#like a pale pink flower or white birds or whatever

[foxstens]

black t-shirts i love u

[0strawberrysorbet0]

𝐴 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟

𝐻𝑎𝑧𝑏𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑙 𝑥 𝑀𝑎𝑙𝑒!𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

This is a series so if you'd like to be tagged simply just comment!

Not too happy with this chapter but hope it's good enough 😕

Please do not use/steal my work on this site or any other! Reblogs and likes are appreciated greatly!!

Part one ← Part two → Part three

Summary: When Charlie is called to heaven for a meeting instead of her father she is ecstatic but she meets a boy with some very familiar features..

Warnings: cursing, Adam mentioned, rlly weird layout, idk what else, probs spelling mistakes and weird grammer

Where am I??" Was the only thought coursing through the boy's mind?

He couldn't hear anything but his thoughts, everything else was muffled as if he was underwater, he strolled mindlessly throughout the forest, there were lush plants and exotic flowers of every tone and shape.

He could see birds and insects, things they did not have in his new home...

As he walked forward, it was like he was being pulled, like he didn't control it...

He heard a voice call for him...

"ƙׁׅյׁׅ݊ꪀյׁׅժׁׅ݊ᝯׁׅ֒꯱ dear?? Where-" was all he heard, voice silencing before he heard a yell...

He couldn't make out words but he heard a male's voice shout, who were they shouting for??

As he stumbled through the thicker, darker patch of forest he reached a tree, an apple, sparkling and juicy, shaped like a heart hung from a branch. Just as he went to grab it,

someone clung to the skin on his leg.. Or something.. Biting down on his flesh.. His pale skin turned pink and oozing a cherry-coloured syrup.

As he turned to see the blood dripping he shot up, dripping in a cold sweat as his face whitened.

That dream. Again.

It had been haunting him, it happened every so often but now more than ever. It was always the same.

He wanders, a woman calling for someone and a man screaming then sees the Apple and tries to grab it before being bitten. Then waking up before being able to see the creature.

But what was it?.. He sat up on his bed, grabbed a yellow shoebox from under his bed, he placed it onto his milky white duvet.

He peeled the lid off the box, revealing a little rubber duck... He didn't know where it was from but he had had it for as long as he could remember, there were a few photos of him and his friends... Mainly Emily.

There were a few random things, buttons and feathers, but he finally found what he was looking for, a folded sheet of parchment. He opened it revealing a drawing of the forest, mainly the path he walked and the paths he could see.

He took out the red pen and drew the figure of a woman, shouting... He couldn't see the figure's face or features but he could tell it was a woman.

His father could never see this, nor Sera. They'd think he was plotting against something.. Which he'd never do. He wasn't a monster.

At the bottom of the box was a small gift from Emily, a little box that had been wrapped with gold ribbon. Inside was an apple... An actual real apple.

He hadn't a clue where she got it but it was gorgeous. So shiny and juicy, plump and red, a delicious bloody red...

He had never understood why they were forbidden anyways, yes because of The Fall but surely the fruit wasn't the problem..

He couldn't blame Eve.

He wouldn't have resisted either.

His silence was broken by knocking on his door. "(M/N)? Son? I'm heading off to my meeting, there's some food on the table, take care!"

It was his dad, it was thoughtful of the man to let him know he was leaving but it scared the boy shitless.

He got himself dressed and got to work on his heavenly duties, he strolled through a building, looking for Emily, he had to tell her about his dream.

As he walked past a meeting room he could hear a familiar screeching voice, Adam.

And a voice he hadn't heard before?.. A young girl? Whatever. It wasn't Emily so it didn't matter, he continued to walk until the voice got louder, almost like it was behind him

"Miss?? Excuse me!? You dropped some feathers!!"

Miss? He turned to see the person who had been shouting, it was a girl.

She had red glowing eyes with the sclera being a strong yellow color.

Her hair was the same straw blonde colour as his hair, it was tied up into a strange ponytail, in circular shapes almost, she was wearing a blood-red suit and her cheeks were rosy and pink.

What a strange angel... She didn't even look like an angel...

He just turned and continued to walk, going to find Emily.

..............................................................................................

"Once upon a time, there was a glowing city protected by golden gates known as Heaven and ruled by beings of Pure light, Angels that worshipped good and shielded all from evil..." A blonde girl read aloud,

As she flicked through the pages she looked at the part in between the section where Lucifer and Lilith tempted Eve and the banishment.

It was burnt, the small gap, unnoticeable at first glance, but with the number of times she had read it, she could tell someone had burnt out a few pages, burning part of the story...

"Charlie?" Her girlfriend said at the doorframe, an extermination had just happened, she looked out the window at the burning city.

She needed to put a stop to this, these sinners surely didn't deserve it. Well at least some of them.

The day seemed to melt away quickly, they had talked about commercials and... Well they all had some unique ideas...

Her phone started to ring, and she jumped up and went to answer it.

It was her father? Strange... He never called.

But he wanted her to go to heaven instead of him? Holy shit... Maybe she could change heaven's mind after all...

Before she knew it she was there, heaven..

When Charlie arrived she noticed how pristine everything was, light, bright, the place was practically blinded by white light.

She now stood before The Adam, or as he called himself (much to her dismay) The original dick. She had put all the ideas she could (before he'd interrupt) onto the table but they smushed it all.

To sum it up... The meeting went horribly. She had not only been turned down but completely ignored. Her whole life she had believed angels to be kind, caring creatures... There was a reason they made it up there after all.

But she wasn't so sure now. She wasn't so sure about anything anymore.

As she was leaving she saw a pair of wings stroll past the door, they were full and stuck out proudly, glowing a bright white. The feathers looked almost like cotton candy as they surfed the breeze, one or two floating off.

One had dropped at her feet. She picked it up before trying to get a look at the angel, they had long blonde hair, and she presumed it was a woman.

"Miss?? Excuse me!? You dropped some feathers!!" She shouted about the feathers, maybe the angel would need them? Or maybe she just wanted to see the angel's face. She couldn't tell but she felt somewhat connected to the being.

The angel turned gracefully, piercing eyes staring through her, beautiful, beautiful eyes, they were the colour of a rich berry, a beautiful purple, like a flower, soft and delicate. Yet the angel's stare could have ripped her in half by that alone.

Charlie stood there, not making a sound so the angel turned around. Bored with her it walked off through the corridor.

She needed to know who this was and why they looked like her mother.

..............................................................................................

"I still dunno what ya mean by 'she looked like my mother' toots, who are ya even talkin' about again?" Angel replied, pouring himself another drink as Charlie told the spider demon bout the meeting and her encounter with the angel.

"I'm telling you!! She looked just like my mom!" She said, waving a picture of her mother in front of Angel's face.

"Jeez, okay calm! I get it!" He slapped the picture away "Why are ya so bothered though?"

"I don't know. I just felt connected to her.. " she said, petting Keekee, who curled into her lap and purred at the affectionate touch.

"For all you know it might've not even been a girl, just let it go toots" he took a big swing of his drink before pouring another drink.

"I'm telling you I feel connected to them, I... I know they looked like my mother." She sighed.

Hopefully, she'd be able to go up to heaven soon, to win them over and to see that angel again.

Tag list - @demstarno @kenny-619 @bunbunboysworld @lovedesperatevampire

@honey-valentin3 @type-ink

[novemberhope]

Soooo… guess here are my current obsessions One Piece OCs

@auxiliarydetective I did give it a try… not everything is final yet. Might not be a great introduction like this but it was fun to do and if anyone has different questionaires (or whatever they're called) just tag me.^^

Ideas, criticism, inspiration, all is welcome :) I've never so openly done this tbh

Animal Resemblances Neri: Betta Fish Niara: Emerald Swallowtail Azura: Arctic Fox Cordelia: Bombay Cat Ellaria: Splendid Fairy Wren (Not 100% sold on that yet but it will be a beautiful bird) Ginny: Leopard Seal (looks cute but could actually kill you)

Specific Numbers Neri: 5/1/4 (ka – i - yo) (her last name) Niara: 22 (ni - a) Azura: 26 (a - tsu - ra) (eh, close enough^^) Cordelia: 5 10 0 2 (Ko - da - lei - a) (lol again close enough - but the many numbers look weird, this one might definitely change in the future?) Ellaria: 3-6-1 (Mirai = future) (it's a vision thing - but might also change if her name happens to fit better when she eventually gets one) Ginny: undefined yet

Specific Colors Neri: turquoise, light blue Niara: pale green, pale pink Azura: white, gold Cordelia: black, red Ellaria: white, grey, silver, very pale colors Ginny: a fiercy, angry red

Specific Smells Neri: ocean breeze, salt water Niara: apple & honeysuckle Azura: citron Cordelia: amber Ellaria: jasmine Ginny: honey & rose

Favourite Type of Island and Season Neri: summer on a spring island Niara: spring on a summer island Azura: winter on an autumn island Cordelia: autumn on an autumn island Ellaria: spring on a winter island Ginny: spring on a spring island

Favourite Food Neri: Seafood Niara: icecream, watermelon, blueberry pancakes, cupcakes Azura: oysters, shellfish, salad, filet mignon Cordelia: sunday roast, fried shrimp, spicy food Ellaria: Mushrooms, coffee, asian cuisine Ginny: strawberries, meat, soup

Least Favourite Food Neri: greasy food, meat, alcohol Niara: most vegetables Azura: fast food, cheap food, candy, cake Cordelia: lentils, fish sandwiches, anything with pumpkin Ellaria: fried foods, asparagus, ketchup Ginny: rhubarb, olives, brussels sprouts, eggplant

As a Family Neri: the adopted sister that comes from an entirely different culture Niara: cheerful youngest sister, always getting into mieschief Azura: the wine aunt Cordelia: oldest sister, often annoyed at her younger siblings but quick to defend them/come to their rescue Ellaria: the mother Ginny: (distant?) cousin

Real-World Nationalities Neri: Danish (as Denmark is associated with the little mermaid) Niara: Dutch (the Netherlands are described as the country of flowers and her devil fruit power is flower-based, so…) Azura: English-Irish (the latter shines through when she's drunk…) Cordelia: Italian Ellaria: Japanese Ginny: Scottish

Inner Brain Neri: probably lot's of excitement over various things that are happening around her or that she wants to give a try Niara: having fun with her friends, pretty things she likes, crushes (well one crush in particular) Azura: is annoyed at stuff and/or people half of the time so that's in her head a lot. Also, training. Cordelia: work hard, party harder, looking hot while doing both Ellaria: the fate of the world, secrets Ginny: training, anger, distrust, more anger

Suited Flower Neri: water iris Niara: sunflower Azura: white lily Cordelia: amaryllis Ellaria: tall garden larkspur Ginny:

Are they Strawhats? Neri: yes Niara: joins after the timeskip The others: no Azura: is a warlord of the sea Cordelia: works at a bar - it would be a different bar in cannon but she could keep her overall story I guess - might have to join a crew at some point though otherwise the characters would move on without her Ellaria: is with the revolutinary army (at least for some part of her story) Ginny: is with the revolutinary army

Ideas that first popped into my mind when certain OCs came to exist… Neri: it's a show about pirates, there's GOT to be a mermaid Niara: I want a character that uses a devil fruit mmmh what about plants/flowers (strangely enough, none of my pokemon oc's ever cared much about the grass type lol) Azura: I want a cool sword fighting lady Cordelia: I want a hot fierce type of character that looks good in black and that doesn't take anyone's crap Ellaria: came into the picture much later, I only recently decided somewhat on her looks, only things I know for sure is pale green eyes and can sort of see the future. Might never make it into any kind of story but she popped into my mind so here we go. Ginny: falls into the category "looks cute but can probably kill you".

Made some Picrew of them coz I saw other creators doing that

Neri:

Niara: (fun fact, she's currently one of my favorites)

Azura:

Cordelia:

Ellaria: (I'm almost certain I'm gonna keep the color palette and probably the hair...)

Ginny: (not her final look probably but I kinda want to keep the scars idk)

I took her pictures out because I decided on a different look for her. She will be a redhead now. She definitely has a scar or two on her face.

Bonus: A picture drawn by @indig0pearl featuring Neri and her own OC, Sora, as well as Nami, Robin, Chopper, and three of our friends (here also draw as OCs - yes the alpaka is one of them, she ate a devil fruit^^)

[bakuliwrites]

Day Seven- Camilla

500 Follower Event, 30 Day Writing Prompts Prompt: Oil, Radiant, Peach, Camilla (FE:Fates) Pairing: Camilla x You Tags: Fluff, kisses, picnics Word Count: 517

A gentle breeze rustles the leaves high above, sending pink flower petals raining down around your picnic blanket. The sun is bright, but dips behind the huge, fluffy clouds that float languidly through the sky, providing you with a brief reprieve. Spring is in full swing in Hoshido, from the twittering of birds to the blooming of flowers in the meadows. With the bond between Nohr and Hoshido repaired, it’s been nice to spend some time exploring. And who better to explore with than Camilla?

The Nohrian princess lounges by the burbling creek you’ve set your lovely afternoon picnic near. She skims her fingers through the water, smiling softly when she meets your gaze. In her white sundress, with her curly bangs held back by a gilded headband, she looks utterly radiant. You reach down, plucking a pale, pink flower from where it’s landed in the grass, and reach to tuck it behind Camilla’s ear. Before you can pull your hand away, she gently grasps it, pressing a featherlight kiss to your wrist. 

“It’s lonely, down here in the grass,” she pouts, mischief glimmering in her amethyst eyes, “Come join me.” 

You’ve long been finished with your picnic, the only thing left being a small vial of oil for the salad and a few crumbs from the slice of cake the two of you shared. You shuffle off the blanket and make yourself comfortable in the grass beside Camilla, careful not to lay down on the locks of her lavender hair that form a halo around her head. When she pulls you close, you smell the sweet scent of her perfume, peach and honeysuckle mingling with orange blossom. For a while, the two of you lay there, eyes closed, dozing in the warm light of the sun. Camilla’s fingernails tickle your scalp as she runs her fingers through your hair. Occasionally, she’ll steal giggly kisses from you before sighing wistfully and smoothing her thumb along your cheek.

You know you’ll have to be getting back to the palace soon. You’ve both got duties to attend to, and everyone will be wondering where you went. So you savor this quiet, relaxing moment with Camilla, not sure when you’ll get another one like it. The life of a princess is busy and there’s much to be done both in Nohr and Hoshido for you, too. Most days, you hardly see one another, so any time you get to spend in each other’s company must be honored, accordingly.

“We should probably head back soon,” you begrudgingly venture after a while. The sun is starting to dip in the sky, inching closer to the mountains on the horizon. 

“Just a few more minutes,” Camilla murmurs back, wrapping an arm around you and holding you close, “They don’t need us for a while.” 

If her words weren’t enough to convince you, her kiss certainly is. You melt into her touch, whatever protest was on the tip of your tongue lost to her tender embrace. 

“I guess they can wait,” you concede, smiling against Camilla as she leaves you utterly breathless once again.

A/N: I have some plans for a longer Camilla fic at some point in the future. I'm hoping I can get around to writing it soon, because it's been in my WIPs for like years now haha. Camilla was one of my first Fire Emblem crushes, and actually kinda helped me realize I was gay. I think I struggle to write for her sometimes because there's a bit of a deeper connection with her for me. She holds a special place in my heart in a way that is sometimes painful for me to convey. I struggled writing even this little drabble, which was sort of a surprise for me. Maybe I should prioritize that fanfic. Might be healing :) Anyway, enough of me rambling! Thank you for reading! Up next is Suguru Geto from JJK!

[waiting-on-a-dream]

Prisoner 007: Shigeru Rin - Trial 2

General info

Verdict: GUILTY

Physical changes: He's grown out his right strand of hair, reaching down to his chin while the rest of his hairstyle stays the same. His once dark purple strand of hair has been dyed turquoise. He's been diligent in following his usual routine, but the nightmare make it hard for him to sleep well, so eyes bags have formed under his eyes.

Behavioral changes: His whiny and demanding self from the first trial is no more. He's become more withdrawn and quiet, no longer interacting with anyone except Noa who approaches him first. The only request he's made since the beginning of the second trial is for some turquoise dye, which Noa requested for him. Why did he decide to dye his dark strand of hair turquoise? No one knows.

He's been having nightmares and hearing voices, which puts a huge toll on his mental state. He's always very tired now, his typical expression alternating between blank and sullen. His emotions are extremely unstable and he lashes out at his fellow prisoners when he gets angry. His self-imposed isolation isn't helping him either.

Trailer art: Rin stares at you blankly with his hands by his sides, standing surprisingly relaxed. Behind him, an elegant white wooden door with delicate carvings of flowers and flying leaves. The flowers are painted pink and their leaves a dark green, while the flying leaves are red and brown, embodying the themes of spring and autumn.

Voicelines

– Second trial trailer

I can't take it anymore.

– Character voice trailer

What are you doing here?

Cover info

Canon Milgram song cover: I love you (Yeah, he's basically like an angry Mahiru. The lyrics really fit his feelings towards Renho and his guilty verdict. Its fun to imagine him matching Mahiru's cheerful tone as well since its so unlike him.)

DECO*27 song cover: Candy Pattern (Ah yes, unhealthy relationships. Also, his first vd had the word candy in its name too, so that's a nice little detail.)

Non-DECO*27 vocaloid song cover: One of Repetition by Nekomushi (Gentle reminder that this is all based on Rin's perspective, and he really did feel hurt due to whatever Renho did. Haha :D)

Music info

Song title: Fall

Song preview: Life and death are two sides of the same coin. If only I could rewind time back ages ago. Maybe then I would have never gotten to know you. Did you wish the same?

Am I living? Am I really here? Endlessly, I babbled these questions to the void of wisdom. The answer never echoed back. Running and running, but never catching up. How pointless.

MV description: Most of the music video takes place in a park just like the first MV (Rin just loves this park huh?), but new locations like a hospital and Rin's school are featured for a brief second. The song itself is more emotional compared to his first song, and his tone shifts between lots of strong emotions throughout the song.

The MV starts with Rin lying on the floor of a small white room. The walls and floor appear to be made of the same smooth material. The camera rotates from a bird's eye view. Rin's eyes remain closed.

The camera cuts to a scene of a park in summer. The sun is bright and the leaves swaying in the wind are dark green. Children run wild in the playground as adults stand by, owners taking their dogs for a walk, a few old ladies using the outdoor gym equipment. The girl from the first MV steps into sight, younger and beaming cheerfully with a missing front tooth. The camera cuts to a young Rin sitting on a bench. Hs face is quite pale and sunken. Renho reaches out her hand. Rin takes it. She helps him to his feet.

