms at nights his highness does deign to grace my bed. Settled between his arms and chest, the world feels liveable. Like I didn’t see my best friend ripped to shreds and dragged to hell in front of me. Like there’s still warmth in the world. Like I can relax and close my eyes. 

Sometimes, my growing feelings for him worry me. Because my feelings are mostly of love and worry while his eyes show nothing when he looks at me. It’s like he’s only doing this because I begged him to hold me. A duty he has to perform because someone who’s hurting asked him of it. These thoughts always make me feel guilty, and make me want to tell him to stop, lie that I don’t need it. But I never say this because what if my need is the only thing keeping him here and away from Ruby?

While trying to save Dean, I knew my biggest job would be to get him back once he got taken. I never thought it would be to save Sam from getting himself taken as well.

He shuts the TV off. In 3 steps, he’s on my bed. Lights are turned off, and I’m tugged down.

He’s spooning me today.

I allow myself a brief smile and pull his arm tighter around me.

Don’t let go, Sam .

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sipping my glass of sake, which was the only thing I could identify and pronounce in this bar, I glance around from my darkened corner at the other patrons of “Kariudo no Tsuki”, also called Hunter’s Moon. It must be popular cause I scored a ride on the app. A taxi would’ve been cheaper but my Japanese isn’t that good and I didn’t want to get lost. Currently, it’s 6 PM and people are starting to come in. I imagined it’d be like back home- mostly a hunter break stop but suits and lovebirds are also coming in. The interior looks rough but in a classy way. There is no one I can walk up to and just start talking. The hunter who gave me this address showed me a picture of a guy called Haru. He was short with a shorter mustache that reminded me of Hitler. Haru knew anything that happened here, but when I asked the bartender about him (thanks to Google translate), he just shot me a blank stare with “Haru no here”.

45 minutes later of people watching, my suspect walked in, headed straight to me and plopped down on the seat next to me after giving the bartender a meaningful look. There goes his 18%. He said nothing, just stared at me. People have been staring a lot here in Japan. Dean would stare back even longer, refusing to give in but I’m tired of this shit and want to get some work done. Plastering on my best smile, I start in English, “Mr. Haru, pleased to meet you. This is Anne. Could we please talk?” Seeing his nod, I’m inwardly relieved. Thank God he atleast understands English. 

“You can guess what I do and why I’m here, correct?”

A nod.

“So can you please let me know your thoughts on how is Kira doing this murder? What have you found so far?”

Nothing this time. 

I feel a headache coming. 

“Mr. Haru, I understand you’re a hunter. I know you understand me. I need answers. There are mass murders happening and it’s our responsibility to stop them. Can you be of assistance?”

Nada. 

My fingers tighten on the now-empty glass. I look away and count to ten. What a dick.

When I turn to him again, he’s gesturing to a girl. She comes and stands next to him and then he gestures to me.

Looking at me, she flinches a bit and I rearrange my expression into something softer bringing a tentative smile on her face.

“I’m Umi. What can I do for you?”, her sweet voice fills my ears.

Thank fucking God.

“Are you a hunter?”

She’s taken aback at this blunt question and stammers out a response. “N-no, I’m still being trained. But I know things.”

“Good. Please tell me your theories about the Kira case. Now please.”

“Well, there isn’t anything to tell. He’s been sent by God.”

Huh?

“Could you repeat that sweetheart?”

Umi’s answer is full of admiration. “Kira is only killing criminals, and he has decreased the crime rate dramatically. People feel safer with him. We believe God has sent him to deliver his divine justice. ”

Psycho alert. 

“Kira is killing people, wielding a supernatural power we haven’t heard of before and you’re not concerned? What kind of hunters are you?”

Umi is quick to correct me. Me . “Not people, just criminals. And we haven’t heard of it before because that power belongs to God and we do not hunt God.”

God. of Death. Shinigami?

“So you know which God is doing it?”, wanting her to confirm my suspicions.

“That isn’t for us to know. But whoever it is has our thanks.” Her eyes have gone mad; she totally believes this crap.

Dropping my nice act, I scoff. “Are you fucking crazy? Kira murders . He is wrong. Anything, any God, helping him is wrong.”

For the first time, Haru speaks something. I don’t understand the work but his words are angry and eyes accusing. 

Umi speaks up, “Haru says we know what you’ve been doing. You are just like the monsters you kill in America. We are holy people- we kill evil and respect the divine.”

“And Kira is DIVINE???”

All hints of a smile are gone from her face when she speaks next. “Keep your voice down. We won’t help you catch Kira. We don’t even want to find Kira. Let him rid the world of evil and then we can kill monsters in peace like us hunters are meant to.”

Haru speaks again and the girl nods furiously. “Seeing as you’re an American hunter, we have something of yours that we’re anxious to get rid of. Wait here.”

She disappears behind the back door. In the 15 minutes it takes her to get back, I realize I’m fucked. Being on a different continent, I have no idea how Japanese hunters work. I have no contacts. No one to turn to in case things get fucked up. I’ve told L that I’m working on a lead but this bar is a bust. Only thing I’ve left is the library now- and even then, killing a Shinigami would take weapons. Where and how to get them? L could take care of the police if there are bodies but I’d have to tell him why there are bodies. Including him in this supernatural angle could prove disastrous. Should I call Garth? Jody? Have someone come here to help me? 

When Umi returns, I realize I don’t need to call another hunter from home. 

Seems like they’re already here. 

The girl accompanying Umi is a 15-year-old teenager looking furious and relieved at the sight of me.

Krissy.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once Krissy finished her tale (with 3 burgers, 2 large fries and cokes), I marvel for the millionth time how we, who save the world, are constantly being fucked over. Her dad got her to investigate Kira, same as me but without the FBI’s help, and got eaten by a vampire. Krissy’s been stuck here since they came on a fake passport, she had no money, oh and yeah- that she’s a minor. She couldn’t contact anyone at home because who needs numbers when you have phones? But what happens when blood-crazy monsters trash your house and break all your shit? The hunters at the bar let her stay in exchange for doing some chores. I thank a God I don’t believe in or count on that it was not worse. 

“So I have some yen saved from what they paid me. But if you get me back home- I have an aunt- I’ll pay you back,” Krissy says once she’s done eating.

“I’m getting you back sweetie, and don’t worry about the money. Humanity still exists no matter what you’ve seen.”

Her fingers start tapping on the table. “No matter what, huh? I’ve seen my father ignore me and go crazy to prove his worth by catching this psycho. What kind of person does that?”

Well, atleast he didn’t force Krissy to hunt. “Look sweetheart, I don’t know why your father did what he did. This life, it changes something fundamental inside people. We stop being regular people and become someone else. Just remember the good moments with him and leave it at that. Nothing’s your fault, so no need to look for answers that aren’t coming. Okay?”

Her nod is quick and shaky. The girl doesn’t cry, I respect her. “Your aunt, she reliable?”

“Um, I don’t really know. Dad only talked about her sometimes but she’s lived at the same house for 20 years. I remember the way.”

Not good.