Then a montage of Renho playing at the playground as Rin follows her around. She rocks furiously on the spring riders, barely makes it through the monkey bars, and squeals as she goes down the slide. Rin struggles to keep up, having to catch his breath at some points. He looks nervous as he slowly goes down the slide.

He gets back onto his feet and his surroundings change, the seasons going by like a sped up recording. He grows taller and his outfit changes with the seasons. Five winters pass and the surroundings stop changing on the sixth autumn.

The camera cuts to an older Renho walking along the park path covered with leaves. Rin notices her and runs over. He was slightly shorter than her when they were younger, but now they're the same height. There's a pile of leaves up ahead, and he pushes Renho into it. Some of the leaves fly up into the air when she crashes down. Rin laughs gleefully. Renho looks up at him and laughs as well.

The camera cuts back to the white room. Rin opens his eyes and gets up. A door appears by the wall in front of him. He starts walking towards it. A scene of little Rin walking through an empty hospital hallway, dragging a bag of fluids with him. A scene of an older Rin walking through a crowded school hallway. Back to the white room, where Rin pushes the door open. A crack can be heard from the audio. It reveals a smaller room inside, like a closet. A life-sized porcelain doll lies in the tiny space, limbs positioned in weird angles. It lacks eyes and has a large crack on its head, with purple hair and two dots painted below its right eye socket. A replica of Rin. Rin stares down at it apathetically, then closes the door. End.

Author's notes

The first picrew's only skin tone is more greyish, and the second picrew doesn't even have any mole or eye bag options. So the two pictures of Rin ended up not looking like each other. The second one looks more like Rin's healthier long lost bother or something.

I changed his dark purple strand of hair to turquoise just because it looked nice and definitely not because its so hard to find picrews with two shades of purple hair options.

I don't know where his deep lyrics came from. They came to me just like that, like Rin had possessed me for a while.

Picrews used: - https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1171011 - https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1453974

[foundations-of-degay]

@queerstudiesnatural Rain, my beloved, my lovely wife, here is a valentine's day/marriage present. It's a poem about Dean's hands bc handsnatural just Compels the hell out of me and I know you love it 💖

His Hands

His hands

Small, sticky-soft

with paper thin nails sharp as kitten claws

know nothing but gentleness

His hands

hold his baby brother for the first time

Cradle him close and make

wordless promises of love

His hands

Gray with soot

Clutching a wailing brother with sweaty fingers

Skin pink with heat and frozen in fear

His hands

ruffle Sammy's hair and pour meager bowls of cereal

They are still soft but

heavy with a father's expectations

His hands

know the hilt of a gun better than the shape of his own father's hand

and he cannot help but miss the rough calluses and blunt grip of those fingers

His hands

Are not his own

His hands

Belong to his father,

To the cause

To the forces of Heaven itself

His hands

are weapons,

Sledgehammers,

Swords with an edge so sharp they cut whatever they touch,

deadly as the creatures he hunts

His hands

knicked and bloody-knuckled,

bruised and bruising

are only allowed gentleness in the dark

when touching the body of some nameless person

His hands

Torn, the flesh flayed to expose delicate bones,

phalanges and metacarpals twisted and stripped

as if picked clean by some sharp-beaked predator

His hands

Whole, unblemished

Skin clean of ghostly scars and fingers supple and straight as river reeds,

still green with spring

His hands

White-knuckled, clutching the worn hilt of a knife

The blade buried deep in the ribs of his proclaimed savior:

An angel

who pulled him from the fire and

left his own mark,

a claim, a brand

on that soft new skin

His hands

Scarred, blood-soaked

monuments to violence and filial virtue

His hands

have forgotten more about gentleness than they had ever learned

His hands

Hard with everyone,

With his brother

With his friends

With his best friend

But hardest with himself

His hands

Shaking and touching his angel for the last time

Again

Feather light touches to cold, still skin

His hands

Tear curtains yellow as butter,

As yellow as the fuzzy bodies of the bees that buzz in the liquid sunshine

His hands

Stroke back the dark hair from the pale forehead of his angel,

His Bestfriend,

His Maybe-more

His hands

Wind the shroud and build the pyre

Carry the body with a gentleness long since thought lost

Fingers flick open the lighter and remember the heat of another fire long ago

Another fire that also stole his life away

His hands

Grind the bones to ashes, fine as dust and

spread them in the field, among the flowers

They unmake the angel, just as they were made by him

His hands

Clutch the phone just as they clutched that knife so long ago

They tangle themselves in that trenchcoat and cup the back of that precious head

thought lost forever

His hands

Carry violence like a hand-me-down coat

too big for his frame

But they also carry gentleness like the trembling, naked body of a baby bird

They learn to nurture the bird and starve the savagery

His hands

Cradle the face of his love,

Treasure the scrape of the stubble on palms no longer tough with calluses

His hands

Catch the hand of his son,

Comb through the sandy locks with the same affection they once reserved for his baby brother

His hands

Weild a cooking knife instead of a hunting knife

His knuckles find comfort in the reverent press of his lover's lips

Rather than the crack of bone on bone

His hands

Still scarred, but softer than they've been in 40 years

Older than he thought they would ever be

His hands

Are not weapons

His hands

Hurt with old age and a hard life

His hands

Are soothed by the herbs of his husband's garden,

Fruit borne of his new life

His hands

Are his own

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Love is a Bundle of Contradictions.

This artwork was a piece I commissioned from @shimmeryspark​!

... There is no explanation for this other than my friends encouraged me to write Valentine’s Day Raven and Jade fluff, since the main saga is a bit lot of angst right now. (Special thanks to @twstpasta since they let me borrow their twstsona for plot reasons :9)

Imagine this...

“You WHAT?!”

“Ehehe~ Sorry...!! I guess I went and made a bad decision, heehoo~” Mac stuck out their tongue and lightly bonked their own head with a fist. “Silly me~”

“Making a deal with Azul is the very definition of a bad decision,” Raven groaned, slapping a hand to her face. “I... I cannot believe you. Dare I ask what the conditions were?”

“I gave him my taste buds! He said he’ll give them back if you help out with stocking up on supplies for the Mostro Lounge.”

“That’s... suspiciously simple. And you really just handed over your taste buds just like that? You can’t taste your beloved cheese anymore.”

“I know!” Mac pouted. “It’s so sad, so you’ll help this rataroni out, right?”

“I find it odd that Azul is demanding my assistance, seeing as how I am not the one that made the deal with him to begin with. However... I cannot turn my back on a friend in need. I will lend you a helping wing—er, hand.”

“Sweet, sweet!!” Mac clasped Raven’s hands happily. “Just remember to show up this Sunday afternoon. Meet up’s in the town square. Oh, and be sure to wear something cute!”

“Something cute? Why would...”

“It’s part of the deal—so you just gotta, okay? That’s what Azul said!” Mac paused, before adding, “Oh, oh! And bring some homemade choco in a heart-shaped box!! That’s another contract condition!”

“Oh... O-Okay...?”

Raven leaned back against a lamp post, anxiously winding a finger around the string of small pearls at her collarbone. In her other hand was a bag, and in that bag, a heart-shaped box of homemade chocolates—just as Mac had told her.

A silver heart-shaped charm dangled from the necklace, lying still against her real hammering heart. Rarely did she venture out into the local town—and, standing there by her lonesome, the raven felt out of place and awkward.

An addendum to a story that had already been penned.

She watched as her silver charm caught a wink of sun and guided the light down its curve. Reflected back in the charm’s surface was the raven herself.

Today, her inky hair was cast up in a high pigtail and secured with a cobalt ribbon. She had traded her usual outfit for a pale blouse with billowy puff sleeves, white stockings, and a high waist skirt in a plaid pattern—cobalt, like her ribbons.

I hope this satisfies the conditions of the deal.

Raven checked the time on her phone; any minute now, Azul would be showing up, and they’d get this over with. Then she could return to her attic to roost, and Mac could return to feasting on cheese and inhaling poison—

“Oya. Do my eyes deceive me, or is that you, Miss Raven?” a silken cadence called out to her, rising above the hustle and bustle of the town.

“... You,” she responded flatly, narrowing her eyes at a certain eel as he parted from a crowd.

Ah.

Jade, too, had abandoned his typical uniform in favor of casual comfort. He wore a pair of dress pants and a grey turtleneck—and over it was a brown trench coat, unbuttoned to show off how snugly that sweater fit against his lean, muscular body.

Raven squinted. His earring was slightly different today as well. Rather than three diamond shaped sturgeon scales dangling from his ear, there were heart shaped ones. Blue and glassy, like the calm sea after a storm.

His hands were polite folded behind his back... hiding something. Whatever that something was, petals of pink, red, and yellow-orange were poking out.

If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he looked handsome—and innocent—enough. But she did know better.

“What are you doing here?” Raven demanded, no longer playing with her necklace. Her hands went to her sides, curling into balls.

“Fufufu. The town is a public space. I am free to come and go as I please, the very same as you.” Jade tilted his head to one side. “Although today, I am here on an errand. The Mostro Lounge is short on centerpiece supplies, you see. I have been sent to restock.”

“What a coincidence. I’m also here to help the Mostro Lounge restock,” Raven said, a bit of bitterness slipping into her voice, “as per a contract.”

Jade attempted to appear sympathetic—but he allowed a cruel chuckle to escape him. “I see now. I was not aware that you were the one indebted to Octavinelle, Miss Raven. Had I known sooner, I would not have hesitated to summon you to fill in for Kon-san’s morning shift.”

“I’m not a waitress for you to order around.” Raven jutted out her chin defiantly. “I’m here strictly on business, so if you would kindly leave me be...!!”

“I believe you said you had to assist the Mostro Lounge. Would it not be prudent, then, to go about tending to that duty rather than standing about and looking like a lost lamb?”

“Sh-Shut up! It’s not my fault that Azul is running late...!!”

“You were waiting for Azul?” Jade said, his brows pinching together briefly. “You are terribly mistaken. It is not Azul who is assisting you with the restock, but myself.”

“... Beg pardon?”

Wear something cute, bring homemade chocolates, Mac had said. And it has to be you, Raven, not me! But why? Slowly, slowly... The pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

A thought dawned on Raven:

I’ve definitely been tricked.

“Well!! That’s all fine and dandy, but I think I shall be on my way home now. I really must be having a chat with a friend of mine,” she babbled, turning on her heel. They’re going to be buried in tomato sauce when I get to them.

“How cruel of you to abandon those in need, Miss Raven. And to think that Mac-san shall be without their taste buds... and I, burdened with the task of restocking by my lonesome. What a tragic way to spend Valentine’s Day,” Jade exhaled deeply and wiped at an imaginary tear. “Shikushikushiku...”

Raven’s left eye twitched. “Don’t you paint me as the bad guy here...!!”

“Aren’t you?” Jade challenged, a smile still plastered on his face despite his mocking tone.

“Grrr...!!” She whipped around, thrusting an index finger at him. “Listen here... Leech!! The only reason I am even here was to help someone out of a contract your shady boss roped them into!”

“If you are as selfless and loving as you claim to be, then you should have no issues with shopping with me,” Jade countered smoothly. “After all, they say that actions speak louder than words.”

The little bird vibrated with irritation, her cheeks puffed out in a pout. Her stomach coiled tight, uneasiness brewing. As much as she hated to admit to it, he was right.

Raven clenched her teeth and sent a glare his way. “Fine...!! But I will be keeping an eye on you to ensure that there is no funny business!”

“Then by all means, ‘keep an eye on me’, and do not let your gaze stray for even a single moment,” Jade chuckled, somehow sneering through his smile. “I welcome it.”

The eel held out a hand to Raven. “We’d best not be separated while on our errand.”

She stared hesitantly. Her eyes flickered between his eyes and the hand he offered. Subtle changes in her expression occurred in rapid succession—the raising of her lids, the tremble to her lower lip, the tinge to her cheeks.

“... Yeah. We’d best not,” Raven finally agreed, her grip on her bag—the bag containing her chocolates—tightened. “Which is precisely why I will follow you at a safe distance.”

“Ah, but that would ruin the surprise.”

“What, the bouquet? You’re not exactly doing a masterful job of hiding it.”

“Nor are you doing well to hide your little surprise, Miss Raven.”

“I was deceived. This chocolate is not meant for you.”

“I didn’t say that it was, now did I?”

“... I’m going to eat them myself, then. That’ll show you!”

“Do with it what you wish, for selfish purposes or not,” Jade laughed, revealing his bouquet—all the colors of the setting sun. “These flowers, on the other hand, are meant to be gifted...”

He pushed the bouquet toward Raven. Up close, the flowers seemed even more vibrant and beautiful. Their warm hues enveloping the raven, enchanting her senses. Mesmerized, she reached out to accept the flowers—when Jade suddenly clicked his tongue and pulled them away.

“But alas—not to you,” he teased, pressing a finger to his lips. “Do try to keep up with me now, Miss Raven.”

Jade turned and dove into a sea of townspeople, leaving a trail of sunset-colored petals in his wake. And, like the fool that she was, a fuming raven stormed after him—chocolates still in hand. Heart quivering.

Terrariums—the flowers were meant for terrariums all along.

Jade had taken his sweet time leading her down a winding path and to an art supply store tucked away in a corner, and even longer to observe the shape and feel of each terrarium container. Spherical, cuboidal, prismatic... Holding up the bouquet every so often to compare how the flowers would look in each.

In the end, he had gone wild with his purchases, electing to buy a selection of shapes, along with other supplies—just to keep himself amused. Jade had paid with a platinum card embossed with Octavinelle’s logo. Mostro Lounge Master Cash Card, it read. Azul’s property; do not steal! Sign the loaning form if you must borrow.

It was all for the terrariums, for business as usual.

I should have realized sooner. Stupid, stupid, Raven scolded herself.

She grunted, struggling to carry the bagful of terrarium supplies that Jade had saddled her with, while he carried one of his own without any trouble. The eel cast her a mocking glance over his shoulder.

“Are you in need of a break, Miss Raven?”

Bite me, she wanted to snap back—but a bark of pain shot up her arms, silencing her defiance. “... M-Maybe.”

He sighed in an exaggerated fashion. “Very well. I see a café up ahead. We can rest there for a few moments, though it may require the purchase of a food item if we wish for a table.”

“Sounds peachy.”

Together, they swept through the café doors. The duo was immediately greeted by the smell of sugar and the hum of the other patrons, many of them couples.

Raven stiffened at the sight, turning a deep shade of red. Suddenly, she was very, very aware of how she—and Jade—looked.

“I think I changed my mi—“ Raven was cut off when he grasped her hand and held fast. She jolted back, her skin turning clammy. “Eeep! Wh-What are you...”

“Table for two,” Jade requested of an employee. “We do not intend to stay for a large meal, so just an ice-cream parfait will do.”

“Certainly, sir. Right this way.” The server quickly seated them, and with a bow, departed to retrieve their order.

“... You can let go of my hand now,” Raven hissed, attempting to free herself. To no avail, initially. She tugged again, and finally broke free, aggressively rubbing at her hand to ward off the residual eel cooties.

Jade chuckled, tucking his strand of black hair behind his ear. His earring glimmered in the afternoon sunlight pouring in through wide windows. “Play along. You are aware that today is Valentine’s Day, yes?”

“Yes, but I do not understand what that has to do with... physical contact, especially seeing as how we are not engaged in that kind of a relationship.”

“It is simple.” He laced his fingers together, resting his chin on them. With the most serene of smiles, Jade purred, “We should take advantage of the couple discounts being offered at eateries such as this. An excellent way to save on spending, especially after that particularly large purchase made on the Mostro Lounge’s coin.”

“You’re a shrewd one.”

“Why, thank you.”

Raven’s hands curled in her lap. Her lips pursed, she found her gaze trained on the white lace of the tablecloth, rather than on her dining companion.

Time and time again, she has been tricked today, told white lies. Teased and deceived. It was simply how he was—and though it did irk her in some ways, it also never made a moment dull.

Hot and cold. Push and pull. Bitter and sweet. That was Jade Leech.

“Your parfait is here!!” The server from before popped up in her periphery, startling the raven from her thoughts. They set it down and stepped back. “Here you are—enjoy your date!”

“Thank you. We certainly will,” Jade reacted before Raven could and dismissed the server with a wave. “... Well, let’s dig in.”

“You didn’t correct them.”

“We won’t get the discount if they don’t believe this farce,” he replied calmly, nudging the parfait and a spoon toward her. “Now then, less talking and more eating. You need your strength if you plan on helping me haul all the supplies back to campus.”

She let out a huff, but dug her spoon into a frozen mound. The parfait was massive, composed of several scoops of pink, blue, and green ice-cream, flanked by chocolate wafer bars. With a smattering of sprinkles, a crown of whipped cream, and a maraschino cherry on top, the dessert looked absolutely picture perfect.

Raven steadily brought a spoonful of pink goop into her mouth, allowing a sweet bubblegum flavor to spread across her tongue. Her eyes cut to Jade, who had not bothered to sample any for himself. He smiled back, gaze half-lidded as if recalling a fond memory.

“Have some, too. I feel weird eating it alone—and you must be hungry too. I know how big your appetite is.” Raven pushed the parfait glass toward him.

“If you insist.”

The head of his spoon sunk into a green scoop with shards of chocolate chip weaved throughout. It pulled away cleanly with a large mound, which was soon consumed. Then another bite, and a third, a fourth... Before Raven knew it, a good third of the parfait was missing.

Jade patted his mouth with a napkin, eyeing her expectantly.

“Are you still hungry?” Raven asked, eyebrows raising. She retrieved a scoop of blue this time—vaguely flavored like a medley of fruits.

“Perhaps... though I do not plan on taking more of the parfait for myself. Were I to, there would be none left for you.”

The fruit seemed to sour in her mouth. It was true that she was hungry, yes—but at the same time, she did not wish for Jade to be left dissatisfied.

She frowned, setting her spoon down and reaching into her bag. Seconds later, she produced a heart-shaped package and shoved it at him.

“Here, chocolates. They’re yours now, since I have no other use for them,” Raven mumbled insistently. “You can eat them now, or save them for later. Just hurry up and take them before I change my mind.”

“Oya, it is rather bold to profess your undying love to me in such a public space.” Jade teased, chuckling lightly into his hand.

“B-Be quiet...!! We... We can’t get that couple’s discount if one of us passes out from hunger.”

“Fufufu. I doubt that either of us would.” His mismatched eyes twinkled with mirth. “... Thank you for the sweets, Miss Raven. I will be certain to savor every last bite.”

The town became even busier in the late afternoon, filing with the sound of street performers and spectators. A monkey in a vest and a small hat barreled by Raven’s feet as she and Jade exited the café, nearly causing her to double over. A chorus of children’s laughter chased after the monkey—and she, the raven, stumbled on her recovery.