My plan is made- atleast for her. I call my contact at FBI and tell him to have a fake US passport brought over to me with Krissy's face and a fake name. Earliest she can leave will be the day after tomorrow, six in the morning. Haneda to O’Hare, then to Sioux Falls Regional Airport. Jody will be there to pick her up and handle the rest.

Taking her back to the headquarters is a definite no. I pick the nearest motel to the airport and get ourselves a room. While Krissy’s enjoying a long-awaited bath (evident by her off-tune humming), my mind is reeling- I have 0 leads on Kira with just a hunch about Shinigami, and now a kid to take care of for 2 days. Meanwhile, L is there with Light and Misa who could very well be the murderers. What a mess.

Pulling up Watari’s number, I inform him that some personal business has come up requiring me to stay out of the headquarters until the morning of the day after tomorrow. “Your request for leave will have to be approved by Ryuzaki; please stay on the line while I confirm this with him.” Staring at the phone in disbelief, I contemplate chucking it out along with the tracker he placed on my belt.

“I thought your commitment to catching Kira would have you here with us day and night. What is so important that you must stay away?”, comes the bored drawl of the detective.

“As I told Watari, it’s personal.”

“What of the lead?”

I pinch my eyes shit remembering that shit show. “Terrible. Waste of time.”

“I could’ve told you that before and saved you a trip to Hunter’s Moon. ”

I sit up straight from where I had been lounging on the bed. Hearing hunter in L’s voice is like I’ve been in a dream and then suddenly falling in a dead drop. 

God. Oh god.

“Anne? Anne?”

“Yes Ryuzaki?” I gasp. “Are you alright?” No. “Yes.”

“What happened at the bar?”, L prods. “Nothing. My lead turned out to be a Kira supporter. They don’t know who Kira is but they certainly won’t be helping us.” I wonder if the defeat in my voice is apparent to him or not. “Hm. Unsurprising. You should get back to the headquarters so you may actually prove useful.” Picking at my cuticles, I’m planning my trip to the local library to show him how useful I am. “Shut up, Ryuzaki. I told you, I have a personal thing to take care of.”

“Are you planning to engage in intercourse with a stranger?”

What. What.

My voice is a squeak. “Ryu- what the hell dude?”

“Well, you were at a bar, your location is at a motel now and asking for leave for personal reasons when you possibly can’t have any in a foreign country you’ve been in for less than 48 hours with no contacts. It’s a highly probable guess that you met a stranger at a bar and now want to have sex with him.”

His whole explanation- wow. “No, Ryuzaki. I’m not at the motel to have sex. Something really important and unrelated to the case has come up. I wasn’t expecting it. Real coincidence. But I have to take care of this. And as for being useful, I’ll do my research from the local library tomorrow and be back at the headquarters the next morning.”

“If you do anything stupid, the taskforce will not rescue you. Do not screw up the investigation. Do not draw attention to yourself during your library trip.”

Duh. “There goes the plan of wearing my big bird costume tomorrow. I was really looking forward to it.”

The robot does not laugh. I decide to get some answers for a change. “How are things at your end? Lovebirds acting usual?"

L enunciates like he’s talking to a 2 year old. “We cannot talk about that on the phone. It’s not secure.”

Rolling my eyes, I huff out a reply. “Like you haven’t got the most secure phones on the planet. Thanks for giving me one, btw. Definitely going to get up to all sorts of nefarious things on this one.”

A long-suffering sigh is my only answer.

I want more. I don’t want to hang up. I don’t want to face the surly, traumatized teenager about to get out of the bath. I don’t want to go back to planning my next move when I have nothing. I want Sam and Dean. And Cas and Bobby. And my mom and dad. And a hug. And someone to make me feel warm. And to keep talking to L- the only person I’ve allowed myself to trust one percent.

The wall I’ve been staring at goes blurry. I want a hug, now. NOW. I swallow- sharp, hot glass shards going down my throat. The call is still on. No one speaks. I disconnect. 

I’ve let go.

A/N:

What do you think? First real scene of Anne with a Winchester. Sorry that the bar was a bust but I've always imagined that hunters from different countries don't collab and Team Free Will has messed up (with good intentions) so many times that I don't think they'd be too welcome.

Anyway, I've got the outline for the next chapter ready so it should be posted in a week. It's still a WIP so if anyone has got any scene request, just let me know!

Likes, comments and reblogs fuel me, don't forget to leave some :)

XOXO

[queengiuliettafirstlady]

A Lovely night

A lovely night

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Pairing: Luke x OC (Julie)

Part of Summer Days Sultry Nights Content Creator Challenge hosted by @violettduchess and @aquagirl1978

Prompt: 11. Fireflies

Tag: Established relationship Childhood sweethearts to lovers Fluff Kisses

Word Count 1.280

Author’s Note: A special spectacle offer two lovebirds a wonderful occasion to spend some time together, playing around the little bugs and laughing like children with their hearts swelling with that soft feelings bonding them together since childhood, the same unbreakable spell the best tales are made with Love. 🥰

Tag list

@kitwicekissmedeadly @lordsisterxotome @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess @atelieredux @klutzyroses @randonauticrap @thewitchofbooks @princess-pray-a @itsjudesfault

You can find me on AO3 as QueenJuliet 😊

Thank you for everyone who will like, reblog, or comment please be gentle with me english is not my first language so please do not leave rude comments I apologise for eventual errors I hope you will like it 😊

It was a tepid summer night, the gentle breeze billowed on the patio inviting to doze off along the suffused melody of the crickets in search of a lover to spend the night with, exactly like everyone else, the leftover of a scrumptious homemade meal stood still on the table with the full moon reflecting its image in the water filled glasses, the fruity decoration casting their colors in the transparent liquid shining under its bright light.

He sighed softly immersed in a blissful satisfaction, dizzy with happiness and drunk in love as he admired her through his half lidded eyes, the taste of her honey cake still vivid on his tongue made even more sweeter as they kissed again and again as the petals cascaded around them dancing in the breeze while the little green leaves waltzed at its music.

 He was almost falling asleep for good when she sat on his lap, his lips curling on their own accord in a smile waiting for her kiss when instead her voice ringed him off his dreams.

“It is time.” 

Her words shaking off all his drowsiness in an instant as he looked frantically at her 

“For what ? Julie ?” not even pronouncing her name had the effect of making her answer him honestly his question, at it used to, so he resigned himself to wait, her excitation palpable glimmered in her chartreuse eyes looking at him with a mirthful smile on her lips 

“For the show.” her half explication did not suffice, but it had to for him, for he knew her lover whimsical nature 

“Follow me.”

as if she had even to tell him, he would have followed her to the moon and back just to make her happy even if she had not say anything, even if she didn't wanted him because he had made an oath to protect her, to the point of being her shadow wherever she went like she did to him, because the truth was that they needed one another and unbearable agony was to them both to spend even a second apart from each other, thing they experienced in the palace and were not eager to feel again not for anything in the world.