“Perhaps now would be a good time to reconsider my offer,” Jade suggested, a hand on the small of her back to support her. That same hand trailed around and tickled the back of hers. “It would be a shame if we lost one another in this crowd.”

Raven regarded him with a pointed look, but slipped her hand into his without further resistance. “... Only because I have to.”

“Of course, of course.”

Together, they braved the bustling streets.

A new world unfolded before Raven’s very eyes. Costumed performers of all kinds paraded about, garnering attention from passerbys. Some tossed confetti and candies, others brandished instruments. Brass, strings, percussion—all their notes floated up into the festive atmosphere.

There went a dancer, leaping like a lithe deer, limbs outstretched and the flowy fabric of their uniform like a curtain of smoke. And here was an artist perched on a stool, sketching the outline of a woman posed on a wooden crate. A young man jingled a tambourine, trying to catch coins in his cap.

A number of food carts patrolled the roads, calling out their wares. Crepes, sandwiches, sodas... Families, friends, and couples lining benches, exchanging bites.

Love was truly in the air and oozing out of every pore of the community.

Raven couldn’t keep her head still. She turned this way and that, trying to soak up every last sight and sound. Her golden eyes sparkled with wonder.

Jade, of course, took note. “Excited, are you?”

“It’s very different than Night Raven College,” she replied shyly. “Almost like a magic kingdom.”

“Magic kingdom? You can be rather melodramatic at times.”

“Yeah? So can you and Azul and Floyd, with all your fake tears...” Her wandering eyes caught something bright red as she spoke. “Oh...!! Look.”

Raven tugged on Jade’s hand, urging him to a halt. Her gaze was transfixed on a lamp post with a multitude of red strings. At the other ends of those ribbons were heart-shaped balloons, as red as blood.

His eyebrows pinched together in mocking sympathy. “You truly are fascinated by the simplest things. Is it true what they say? That ravens are attracted to shiny objects?”

Her mouth flew open to protest, but she was interrupted by a woman by the balloon-bearing lamp post “You there!! Sir with the earring and ma’am with the blue ribbon! Care for some balloons?”

“Er... What are they for?” Raven asked.

“For love, of course,” the woman laughed. “Today’s all about appreciating one another, right? This is my way of spreading love.”

She separated three balloons from her bundle and offered them with a flourish. Raven eagerly accepted them, staring up in wonder at their floating bodies.

“Oh, and one more thing!!” The woman produced a red ribbon from her jacket pocket and nodded at the duo. “Your pinkie fingers, please!”

Raven held out her hand as directed, letting the woman secure the ribbon in a neat little knot. The balloon bearer extended the length of the ribbon, glancing to Jade. Raven, too, looked at him expectantly. Jade expelled a quiet sigh and allowed the red ribbon to be tied to his pinkie.

“There you go!” the woman declared triumphantly. “You’re all set now! Enjoy the rest of your Valentine’s Day, folks!”

“Thank you!” Raven shouted over her shoulder—even as Jade started to lead her away. The woman waved and waved until she was out of sight.

“... It has been a while since I have seen you this enthusiastic,” Jade remarked with a glance to the balloons. “I do suppose it is a departure from the monotony of daily life, but to think that such little things bring this amount of joy...”

“It reminds me of a story a little birdie once told me,” Raven chirped with a small giggle. “The story of the Red Thread of Fate.”

“Oh?” Jade raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“The Red Thread of Fate is said to connect ‘destined people’. It can tangle, twist, or stretch, but it can never break. From the moment you are born, you have an unseen thread flowing from your pinkie finger, tying your fate to that of the person on the other end,” Raven recited, her tone turning solemn—her storytelling voice.

“Someday,” she said, “you will cross paths with the one that shares your thread, and your lives will be forever changed by the encounter. It could be a meaningful battle between rivals, the loss of a loved one, the promise of marriage... but the course of their stories will never again be the same.”

“How sentimental. And what, pray tell, does this red thread of ours mean, Miss Raven?” Jade questioned, lifting his end of the ribbon—the crimson shining in the sunlight.

“How would I know? I’m not a god,” she huffed. “It’s just fun to imagine the possibilities.”

“It is, indeed. Even so, surely there must be one favored conclusion to the story of the Red Thread of Fate in that pretty little head of yours.” He brought a hand to his mouth, yanking Raven toward him.

She glanced up with a glare. “I’d have to have a bird brain to tell you that.”

“Is that not the duty of a storyteller? To stand on stage and tell the tale until the curtain closes. Your adoring audience awaits.”

“You’re being booted from the metaphorical theater before you get to hear or see the ending.”

“I would like to see you try.”

Jade slowed to a stop, Raven following suit. They were back in the town square, by the lamp post where they had met up. Ending where it had all begun.

He pulled out his phone and consulted the time. Jade unlocked his device, quickly wrote up a message, and tucked it away again. “I can take it from here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Besides,” Jade cast a pitiful look at Raven’s trembling arms, “I doubt you would be able to haul those supplies the remainder of the way, and certainly not in an efficient manner.”

“... Then what was the point of stating in the contract that you needed a helping hand?”

“I am afraid that even I am not entirely privy as to Azul’s intentions,” he chuckled, gently prying a bag from her hands. “I will be certain to let Azul know that Mac-san’s end of the contract has been fulfilled.”

“Eh...? But—“

“You have our thanks for lending the Mostro Lounge your time. You are free to go now, Miss Raven. I’ve already summoned Floyd in your stead to assist me.”

“Th-The ribbon, you fool! I can’t leave if I’m still bound to you!”

“Oh? You don’t say.” His singsong held no concern whatsoever, only amusement.

“S-Stop playing dumb! You know very well what you are doing!!”

“You said it yourself, Miss Raven. Our lives have been forever changed since our encounter. There is no going back now.”

“Stop manipulating the narrative to suit your needs.”

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean. Jade smiled, feigning innocence. “You’ve resigned yourself to spending the rest of the day with me—at least until Floyd arrives to relieve you of your burden. Ah, but given his moodiness, who knows when that will be.”

“Just because your surname is Leech doesn’t mean you need to suck the life out of me like one,” Raven snapped. She reached for the red ribbon, intending to undo it—

—only to be met with a bouquet a second time. Flowers the color of the sunset, smelling like the drip of sunshine and a cut of meadow.

“For you—no strings attached this time.”

“Those are for the terrarium centerpieces.”

“I can easily replace them,” Jade insisted, “and I must repay you for your kind chocolate gift. Consider this... ‘favors for favors’, so that neither one of us is left indebted to the other.”

“... Alright. I’ll take them, but only because they might be useful for brewing some new inks.”

“I’m glad to see that you are being agreeable.” Jade slipped the flowers to her. “Take good care of them.”

Raven leaned against a lamp post, cradling the large bouquet in one arm. Her heart fluttered, and her limbs felt as light as air. Warm and floaty, like the balloons in her hand. 

Favors for favors—but it still counted as a gift from Jade, and that very thought sent her mind spiraling. She took a shaky breath, and focused on the confetti and laughter in the distance, the song and dance of the street performers.

Waiting and waiting for Floyd.

“Miss Raven.”

“What now? Haven’t you bullied me enough for today? Are you still not satisfied, you sadist?”

She dared to lift her eyes to meet Jade’s—and her heart stood still, for he looked back. His sharp eyes soft and shrouded by long lashes, his lips pulled into a tender smile.

“Contract or no, I always enjoy my time with you—I enjoyed today,” Jade murmured. “I hope that we are able to do this again sometime.”

“... Shut up. J-Just shut up already, i-it’s embarrassing listening to you speak...!!” She buried her head in the flowers, concealing her pink face. Still feeling floaty, like a balloon, high on happiness.

“Fufufu. Happy Valentine’s Day, Miss Raven.”

[witches-and-devils]

Addiction, Chapter Two

Beautiful, warm sunlight streams through the glass, warming Lionel’s pale skin as the soft grass beneath him pokes up around his clothing and tickles every bit it can reach. He always loved the rooftop garden of the Church. The caretaker was nice but avoidant, the smells of the nearby flowers filled his senses, the automated bird sounds soothed his aching nerves and worries, and all on top? The fact that it was walled in by crystalline glass that kept them all safely secured while still allowing them to enjoy what small bits of nature they could.

    “What’s this? A slacker?” A deep, teasing voice reached his ears, causing the Witch to jump from his mildly meditative state and sit up enough to see the tall figure before him. Lionel was always tall and lanky, the sort of height that you have to slowly grow into the older you get all while feeling like you don’t fit into your body until then. Still, Valdis was so much bigger, but it fit. He always had so much more confidence in the way he walked. Deep, dark black skin shone beautifully in the sunlight as large, black wings with white tips tucked carefully between his shoulder blades. Lionel always compared them to dark obsidian and…other poetics. His horns stretched with an elegant curve and vividly green eyes pierced through the whole presentation to reveal the bubbly, wonderfully unpredictable man underneath.

    “Valdis,” Lionel breathed, why did he feel so…desperate? Like he hadn’t seen the man in a long, long time? Valdis was always there, always right beside him, the chain proved that much. Ah, that crease was showing up already, that twitch to Valdis’s brow that revealed the mild worry even through his confident demeanor.

    “You’re working too hard again,” the Pride Demon warned, already walking over and flopping onto the soft grass beside him. Lionel…slowly settled back down. “You’re allowed to breathe, you know?”

    “I know.”     “Do you?”

    “I think so.”

    His hand reached over hesitantly, wanting to twitch into that warm, clawed hand but…fell to the ground instead to favor the bright tingling sensation that bloomed from his palm. A comfortable weight settled there and as Lionel turned his head, he saw that bright chain. The glowing fuschia of his magic weaved into a tight bond that traveled from around his wrist up and around Valdis’ delicate neck. Most people saw it as a verifiable leash to keep your demon in check and ensure the safety of those around you, so long as you were strong enough to hold the beast. They’d always seen it as a sign of trust. The ability to put your well being in the hands of another and know that you’ll protect and care for each other, a symbol of the bond you’d forged during the summoning.

    “Red…?”

    Lionel tore his gaze from the bond, and the blood in his veins froze. Midnight colored skin had been torn away to nothing but paper thin wisps, horns neatly filed and hair follicles ripped from the scalp, horrific blood poured from those enchanting eyes and from soft lips where fangs had been ripped loose. A painfully declawed hand reached out for him desperately-

    He ripped away out of fear, instantly regretting the unknown choice as a thick, dark gray hand lashed down and encompassed his friend’s body, ripping it into the dark and away from his little garden world. Lionel screamed, tightening the chain around his wrist in a desperate attempt to make him stay, to drag him back kicking and screaming if he had to-

    A loud snap, like bone and glass shattering rang in his ears, and Lionel’s body drained of whatever hope he was forcing to the surface. The chain laid in tatters, glowing pink pieces along the grass in front of him and into the darkness he’d failed to notice slowly encompassing their safe haven.

    When did he stand up? When did he go charging into the dark? The space was cold, he could feel frostbite already nipping away at his joints and teeth as he searched blindly for his companion.

    The chain around his wrist tightened, growing far too taut and ripping the Witch backwards as he went sprawling onto his back. A pained gasp ripped from his lungs, cold air rolled over his skin and caused his hair to whip around his head as a pungent air entered his nostrils. Another pause, and the air poured through him again. Deep, heaving breaths.

    Scrambling to his feet, Lionel turned and froze at the hulking figure before him. Huge, it was the only word he could think of at the moment. A tall, wide creature that could easily consume him in one, swift movement. Dark, ruby-like eyes shined through the darkness as gleaming horns that curled to the side of his head tilted in an almost curious manner. There was the briefest of pauses, those bright, shining fangs spread into a murderously gleeful grin as smoke billowed past the cracks. Something large thumped behind him, shaking the nonexistent ground underneath his feet.

    The chain had reforged, slowly winding up and wrapping itself pitifully around the thick neck of this horrifying beast. The creature slowly reached out and, despite pissing himself from fear and wanting to scramble away as quickly as possible, Lionel remained tensely still as that hand collapsed around one of his oh-so-fragile shoulders.

    Pure pain shoots through his mind, like someone is driving an icepick further and further into his brain matter but through the pain, through the panic, images. Symbols, a setting, words recited on long dead lips that rang in his ears and sear themselves into his mind, tattooing the incantations into his skull. His eardrums burst, his nails bleed, he feels his entire body rejecting him and-

    Pain erupts from his nose, Lionel shoots a hand out to smack at the beast. Finally- finally his body moves as it’s commanded- but he’s met with nothing but a surprised squawk and soft feathers beneath his fingers. Everything is too bright, even with his eyes closed. He’s coughing, his lungs burn, his arms burn as he turns over. Instead of the soft grass of the freezing darkness he feels annoyingly hot sand. Instead of the shark-like skin of whatever that demon was tearing him apart, salt water licks desperately at his legs.

    Like a leaky faucet, everything slowly trickles back to him. The Church, the captivity, Valdis, his escape....

    He’d been foolish, in too big of a rush to think about where he was really going when he teleported, of course he’d throw himself into the nearest body of water, that was just his luck, wasn’t it? At least there weren't any oceans near the Church. The one he’d been raised in, at the very least. Lionel needed to move, he couldn’t just sit there and let them find him. Who knows how long he’s been asleep. His skin burns from his time in the blistering sun, his arms sting from the salt water.

    Lionel forces himself to his feet, cradling his wounded wrists close to his chest as if that would stop the pounding of the burns but- something catches his eye. The Witch pauses in his step, staring down to see thin, cat-like scratches along the unmarred bits where the iron had burned into his skin. Thin runes unfamiliar and barely readable.

    He needed to go. He could think about it later, he wanted to shove the dream, the vision, from his mind and focus on getting as far away as possible.

⬲⦓⧫⦔⟴

    The sun was gone by the time he found shelter, the moonlight the only thing guiding his path. He couldn’t risk light, someone could see it and he didn’t need rumors of a wandering Witch getting around just yet. His temporary home was a long abandoned, one room hut just barely hidden by the treeline beside the coast. It wouldn’t be much, but…it would serve for now. For tonight.

    The first thing he did upon entering was strip. His clothes stank of the sea and his dress was barely doing anything in the way of protection against the elements in that tattered and disgusting state it was in. He couldn’t be seen walking around in Church clothes, it’d be too obvious. The old building barely had anything. Holes in the ceiling, missing boards that revealed the mucky ground underneath, cobwebs and moss everywhere. There was an old, rotted out skeleton of what used to be a bed, some basic storage. Nothing of note, no food.

    Everything needed to be changed. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with the title of ‘Lion Cub’ hanging over his head, so Lionel had to go too. New clothes, a new look, a new name. What…would be a good name? He wouldn’t have to introduce himself for a while, if he was having any luck. He didn’t need to think about that now. New look, new clothes. The Witch went to work.

    Throwing open the few cabinets and dresser that was still somewhat intact, pain shot through his arm again. He’d need to take care of that too.

    He’d managed to find…something. An old, white tunic stained from time and some simplistic burlap pants, both far too short for him but by this point Lionel couldn’t really care as long as it covered everything that needed to be covered. They would do until he could find something better. Walking over to the remains of his Church dress, he ripped at the fraying white collar and sleeves until he had thin, crude strips. God, he felt exhausted, it was seeping into his bones and it felt as if everything he was doing was being done for him, like his body was still forcing itself to move despite his brain already wanting to stop for the night. His skin burned, his wrists burned, his mind burned from the remains of that dream.

    Who had that been…?

    It was a demon, that much was obvious. He tried to wrack his mind for anything, something that sounded familiar. He had been big, a large man. Greed Demons tended to be bigger with thicker horns than the others, but so were Wrath Demons. Still, the smoke smelled like stale cigars and those eyes bore through his soul…whatever it was, it wanted to be summoned, which was usually a bad sign. Most Demons preferred to stay in Hell where they could live comfortably, from what Lionel understood.

    Settling down onto the remains of the bed, he winced when it creaked and protested to the newfound weight. Pale hands shakingly danced across the fresh burns. They were going to leave horrific scarring, but…he could probably hide that, right? So long as he wore long sleeves and gloves…if he could even live long enough to find such things. Still, he allowed his magic to do what it could. A faint, tickling itch crawled along the fresh wound, parts of the flesh slowly knitting back together as he carefully directed the healing away from the new scratches against his skin. The runes needed to be readable, he didn’t want to lose that road before he’d fully considered it.

    When it was all said and done, his wrists still looked pretty ugly. Wrinkled and pruned in odd shapes, the veins standing out far too clearly against the skin, he really should have spent more time studying healing magic. At least it wasn’t going to get infected any time soon, he’d need his hands.

    Just a little more and he could sleep. Just a little more....

    Taking a moment to carefully wrap the cloth around his wrists, at the very least to prevent unintentional itching, Lionel leaned back and tried to think of what he could do. It would be hard to change his face, too much power and it wasn’t like he’d have a mirror to do such a thing. No, it’d have to be something simple for now. His damaged hands reached up, carefully brushing through his thick and greasy hair before a sharp gust of wind blew millimeters from his skin. A weight was instantly lifted off his shoulders and, unintentionally, the small bit of freedom brought the faintest of grins to his sleep-deprived features. He grabbed a fistful of his new cut hair, he was sure it looked horrible. Uneven and messy, he still hadn’t washed it in months but…it’d look different from the insanely long waves that had always hung down his back.

    Aside from that...maybe he could make himself appear blind? That might help, no one would think much about a blind man, or perceive him as a threat in his current state. Hell, maybe someone would pity him enough to give him some clothes that actually fit or something of the like. It would be simple glamor, not much effort at all and easy to maintain indefinitely. He could already hear Father Zachariah chiding him for ‘taking advantage of the less fortunate’, but he was already pretty damn unfortunate, wouldn’t you think? It will work for now.

    A simple flick of his wrist and, sure enough, despite being unable to see his reflection Lionel was sure his eyes had taken on the appearance of a milky white.

    That was about all he could do for now.

    Slowly, his body slid down to the musty and old flooring of the abandoned hut, every ache in his bones slowly rolling out. His back would ache in the morning, but for now he was so tired he could barely muster the will to care.

    All he really cared about was whether or not he would see that demon again in his sleep, and whether or not he could learn anything else about it.

[monsoonblooms12]

Kjæreste (King Liam x f!MC)

Summary: They have a day all to themselves full of love and cute moments of togetherness🧡

Kjæreste: (Norwegian) Dearest, Beloved One; Term of endearment for one's romantic partner😍

A/N: This is the giveaway prize for my lovely @parkdoesthings who won a place in my followers and birthday celebration giveaway. Wren, I hope you like it and the way I used the prompts you gave me. Writing them for the first time made me nervous as well as happy. Really hoping that you like this🧡

Prompts used: @parkdoesthings gave me the prompts "I missed you, so much" kisses + dessert. In addition to these, I have used Prompt 3, 14 and 16 from this prompt list by @creativepromptsforwriting. Feel free to send in more requests, I am always accepting!🧡

If you enjoyed the story, please like it, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going🤎

Pairing: King Liam Rys X f!MC (Odette Dawson)

Word Count: around 2K

Rating: General

Category: Fluff

Triggers: A few curse words (Just 1 or 2)

OTHER WORKS

The golden hues filtered through the strains of the satin drapes, filling the place like the aroma of a freshly brewed cup of coffee. The birds taunted each other playfully, all lost in their plays. A few of them beckoned her to join them.

She certainly would have, if she had those mystic spells, radiating sparkles on clicking her fingers, turning into an appealing blue jay, adorning herself in the summery blues and whites, just like the sky right now.

She had been lying awake for quite some time now, sleep being a long-lost pal. The silk of her covers ran like water under her fingers, and if it were someone who had not been accustomed to it, the sensation would have been enough to cradle them into a deep siesta.

Finally, she pushed herself to get up. The gentle sloshing of water around her as she gently placed down herself into the dreamy tints of the bathroom soothed her senses. Closing her eyes, she felt as if she was in a pond amidst a forest, all alone enjoying the tranquillity, as the woody scents dazzled her senses and the solitary rose petals caressed her skin.

It was unwinding and comforting, not to live by a schedule, blabbering all day around with stupid dignitaries or argue about some variety of apples.

Ugh, Apples! 

The only downside of marrying the king of Cordonia that she could think of. She could go on about her list of grievances she had with apples, but right now, if she thought about them for a second more, she would throw up.

And when in Loire Valley, never think of those gross little piece of mischief, she made it her motto.

Especially when they make you vomit.

The soft pink fabric fluttered in the merry breeze, the net covering her hands, making her look as elegant as the chandelier that now adorned her majestic room, every thread glowing like diamonds on a bracelet.

She gives a twirl, she wants to feel the fluffiness of the holiday, but yet she couldn't.

Not when there is someone she has been waiting for, eagerly, unabatingly.

Now and then, she would pick her cream-coloured cellular, glide to the balcony, leaning down to make out the appearance of a car, her chestnut brown locks dancing joyfully.

A shrill cajoled her out of her reverie, and her heart leapt to a beat of joy.

The soft music playing in the room seemed even more melodious to her as her feet lead her to the doorway with a swift dance-like motion.

She opened the door, the dazzling smile brightening up her face like a 100-watt bulb.

Only to find the waiter standing there with her breakfast.

Her face fell as if it was not a royal buffet, but trays full of apples in front of her.

And when the waiter blushed thinking that he was the reason for her joy, her anger built up like the pressure in a pressure cooker.

She knew a stream of rudeness would escape if she opened her mouth, hence she sealed her lips, put on the exercised smile and stepped aside for him to enter.

Breakfast was other-worldly. She had quite forgotten the sheer deliciousness a classic French breakfast carried in itself.

Her mouth was an adobe of butter, chocolate and coffee, and all her objections vanished with a bite of that melt-in-mouth croissant.

The weather showed a solemn change as the white were replaces by greys and the golden slowly muted down.

She didn't really love rains, any season for that matter, but she could deal with everything. She decided to go down for a stroll, deciding that she had little to do in this room all by herself.

The softness of the Earth under her shoes, the multitude of colours in front of her soft brown eyes, the splendid fragrances filling her nostrils, the melody of nature playing in a loop in her ears and the sweetness of the solitude making her heart flutter.

All her senses were enamoured as she twirled around the gigantic flower garden.

A golden yellow butterfly greeted her by landing on one of her fingers, wanting to hold her finger and take her on a tour around her adobe.

Both of them silently exchanged a few words, and Odette happily agreed to get enamoured by the fluttery beauties and silky petals.

But she hadn't taken a step when two palms softly covered her eyes. She was startled but knew better than to scream. Her heart told her that it was someone she knew and not someone who would try to harm her.

As if someone would even be able to get past the heavy security

Her ringed hand gently reached for the hands which were still placed on her eyes. She felt them, a metallic feel of a ring, gave her a serotonin boost. Her heart danced and the smile that was waiting for its chance finally spread on her face, making her look like a goddess.

With a gentleness equal to the one when they were placed, Odette removed the hands, didn't even bother to open her eyes and kissed the person behind her with so much love that one would have melted into golden honey by its power.

But he didn't.

Their love wasn't cancelling out each other, it was multiplying to become so powerful that it would engulf them forever.

Placing the foreheads together, Odette finally opens her orbs, which shone like brilliant diamonds, to look up at the person whose arrival she awaited. The blush that spreads on both of their faces is automatic.

He twirls the stray lock that adorned her beauty around his finger, his hand, the ringed one, tightly wrapped around her silk regalia.

"I missed you so much! You know how impatient I am, and yet, you made me wait." Odette whines lovingly, the smile never leaving even through her complaint.

"I am sorry, Ette! There was an emergency apple-themed event-"

Odette's eyes narrowed, and an unamused pout took the place of the preceding grin.

"Can we please skip the apple talks, please? I did not come here to escape about those vomit-inducing pieces of shit."

All the while, Liam chuckled, always amused by the thought that out of everyone, he fell in love with that gorgeous lady who hated apples.

"Soo... Now that you are finally here, what are we supposed to do? Just stand here staring at each other?"

"I mean, that wouldn't be bad either."

"C'mon, Li! I didn't travel all the way to here to stand and stare at you. I already do that, every time, at Cordonia." Even though she had spoken it matter-of-factly, it made him blush and grin.

Even more because he had been doing the same, every moment she had been with him, right from the day he met her.

But he had always been a hopeless romantic, she had not.

Whenever Odette told him that he was the one who had made her realize that love and soulmates actually exist, his heart would start running a marathon in his chest. He still couldn't comprehend how someone like him had ended up getting someone like her as his queen.

Every poem, every romantic song, pales in front of the hues of their love, and since words were not enough to express it, he made sure to show it to her, every day, every time, every moment of his life.

"We will do whatever you want to do! This vacation is all about you, after all." He said as she linked her arms into his, but not before she made a wordless promise to the butterfly that she would come back and go on the tour.

As Liam led them towards the car, Odette pulled him back.

"Not the car, Mr Rys. Loire valley has enigmatic forests, and if we are not doing a forest trail, we will seriously miss out on the greatest beauty, the beauty of nature."

And he was in awe, again.

This is the side of Odette that makes her the queen he wanted by his side. How much respect and appreciation she has for everything, especially nature. He happily gave in to her demand.

The soft crunch of some dried leaves and the earthy scents enveloped the area. It wasn't secluded, now and then, the excited chirps and melodious tweets of the feathered beings spread through the air.

Odette's eyes joyfully travelled all around her, the multitude of chrome spreading a happy surprise through her heart.

"My Queen"

She looked up at him, their browns dissolving into each other.

"You know what these hues remind me of?"

"What?" She asked in a silent whisper.

"You."

"Your colours. The multi-chrome of your attributes, and the elegance they add to your persona. They make you charismatic"

"Liam, Yours is the only colour I want to get painted in."

Their lips meet like muscle memory, without any initiation. It was a reflex registered in the record book of their cerebrum.

Their thoughts entangled, arm around each other, the trail ended before they realized. They were now standing in front of the eight o'clock café.

"It isn't eight o'clock yet, but there is something special I've got arranged in here for you." Odette winked, pulling him in.

A few silent whispers later, Odette took Liam to the secluded first floor of the café, only for him to get the surprise.

The arrangement was a large table with his favourite board games, Carcassonne and Scrabble, neatly arranged on it. If he had been a kid, he would have screamed up and down, and circle danced with her.

No one had ever done something like this for him, and he doubted someone ever would.

Well, except her.

The next hours were filled with mindless laughs, funny fights, fake waves of anger and joyful screams.

The voids between those were filled with delicious coffee and melt-in-mouth gelato that had been specially arranged, again by Ette.

She had ordered flavours he had not heard of, and with the constant consumption, he had become a fan of the chocolate fondente flavoured one.

Utterly tired of the endless rounds of gameplay, they finally took their leave while thanking the people their generously for bearing their shenanigans.

Who would have guessed that board games would be so much fun even after years of not playing?

Not them, definitely.

"Just one more spot, and then we will go back, I promise." Odette winked, again.

He doubted if he would ever be able to refuse to her enigma even if he wanted to. One look and he would do anything to make her smile the way he likes.

The surprise that emerged in front of him posed such a stark contrast to the one before that for a moment he felt like he had got a tour of the polar opposites.

His eyes travelled up to the dazzling Ferris Wheel, standing majestically up before them.

"Just executing my idea of experiencing opposites in a day, that's it."

He wanted to kiss her as his life depended on it. But before he could get hold of her, she was already rushing towards the ticket counter, and he followed.

It was the last ticket, and gladly, they had managed to get it. They rushed to enter their cabin, hand in hand, adsorbing the cheerful air around.

The view that met their eyes was heavenly, like a piece of God's adobe fixed neatly amidst the man's land. Their eyes shifted once outside, and the next minute they found themselves staring at each other, eyes sparkling like stars of the endless sky.

She was his flower moon, the happiness and love she brings to his life matching with the fertility and flowers May brings with itself, which is what the Flower Moon symbolizes.

She shines differently from everyone, a unique sight for anyone who lays their eyes upon her, dazzling brilliantly.

The brilliance that pales every obstacle, every pain with the power of her love, she was destined to stay with him forever.

The wordless promise he made holding her hand, that he would fight with the worst if it was to keep her in his heart's labyrinth.

She was the one who made his heart beat, after all.

PS: Thank you so much for reading and I hope you have a great day ahead! Love, Manamee🧡.

Tags (Please let me know if you want to be added or removed or if I forgot you):

Perma: @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @udishaman @aestheticartsx @twinkleallnight @schnitzelbutterfingers @sophxwithers @sweatyrysconnoisseur @nikki-2406 @choicesfanaf @trrfanaddict @starrystarrytrouble @gardeningourmet @parkbarks @mvalentine @lovablegranny @mercury84choices @jessiembruno

Liam x Odette: @anotherbeingsworld @ao719 @hopelessromanticmonie @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002

[stiltonbasket]

so i binged all of renouncement verse in one go and lwj sewing clothes for a-yu was so sweet i was wondering if we could see him finally do that for wwx?

(brief author’s note: please please reblog if you can, since that’s how we get prompts for future chapters!)

anon 2: maybe something about wwx getting things ready for the baby?? and lwj helps to feather their love nest a little more too (´• ω •`) like maybe carving a crib or making little clothes! they have advance warning about a baby for the first time ever!

anon 3: For Renouncement Verse: can we see WWX finding new hobbies such as sewing/embroidery to pass time and maybe even sewing their baby some clothes pls <3

__

When Wei Wuxian was a child—about seven years old, or six—he spent a week in bed after catching a mild case of lake fever, which rarely gave children anything worse than a headache and a cough. But lake-fever requires rest to heal, so the healers confined him to his room with strict orders not to move. 

Naturally, the young Wei Ying had disliked this immensely, and soothed himself by making kites for Jiang Cheng with his uncle until Madam Yu deemed him well enough to get up again.

“Did kite-making truly keep you occupied when you were sick, Wei Ying?” Lan Zhan asks now, so lovingly that Wei Wuxian nearly drops his needle and thread. “I thought you would have tried to run away and fly them as soon as you were finished.”

“How do you think I learned how to sew?” he laughs, tucking up the hem of a tiny blue gown and fastening it with a line of straight stitches. “I broke my leg once when I was around nine, and then I broke my other leg the year after that, so Shijie sat with me and taught me how to mend all the clothes I ripped whenever I went out to play. It was nice, even if I thought it was boring, and then I started to like it enough to keep going.”

Lan Zhan nods and sews another clear red bead onto the garment spread across his lap. Whatever his husband is making is far too large for little A-Lan, but it doesn’t seem to be the kind of robe Lan Zhan would wear. Lan Zhan prefers gowns in blanch-white and azure blue, and this one has plenty of pale red flowers scattered among all the blue threads and silver embroidery. 

“Is that for you?” Wei Wuxian wonders, putting the finished baby dress aside. “When did you start wearing red, sweetheart?”

His husband’s lips curl up into a small smile as he shakes his head. “It’s yours. To wear to A-Lan’s full month celebration.”

He gestures to the fourteen feet of pearly silk and its glittering su xiu stitching, which Lan Zhan had done partly by hand and partly with the help of a crafting talisman. The robe is covered in sparkling flowers and soft white clouds, with most of the blossoms raised above the pale fabric in beadwork; from his vantage point on the bed, Wei Wuxian can see crimson lotuses and pale blue gentians sewn beside a flock of silver-feathered birds the size of his thumbnail, so delicate and fine that he has to squint to look at the details in their wings.

“For me?” he hears himself gasp, reaching out to touch it. “Lan Zhan!”

“A-Yu will wear the robe I made him, so I thought you might like to match,” Lan Zhan says, looking up at him with so much adoration in his eyes that Wei Wuxian’s heart turns to jelly. “I will make one for A-Lan, too, but later on. It will be much faster, and there is no telling how much she might grow in the first month.”

Lan Zhan glances at the tiny socks in Wei Wuxian’s hands—a pair of little knitted things, made in dyed pink instead of blue or white because Xiao-Yu insisted on choosing the color—and goes back to his work, adding in a pair of clear leaves and berries on the sleeves of the festival gown.

“I must hurry,” he says apologetically. “We only have another week at most, and then there will be no time for anything but tending the little one.”

Wei Wuxian sighs in wordless agreement and picks up his two long knitting needles. It hasn’t really sunk in that he’s going to have three children instead of two in less than ten days, even though the baby never lets him forget her presence even for a moment, and part of him is deathly afraid of what lies ahead even if he will have Lan Xichen’s help when it comes to giving birth to her. 

He is also afraid of doing something wrong after she arrives, since A-Yuan and A-Yu were both old enough to walk and talk by themselves when he adopted them.

“She’s going to be so tiny,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around himself. “Lan Zhan, what if we—what if I end up hurting her? What if she cries and we can’t tell what she wants, or—or what if she gets sick, and we don’t notice? I’ve never even held such a little baby before. How are we going to do this?”

Lan Zhan takes Wei Wuxian’s hands in his and kisses them. “We will do it together,” he vows—and oh, it feels as if mountains would gladly level themselves at the sound of his husband’s voice, just so Wei Wuxian could have a clear road to walk on and sunshine to light the way. “When we do not know what to do, we will ask Shufu or perhaps Jiang Wanyin. And there are always healers, and my cousins who have had children.”

“Lan Zhan…”

And then Wei Wuxian realizes exactly what his beloved had said. “We can ask your uncle for help?”

“Xiongzhang was given to him to raise when he was only eighteen,” Lan Zhan explains. “There was a nurse, of course, but Shufu insisted he should bring us up if our parents were not permitted to do so.”

Wei Wuxian relaxes a little at the thought of practiced hands being near. “You hear that, A-Lan?” he chuckles, tapping his side over the spot where he last felt a nudge from the baby. “There’s no need to worry. Your shugong is here, and he’s better at this than your A-Die is.”

“Not for long. You will learn, sweetheart, and so will I.”

“You promise?” Wei Wuxian whispers. “Promise, Lan Zhan.”

(And Lan Zhan promises, as he always does, and kisses him until the last of his fears finally melt away.)

[samingtonwilson]

Sweet Creature

Summary: sam is in love with the girl at the front desk of the VA, but he has the ability to help-- so he will. (named after the harry styles song but not ENTIRELY based off it. takes place pre-TWS, through AOU, until right before CW) 

Pairing: sam wilson x reader

Warnings: language. NSFW, sexual content, 18+. very slightly angsty.

A/N: i don’t usually write smut and here i am, writing 2 sex scenes in one one-shot. anyway sam wilson is an angel who has been through a lot and is still full of love.

gif below isn’t mine.

She’s hired in autumn and it’s like color bursts with every step she takes. 

Dull grayscale fades into red and yellow leaves, orange and pink sunsets. The burning sun finally cools, grains of desert sand stuck to his every memory slowly trickle away with the chilly breeze. Jack-o-lantern grins hurt his cheeks less, words exchanged over lukewarm coffee now spiced with cinnamon and nutmeg come easier. 

He hears the whistling of birds at dawn without the thought of malfunctioning wings, sleeps in a bed of softness without an ironic longing for dirt and rock mattresses under attacking stars. 

He falls in love in autumn. And smiles.

A smile that’s gap-toothed and silly by winter. A smile that brings warmth and sweetness to bitterly frozen December mornings. One which he offers her as he slides a cardboard cup across her desk, a white napkin tucked underneath it. 

She sees him listen in winter. Sees him as he lets others bleed on him while he bandages himself in silence. 

She hears him give heavy advice with a lightness that makes the others chuckle, like glittering rays of sunlight tearing through the blanket of clouds which is spread by mid-afternoon nowadays. 

He demystifies plastic bags that resemble harbingers of death, dispels blame and shamefully missed opportunities in favor of forgiveness and acceptance. He offers ribbon to tie a broken heart together, balm to ease the tightness of guilt. 

And it’s all done real easy. Pain isn’t discounted. It’s merely no longer thought of as the sublime mountain range of Romanticism. It’s real and surmountable, it has a slow-acting— but acting, nonetheless— antidote. There is liberty to be attained. Enlightenment.

There’s hope. A word which had lost its meaning until it’s said with those hot cocoa eyes and that woolen smile. A word that hurts less each time it’s used. 

She watches him radiate heat in the form of realistic optimism in winter. And falls in love. 

They’re setting up chairs one morning in spring. Half-past eight, the smell of percolating coffee and a greasy pink box of donuts in cool air. Sam’s phone is connected to the AUX cord, it plays something bluesy. A little sleepy sounding, but infinitely smooth. 

It reminds her of his voice as he greets her each weekday morning, his smile a saxophone solo and laughter a symphony. 

“I’ve been thinking.” 

Setting a chair beside the one Sam has just unfolded, she smiles. “That’s never a good sign.”

Deep brown eyes narrow in playful annoyance. “Cute.” 

“I’m aware.”

“I want to take you out.” 

She stills, rubber caps fastened to the end of the chair legs like boots are suspended just above the floor. Her eyes meet Sam’s as he stands a few feet away. He wears an effortless, confident smile and she stifles one back. Albeit miserably. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about? Asking me on a date?” 