He was to ask further questions still anxious about their whereabouts when she cut them all off melting her lips on his in a sweet slow kiss, able to dissipate all his doubts smiling at the warmth of her tiny hand engulf in his own to bring him deep in the forest, their path lit only by the soft light of the full moon filtering through the tall trees leaves, receding as they went on until they found themselves in an empty field he recognizes to be still part of their own territory a generous gift from his brothers he was far from refusing.

“Wow it ... gorgeous.”

“It is wonderful.” 

Despite her being the one who suggested it she looked surprised like him at the spectacle stretching before their eyes, a glimmering sea of light filled every corner on the horizon like the stars had come to play hide and seek among the bushes, wonder lit up her pretty features he admired in awe, she looked so beautiful surrounded by that magical view like a Queen taking her place in the throne at the centre of his heart, a place that had always belonged to her and her alone since they were children and he had the luck to meet her.

Her melodious laugh music to his hear, far more beautiful than any other sound to him, even the one of a honey jar opening, a blissful smile curled his lips as he admired the little fireflies surrounding them both revelling in her bright gaze as he showed her the little lightning buzz that so casually had landed on his hand, buzzing softly at the companion landed on her fingers smiling at the sight of their little bugs flying toward the forest together like them.

Unable to contain happiness and love swelling in his heart he took her hand in his placing a kiss full or reverent devotion on her ring finger, receiving an heart melting smile he would have done everything for, closing the distance between them melting his lips on hers in a passionate kiss reluctantly pulling away from only after a sensual dance between their tongues, softly he cupped her face in his hands murmuring few inches from her swollen rosy lips.

“I love you Julie with all my heart forever and ever.”

“I love you too Luke so very much.” 

A soft smile lit up her features dancing in her eyes and pouring over her lips at his warm wet lips brushing a tender kiss on her forehead, as he wrapped one arm around her hips, with his cape sheltering them both under its softness against the frizzier air of the night as  they sat in the grass for a while, her frame engulfed in his bigger one hugging her from behind revelling in the way she nuzzled better between his legs leaning her head on his chest, while their heart beated in sync giggling at the soft kisses he peppered on her raven curls the same he loved to play with when they were in bed, that thought alone make heat rise to her cheeks in a soft rosy blush she hoped he would not see but in vain. 

“You are so adorable, my little princess. You always were for me.” 

His heartfelt confession melted her heart a the thought he treasured all the memories they had made together since they were children, conveying how moved she was by his soft confession she squeezed his hand in her caressing his ring smiling softly at him, seeing his eyes glimmer with unshed happy tear the same glimmering in her own irises, as she brushed her fingers on his cheeks in a tender caress.

“I swear you will never stop to amaze me.Thank you for loving me.”

“I feel the same, my big bear.Thank you for your love.” 

Their hearts speaking freely to one another, he tightened his arms around her feeling his heart burst with love at the soft brush of her lips on his chest.

“I thought I was already plenty crazy of you but then you go and say such sweet stuff like that and I do not not know if I can hold back any longer.”

“Then don't.” a malicious glimpse glimmered in her green eyes she turned around cupping his face in her hands

“Don't hold anything back with me. I love you.”

“I love you too, but are you sure ?”

“Yes it can’t be otherwise. Come as you are to me, my bear.”

“I hope you know what you are bargaining for my princess.”

she laughed as he took her in his arms, offering her a gorgeous confident smile brightening all over his handsome features

“Oh trust me I know.” a charming smile on her lips she caressed seductively his chest, biting her bottom lips revelling at the sight of his leaf green eyes fill with lust and affection crinkled softly as he looked at her whose smoldering gaze mesmerized him tempted in to give in a desire impossible to tame, sparing no effort he walked back to their home in half the time sliding back in their bedroom ready for a blissful night of passion with only the aster as spectator as they showed their love to one another their union sealed once more with the mighty power of that feeling bonding their heart and destiny together since childhood, the almighty everlasting power of love.

[furys-mercy]

- | Tepid | -

Word Count: 552 Characters: Sebastian de Vairemont, Marcette de Lamoreaux Mentioned: Lazne Urit

______________________________________________________________

tep·id /ˈtepəd/ adjective (especially of a liquid) only slightly warm; lukewarm.

______________________________________________________________ Marcette de Lamoreaux had once thought that she hated nothing more than lukewarm tea. But that was until she met her younger brother. From the moment he was placed, wriggling and wailing, into her arms, he had been challenging.  At this very bell, he sat in that hideous wingback chair of his, looking down on her as if he were a king holding court.

“How is it that you have yet to fire your cook?” She returned her cup to the nearby tray, allowing it to clink loudly against the silver. “She serves you nothing but over-steeped swill.”

Sebastian’s smirk still reminded her of their mother. “Please, do accept my humblest apologies. Had I known you intended to call, I would have been more prepared. As it is, however, Mrs. Skinner is not in, and my poor footman is not well versed in the brewing of tea.”

Marcette visibly paled. Her cheeks took on an odd green tinge. “A footman?!” This was one of the many reasons she so rarely spared him time for a visit. He made a repeated mockery of their shared name.

That stupid smirk of his only grew. “My dear Marcette, you look unwell. Please do not let me keep you overlong. You look as if you need the warmth of your bed.”

“Do not worry, I have no intention of overstaying my welcome. This is not, after all, a social call.” She had never had the stomach for the games he liked to play. It was sacrifice enough for her to be seen speaking with him, there was no room left for petty niceties.  

“If that is how you wish to play it, dearest sister. Do tell me, what is it that brings you out this evening? How may I be of assistance?”

The way his eyes sparkled with mischief combined with the joy he felt in taunting her tipped Marcette over the edge. “You were seen!” The leather of gloves creaked as she gripped at the arm of the settee.

“Doing what?” He was not going to give her anything for free.

“I have been kind enough to ignore your flagrant dalliances for this long, Sebastian, but this. She is…” Where her cheeks were once green, they were now stained a bright crimson. “I do not… how could you… a… miqo’te! If you must consort with common whores, have the decency to be discreet!”

The Bastard of Vairemont leaned in towards his sister, teeth bared in a mocking sneer. “Are there not more pressing issues of discretion for you tend to?”

“This is pressing! It is one thing for Aveline de Heroux to leave your apartments unaccompanied and clearly tussled, but this… I will not stand for it!” The red of her cheeks now stretched the length of her slender, pointed ears. “Dacien will not stand for it!”

“If you insist on bothering the Lord Vairemont with such trivial matters, I certainly cannot stop you, but…” He took a sip of his own, over-steeped tea. “I am quite certain he will find your affair with Ser Ilneux to be equally fascinating. Don’t you agree?”

The impact of his words left her sitting there, gaping at him in shock. “How… where… where did you hear that?”

Sebastian grinned at her overtop his teacup. “Aveline de Heroux.”

[adhduck]

How Many Second Chances Will We Get -- Loop 2

Read on AO3 -- with art by eviee and a podfic by tish

CWs: mention of kidnapping and children in danger; canon-typical description of injuries

Grizzop says goodbye again, Azu tries to explain, and Hamid and Sasha do some scouting.

Usually the only things capable of dragging Grizzop into sleep are either exhaustion or a begrudging acceptance that he has to rest for his spells to replenish. Tonight, his adrenaline is miles ahead of exhaustion, and he’s not getting his spells back either way, since they seem to be in an anti-magic cell, so he’s awake when it happens–one moment, he’s squinting into the empty monochrome beyond the bars, and the next, everything is…wrong.

He doesn’t get time to process what wrong means before everything gets worse–there’s a confused, slightly pained cry, and then the whole universe drops out from under his feet. He clutches the hands in his – hands? – and grits his teeth against the sensation of his body being stretched like over-kneaded dough, thin to the point of tearing.

Don’t open your eyes, he tells himself, but Eva did always say he was too curious for his own good, so he looks. Shapes and colors he cannot understand swirl around him, breaking into fractals that break into sharp, abstract points that seem to exist in time but not in space. Above him, inches and miles away, there’s the tip of what might be a finger, and then Grizzop’s eyes unfocus with pain, and a moment later he’s hitting the ground.

“Fuck,” he mutters, which is about all he can manage. His bones are still trying to figure out what size they’re supposed to be, which gives him the rare urge to lay face down for a while, but he pushes that aside and gets to his feet, cataloging if everyone’s okay before he’s even processed who everyone is.

Sasha, Hamid, Azu, Eldarion. But also Hamid’s brother, and Azu’s, and the gnome Sasha seems to know, and—Vesseek.

“Fuck,” he says, with emphasis now. What in Artemis’ name happened?

He checks the surroundings – an empty room with a mosaic on the floor that pricks at his memory – while the others get to their feet. Vesseek is leaning heavily on one leg, nose scrunched in suppressed pain, and Grizzop rushes to their side. “What is it?”

“My bones think they’re liquid,” Vesseek mutters, leaning into him gratefully. “Knee might be fucked up, too. But that’s it.”

Grizzop murmurs a few words and runs his hand gently over Vesseek’s fuzzy ear, watching the healing energy loosen their shoulders and slow their breaths. He lets his hand drift to their cheek for a moment, feeling the warmth of fur and skin as they lean into the touch, then forces himself to pull away. There isn’t time. Not yet.

“What…where are we?” Azu asks, grabbing for Hamid’s hand again.

“It looks like the orgy room,” Grizzop says with a frustrated little huff. “The ancient one, I mean. At least it’s not full of people this time.” He glances at Sasha, but she’s frowning in confusion, gripping her knives and sweeping her eyes between the group and the exit, so he swings his gaze to Eldarion instead. “Can you get us back?”

She looks worse off than the rest of them – accidentally dragging nine other people thousands of years into the past will do that to you, Grizzop supposes – but she straightens and nods, holding her hands out to either side. “Yes. We better not delay, either.”

Azu channels positive energy as they all join hands again, and Grizzop gets the novelty of his body feeling like it has normal bones for about ten seconds before he’s sucked back into the endless, stretching universe.

(He doesn’t open his eyes this time, mostly because Vesseek’s claws dig into his skin like a warning, but also because everything hurts.)

When he does open his eyes, they’re clearly back in modern Rome, which is as relieving as it is frustrating. There isn’t time to dwell on that, though, because across the circle, Eldarion’s eyes roll back and she drops like a stone in a pond.

Azu doesn’t manage to catch the woman before she hits the ground, but it’s only a second or two before she has Eldarion gathered into her arms; she checks for a pulse, nods at the group when she finds one, then scans for injuries. There’s blood trailing from Eldarion’s skull, and her eyelids didn’t fully close when she passed out, leaving a thin line of bloodshot white. Her skin is far too pale.

With a burst of divine pink energy, Eldarion stirs, coughing like she’s been underwater. Instinctively, Grizzop moves to Sasha’s side; she doesn’t acknowledge his presence, too busy staring at the scene before them, but he feels better watching over her anyway.

Now that Eldarion is out of immediate danger, Grizzop draws his bow, figuring he should make sure the rest of them aren’t in danger, too—and immediately sees Einstein, of all people, staring at them twenty feet away, slack-jawed.

“What are you doing here?” Grizzop asks, keeping his grip on the bow tight but not drawing an arrow yet. He recalls what Einstein and Curie had told them yesterday, about imposters wearing their friends’ faces.

“Wow!” Einstein replies, as bright-voiced and oblivious as always. “I can’t believe you made it!”

Grizzop’s free hand twitches. “But we already made it,” he reminds the professor, frowning. “We got here yesterday, remember? Most of us dropped in, and then Eldarion and Azu and Hamid grabbed me and Sasha, and….” He trails off when it’s clear Einstein has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about and turns to the others instead. “Any of you got a clue what the fuck is happening?”

Everyone looks about as confused as Grizzop feels, but Vesseek steps forward anyway, always eager to keep things moving (he fell in love with them for a reason).

“Zop,” they say, slowly, and Grizzop immediately feels on edge. There’s a trace of their Dama voice in even that one word, that careful lilt he used to catch whenever one of the clutch asked where Papa was going. “That hasn’t happened before. We just got out of that weird time pocket, remember? And then we fell into the past, or something like that, and then we got back here.”

A few voices rise in agreement, but Hamid cuts in. “No, wait, I remember yesterday, too. We…we got out, and Einstein was here, but Grizzop and Sasha weren’t, so we got them back, but it meant we lost even more time than everyone else….”

“Oh, zat is very weird,” Einstein says; he seems equal parts nervous and fascinated. “From my perspective, it has been…well, quite a while since I’ve seen any of you.”

“Don’t worry,” Grizzop says, “we already know about the time jump.”

“Time jump?” That’s the younger halfling, peeking out from his spot behind Hamid to squeak in protest. “You mean like- like we skipped a month, or something? Does that mean Ismail is gonna be older than me?” He sounds much more put out by that idea than of losing a month of his life, and Grizzop resists the urge to roll his eyes, or maybe laugh.

Hamid frowns. “So you don’t remember being here before?” His brother shakes his head, and Hamid visibly swallows. “Oh dear.”

“Right,” Grizzop says, because this is getting to be way too much way too fast. “If today is the first time you remember getting popped into Rome with Einstein, raise your hand.”

Einstein and everyone who didn’t go to Japan raise their hands–and, to Grizzop’s mild horror, Sasha.

“You- you don’t remember the first time in Rome?” Grizzop asks her, trying not to be disappointed. He should be glad she doesn’t recall nearly being killed (again), but a small, maybe jealous part of him doesn’t like the idea of her not remembering any of it.

Sasha shakes her head, looking vaguely guilty. “Sorry, mate.” Bi Ming, who’s guarding Sasha’s other side, pats her arm lightly, and she leans into the contact. Grizzop frowns.

It all gets a bit mucky after that. No one has any clue how this memory loss loop thing happened, and there’s not much to do about it either way while they’re in a boarded-up building in Rome, so once the whole infection situation is explained to everyone, they get ready to teleport out, at which point Hamid helpfully brings up that they already know they won’t be staying in Cairo, and should thus head off to find Wilde and continue their mission. It takes some convincing, but Einstein agrees to take them to Japan first and then send who he can over to Cairo, staying with the rest here for the night until he has enough energy for more teleportation.