“Among other things.” 

Something about the way he says it, that soft glimmer in his eyes and slyness in his smile, makes heat rise to her cheeks. She doesn’t look away, though. Simply narrows her eyes and sets the chair down. “Yeah? Like what?” 

He leans in her direction to take a folded chair from the rack behind her. She can smell his cologne, feel the warmth which rolls off him in waves, and something in her seems to catch on fire. Softly, he replies, “Say yes and we’ll talk about it on the date.” 

“Bribes don’t work on me,” she says, nose wrinkled as it almost bumps against his. She smooths his collar with nimble fingertips, gently brushing the cotton of his button-up. 

He watches as she looks up at him through her eyelashes and he nearly loses his balance— clumsy at the sight even as he stands still. 

“Give me until the end of the day to think about it?”

“Take as long as you want,” he breathes before he can help it, practically putty. 

Her nod comes with a smile. Something gentle and sweet. Steps slow and casual as she walks to the door. 

“Sam,” she calls, fingers wrapped around the wooden doorframe. Everything about her posture speaks to a reluctance to leave, a reluctance to follow that stupid advice from her old college roommate to mask eagerness. She grins when he looks up from the coffee he’s pouring. “I want you to take me out, too.” 

He grins as well. The coffee pot is set back down and he slips his hand into his pocket. Casual. 

Right? 

He hopes so. “You free tomorrow night?” 

“Tomorrow night?” she repeats with a laugh. Colorful against the beige walls, scuffed tile floors. “A little eager?” 

A shrug. Casual. 

But the look he gives her? Far from. “Maybe.” 

She looks away with a frown of consideration. Sends a smile to one of the regulars of Sam's sessions as he slides past her to enter the room with a short wave in greeting, sun-creased fingers and anemia-paled nails a brief flourish. “How about tonight then?” 

The gushing red of the first date seems to bleed into the second. 

The days between pass with sly looks, smiles hidden behind coffee cups and wrapped around smoothie straws. It’s as if his eyes have remained in hers since that night over a dinner she can’t remember the taste of. That same glimmer, that same miserably hidden desire and elation she knows are in her eyes, too. 

He touches her more in those days when the sun lingers a bit longer and the petals of flowering dogwood blossoms stick to the bottom of her shoes. Deep amber toned skin meets hers when a thumb sweeps over her knuckles, when a hand is placed at the small of her back, when fingers tangled together are hidden between them as they walk to the Hall C vending machine together— whispers about no other vending machine having the ginger ale she likes. 

There’s longing in those touches and whispers. In the looks exchanged across the lobby of the VA. In his posture as he stands in her doorway, a single long stem white rose in his hand. And especially in his gaze as he scans the length of her, done up all pretty for a movie he doubts he’ll be able to pay attention to. 

It’s just as well, though, as they don’t make it to the movie.

She invites him in, mumbling something about needing to fasten an earring, and forgets about it as soon as he takes a step to invade the space she’s kept open for him all along. 

A gentle breath when she thinks her eyelashes might caress his skin before she can and her laugh is a little nervous when she plucks the rose from his gentle grip. “I should put this in water.” 

He nods, but neither of them move. It’s only a second that his eyes slip a glance to her lips. But in that second he’s conveyed the shakiness in both their chests and the rose is forgotten at her feet as his lips claim hers. 

Warm fingers curve around the nape of her neck, holding her steady as he pours every bit of longing and withheld desperation into the kiss. She grasps the softness of his thin sweater in her fists and pulls him closer, smiling against his lips when a groan is ripped from his chest. 

A blind kick— one which has Sam worried that he’ll put a hole through her wall— shuts the door and a graceful spin has her back pushed into the splintering wood she’d painted turquoise a week after moving in. 

The brass knob digs into her side but it’s entirely ignored. All she can perceive is every solid, stone-like inch of his body— hot like fire beneath burgundy cotton— pressed against her, his soft but urgent lips moving with hers. 

It’s another minute, hour, decade perhaps of firecracker heat before he breaks the kiss. He smiles at the weight keeping her eyes closed, forehead lazily set against hers. He visually traces the slight swelling of her lips, the smudged gloss he’s sure is smeared over his own mouth in a thin, shiny layer on her cupid’s bow and the skin below her bottom lip. 

She sweeps her tongue over it, as if it’ll help bring her back to Earth. Her eyelashes flutter up toward her brows. Irises a mere ring around pupils blown wide, she gazes at deep brown eyes just barely honeyed by overhead bulbs. 

He watches his thumb glide over her cheek, feather-light over her lips. Commits the image and feel to memory. 

There’s amazement in his eyes. Perhaps at the confirmation that she is just as soft as he’d imagined. Perhaps at the feeling of finally. And, through harsh breath, his voice is hoarse as he says, “The movie’s in twenty minutes.” 

Before she can reply, he presses a kiss to her left temple, her left cheek then her right. Another kiss at the corner of lips now pitched upward and smooth lips glide over her jaw, then just below. She cranes her neck for him. “I have movies here.” 

His smile is felt rather than seen and it inspires one of her own. A strong arm winds around her waist, tight and answer enough. But, once he’s kissed his way to her lips again, he voices one anyway, “Even better.” 

She closes whatever centimeters of distance separate their lips and sighs when his hands slide behind her thighs, lifting her so that she can hook her legs around his waist. Her arms wrap around his neck and, somehow, she feels as if they aren’t close enough. Not with the layers of fabric separating them, not as he stands only feet from her door. 

His step backwards is hesitant, slow. 

“Down the hall,” she tells him, lips brushing his, “first door to the left.” 

His eyes open, but struggle to remain so when she presses kisses everywhere he had. Barely a foot past the hall entryway, she nips the skin beneath the hard line of his jaw a bit harshly. A soft hiss through his teeth and her tongue soothes the sting. It has his steps faltering until he presses her against the wall to join their lips in a deep but quick kiss. 

Her bedroom door is ajar and requires only the gentle push of her fingers to allow them through. The setting sunlight streaming through her drapes paints patches of her white comforter a deep gold, shining over her mirror and closet door. 

Everything about the space is warm and inviting. From the rumpled grey faux fur throw blanket and the floral rug placed before her bed, to the melted candles in glass jars and sloppily made porcelain vases he thinks she must have thrown and glazed herself. 

He lowers her onto the bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows haphazardly thrown near the headboard, and firmly kisses her lips— but only for a moment. “Baby, are you—” coffee brown eyes pop open to meet hers. “Are you sure? We don’t have to—” 

“I know we don’t have to.” Her nose wrinkles before she smiles up at him, sun outlining her features. “It might be a little soon, but I’ve wanted this for a while.” 

He grins in return. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“So have I.” 

She narrows her eyes. A jesting glare, a contradictory smile. “And you waited this long to tell me? Disgraceful, Wilson.” 

“I’ll make it up to you.” The pitch of his voice is lowered, he ducks his head so his lips skim the skin behind her ear. He hears the hitch in her breath when his teeth scrape a particularly sensitive spot and shifts his weight so his hips rock into hers. “Over, and over, and over.”

The grind is faint. Barely there. But her mind reels, her nerves spark. Voice a mess of sighs, she asks, “How do you plan on doing that?”

“Guess you’ll have to be patient and see,” he says, but only once he’s nudged his nose against hers. Spared a long look into her eyes. Watched as her tender bottom lip is bitten.

His hands— such, such good hands, all warm and strong and safe— are everywhere. One grips the tip of her chin to mould their lips together, one skims bare skin just below the hem of her shirt. Fingers soft and the press of them gentle, blunt nails run up her side to follow the curve of her waist, tracing the band of her bra and just barely along the underside of a lace cup. 

He tips her chin upward to trail his lips to her throat. She gasps at the feel of a bite, the lap of a tongue just as his fingers pop the button on her jeans, and the muscles in her abdomen contract as he moves lower. 

His hands now push the knit fabric further and further up— slowly, inch by inch— until, in impatience, she lifts her shoulders and strips it away. Chin set just above her waistband, Sam grins at her. His low laughter is more felt than heard. “A little eager?” 

He’s met with a glower as she reaches back to unclasp her bra and toss it aside— and it only makes him laugh harder. However her frustration is merely a thin veil. A veil which has gone sheer the moment she struggles against a smile. 

Though there hasn’t been a loss of the heat in either of their eyes, their movements are now decidedly unhurried. The drag of his knuckles as he pulls black denim and lace the color of marigolds over her ass and down her legs once he’s tucked his shoulder under her thighs. The slow lift of his gaze as he seems to study every inch of her. The path of his lips and tongue from her belly button to her breasts to her lips. And the languid kiss that follows. 

Her leg hooks over his hip and, though she breaks the kiss, she speaks against his lips, “You’re a little overdressed.” 

Feeling him smile, she pushes against him and manages to roll him onto his back so her knees dig into the mattress. A playfully smug waggle of her eyebrows and she giggles— and, oh, he thinks his heart might burst at that. At the sight of her disheveled and a little scuffed from his ministrations. At the sight of her so bare and vulnerable, but so trusting and strong and happy.

He stares up at her, not hiding any bit of wonder or love, as she imitates the way he’d pushed the fabric of her shirt up her torso until he pulls it off the rest of the way. When she leans over him to kiss him once more, his hands cup her face to hold her there, barely registering in his mind how she unbuckles his belt and undoes his jeans. 

Thoroughly kissed silly, she presses swollen lips to his jaw, his neck, shimmying lower until she’s knelt between his legs. A lift of his hips helps her remove the bothersome fabric and she gives him a slow study of her own. That deep shade of his skin— interrupted only by a few lifted scars littered over his chest— seems to glow and reflect the golden shade of sunlight. Early evening sunlight which brightens already sparkling eyes, an already shining smile. 

Just as she makes to lean down a bit, intending to teach him the feel of his hard length down her throat, he sits up, fingers comb through her hair to guide her lips back to his. 

His arm then wraps around her waist and he pulls her into his lap, those soft, deliberate fingers slipping between her legs. The kiss gains further urgency when she moans into his mouth. When she rolls her hips to grind against his fingers. When he slips in a finger, then two, as his thumb moves against her clit and she arches into him. 

A slight lift of her hips only to bring them back down, Sam’s lips are at her neck now. A stroke of his thumb, a curl to his fingers as they’re thrust deep inside her. Her whimper is broken, a little choked as her walls tighten around his fingers. “Fuck. God, Sam.” 

He looks up at her. Stares at the shadow her eyelashes cast over her cheekbones, the plumpness of her parted lips, that wrinkle of tension between her brows. His hand moves faster, impatient as if he can feel the tight coiling in her stomach, the heat slowly creeping through her limbs. 

A whine escapes his throat as she practically shivers at a particularly slow, purposeful stroke of his thumb. “There we go, baby. Come on, I’ve got you.”

She says something. Something she herself doesn’t grasp. Stutters it, stammers it, slurs it.

Arm resting on his shoulders, her nails dig into his back harshly as the coil snaps. All at once. Walls fluttering, pulsing around thick fingers. Heat impossibly higher in trembling legs and tense arms. 

But it’s not enough. 

Not until, a slight burn and quiver in her thighs, she rises to her knees and grasps him at the base. She swallows over the thickness in her throat as she twists her wrist in a slow stroke of her own. Over his answering shudder, she says, “Condom.” 

A steadying breath. “I’ve got one in my wallet.”

He looks over her shoulder to the floor where the dark denim has been carelessly tossed and nearly whimpers.

Then she giggles. Presses herself closer and tilts a little to the left to reach into a drawer in the bedside table. She tears the package and seems to go purposefully slow as she rolls the latex down the length of him, smiling as her hand, loosely gripping him, sweeps back up and he softly groans. “Did you come here with expectations, Sam?” 

“Just precautionary.” 

Another laugh and a skeptical, “Uh-huh.”

So stiff she feels empathetic pain, she sinks down on him with little resistance. A bit of a lift, then down further. 

She, resisting the downward pull of her eyelids, watches him. As his eyes close, lips part, chest falls. All as he sighs. A loud rumble of relief from deep in his chest. 

He hits a point so far inside of her, it very nearly hurts. So thick, she feels she might have been split in two had he not taken the edge off so expertly. 

And he finds himself having to regulate his breaths. Not to choke at the silky feel of her stretched around him. Not to embarrass himself so quickly because it’s been so long. Since he’s had sex, yes— but especially since he’s felt anything near what she inspires in him, from wonderment to adoration, from blissful to so much love. 

“You doin’ okay?” through light laughter, she asks. Her voice is not much more than an exhale and there’s a soft squeeze around him. Not nearly at the strength of his fingers on her hips, though, bruising and stilling as she experimentally rolls her hips. 

She can’t help her smile at the hissed grunt he lets loose, at his own reacting laughter— dry, a little embarrassed. “Gotta give me a second, baby.” 

It’s only a few seconds— seconds she spends familiarizing herself with the heavy weight of him inside of her— before those same hands beckon movement. First by adjusting her legs so she crosses her ankles behind his back, then by pulling her impossibly closer.  

She pulls off of him inch by inch, sighs a moan at the slow drag of him, and whimpers at the snap of his hips, his voice gruff as he grinds out, “Fuck. You feel so fucking good.”

He punctuates the statement with a hard thrust, drawing a gasped whimper from her, and effectively takes control as his hands guide her hips forward and back. One hand, however, slides across her skin to her neck, his fingers curving around her nape and tangling through knotted hair to pull her into a messy kiss. 

She pants against his lips, kiss broken when his hips— definitely showing off— take on a somewhat circular motion as he thrusts. Her head tips back as he relearns the taste of her throat. 

His teeth scrape that spot he’d learned about just a few minutes— although it feels like a lifetime— ago just as his fingers slide between her legs, carefully passing over that bundle of nerves before pressing down fully with rapid movements. 

It’s as if that firecracker heat now sparkles up her spine, back arching into him as her vision seems to white out. Her walls tighten, her moans broken. 

“God, fuck.” His voice is harsh. Deeper than usual as he watches himself disappear inside her, each thrust more difficult than the last with the way she clamps down harder. 

He tries to stall the warmth that spreads through him, tries to hold himself back, but as his eyes trace every bit of her before focusing on the way pleasure twists her features, he thinks he might snap. Voice now verging on revelatory, he breathes, “So fuckin’ good, so perfect.” 

“Sam— Sam, I’m—” 

He doesn’t voice how thankful he is. Doesn’t praise the heavens aloud because fuck knows he wasn’t going to last much longer at all. 

He thrusts deep, hard. Sweet words mere babble against her lips, hips and fingers working quicker until—

His name is a mantra. The mingling of kaleidoscopic visions beneath shut eyelids and alight sandalwood incense nerves a kind of meditation. 

“Goddamn.” He slows but doesn’t stop working his hips against hers. The sounds from his throat blending with hers as he feels the quick squeeze and release around him, pulsing waves overtaking him entirely. “Fuck, fuck.” 

One last thrust. As far as he can go. And he spills white hot into the condom, words a mixture of curses and praises, declarations and damnations. She’d forgotten her own name in the throws of it all until he says it. Repeats it. A confirmation of reality to them both.

Silence apart from jagged breaths. Sunlight depleting, but she finds his skin still glows, eyes are still bright as he stares right back at her. 

It starts as a silent chuckle through her nose, one that is more felt as she shakes than heard. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip in an attempt to hold it in— this odd, messy laughter of happiness, and surprise, and so much love. It bubbles out of her anyway, especially as he grins in return. 

She doesn’t care about the goofiness of her laughter. The hiccupy punctuations liberally littered throughout. Doesn’t care about the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, along the bridge of her nose. The smudged makeup it sharpens. She leans forward and presses a soft kiss to his lips, smiling when he follows her after she pulls away. 

“So are we gonna talk about that condom you brought?” 

A groan born of a snicker, he buries his face in the crook of her neck. His hands follow the curve of her waist, the indents of her discarded bra against her back and shoulders. Touches meant to memorize, rather than rouse. His thumbs sweep across her ribcage. “Told you. They’re just precautionary.” 

She gasps. Entirely too dramatic. “‘They’?” Her nails dig into his shoulder a little mean when he refuses to loosen the strong arm around her waist. 

He immediately lifts his head to glare at her and she glares back, far more convincing than he could ever be. “‘They.’ ‘They’!” 

She pokes her fingertip into his side. Once, then twice when his hold on her only tightens. “Did you have a big night planned, Sam? Huh?” 

Twice more and he sighs, pushes off the bed to roll the two of them over, smiles at the surprised squeak falling from her lips. He slips out of her as he holds himself above her. “You never know what might happen.”

“At the movies?” she asks. He’s sure he would’ve been able to hear the grin in her voice even if he hadn’t seen it stretching swollen lips. Another jab to his ribs and he hisses. “Just in case we fucked at the movies?”

In one hand, he grasps both of her wrists and pins them against the mattress. “Try it now.” 

Though his grip is loose enough for her to simply twist out of, she glowers up at him. But the glimmer in her eye, the way her toes trace up his calf stirs something still burning inside him. Tone deadpan, she murmurs, “Oh, no. What a terrible position you’ve got me in. What will I do now?” 

Though night falls quickly, draining the room of light but not desire, she sees her bedroom walls turn pink, her comforter now the hue of strawberry bubblegum. 

It seems to blossom more and more each night they spend tangled together beneath her sheets. On the kitchen counter after an early morning trip to the farmer’s market. In her car when the film is just too boring and she kisses him just too fucking much to stay in that fucking theater any longer. Against the wall beside his front door after he’d vanished with that new super-friend of his to chase down a ghost story on a busy highway. 

A pink balloon which pops before summer. Wilted scraps cast a shadow over cotton candy skies, browning once-green grass now gone unwatered. The sun burns tense skin and she fans herself with an informational brochure from the plastic pockets mounted to the wall. 

A summer like the frosty can of lemon-lime soda she drops after having just purchased it from the Hall A vending machine. Barely contained, set to combust at the first purposeful touch. Bent. Entirely wrong. 

She watches as new counselors take over Sam’s sessions. Watches as regulars fall away. Watches as CNN pundits berate a different Steve Rogers than the Please, just call me Steve who drops by monthly with a fresh donation check signed by Tony Stark— a Steve allegedly semi-responsible for the destruction of Sokovia. Watches as the story shifts to one of hope in the glowing hands— and on the wings— of new recruits. 

He stands outside her door that August evening. Shadows under his eyes, a scar below his hairline. “I can explain,” is his greeting. 

The green of a freshly mowed lawn stains her white canvas sneakers. Humidity leaves a sheen of perspiration over the high points of her cheeks. One of the Mickey Mouse band-aids the VA jokingly stocks in the break room first aid kit pasted over her knee. He stores the sight away, something nice to hold onto. “Can’t you always?”

He follows her inside, she knows she shouldn’t allow it. 

He stands too close, she knows she shouldn’t allow that either. “It’s been two weeks. You’ve called maybe twice. You won’t tell me where you’ve been.”

And she believes him when he says, “I can’t tell you where I’ve been. I told you, some things are classified.” 

“Jake Tapper on CNN says you’re moving to New York,” her voice is as small as she feels under the warm, safe hands he holds her face— and every bit of her heart— in. 

There’s little anger in the eyes she watches him with, almost none in fractured words. And he’s fully aware he’s undeserving of that. Of her neverending kindness, that small smile hidden under the long-suffering frown she’d offered upon seeing him in the hall, the home she provides. 

But not the warm apartment with the gauzy drapes and mismatched dining chairs— it’s the heart she somehow hasn’t taken back. Neither through the Steve needs me to find someone explanation which is meager at best, nor the I’ll be back as soon as I can goodbye each time he gets even the faintest lead on the assassin who owes him a new steering wheel. 

He isn’t sure why she’s stuck around. Or why she’s allowed him to walk in and out this way. He sighs and gives her the most detailed explanation yet, “Things are a mess upstate. Steve, Natasha, Stark… They’re scrambling. Trying to get everyone who can help together to avoid another Sokovia.” 

“You could’ve asked my opinion.” She wishes she could sound more stern to even herself. But her voice is a plea and overhead lights do for her filled eyes what the sun does for the ocean. Blinding glitter. “I wouldn’t have said no.” 

“I wanted to tell you in person. Talk to you about it face to face.” 

Though he’s made his decision. Made it the second Steve asked. And she knows it.

Because this is the same Sam with ribbons, balm, and hope. The same Sam who knows there is no liberty to hold when it isn’t made available to everyone. The same Sam who does what’s right no matter the personal cost— and what’s right is helping, simply because he can. 

She forgets that, beyond the barren walls and slowly emptying shelves of his home, summer still scalds bare shoulders and lemonade made from concentrate is still being sold by five-year olds from plastic lawn tables. Too busy boxing up his life. Too tired from nights— and early mornings— marked by urgency and premature goodbyes. 

It isn’t like the first time. Tears punctuate laughter. He holds onto her tighter and thrusts into her harder. Leaves marks as if reminders of himself he knows will physically fade but hopes remain emotionally. Each kiss an attempt to imprint the shape of his lips on the brightness of the soul she’s already embroidered his every touch onto with sharp needles and gilded thread. 

On the eve of his departure, he’s a sinner in confessional. Tells her everything as he rolls them over, a delicate entangling of their fingers while the movement of his hips is anything but. “I love you,” is said against her lips, repeated when he hears her breath stall. But this time as he looks into her eyes. “I love you. I have for so long.” 

He finds himself unable to stop. Strung out on each moan and gasped breath of hers and how long it might be until he can hear it again. How long it might be until he can feel her tighten around him again. “You’re so good. My sweet, beautiful girl. I love you so much.” 

She can’t speak. Not around the knot which has tightened itself at the base of her throat. The knot which only lets his name through, only lets please’s and profanity wrapped in the voice of an angel through. 

She loses count of how many times he says it. Only remembers the different inflections each time. From revelatory and amazed, urging and pleading, to firm, as if it’s indisputable fact. And that, coupled with the way he angles himself to drag against her clit with every bit of push and pull, causes her to fall over the edge twice— nerves overshot and almost painfully sensitive. 

He wants a third. Needs to give her a third. Something to remember him by. So his fingers shoot down between them, thumb hooked between her legs. Even as she grasps his wrist. Her eyes shut, her back arched and head thrown back. 

“You have one more in you,” his voice is rough. Slurred syllables, dragging consonants. His free hand grabs her chin, an attempt to physically bring her gaze back to his. But her eyelids remain closed. “Look at me.”

Eyelashes with remnants of the day’s mascara flutter up toward her brows. Hazy. Yet through it all— through the sparks shooting up her spine as she comes for the third time and through the tears which seem to have found a home above her lashline throughout the past week— she sees him. She’s always seen him. She always wants to see him. 

So as he paints her pulsing walls in warm white ribbons and tells her he loves her for the nth time, she breathes, “I love you, too. Also have for a long time.” 

A beat of silence. Shallow breath held. And he smiles. Silly and warm, like winter in summer. “And you waited this long to tell me? Disgraceful, baby.” 

She rolls her eyes— well-meaning and fond. A giggle that makes him lose his mind. Thumbs brush feather-light over his cheekbones. “Come back to me in one piece and I’ll make it up to you. Over, and over, and over.” 

He makes her a promise that night. 

One he echoes the next morning and every subsequent night they manage to catch each other on the phone. The promise which becomes a goodbye whenever, after a day or two of personal leave as far as SHIELD and the Avengers are concerned, he’s set to take her heart back to New York with him.

“I’ll always come back to you.” 

---

[gins-potter]

What are your winx and specialists tattoo headcanons? Who would have tattoos and which one would they have?

Heyo, as usual sorry this took me a little bit but I wanted to properly organise my thoughts and find reference pics as well. and tbh I could end up coming up with more stuff but this is what I have so far.  (under the cut because it ended up kinda long af and tagging @catlliecal​ because she also sent an ask asking for this).

Bloom:

Ok so my headcanons for Bloom’s tattoos have changed a bit over the years 

but at the moment I imagine her with a fairly large hip into thigh, full coverage piece of the Great Dragon

she chose it’s position because i imagine oritel is probably a conservative old man when it comes to tats (even tho i can so see miriam also having a dragon tattoo) so she puts it on her thigh so she can easily cover it by wearing a long dress for royal events

it would probably be in black and white but I can see the Dragon being intertwined with some flowers, probably Daphne flowers for her sister (which you can see in the two images on the right) and I can see those being coloured a pale pink kind of like in the middle reference pic

and because this is the magical dimension i imagine it’s been spelled so while it stays confined to the one area, it can move a little bit and change positions

so because bloom is both a basic bitch and completely extra i totally see her having more than one dragon tat

her second one would be a lot smaller and probably be a lot more simpler in design compared to her thigh dragon, so something more like the top two images in the second graphic

also in all black but maybe spelled to breathe red fire?

and it would also be enchanted so it can fly around her body, and unlike the bigger dragon it’s not constrained to any area - it’s favourite places to be are flying in circles around her wrist or sitting on her left collarbone over her heart

the other two pics in the second graphic are just older ideas i had for bloom’s tattoos, i was convinced for ages she would have it going down her back like the one on the left (i might eventually give this tattoo to either miriam or daphne) and i just love the design of the one on the right so i briefly considered her having like a shoulder/half sleeve dragon

Flora:

all of flora’s would be in colour i think and she would definitely have that sort of water colour effect on them that’s really popular now

her first two are similar in design to the pic on the left and she would have them on either side of her torso, sort of upper rib area, to the side/just underneath her boobs and they’re like a mirror image of each other

these ones probably wouldn’t be spelled to do anything special

the one on her back is similar in design to the pic on the right, but i can see it also being drawn more like a full tree

the writing down the centre would be her and helia’s family names (because i can definitely see them hyphenating when they get married) and then on each leaf is a name, first helia, then each of her children

i’m playing around with the idea of this one being spelled to change with the seasons, the writing would always stay the same, but the leaves change colour and eventually fall off during autumn and then grow back in the spring.

Layla:

for the moment i can actually see layla only having one tattoo

and that’s this yin yang/opposites fish design that you can see in the reference images (they’re all more or less the same i just found too many cute photos)

it’s actually based on a mosaic in the andros castle that layla loves, and she gets it because it brings her peace when she’s feeling upset or anxious about anything

they would be all in white, one fully white, and the other just a white outline

i think the fish would probably be on the inside of her forearm so she can see them and they would be spelled to swim in circles around each other

i can see her maybe getting nabu’s name somewhere after he dies but i’m not 100% sure where she would put it

Musa:

musa’s are actually the hardest to pin down for me just because i can see her having A Lot

like at least one full sleeve and maybe two

one sleeve would be mostly made up of the music notes for a song her dad wrote for her mother before she died and that would run down most of her arm and would be decorated with birds and flowers important to melodian culture (like the flower top right)

like bloom’s hers would be mostly in black with a few pale red and orange accents here and there

the music notes would be spelled so that when you touch them they play the song

her other arm is more just a collection of stuff she thinks is cool or pretty like the bottom two pics or the boxing art below

and i can eventually see her completely filling her arms so the tattoos spill onto her back

Stella:

stella in my opinion just has two

they’re very minimalistic designs, plain black, and on the inside of either elbow

she has a sun for solaria on one side and a moon for celestia (her mother’s home realm) on the other side

the moon tattoo causes quite the controversy when she gets it because some solarians think it isn’t right for their crown princess to show such strong ties for another realm but stella refuses to remove it

they aren’t spelled to move or change or anything but they do have the ability to glow a bright gold at night

Tecna:

like stella, tecna’s tattoos are rather minimalistic as well

but unlike stella, tecna’s are very meme-y

literally

tecna gets a QR symbol on the inside of her upper left arm that when scanned is actually a rick-roll

and she eventually develops a spell for it that allows the QR code to change so that it takes you to whatever meme tecna currently finds the most hilarious

her other tattoo, which is on her right forearm, is written in binary code and no one actually knows what it says

they can never get a straight answer out of tecna about what it is, and everytime someone asks her she tells them something different, so they assume it’s meme-y like her other one

but actually it’s a short sappy quote that reminds her of timmy but she’ll never admit it to anyone

(don’t ask me what that quote is i haven’t decided yet)

that one has a simple spell on it that makes it look like someone is typing out the code over and over again

kind of like musa i can see tecna having more tattoos than this, i just can’t decide what they would be, but i think they would all follow the same simple, minimalistic design

Specialists:

it was hard for me to find reference pics i liked for the guys so i’m just going to give a brief description of some of the tattoos i think they would have

i don’t know if i’ve written about this on tumblr before, but i have a long-held headcanon that heros have a big tattoo culture:

getting their first tattoo is part of their graduation ceremony from red fountain

they’re encouraged to get tattoos that remind them of their family/friends/loved ones - some yada yada about remembering who they’re fighting for when facing evil forces

and it’s very common to honour fallen team members by getting a tattoo of their name or something that reminds them of the person

Sky:

sky’s tattoos are mostly on his chest and back

his graduation tattoo is an eraklyon prayer of protection that runs down his spine

he doesn’t get any other tattoos after that until nabu dies which is when he gets his friend’s name on his ribs (right side) and that’s where he adds other names of fallen friends/team-mates

later after he and bloom get married he gets her name on his left pec (right over his heart the big sap) and then adds his kids names beneath it after they’re born

none of sky’s tattoos are spelled or enchanted

Brandon:

brandon’s grad tattoo is a list of his siblings names on his left forearm and Stella’s name on his right arm

eventually, like sky, he also gets his kids names added to stella’s

all his name tattoos are individually spelled to burn really hot when that person is in trouble

brandon struggles to decide for a while where to put nabu’s name but eventually decides on the centre of his back because he likes to think that wherever nabu went after he died, he’s still there in spirit watching his back

Riven:

riven shocks the fuck out of everyone when he graduates and gets the red fountain school motto (”live with courage and die with honour”) tattooed in giant fuck off lettering across his shoulders

they all figured he lowkey hated red fountain and maybe he did at first because come on he’s a rebel without a cause at what is basically a military school, of course he kinda hates it there

but he also acknowledges that red fountain more or less turned his life around as well as brought him into contact with the people who eventually he comes to regard as family (much more than his biological one)

like musa i can see riven getting a bunch of other tattoos just because they look cool and putting them all over his arms, chest, and back

but his right bicep would be reserved for tattoos of his fallen friends

unlike sky and brandon he doesn’t get names however, but instead gets symbols, the first being a likeness of nabu’s staff after he passes

Helia:

helia i think would have all of his on his back because he understands the importance of having them but also doesn’t need to see them every day

his grad piece is kind of unorthodox because he gets his favourite line of poetry to remind him that there’s still beauty in the world even when he’s facing evil

later i feel like he would get something like outstretched bird wings just below it

and under that he gets nabu’s name in really nice script

Timmy:

timmy is probably the least prone to tattoos of the group and he has to think for a long time on what to get for graduation

and people assure him that he doesn’t actually have to get one just because most everyone else is

but eventually he decides to get a small coloured blaster on the inside of his elbow

when he was in freshman year at red fountain he was lowkey ashamed when all his classmates took to using swords almost straight away while he preferred using his gun because he thought it meant he lacked the physical strength and courage to use a short range weapon

but he slowly came to realise that it wasn’t a weakness, but just that he had different strengths to his friends and classmates and that wasn’t a bad thing

so he decides that’s a good thing to remember

and when nabu dies again he debates whether or not to get a tattoo commemorating him but ultimately decides he will and gets ‘his name written near his blaster

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream IV

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count:

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable; It feels like butterflies fluttering or sparks flying or whatever other cliche Iris could think of. It’s like slow-dancing all alone after dinner in a half-cleaned kitchen, easy and intimate. It feels like warm honey on her tongue, slow and sweet and overwhelming. It’s pillowtalk, baby; lay your head on my pillow, say, "oh-ooh"; way you're touchin' my body, say, "ooh-ooh"; i ain't lovin' nobody but you; you, you, you make me, the kind that starts as whispers in the dark and becomes deep, lazy sex with only the moon there to light the way. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Comfortable

Set the tone, when it's just me

And you alone, never lonely

In the room, breathin' slowly

Oh, you know me, yeah

At a quarter to one on the next Sunday afternoon, Iris finds herself sitting in her living room, waiting for Barry. Her week has been a relatively good one. She thinks they might be over the hurdle of a new semester—learning the personalities of each other—and Dr. Jamison had been on top of her own game, which meant Iris had been able to as well. She’d spent her Friday night watching Bridgerton, well, as much as the hazy cloud of blue diesel had allowed her to, and on Saturday, she’d spent several hours at Jitters typing up a new story for What a Life You’ve Lived. This story had featured an older woman who, years before Loving v. Virginia had made her marriage legal, had lived in relative obscurity with her white husband, dating and laughing and loving in secret.

Yeah, she’d shaken her head at that too.

She doesn’t know where they’re going today, so she’s dressed in a casual emerald green wrap dress, with a deep v-neck and long sleeves, that hems just at her knees. She opts for flat sandals just in case. His number is still unused, though she’s taken the steps to lock it into her phone. She can’t tell why she doesn’t call him, can’t make out why she’s, apparently, too afraid to just reach out to the man. She doesn’t know what they’re doing, outside of this date, or what his goal is. Linda would definitely describe her as being too chickenshit to find out. She obviously doesn’t disagree.

She’s decided that it’s casual, because aren’t most situations these days casual? And it makes more sense than the thought that lives in her head; the alternative doesn’t fit as neatly in her mind. The alternative is, is a little chaotic because that would add layers to the way he grins at her, and to the way he oscillates between awkward and bold when he talks to her, and to the way that she can never completely get the feel and taste of him out of her mouth. The sensation makes her think of runny ice cream, sweet and sticky and dripping, so much so that before she knows it, her hands and her face and her heart are all covered in it.

The doorbell rings.

Iris jumps up to answer the door and he’s standing there, in black jeans and a gray t-shirt, and she’s always struck by how good he looks in such casual outfits. His hands are stuffed down into his pockets and a grin is etched onto his face. He leans into the door when it opens, shoulder on the frame.

“Hi, beautiful.”

The compliment is unexpected and she turns away to grab her bag, to hide the blush that warms her cheeks, even if he wouldn’t be able to see it on her skin.

“You ready?” he asks.

She nods. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They are about fifteen minutes away from Lake Lanier when Iris realizes that’s where they’re going. The ride is pleasant. They don’t talk much outside of a few sentences regarding how their weeks were. Instead, they listen to some rock music Iris has never heard before and Iris alternates between staring at the road and staring at the intricate flowers tattooed on his arm. She recognizes some of them, roses and chrysanthemums and sunflowers, but there are far more that she doesn’t, especially when she remembers that the bouquet goes all the way up and over his shoulder. She decides she’ll ask him about it later.

The trail for the lake comes into view and Barry turns his Jeep onto a barely paved road, his pale fingers caressing the wheel as he expertly maneuvers the vehicle. He drives past where Iris and Linda and their classmates spent countless summer afternoons, past the trail that leads to where her dad had taken her and Wally camping when, at 12, Wally had realized that he was the only of his friends who’d never been.

They come to a stop, moments after Iris wonders if this might be where bodies get hidden, next to a towering oak tree. They’d lost the trail about a mile back and Barry’s four-wheel-drive was a match for whatever grass and rock and mud they rolled over.

Iris steps out of the Jeep and looks around, momentarily in awe. Out this far, the lake looks serene in a way she’s never seen before. It’s quiet, but it isn’t. Even in a midsize city like Central City, there is always something happening; there is always lights and noise and music. Here, the sound of nature takes the stage: the clicking buzz of cicadas and the chirping songs of birds and the gentle wave of the lake. The look of it is surreal, the pale blue of the water and the vibrant dark green of the trees, those slowly giving way to the oranges and reds of fall.

“Wow,” Iris murmurs.

“It’s great, right?” Barry says.

She turns and finds him with his trunk open. She walks around back to see him gathering picnic supplies, a woven picnic basket, a thick red gingham picnic blanket, and a cooler. There’s also another blanket to stem the feel of the wind so close to the lake. She grabs the picnic basket as he handles everything else and she follows him as they set up a few feet away from the bank, on a soft patch of grass to cushion them.

“I wasn’t expecting a picnic,” Iris tells Barry as she settles on the blanket, taking off her shoes and setting them on the edge.

“No?” He grins over at her before resuming his task. He’s unpacking the basket, pulling out saran-wrapped sandwiches, containers of fruit and vegetables with dip, and ziplock bags full of popcorn. A look in the cooler shows her some waters, several beers, and an equal number of mini wine bottles.

“Where’d you think I was taking you?” he wonders.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Like a movie or something.”

He grins, this time slower; and it shouldn’t, but it makes Iris think of the last time she’d seen him, slow and heated on her living room couch.

“That can be our next date,” he says.

“Who says you’re getting another date?”

He looks up at her and it’s the same one he’d given her when he asked her why she didn’t call, the expression a touch calculating. His head is tilted and his eyes are darting all over her face. She wants to turn her head, turn away from his gaze, but she can’t. Because she thinks that she’s hoping he does find what he’s looking for her, that he can help her to find it too.

“You didn’t say that we were going on another date” he says, finally. “But I have fun when we're together, Iris, and I, I think that you do too."