Vesseek is one of the ones heading to Cairo, and Grizzop knows that’s a good choice – they need to find the clutch, get them to safety – but he still feels the urge to ask Vesseek to come with him anyway. He’s said goodbye so many times; said goodbye yesterday.

 “Hey, don’t look at me like that,” Vesseek says, smiling at what is probably a petulant frown on Grizzop’s face. “You’re practically a master of these by now, oh mighty paladin.”

Grizzop rolls his eyes, but pulls Vesseek in his arms all the same. Their ears brush together, smooth against soft, Vesseek’s claws light against his shoulders. He buries his face against their neck.

“Once we figure things out,” he says, muffled, “maybe I can find some work near you and the clutch. Probably gonna have work to do everywhere, right?”

“I imagine so,” Vesseek agrees, though their tone is soft enough to make Grizzop unsure whether he’s being placated There’s a moment of pause, then another, and then Vesseek pulls away, holding him by the shoulders. “Be quick about saving the world, yeah?”

Grizzop nods, then swallows. It occurs to him that the last time he’d talked to Vesseek, they’d had six months to process getting kidnapped; now, they’ve apparently had about five minutes. “You all right? After the kidnapping stuff, I mean.”

Vesseek sighs. “I think so. They weren’t overly cruel, just doing a job. Worst bit was just getting taken.” A pause, like they’re not sure if they should say more or not. “I was at home when it happened. The little ones are okay, I think–or they were, at least, obviously it’s been a long time. But, um…they did see it happen.”

It’s hard not to imagine it: Vesseek, one goblin in their arms and another on their leg, opening the door to find a person twice their size bearing down on them. Struggling to escape a vice-like grip, managing only to wrench their mouth free so they can scream for the little ones to run, and of course they do, because they already know, they have to know, how dangerous it is for goblins–

“Zop.”

Grizzop blinks, realizes his vision is blurred with tears. “I’ll kill the guy,” he snarls, half choking on it, ”if they’re not dead already. I’ll shoot their knees off, and I won’t heal them after, and-”

“Grizzop.” Hands find his face, wiping away tears, and he sees Vesseek giving him a look that’s equal parts fondness and frustration. It’s a very familiar look. “That’s not your job right now. And anyway, I think I get first dibs on the revenge plot here. Maybe the kids, too, if they get any better aim.”

The joke is a bit weak, but it’s Vesseek, so it works. Grizzop snorts, leaning into their touch, and curls his hands around his partner’s with all the tender ferocity he can’t properly express. “All right, all right. I’ll go save the world, and then we’ll see about the knee shooting.”

“Good plan.” They kiss his forehead, then slide their hands up and out of his grip so they can stroke his ears, playing with the piercings they gave him before he left for Prague. A resigned sort of sadness pulls their eyebrows down and together, though their eyes are as fond as ever. “I love you.”

This is what you signed up for, Grizzop tells himself. “Love you, too, ‘Seek.”

Japan is wet. Uselessly, endlessly wet. Even with casting endure elements on each other, and taking cover under the biggest tree they can find without being too conspicuous – not that they’re ever inconspicuous, with Azu’s armor – they’re completely soaked by the time they start talking about what to do next.

“We went to meet Wilde,” Azu tells Sasha, “but there was a trapdoor in the inn. You escaped–” Sasha straightens– “but we ended up in an anti-magic cell. They wanted to keep us there for a week, to prove we didn’t have the infection thing Einstein was talking about.”

“None of ‘em caught me for a whole week?” Sasha asks.

“We were only in there for a night before we…reset,” Azu says. “But you didn’t get caught before then, no. At least as far as we knew.”

Sasha preens a little, in that awkward, folded-up way of hers, just as Hamid’s eyes alight with realization. “Oh, I can’t believe I forgot! Sasha, Zolf was there.”

That gets Sasha’s attention. “Zolf was there? Like, at the inn? Or was he in the cell with you?”

“He was working with Wilde,” Hamid explains, eager but nervous, or maybe the other way around. “Has been since not long after we all went missing, actually. He was the one who talked to us while we were in the cell.”

Sasha’s eyebrows furrow, eyes flitting back and forth as she thinks. “Thought he would’ve gotten outta the whole thing, but I guess the world is ending. Be nice to see him, though; I can tell him about how I’m not sorta dead anymore. Oh! And about my new daggers. They didn’t try to take any of your weapons away, did they?”

Belatedly, Grizzop realizes he’s gnashing his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache. He knows Sasha never seemed to resent Zolf much for leaving, but should she be this excited to see a man who abandoned her while she was dying? Who promised her he’d help?

When was the last time you saw your own clutch, Grizzop? a voice not unlike Eva’s murmurs. The last time you saw Vesseek, before they were taken?

Grizzop growls and shakes the voice away, forcing himself back to the conversation, which has thankfully shifted away from Zolf Fucking Smith.

“Maybe that’s why you don’t remember,” Hamid suggests to Sasha. “Because you weren’t in the anti-magic cell.”

Sasha shrugs. “Maybe, but does that mean we shouldn’t go in the cell, or we should?”

Hamid frowns. “Well, if it does happen again, it’s better for us all to remember it, but if going into the cell is what caused it….”

“But everyone reset,” Grizzop points out, “not just the ones in the cell. Not even just the ones in Japan.”

“That’s right,” Eldarion says, and Grizzop starts a little; he’d forgotten she was here. “I suspect our…time jumping is more connected to planar interference than it is to the cell.”

Azu frowns. “Still, I’d rather we not go back into the cell if there’s any other option. I can’t imagine trying to spend a whole week in there.”

“Could just scope out the place,” Sasha suggests. “If they didn’t catch me once, I bet they won’t catch me now. I’m like an…an eel. In…dark water.”

“And we’ll be sleeping…under the tree, then?” Eldarion asks. She doesn’t quite manage to hide her distaste at the idea.

Azu sighs. “Unless any of us have figured out how to put up a tent.”

With the plan set, everyone describes what they can remember of the inn to Sasha, and, after some back-and-forth, decide to have Hamid go with her, so they can report back if anything happens to the other person.

“I don’t know if the professor told Wilde we’re coming yet,” Hamid says, fiddling with his robe. “If he did, Wilde might already have someone patrolling. Or maybe even just told that innkeeper? He was awfully weird when we came the first time.”

“Yes, he was the one who put us in the room with the trap,” Azu agrees. “Hard to tell if he works for Wilde or is just paid by him, though.”

“Either way, keep your guard up,” Grizzop says. “And be careful.”

Sasha frowns, just a little petulant. “‘M not gonna mess up.”

Dammit. “That’s not- I don’t think you’re gonna mess up. Just…it’s not that important, if you can’t learn every detail. This infection stuff seems bad, don’t want you to…ya know.” He looks at the ground, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. At least he didn’t yell this time. Or cry.