He goes back to pulling items out of the basket, this time a container full of cookies, and Iris starts grappling with whether or not she can take what he says at face value. It’s a flaw, she knows, the doubt that seems to come far too automatically. She wishes that she could blame it on something tangible—on parents who hadn’t been there or boyfriends who’d lied or friends who didn’t have her best interests at heart. That isn’t the case, though. Her mom had been there as much as she could and she had never had enough boyfriends for it to really make a dent. Linda has never even thought about doing her wrong, and her family might be the very best part of her.

But everything in her body catches at the thought of this man being someone she likes, someone she adds to the rotation of people in her life, people who’ve only become occasional brunches and too quick phone calls. What would it feel like for this man—and his smile and his touch and the way that she feels like she knows him when she doesn’t—to become a part of that rotation, until the discomfort of the entire situation makes him taper off altogether?

“Iris?”

She blinks out of her daze at the sound of Barry’s voice, looking down to see him holding out two bottles in front of her, one a lager from a local brewery, the other a chilled bottle of Chardonnay.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“Yes,” she answers him quickly. “Just thinking.”

“About me?” he asks, his grin wide, cheeks faintly pink, and the look of him is so adorable that Iris shakes her head as she grabs the wine from him, failing to curb the smile that lifts the corner of her mouth, failing to keep the thoughts, the whenever i get around you, i lose it; lose it, from seeping in.

“Let’s play twenty questions.”

Iris is halfway into her mini-wine bottle when Barry voices the suggestion. For the time being, they’ve been merely sitting, drinking, basking in the day. The weather is gorgeous and Iris likes that the only thing to distract her is the constant tweeting of the birds, or the soft splashes of the fish in the lake, or the steady sound of Barry’s breathing.

“Okay,” Iris agrees, “but twenty is a lot.”

“Ten, then?” he hurries to say. “Five each?”

He shifts on the blanket so that he’s lying down on his side facing her, head propped in his hand. Her own back is propped against the tree, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle.

“You first.”

“Alright.” He pauses, looks up towards the sky as if he’s thinking, and then asks, “What’s your favorite book?”

She is surprised by the question, though she isn’t sure what she thought he might ask.

“I’ve got a lot of favorites,” she says, because it’s true. Books, stories, became an escape early on, from a home that had been too fragile, that had felt like it’d come crumbling down with only a mere gust of wind. “But one that still sits with me is Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. I read it for the first time in high school.”

He smiles at her. “Tell me about it.”

“It’s about a woman named Janie, who was raised by her grandmother who’d been enslaved. Janie’s a romantic; she wants freedom and love. But her grandmother wants her to have security. She’s got a series of suitors: an old man who treats her like the help, essentially; a man who becomes mayor of this all-black town, who only props her up as this thing, this ornament that must look and act like he wants her to; and Tea Cake, a younger man who’s passionate and selfish and possessive. And in all of it, Janie is discovering herself, exploring what she does and doesn’t want. She steps up and she fights back and she learns to dismiss what others have to say about here.”

Barry hums. “She reminds me of you,” he says, “this Janie woman.”

He catches her gaze, holds it. Iris catches the way his eyes track the features of her face. She can never find it in her to shrink away, almost like she’s beholden to the force of him.

“Why?”

“She seems passionate; fanciful. Alluring.”

She’s never wanted to blush as much as she does around him and her face feels warm, tight. She swallows from her wine bottle, still looking at him.

“You are,” she starts, and then shakes her head.

“I am…?” he urges, mouth grinning, eyes wide with mirth. He reaches out and grabs at her ankle, fingers grazing her skin. Her skin tingles beneath his fingers, a slow rush of heat flooding through her. Apparently, Barry has discovered a new erogenous zone.

“Something else,” she answers, finally.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s what you meant.”

She looks out at the lake for a brief moment. “It’s not, but I haven’t figured out what I do mean yet.”

He’s silent for a beat. “Okay. Your turn,” he says and Iris is grateful for the reprieve.

“What’s a country you’ve never been to that you’d like to visit?”

A wistful smile curves his pretty mouth. “That’s easy. Ireland.”

“Yeah?” she asks softly.

“It’s where my mom's family is from,” he continues, touching at her ankle even as he looks away from her. She wonders if he realizes he’s even doing it, tracing along her ankle and then up the length of her calf and back down again.

“My mom was born here in Central City,” he explains, “but her parents were born and raised in Ireland, moving here when they were a couple of months pregnant with her.” She knows she doesn’t mistake the melancholy in his voice. “We’d been planning for a trip after I graduated high school. Since dad was gone, it wasn’t as easy to save up for a long summer trip like that, but we were working on it, before she was killed. I’m still working on it.”

He gives her another smile, this one tinged with hope, and the urge to comfort him is strong. But she knows that there is no real comfort for missing a mother, so instead, she moves from her spot against the tree. The movement confuses Barry, who has to move his hand away from her ankle, but his frown clears when she lies beside him, her head on his shoulder.

“I’ve always wanted to go to Italy,” she tells him. “My best friend Linda’s parents live in a large immigrant community. People from all over live there. It was like heaven for me when I really started getting into writing; so many stories. Obviously, not everyone wanted to tell their business to a 15-year-old, but Mrs. Bianco had no qualms about it.

“Mrs. Bianco has three sons, relatively the same age as me and Linda, one right after the other, but no daughters. So for much of high school, we were her surrogates. My dad worked a lot and so did Linda’s parents, getting their restaurant off the ground. So we’d go over to Mrs. Bianco’s after school to do homework and she’d feed us all these baked goods, cannolis and these things called bombolinis, which are like doughnuts but better. And she’d tell us all these stories about growing up in the Italian countryside and going to college and meeting her husband before they came here, the excitement of it all. She made it sound so beautiful.”

Barry reaches over and touches her, long fingers touching lightly at her arm before they wrap around her wrist. He rubs at the skin on the inside of her wrist. The move feels like a deliberate way for Barry to maintain contact, but also like more. Like the last time he’d come to her apartment, and she’d felt the touch to her ankles at the very core of her, she feels so now. It’s subtle, but it’s there, in the slight clench of her belly, in the low throb of her pussy. It’s been a long time since she’s been with anyone like this — cause I feel so comfortable with you; you make me comfortable with you—easily aroused and just as easily comforted. Her last relationship had been with a man named Eddie, a graduate student she had met early in her senior year of undergrad. He had been sweet, but they had both been so busy all the time that they had felt like work too. With Barry, there’s the newness that comes with a relationship, the giddiness at talking to him, being near him. But this seems like something else, something greater, something that tells of why she can’t stop thinking about this man.

“Why did you invite me over,” Barry asks, “that Friday night?”

She exhales shakily, a little unnerved by him. “Well, you asked me to dance?”

“You invited me over because I asked you to dance?” His tone is incredulous and she laughs.

“No, I mean. It’s the club. People just dance, right? And here you come, rocking those hips unlike any white boy I’ve seen, and then you walk up and ask me if you could dance with me. I thought it was polite.”

Barry rolls over so that he’s long against her side. He moves his hand from her wrist to press on her belly, rubbing his thumb lightly. He plants his mouth right next to her ear. “If you think I’m polite, I’m doing something wrong.”

She catches his eyes. “I don’t know,” she says, smirking at him. “Maybe you are. Maybe you need to work on that.”

She lets the taunt hang, for just a moment, and then she rolls over to kiss him. She licks at his mouth, turning the kiss more passionate in seconds. Their positions change, Barry rolling her onto her back.

“I think I can make you beg,” Barry whispers against her mouth. “I was always told that was impolite.”

Iris doesn’t get a chance to say much else because suddenly, Barry is between her legs, his head dipping down under her dress.

“Barry what?”

As is his annoying habit, he doesn’t respond to her right away. He pushes her dress higher, exposing her belly and the bright yellow lace of her panties. She inhales sharply at the feel of his breath on her belly before he plants a kiss there.

“Ask for it.”

She catches onto his game immediately and her eyes flash. “No.”

His answer is a grin and then, without much preamble, he dips his tongue into her belly button. The action makes her hips raise automatically, and he brings her back down by gripping her hips. He continues down, tongue laving at her skin, fingers running up her torso and down again until they hook in the top of her panties and he starts to pull them down.

Iris can’t describe what it is she’s feeling at the moment. He’s only just touched her, only just planted a few sloppy kisses on her stomach. But her skin is tight with anticipation, her breathing deeper as she waits to see what he’ll do. She wonders, rather absently, if they’re currently being watched by any of the animals she hears living out here by the lake; but then Barry widens her legs and opens her up with the tips of his index and middle finger and she stops thinking altogether.

He holds her open for a long moment, just looking, just breathing against her, and she tries to hold still until she can’t, wiggling her hips a little, hoping it makes a finger slip inside of her.

“Barry…”

“You’re ready to ask for it?”

He drags his gaze away from her sex in order to meet her eyes. They’re the glassy that lets her know that he isn’t as unaffected as he’s pretending to be. That momentarily strengthens her resolve, knowing that maybe he really does feel like this too, that she’s not the only one losing her head in this sexual haze that seems to be moving way too fast and way past normal.

She shakes her head at him.

“No?” he questions. “Not even if I do this?”

Fingers still holding her, he licks her, a long swipe of his tongue. She inhales again at the feel of his wet tongue, lets it go in a noisy exhale when he does it again. And then again and then again, and Iris starts to rock against him, trying to get more of his tongue or his fingers or something. She quivers above him, her thighs opening and closing, and she feels like a butterfly, fluttering and alight, hovering over a precipice.

“Shit, ” she moans.

And then, he stops. He fucking stops.

“Barry…”

“Or this?” he continues, and pushes his fingers in. It’s harder than she likes, more like a stab, and she jerks her hips.

“Softer,” she tells him, and he obliges, moving slower, caressing instead of fucking into her. “ Yes, like that.”

Barry hums around her. The vibration makes her hips rock up, and he circles her clit with the tip of his tongue, sucking on it. He looks up at her again. This is the face she wants to remember for the rest of her days: his dazed eyes, his flushed cheeks, his wet mouth.

“Ask me for what you want, Iris,” Barry licks his lips. “Beg me, baby, please.”

Her heart is pounding and she wonders how a game of question and answer got her here. But they are here, she’s here, quivering with the need to come, with the fact that Barry looking up at her like this, begging her like this, makes her feel more desirable than she’s ever known she could.

“Can you eat me, Barry? Please? ”

Iris has never seen a dirtier smile. “With pleasure.”

He really starts to eat her, then. He kisses at her lips, tongues her down in a sloppy, wet tongue kiss that makes her cream drip out of her, drip down her thighs. She rocks against him, closing her knees around his head when the touch of his tongue to her clit gets to be too much, opening herself wider when wants his tongue back in her, licking and tasting and fucking her. Needing something to do with her hands, she grabs at his hair, pulling at the strands, scratching at scalp, at the back of his neck. That is how she comes, she doesn’t know how much later. But it’s like that: with Barry holding on to her hips, face buried in her slick; with her knees opening and closing, with her hips bucking, with her begging him, “please, Barry, fuck, yes, please, Barry. ”

It takes her a while to come down and when she does, she says the first thing that she can think of. “God, you’re so goddamn annoying.”

Barry bursts out laughing into her stomach, arms wrapped around her.

“What is something that you want out of a relationship?”

They’re sitting up and eating now, Iris several feet away from him so she’s not tempted to wrap her thighs around his face again. She’s chosen the turkey sandwich on wheat bread and a handful of grapes. The sandwich is really good and Barry must think so of his own handiwork because he’s already done with one and unwrapping another. Although, Iris thinks, he likely did work up an appetite.

She can’t say what makes her throw out the question. The skepticism of starting something with him is still there, but laughing after sex like that, coming from sex like that, well. Iris can name that she might be a little whipped by this smooth-talking, world-class fucking white boy.

He chews a bite of his sandwich and swallows before he turns to her with an answer.

“I’m a simple guy, I think. I work a lot; crimes wait for no one so I would want someone who understands that. But in my time off, I like to do things like this, and festivals and running too, so someone who likes that too.” He wipes at his mouth with a crumpled napkin. “But out of a relationship in general, I guess I want companionship, laughing. Communication and patience. Fidelity.” He shoots her a grin. “Good sex.”

Iris rolls her eyes, but she returns the smile. “Did you have that in your last relationship?”

“Ah,” he interrupts, “it’s my turn for a question, Iris.”

She throws her own balled up napkin at him. “Fine. Shoot.”

“What do you look for in a relationship?”

She shoots him a glare.

“What?” he laughs. “It was a good question and I want to know.”

“Okay. Um,” she takes a swig from her newly opened wine. “Whew. I don’t know that I’ve thought about this in a while.” She bites at her bottom lip and lets out a long breath. “A lot of the same things you said, I think. I do love laughing, even if I can get lost in my own head angst sometimes and I’d like someone who realizes that. I’m pretty busy, between school and work and What a Life You’ve Lived, but I make time for the people I want to make time for and I would wish my partner would do the same. Fidelity is also important to me too; communication. I love music and dancing and movies so someone who’d want to do those things with me.”

Barry wriggles his eyebrows. “Good sex?”

“A plus, for sure,” she agrees.

That gets her to thinking about another question she has, one she’s more hesitant to voice. She could get an answer she likes, one that keeps the mood they’ve got going here. And the vibe right now is so good. She can’t remember a date like this, one so simple. Eddie had been courting careers in law and so much of their time together had been spent out at fancy dinners while he’d tried to smooze whoever he needed to that week. It’d been fun sometimes, to see what stories she could get out of the politicians and law officers, but that’s not a date, at least it wasn't to her. During undergrad, dates meant studying together in the corner of a library until one or both of them got the urge to make out behind a shelf of books. And high school shouldn’t even really count. But here, today, this feels like a date. It feels like butterflies fluttering or sparks flying or whatever other cliche Iris could think of. It’s like slow-dancing all alone after dinner in a half-cleaned kitchen, easy and intimate. It feels like warm honey on her tongue, slow and sweet and overwhelming. It’s pillow talk, baby; lay your head on my pillow, say, "oh-ooh"; way you're touchin' my body, say, "ooh-ooh"; i ain't lovin' nobody but you; you, you, you make me, the kind that starts as whispers in the dark and becomes deep, lazy sex with only the moon there to light the way.

But she steels herself and risks asking anyway. “Barry, do you, uh, have a lot of sex, then? A lot of one-night stands?”

Barry’s eyes are wide when he looks at her. He’d been cleaning up their trash, putting napkins and wrappers and empty bottles in a small grocery bag and the question makes him look up sharply. It makes her want to retreat, but she’s already put it out there and she’s extremely curious if she happens to just be one in a line of girls that this surprisingly suave man has beguiled with easy laughs and mind-blowing sex.

“I'm asking because you are, you’re good,” she mumbles, (but, understatement), “and of course, you don’t have to answer me but I just… I'm wondering if…”

She trails off when he stops what he’s doing and crawls over to her. He hovers, making her lean back a little in order to see all of his face. It’s a pretty face, the dark eyebrows over those eyes, the lips that she knows get even pinker when they’re dripping with her juices, the faint moles along his cheeks and jaw that doesn’t detract.

“There are no other girls, Iris,” he tells her, and he seems so sincere as he looks straight into her eyes, as he places a hand on the side of her so she’s clouded in the clean, citrusy smell of him. “I know that we’re just hanging out and obviously, you do what you want, but no, I… I’m a one woman kinda guy. Going home with you was an anomaly, one I certainly don’t regret. But it’s not a thing I do. I haven’t been with anyone else since my last relationship months ago.”

She stares at him, hoping that she can believe him. “Alright.”

“Okay?”

She nods again, this time with a little smile. “Yeah, okay.”

Neither of them asks their final two questions. Barry says that it’ll give them something to talk about when he sees her again. Iris just thinks that today’s been a whirlwind of a day and it’d be nice not to be on the spot anymore. The ride back to town is just as easy as the ride down. Easy listening plays from the radio—'cause I feel so comfortable with you; you make me comfortable with you; i feel so comfortable with you; you make me comfortable with you; you make me—and Iris settles into her seat for the half-hour drive, full and sated and comfortable. She must doze off because before she knows it, Barry is pulling into the parking space next to her Kia and he’s opening the door for her.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” he says, smiling down at her as he grabs her hand to pull her out of the seat.

“I’m sorry for falling asleep on you.” She stumbles a little as she follows him up the stairs and he grips her hand tighter.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her. “I take pride in the fact that I’ve put you to sleep every night we’ve been together.”

She doesn’t even pause as she yanks her hand away and slides past him to her door. “You’re such a dick.”

Barry chuckles, sidling up behind her as she sticks her key into the lock. He gives her a soft kiss on the skin between her neck and shoulder.

“I thought you said I was polite,” he breathes, before nipping at her skin. She closes her eyes at the feel of his mouth on her, the light nips of his teeth, the slick glide of his tongue behind it. He pulls up all the way behind her and wraps both of his arms around her waist.

“You are,” she moans when one of his hands glides down and settles hard over her crotch. “Even when you’re telling me to beg, you say please.”

He licks a longer stripe across her skin, pulls a larger patch into his mouth, cups her pussy in the palm of his hand.

“Barry…”

“But you called me a dick, Iris. Am I polite or a dick?”

She arches into him. “You’re a polite dick.”

He stills against her and it takes a moment for Iris to realize that he’s laughing again. He’s got such a nice laugh, deep and bright. “Damn, Iris.” He turns her around, still with a wide grin on his face. He leans down and kisses her, pecks her lips once, and then twice, and then a longer one that curls her fingers around his neck. He doesn’t immediately let go when he pulls back.

“I want to ask one of my last questions.”

She licks her lips, chasing the taste of him. “Okay.”

“Am I in the running?” He asks the question clearly, though in a voice just above a whisper. “Am I someone that you could want to be..”

She doesn’t need him to finish the sentence to say what she’s feeling, even if she’s terrified of what it might eventually mean for her. “I really think that you might be.”

“It’s a might I’ll take.” He nods at her door. “Good night, beautiful.”

She turns to go into the apartment. “Good night, Barry.”

The door is almost closed when he calls back. “Hey, Iris?”

“Yeah?”

“Call me this time.”