When Sasha doesn’t respond immediately, Grizzop’s curiosity has him glancing back up; she’s watching him, an unreadable expression on her face, eyes equally sharp and soft. One of her hands has drifted to her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, mate,” she says finally, seeming to shake free of her thoughts. “I got this.” She gives a tentative grin to the group at large – it falters a little when her eyes move over Eldarion, but doesn’t drop entirely – and glances at Hamid, who gives an encouraging nod and casts invisibility on himself.

With a final mock salute, Sasha turns and runs off, disappearing into the shadows between one step and the next, just as invisible as her companion.

Sasha comes back four hours later. Hamid isn’t with her.

He was noticed by people in the inn, she explains breathlessly – the spell must’ve worn off, or maybe Wilde’s anti-magic technology is more widespread than just the cell – and was forced to go inside and try to act casual. Sasha managed to sneak in behind him, but couldn’t get into the trap room before he fell.

She looks deeply frustrated about the whole affair, including leaving Hamid behind; Grizzop has the urge to tell her this doesn’t mean she messed up, but knows better. There’s some bickering about what to do next – no one wants to leave Hamid alone in there, but they don’t know how they’d rescue him, and no one’s particularly fond of being in the cell either – before they decide for Eldarion to go and the rest of them to stay.

“It will increase our chances of doing the initial planar jump smoothly if I know it’s coming,” she explains, tucking a stray hair back into her otherwise perfect bun. “So this may actually be a benefit.”

She leaves then, with no goodbye apart from a stiff little bow, her sodden skirts dragging on the ground. No one wishes her luck.

The mood is decidedly tense after that. Azu makes a decent cover to lay over the branches with some things in her bag of holding. Sasha does some knife tricks while Grizzop sharpens her spares along with his arrows. They play some cards, but Grizzop’s heart isn’t in it, and Sasha quickly tires of winning.

The sun sets, though the rain never ceases, and no one moves to lie down or get some sleep. No one comes looking for them, either, which makes Grizzop far more on edge than if they had.

And, finally, when he’s just about ready to risk doing some scouting of the inn himself, Grizzop gets that feeling again–wrongness, then pain, then the universe slowly tearing apart.

And then he forgets.

[darkleysgarden]

A Drunken Mistake

Written August 29th (Posted November 12th)

Warnings: alcohol, suggestive themes (making out and referenced sex)

Ship: Solodeus

Type: Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Fluff

Words: 1632

Summary: When drunk, Asmodeus and Solomon get into a bad argument.

After going to Satan, he convinces Asmo to try and resolve the misunderstanding.

Fluff ensues.

How could this happen?

What had he done to make things turn out like this?

A mistake. A stupid mistake at that.

He'd invited Solomon out to a party. One of the biggest ones of the year! It was supposed to be fun. It wasn't supposed to turn out like this.

"You act like you don't even love me!" He admitted in a slurred voice, sobs breaking through his words.

Solomon scoffed, "What would even make you think that? I do plenty for you! You must be out of your mind if you think that it isn't enough!"

Another sob ripped through him, "And what is it that you do? Show up once every three months just to fuck me? If I didn't know better I'd shove you into the same space as every other greedy asshole who wanted me for my body!"

The sorcerer looked at him like he was the stupidest being to ever live, "You know what? Showing up here tonight was a mistake. Goodbye, Asmodeus."

Before leaving the room they'd both went off to together, Solomon had said his full name.

They practically only ever used terms on endearment for eachother! And if it was ever their name it would be a shortened version of it. Because their relationship was cute and cheesy and stupid and so them.

Maybe he was just overreacting. It wasn't that big of a deal. Just his name.

How did that fight even start anyway?

They'd both gotten way too drunk that night. Completely wobbly and over the top.

He retched pathetically into the toilet. Tears laced with mascara combining with the liquid.

He'd become a complete mess after their fight.

Could he blame it on stupidity? Being an emotional drunk? The longing feeling that constantly told him he needed to be there with Solomon? But no, he was busy. He can't see you Asmo! Even if it's been four months. Just shut up and be patient. It will be fine.

Asmo had said that he didn't want to have sex that night, much to Solomon's confusion. He'd had questioned that were concerned because that was so unlike him. Usually he'd be begging for it.

It was concern. But of course, in his drunken state, he took offense to the concern and had to cause a fight.

A pathetic wail came from him. A sound he didn't even know he was capable of making.

Mammon had come in at some point, holding back his hair, wiping away his tears and mascara, cuddling him close to his warmth. All things Solomon should've been doing with him.

After much protest from him, Mammon got him into the car and home.

Which lead him to where he was now, laying in bed, still in those too tight clothes from the night before.

Mammon had tried to change him, but Asmo insisted he leave him be.

He felt completely numb.

Should he do something? Probably.

But part of him was scared. Scared that Solomon was still mad. That he wasn't ever going to forgive him for the fight. Break up with him like many in the past did after he rejected sex.

He wouldn't break up with him, though..........right?

No, he would never. Solomon saw him for more than his body. He was different!

In that moment, the line blurred.

He thought every ex had been 'different'. Was he wrong about Solomon? He couldn't be! But.... he wasn't sure.

In his moment of vulnerability, he got up. He needed to talk to Satan.

He always relies on his older brother in any sort of problem. That was normal. Now wouldn't be any different.

And Satan was smart! He'd know what to do!

Before leaving, he still made sure to fix up his outfit and makeup.

Even if it was just Satan, he shouldn't underperform. Nobody liked it when he did so. He can't be anything less than perfect. No, he isn't overthinking this! Last night was a clear example. Asmo didn't fill Solomon's needs and look where that got him.

He can't say that it's just Satan, because he had said that it was just Solomon before too. He never knew who he could trust. Hell, could he even trust himself?

Once he looked delightfully perfect again, he stepped out of his room. He gripped his arms tightly as he pulled the door shut. With slow cautious steps, he stopped in front of the fourth born's room.

He gave one knock, which was more than his usual, before barging in immediately, not even waiting for a reply.

Satan looked up, confusion evident on his face. He was half sitting, half laying on his bed, a book in his hand.

Asmodeus rushed over, throwing himself into Satan's arms. Tears welled up, but he didn't let them fall.

The fourth born returned his hug, hand running through his hair. He clearly realized that Asmo was upset, and was going to help his younger brother, "Asmo, what happened?"

The dam cracked, but didn't break, "Oh Satan it was horrible! It was just terrible! Everything went wrong in all the worst ways! I didn't know what to do! And then we started yelling! Why did we start yelling? And then he left! I don't know what to do! Can I trust him? Can I even trust myself!?"

Satan whispered soothing words to help calm his breathing, then asking, "Did you and Solomon fight?"

He didn't know exactly what word caused it. Whether it was the mention of Solomon, or the fight. But, as soon as Satan finished his sentence, he started to sob.

Asmo didn't know how much time had passed. Whether it had been a few minutes, or a few hours.

He stayed cuddled in his arms in a way that made him long for his boyfriend once again.

Eventually, Satan spoke again, "I'm sure this is just a big misunderstanding. I know Solomon well, and I'm sure that he didn't want to hurt you in anyway. He was just being drunk and stupid. I think you should just go and talk to him. Though, if you talk to him and he makes you sad again, let him know that I will not hesitate to f-"

Asmo cut him off, "Okay! Okay! I get it! Please don't kill my boyfriend!"

Satan scoffed, "I make no promises."

They sat there in a peaceful silence. Asmo thinking about what the blonde had said. Maybe he should just go talk to him.

Like he said, it was Solomon. And he's the smartest idiot he knew!

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Still in the same clothes as last night, Asmo stood in front of the Purgatory Hall. He still had some mascara stained on his face, as he had failed to wipe it off fully. And his eyes were red and puffy, tear tracks still evident.

He knocked a small tune, pulling his hand down nervously.

Every second that passed without an answer made him want to go back home and cry a bit more.

As he was about to leave, the door opened. There stood Simeon, who had a frown on his face. The frown only worsened when he saw Asmo's current condition. He seemed to understand immediately what was wrong, "Solomon is in his room. Nasty hangover and such."

The words were laced with sadness that made Asmo frown.

Simeon stepped aside, allowing him to enter. He wasted no time, instantly making his way to the sorcerer's room.

With no knock, he entered. Solomon groaned at the small flash of light made before he closed it, "Simeon, I told you to leave me alone."

Asmo stood awkwardly, "Guess again....."

At the sound of his voice, Solomon darted up, "Asmo! I am so so so sorry! I'm stupid and said stupid things and didn't mean any of it!"

A smile made its way onto his face, "Funny, I was gonna say the same thing."

He sat on Solomon's bed, holding out his arms. The white haired man greedily accepted, "Sol, I know you're busy. It was selfish of me to think you should put me above your work."

Solomon's grip tightened, "No, you were right. I never even see you anymore. I shouldn't be getting so absorbed into other things and just completely ignore you."

He grinned, "I guess we were both idiots then, huh?"

Solomon laughed, smiling back up at him, "I guess so."

Their lips locked in the same way as always. They had become so accustomed to eachother, mouths moving accordingly.

Asmo pushed himself harder against Solomon, focusing on nothing else but him.

Solomon bit his lip, causing him to open his mouth wider, accepting his tongue against his own.

Just as Asmo was about to pin him down, Solomon gently pushed him away, "As much as I love you, we shouldn't go that far today. Even if you didn't mean it, I don't want you thinking I only want you for sex. Your cuddles and love are amazing too. Plus, I have a pounding headache right now."

He giggled at the last statement, pulling Solomon into a lying position. He buried his head against the younger's chest, fluffy hair bunching up against him.

The sorcerer kissed his forehead, "If you want we can cuddle all day just like this. Maybe even turn on a movie. And I think Luke was even planning on making that dessert you liked."

Asmo perked up, "Blood macarons?"

"Mhm," Solomon kissed the tip of his nose.

He curled against him once again, letting out a sigh.

Why did he think this would be hard? It was Solomon, after all. They were both drunk and stupid.

Solomon was an idiot.

But admittedly, so was he.

Sleep started to overtake him as he cuddled closer.

Damn were they both idiots.

[onewizardgirl]

Ginny and her potions

THE TRAIN

Lily Luna Potter was preparing to leave her home in the potter manor to begin her third year at Hogwarts. She was finishing up stuffing all of her things into her trunk. All her books and sets of robes, her wand neatly tucked away, her potions kit cleaned and replenished, quills, ink, parchment, her lovely siamese cat, Tonks, (named as such because she really wished she’d have met nymphadora, all the time being told that she often shared tonks’ personality), and her firebolt 750. Her dad had bought it for her over the summer, since shes the best seeker ravenclaw has had, much like her father was for gryffindor. Her sapphire blue robes were still warm having come out the laundry less than 15 minutes ago. She struggled slightly but finally got her trunk closed up after using a shrinking charm on her textbooks. 

“Lily! Time to go!” Ginny yelled from the bottom of the stairs that led to the second floor where her room along with Albus and James's rooms were.

“One second,” lily yelled down, she took this moment to malke one last trip to the bathroom before leaving for the train station. When she pulled the light grey fabric of her underwear down she saw blood, not a lot, but enough. She was well versed in what this was having had to suffer through the conversation at the age of 8 since apparently her mother’s side of the family tended to be rather early bloomers. But why now? Lily thought, and why on my new underwear?

Lily sighed in frustration, holding her head in her hands as she thought about how to approach her mother about this. 

“Lily dear?” Ginny said catching the thirteen year old’s attention

“I’m fine mum,” lily said

“Are you sure dear,” Ginny asked 

“I just got my period,” lily blurted 

“I’ll be right back,” ginny said, lily knew she was going to get what she needed. 

While rummaging through the cupboard in her bathroom trying to find the pads she’d bought to keep for when lily got her first menses. 

“Mom! What’s the hold up? I wanna see my friends,” Albus yelled up the stairs

“Not now Albus, we’ll leave soon,” ginny replied, she loved her son but he could be quite impatient sometimes. 

“But mum! The train will leave soon we’ll miss it!” albus whined coming upstairs seeing his mother by the bathroom door holding a box . 

“Albus severus! We will leave soon, let me help your sister out of her bloody predicament,” ginny snapped. 

Albus was quite used to his mother snapping easily, i mean have you seen his grandma? But then the color drained from albus’ cheeks as he realized. 

LIly, the ever rough and tumble girl he had grown up torturing and flying with like james did him, was in fact still a female, despite acting more like a brother than a sister. It then dawned on him that being female had issues of it’s own. He then decided that it would be the best idea if he drug his trunk down the stairs, and waited for his mother and sister. 

- - - - -

“mum! I’m fine,” Lily grumbled hiding the grimace of pain threatening to wash across her face. 

“Sure you are, and I was a deatheater. All i’m saying is that you may wanna take this potion before boarding the train. It helps the cramps,” Ginny told handing lily the tube in her left hand, 

Lily begrudgingly grabbed the tube of scarlet liquid and threw it back, noting that it tasted slightly sweet. She immediately felt gentle warmth flood her body easing her cramps. 

“Now, don’t you feel better,” ginny teased “go on sweetie, we don’t want you staining your favorite jeans,”  she said handing the pad to lily  

“Thanks mummy,” lily whispered, 

“Anytime sweetie, now, I’ll owl you with all the things you’ll need for the cramp draught once ive made a visit to diagon alley to replenish my supply of ingredients. You’ll need to brew this in moaning myrtle’s bathroom on the second floor, and keep the ingredients hidden away, a few of them are best known for their use in cursed potions and poisons, If you do it correctly the girls in gryffindor will thank you; i should know, afterall they thanked me for inventing it,” Ginny said through the bathroom door that lily disappeared into after downing the potion. 

Over the crinkle of plastic ginny heard lily exclaim

“you invented a potion?!” 

“Surely did, it was part of auror school, when i thought i wanted to be an auror, truth be told i had invented it in my fourth year, didn’t patent it after the assignment though so i could use it.” ginny told 

“But why a period potion mummy,” lily asked. 

“ long story…”

—------- 22 years prior—------

“Ginny, can you get harry or ron to bring me my work for the next two days?” hermione asked the ginger as she laid on ginny’s unmade bed inside the dormitory. 

“ sure ‘mione. Period again is it?” ginny asked as she tucked her white uniform shirt into her grey skirt before putting on long black gryffindor robes. 

“Yes,” hermione sighed before stuffing her face in a pillow and groaning, “I feel the same as dragon dung smells,” 

Ginny knew hermione sometimes got bad period pains, about every other month she’d get pains so bad it would leave her bed bound for about two days. Although her good months still gave her bad cramps, these were much more tolerable and they were actually eased by a heating charm unlike her bad months. Her bad pains could hardly be touched by heating charms, and she often had a hot water bottle as well as a heating charm to ease them long enough for her to fall asleep and sleep through the worst of her period. 

Ginny hated seeing hermione in such pain, and she hated her own period pains being so uncomfortable. So with her knowledge of potions and enough experience from helping her brothers with their weasley’s wizard wheses business, she started expirementing. 

Every day instead of being in the great hall for breakfast lunch and dinner, and any extended period of time she could sneak away from that horrid professor umbridge’s eagle-like stare, she went to the second floor bathroom to continue working on the potion, making sure to cast a muffalito charm just incase she were to make something blow up she wouldn’t be caught. A draught that was specifically used to alleviate period pain and moods.  She often times had to owl her brother for extra ingredients, and or some ingredients that were restricted due to rarity or use in poisons. She tested with dragon blood and phoenix tears, some of the most restricted ingredients she’d ever used. She even experimented with the effects of mandrake root, though it was typically used to cure petrified patients she was curious if it would work. 

Right before christmas, Ginny had perfected the potion, she wrote down what she did when she made it so she wouldn’t forget, and she ladled a sample into a tube, the liquid inside a scarlet shade of red and smelling of strawberries, she drank it, praying she hadn’t made a poison. And she felt a warmth spread through her limbs, and her period cramps immediately ebbed away, like a rolling wave. The only side effect ginny noticed was a strand of her hair turned the color of the potion, and she had to look for it in her red locks. 

She returned to the gryffindor common room and told hermione about her potion and gave the brown haired girl the vile of red liquid. Hermione tossed it back and hopped out of bed crushing ginny in a big bear hug. 

“Ginny, you're a genius! Thank you!" Hermione cried into the ginger's shoulder 

Other girls came in to see what the braniac 5th year was crying over and hermikne explained the whole process of inventing the potion but didnt tell anyone the recipe. 

Soon enough, she was brewing the draught for the entirety of gryffindor. She basically ran a small balck market like her older brothers with their prank sweets, she charged a sickle for a portion of the potion that'd last them the entirety of their period. Occasionally selling one to the stray ravenclaw or hufflepuff, surprisingly she never had a slytherin customer. She guessed it was because they were far too stubborn to ask a gryffindor for pain relief during their monthlies, and she knew a good portion of slytherin who had bad cramps, pansy parkinson being one of them. 

—-----------------

"So to put it short, i invented the potion because i hated to see hermione in such pain during her cycle," ginny concluded 

"Really?! Auntie Hermione had that bad of cramps? No wonder Rose is always complaining when she gets her period?" Lily said funally emerging from the bathroom. 

"Come on albus!" Ginny yelled using her wand to float the two trunks into the boot of the car, Albus climbed in the back with his earbuds,listening to music. Leaving lily and ginny to their conversation

"I doubt rose has cramps as bad as her mother did but yeah, she does have some pretty nasty ones," ginny told 

After an hour drive the trio loaded the two trolleys with albus and lily's trunk and cat. Albus with his cat max, lily with tonks. 

Albus went through the portal first, then lily followed by ginny. Since they still had half an hour before the train was set to leave Albus made a beeline for Delphi and scorpius. Ginny and lily making their way toward rose and hermione. 

"Ginny! How've you been?" Hermione exclaimed wrapping her sister in law in a hug. 

"Good, just tied up in harpies chaos,the season starts next week we play the chudley cannons you?" Ginny told 

"Good, just trying to keep rose from beating her brother up too much, she whacked him in the ribs yesterday for getting some of her chocolate frogs," Hermione said ruffling her daughter's ginger hair. 

"Its his fault mum! He should know by now not to take my chocolate!" Rose argued 

"She's got a point, you don't steal chocolate from a weasley, especially not a weasley due for her period, i mean you can ask charlie and ron, they got my chocolate once and i hexed them to hell and back because of it. Mum had to undo some of the jinxes i put on them, and they knew i was due on, they never pulled that one again," 

"Yeah but those weasley boys have a right thick skull, its been what three years, and hugo still hasnt put the pieces together that you dont steal rose's chocolate when shes on her period,"  hermione said 

"Speaking of which, lily got hers right before we left the house today," ginny told. 

"Welcome to the club lils," Rose said, giving lily a rough handshake. Hermione wrapped her in a soft embrace and congratulated her. 

The train blew its whistle signaling for the students to board and that all the trunks had been stowed,

"Go on now, the train isn't going to wait on you two," hermione said shooing the girls off 

When the train finally started to move, Ginny and Hermione waved their kids off, waiting until the train was out of sight, before deciding to head to the burrow for tea with Mrs Weasley. 

Deciding that apparating would be the easiest they cast an invisibility charm on their cars and apparated to the front door of the burrow. 

Hearing the signature sounds of apparation, molly opened the door of the burrow to see her two daughters. 

"Girls! How good to see you," Molly greeted, wrapping her arms around the two women. 

Molly let the girls into the house, and started the kettle. 

"How've you two been?" Molly asked taking a seat in her rocking chair across from the sofa 

"Tied up in harpies business, and trying to keep the boys from ganging up on lily," ginny told 

"Those boys, just like their uncles," Molly chuckled, recalling all the times she had to keep fred and george from ganging up on ginny. 

"They surely are, but lily acts just like i did, running around trying to hex her brothers for being annoying." Ginny told 

"Like mother like daughter," molly chuckled, "how's rose and hugo?" 

"Well hugo has a few bruised ribs, because of rose and an argument over some chocolate frogs yesterday, but other than that he's fine. Rose, she's another story. She's been ridiculously moody lately, and her magic has been out of control."  Hermione told 

"Sounds like rose is going through a major magical gain, i remember both you and ginny  getting right moody when you went through one of those," molly told 

"That sounds about right, plus she's due on so that might have added to it," hermione said 

"Yeah," ginny agreed 

Molly let out a laugh 

"No wonder she bruised hugo, doesnt hugo know? You never steal chocolate from a weasley thats due for her period," molly said "i mean look at ginny, i had to undo about 20 hexes she put on charlie and ron the week before she went back to school right  after the war. Worst part is they knew she was due on and still did it!" Molly told with great enthusiasm 

The kettle squeals and molly heads to make tea. 

The afternoon continues with a good conversation over tea and a trip to diagon alley to get the ingredients to send to lily and replenish ginny's supply so she could make the potion for herself and hermione.