You make me

Baby

You make me

You make me

[dotuindex]

Merla HCs for the soul

General Culture HCs ⭐ Her home planet is called Orulla ⭐ Ever seen that part where Zarkon says “no one knows where she’s from”? That’s because her and her people are from a place akin to VLD’s quantum abyss in terms of how the place functions. Trying to get in is a death wish so the place has yet to be discovered. ⭐ Her race is all one sex, and their secondary sex characteristics are more inline with that of a human female ⭐ But if you went there you might not notice bc gender expression is all over the place ⭐ Gendered pronouns are a wild concept to her bc “why is the gender of the person in question at all relevant, that’s like having a different pronoun for each hair color” ⭐ They do, however, use different pronouns depending on what they’re talking about. They have pronouns used for people, a word similar to “it” for inanimate objects, and another pronoun used for animals. ⭐ Like in Spanish, their language has formal and informal versions of the word “you” ⭐ The only reason they design their armor to overly highlight their bodies is because they realized it freaks other people out to fight an “all female” army and they get embarrassed as fuck when they get their asses beat by a bunch of ladies ⭐ Way more lax about nudity than a lot of other planets. The idea of modesty is more applied to one’s behavior, like their humility, rather than their clothes. ⭐ The most popular colors/materials for clothing is dark green and purple, red, silver, and gold. ⭐ Most of her people have darker hair, ranging from a black or purple color through magenta and dark pink to red. Eyes are typically the same color as the hair, and skin ranges from gray to a desaturated dark blue color. Most have a gray-blue complexion ⭐ Popular makeup trends are lipstick a similar shade to the skin, but darker or more vibrant, and killer eyeliner. ⭐ Her species is actually incapable of blushing, but after discovering it in other species they found it absolutely adorable and now blush is a popular makeup product. ⭐ Body mods are also very much A Thing in her culture. Piercings, tattoos, scarification, tongue splitting, all sorts of things, and they’re very popular. It’s sort of a right of passage, if an unofficial one. Once someone becomes an adult it’s sort of expected to get something done. ⭐ On that note, getting body mods are also seen as highly inappropriate if the individual who has them isn’t an adult. Something as simple as piercing your ears is jaw dropping to them if you’re a kid. ⭐ On her home planet, people aren’t considered adults until age 20 ⭐ Her people’s life expectancy is around 100-110 ⭐ Her people are also known for doing some funky fun hair stuff. Lots of elaborate braids, curling, and such. Shaving down parts of the head and even the whole head used to be really popular, and is now making a comeback in their mainstream culture. Shaving the entire head is seen as a sign of rebellion or mourning, depending on the context. ⭐ Animal motifs are The Thing in their fashion, particularly birds atm, as they are associated with power and royalty thanks to Merla’s affinity for them. So feathers, things shaped like wings, things with wing patterns on them, etc, are in. ⭐ The average adult of their species is about 6′1.5

Merla HCs ⭐ Age 23 at debut ⭐ 6′0 ⭐ Call her vulture ugly and she will fight you ⭐ Her bird is named Onyx ⭐ She raised that bird from the minute he hatched ⭐ Her telepathic abilities only extend to making people want to do things and getting a vague idea of what someone is thinking about at any given moment. She can’t truly force someone to do something and if she uses too much power she gets migraines. ⭐ She gets along better with animals than with people ⭐ Big Lesbian ⭐ Kala from Voltron Force is her older sister but Merla thinks she died a long time ago ⭐ Merla also has a sister 8 years younger than her named Dyla ⭐ Merla herself actually has a rare pigmentation issue. Her whole color palette is much paler than normal. She’s like an albino of her species in a way. ⭐ Merla has multiple piercings, including several in either ear, a septum piercing, and snake bites. She used to have a tongue piercing but then she got her tongue split and it’s kinda hard to have both ⭐ As for tattoos, she also has more than one, but some are more important than others. On her chest she has vulture wings around an “angel eater,” a flower that, in her culture, means “don’t get too cocky, ya lil shit, you’re still mortal.” On the inside of her right bicep she has an old proverb, “the river goes, and with it the stones.” It means that, yeah, people can make you promises, but ultimately as life goes on things could change and the only person you can really count on is yourself. ⭐ Heart breaker. She doesn’t like getting into actual relationships, she finds them... messy. So when she finds someone she actually likes she dips. And as a Queen needing to one day provide an heir, this is troublesome. ⭐ Merla had a good relationship with one mother and a bad relationship with the other. One, Arella, was a kind hearted woman, who died due to complications having her 3rd child. Merla calls her “mother.” Her other parent was a cold woman who was only interested in herself. Merla simply refers to her as “that woman” or by her first name, Zenaran. ⭐ Dyla was born prematurely, but even if she was carried to term she still would have been a sickly child. To this day she is a very delicate girl, who Merla will protect at all costs. She stands at 5′5, four inches shorter than what’s average for her age. ⭐ Merla herself had complications relating to her birth, but Dyla got everything she had, then some, and dialed up. ⭐ Unlike Dyla and Merla, Kala had no issues in regards to her health and birth. Not only that, but she hardly resembles her other two sisters. This has led to rumors that perhaps the three sisters don’t all share the same two parents, but that Kala is actually a half sibling to Dyla and Merla. ⭐ For several reasons, Merla refuses to acknowledge these rumors and has made no effort to look into them. ⭐ Dyla has not left the safety of their home palace in many years, and hasn’t been off-planet since her toddler years. ⭐ Kala and Merla were close. Kala expected the very best of her little sister, and always pushed her to succeed. ⭐ Mama Arella was a usually kind woman who lacked a backbone, but it’s rumored that she slept around outside her marriage and Merla, despite not really wanting to think about it, also has suspicions in regards to her mother’s faithfulness. ⭐ Arella was monochromatic, having black hair and grey skin. She looked like an old school cartoon character come to life. ⭐ Zenaran, much like her wife, wasn’t very faithful. However, she didn’t bother to hide it. As the one of royal blood, she was the one of higher status and could pretty much get away with whatever she wanted. Plus being an execution happy tyrant also helped. ⭐ Zenaran had long, dark red hair and blue-grey skin. ⭐ Kala is 2 years older than Merla and bore a striking resemblance to Zenaran, with dark red hair and blue-grey skin. ⭐ Dyla, age 15, is a bright and kind girl, despite her rough start to life. She has white hair and dark grey skin. ⭐ Dyla and Merla have an odd relationship. Merla is, on one hand, very much devoted to her little sister, but on the other, dismissive of the younger girl’s thoughts and wishes. She sees Dyla as fragile and incapable of taking care of herself, thus needing constant supervision and someone to make decisions for her. Dyla, though she understands where her sister is coming from, grows increasingly frustrated. ⭐ There is only one person alive who knows the origin of Merla’s powers, and it’s the woman who Arella had an affair with. ⭐ Dyla also has powers like Merla’s, but aside from the Muses teaching her how to rein them in, she doesn’t really know how to use them.

Muses HCs ⭐ The Muses of Norn weren’t kidnapped, they came with Merla willingly ⭐ She sought them out in hopes of learning to control her telepathy ⭐ Now it’s just. Merla and her squad of pretty girls. Sappho and her gal pals. ⭐ The Muses of Norn are named Thetis, Sura, Ceralean, Penelope, Era, Josephine, and Melody. ⭐ Thetis is 22 and the leader of the muses. She stands at 5′5 with blue hair and eyes, and a light brown complexion. She is associated with leadership and honorable conduct. ⭐ Sura is Thetis’s younger sister, age 21. She has redish-pink hair and blue eyes and is 5′6. Her complexion, like her sister’s, is light brown but dotted with freckles. She’s the muscle in their team. She is associated with sportsmanship, combat, and strength. ⭐ Ceralean, age 21, functions as second in command. She’s the analytical type. She’s ghostly pale, with dark blue eyes and hair, standing at 5′4. She is associated with academia. ⭐ Penelope is the oldest at 25 and is the mother hen of the team. Blonde, brown eyes, stands at 5′11, and has a lightly tanned complexion. She is associated with domestically, crops, and the changing of seasons. ⭐ Era, age 23. She has red-brown hair, dark pink eyes, dark brown skin, and stands at 5′7. She is associated with liberation, freewill, and is considered the protector of young women. ⭐ Josephine is the youngest at 17. She’s a little bratty, but they love her anyway. She has black hair, brown eyes, light brown skin, and stands at 5′2. She is associated with childhood, rebirth, joy, and is considered the protector of children. ⭐ Melody, age 19, is the quiet, soft one. Stands at 5′5 with blonde hair and green eyes, and a fair complexion. She is associated with the fine arts and humility. ⭐ Note that they haven’t aged since the became muses, so they’re all technically much older than their physical age. ⭐ The Muses were once mortal women, who ascended to a sort of deity-type status. ⭐ Although the Muses cannot age or die of old age, they can still be killed. ⭐ Thetis, Sura, and Ceralean have a strong, familial type bond, despite the fact that the 3rd isn’t actually blood related to the first two. Sura and Ceralean butt heads often, and Thetis has to play mediator. ⭐ Sura and Era tend to be a bit more loose canon than the other muses. They get into all kinds of trouble together. ⭐ Ceralean is rather protective of Melody and in turn, Melody has a bit of a crush on her.

[loki-hargreeves]

Once upon a dream - Loki x Reader Ch. 2

[Ch.1] 

Warnings: angst, mentions of amnesia, vulgar language Word Count: 7,1K Chapter Summary: Loki has been captured. Now it’s Y/N and the Avengers’ time to figure out his schemes. Y/N learns more about Loki in her dreams and she begins to suspect they’re more than just dreams... Author’s Note: So sorry it took me this long! Please enjoy this chapter! :) Listen to: Once Upon A Dream Playlist

THIRD POV

[CH. 2: Last night I dreamt]

~  Last night I felt real arms around me

          No hope, no harm, just another false alarm  ~

“Is there something you’d like to tell us, miss Y/N?” Fury stormed into the room in which Y/N had been taken into questioning for the moment they returned on the helicarrier. How ironic, she found herself in yet another interrogation room, treated like a villain despite the promise of being a hero for capturing Loki. She hadn’t done anything wrong! Fury didn’t sit down. Instead, he stood by the end of the table with his palms rested on it as he leaned towards Y/N. It was an intimidating position. She was beyond exhausted and it only fueled her rage when they trusted her so little.

“No,” She made it short and clear.

Fury clenched his jaw and it was obvious that he didn’t trust her. “Mind telling us why Loki knew your name?”

“He must’ve used his magic,” Y/N came up with a simple answer. Loki seemed to know the others too, which he now said was because of Barton, the agent he kidnapped.

“So, he used magic to know about your amnesia too, huh?” Fury just had to pour salt into the open wound. It’s like no one cared about how she felt. They spoke of her past like it was nothing and she hated how much it upset her.

At this point, she didn’t know what she could say to defend herself. “You’re making assumptions, Fury. I don’t know anything, I swear.”

That seemed to be a blow for the tall man. He sighed and then stood up straight, walking around the small room deep in thought. He stopped by the mirror, which Y/N knew was a two-way mirror. He faced her with his back, and she ended up staring at the material of his black coat. “Whatever this is, we will find out about it,” He promised after a moment of silence. “And for now, Loki only wants to speak with you. You’ll be stationed by his cage where we can keep an eye on both of you.”

Was he serious? Y/N felt her heart drop as she heard her sentence. Loki would only taunt her further and possibly drive her mad. If she had known what her agreement would lead her into, she would’ve never accepted the job offer. Somehow, it felt like they hated her even more now than before.

Knowing that there was no use in fighting Fury, she silently agreed with him. The door opened and two guards marched in, ready to lead Y/N to the wolf’s den. She walked with them, tiredly dragging her feet across the floor. As they walked through the helicarrier, she felt eyes burning into her soul. They walked past a lab and Bruce looked at her through the Plexiglass. He looked at her with sympathy in his eyes. Great. His pity was the last thing she needed. 

Finally, they reached the place where Loki was held. It was a large space and in the middle of it was the cage, originally built for someone else. Loki was sat on the bench in it and he looked at Y/N as they arrived. He seemed to have expected her arrival.

“We will bring you your necessities soon. Don’t leave without consulting someone first,” One of the agents told her before leaving her alone.

Machines were buzzing and beeping all around them. Footsteps could be heard from the corridors. It was cool in the room which made clutch onto her arms. At least, she wasn’t put in the cage with Loki. She was grateful she could stay on the outside.

Their eyes never left one another as she walked closer to him. She didn’t stop until she was as close as she could get to him. Despite her exhaustion, she was curious. Loki wasn’t someone she wanted to mess with, but it was clear they had a connection. “They told me you wanted to speak with me.”

“Oh, yes. A little company wouldn’t do much harm here. It’s quite an…untasteful place, I must admit,” Loki mentioned as he looked around. He didn’t have anything in his cell. It reminded Y/N much of her room at the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility; cold and empty. 

Y/N knew that wasn’t the real reason why he requested to speak with her. She sat down on the floor, tired from the long day and she leaned against the cage. It was far too tempting to just close her eyes and fall asleep. Even a short nap would’ve done good for her. Instead, she fixated her eyes on Loki and she remembered the strange thing that happened when they touched. They were in her dream again. It made it even stranger when Loki seemed to recognize the place. No matter how much she tried to think about a solution to the mystery, she didn’t know what connected them. It was infuriating.

“You’re deep in thought,” Loki pointed out the obvious.

If it wasn’t for the heavy surveillance in the area, she would’ve gladly mentioned their connection. But now she was terrified of getting caught - having Fury’s eye on her back and all. Although she didn’t believe she had any part in this godly mess, she was afraid Fury and the others would think so. They would accuse her of being a beast and surely, she would return to the facility for the rest of her seemingly endless life.

Loki knelt down so he was on her level. There was only the thick glass between them now, yet his presence didn’t make her uncomfortable. “What’s on your mind, Y/N? You look anxious. Is it your…friends?” Loki smirked as he said that, continuing his use of long pauses between words, enjoying the dramatics. He seemed to know that no one trusted her. 

Did it amuse him?

“You’re a pain in the ass, Loki. I’m stuck with you until we find the tesseract,” Y/N tried to focus on her mission. It was pointless now, but she figured she could try to get something useful out of him.

Loki shrugged, “I’ve sent it off, Y/N. You’ll never find it with my assistance. I think you’re stuck with me.”

“Too bad,” Y/N rolled her eyes. Her eyelids were getting heavier by the second and she felt a yawn creeping up on her. Without giving her actions much thought she rested her head against the glass, and she crossed her arms on her lap. Maybe, just maybe she could close her eyes for just five minutes? No one could be mad at her for that, right? That’s when her yawn ripped through her mouth and Loki definitely noticed.

He sat down on the floor and tilted his head curiously. “Tired?”

“If you don’t have anything useful to say, I’d rather not speak with you,” Y/N told him a little harshly. She couldn’t help herself in the moment.

“You’re definitely cranky. Perhaps you should sleep it off?” Loki suggested. Did he want her to sleep? Y/N looked at him and she noticed something strange about the god. He didn’t seem to be mocking her, despite how mocking his tone was. He had a rather soft linger in his eyes when he looked at her. Somehow, she just knew they had met before. Did he know about her dreams?

That’s when alarms rang in Y/N’s head. Loki must’ve known about her dreams. He must’ve had them too! Did he suggest her to sleep because he knew that he could speak with her in her dream? It was a shot in the dark, but Y/N hoped that it was true. That way, if it worked, no one could hear them.

A smirk curled on her face, “I just might.” If they indeed had a dream connection, it would be both interesting and a little terrifying. To have a god in her head wasn’t anything she had ever expected.

“Sweet dreams,” Loki wished her, and he got up, leaving her on the floor. He paced across the round cell to his bench and sat down, keeping his eyes on the woman who nearly passed out in exhaustion a few feet away from him. He didn’t take his eyes off her even when her eyes fell shut and her breaths got heavier and longer. She was finally asleep, just like he wanted her to be. That’s when Loki closed his own eyes, relaxing as well as he possibly could in his situation. He didn’t show it, but he was overwhelmed. He had not expected to run into Y/N on this mission of his. It had changed everything.

 Birds were chirping peacefully, flying across the sunny sky. The river was running wildly, untamed by nature. Y/N felt damp grass beneath her bare feet. She was in the middle of an open field, surrounded by flowers that smelled sweet as summer. The scent of the colourful petals relaxed her even more. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was or even what she was doing, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the beautiful day on the summery fields.

“Hello, Y/N,” A rather familiar voice caught her attention. Y/N turned around and noticed she was wearing a white dress. In front of her stood a man she had seen several times before. She looked at his tall figure, his silky raven black hair, his pale skin and the details of his gear. He wore a black uniform that was topped off with golden details and a long, emerald green cape. He looked like royalty.

Something told her that she knew him, but she couldn’t quite put her tongue on his name. The more she tried to think about it, the less relaxed she felt. Suddenly it all came crashing back to her.

That was Loki!

It was astonishing to stand there and realize she was dreaming. The realization helped her see just how bizarre the dreamworld was. Her eyes scanned the rose painted sky and she smiled as she saw how unnatural it looked. The clouds looked like white paint brushed on a pink canvas. How bizarre it was to be lucid, especially when Loki was there. How was it possibly that he got into her dream? Was it because of his godlike gifts? It must’ve been.

“How is this possible?” Y/N asked him, feeling oddly calm. Something deep down told her that she could trust him. Besides, how could he possibly hurt her in her dream?

Loki walked closer to her, gently brushing his fingers on the roses that surrounded them. “Your mind is quite strong, Y/N. This place is peculiar and quite vivid,” He avoided her question.

“You wanted me to sleep, you wanted us to be here. Why?” She tried again, hoping to finally get some answers out of him.

That’s when Loki faced her, and his smirk and mocking gaze were long gone. As their eyes met, a sense of familiarity enveloped her. Her mind told her that she had looked into those eyes a thousand times before. If only she could remember.

“I wish you could remember,” Loki admitted with a much quieter voice.

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“It’s not that simple, Y/N,” Loki explained tiredly. It was so strange that he seemed to know the answers she craved. He, the man she was supposed to call her enemy.

Y/N felt brave in her dream, so she stepped closer to him. Loki didn’t seem to mind her presence so near him. He didn’t seem to mind it when Y/N put her trembling hand on his wrist, wanting to see if something would happen again. This time, nothing magical happened. Her fingertips rested on the cool skin of his wrist and that was all. “How do we know each other? Why have you been in my dreams for so long?”

Loki looked at her achingly. “Everything used to be much simpler before, but the world has changed. I wish I could go back, Y/N, but something has come up. Therefore, I think it’s important I don’t bring you into this.”

“Into what exactly?” Y/N inquired, desperately.

Another sigh left Loki’s rosy lips, “If I tell you, I must know you’re on my side. You can’t possibly work with these people who only use you for your power. I can’t speak if you’ll turn against me ag-” he stopped himself before he could finish that word. It pained him to be quiet.

Her stomach dropped. She felt sick. Did he imply that for her to find out, she would have to betray the people she promised to help? Truthfully, Y/N didn’t care about them, but they had the power to throw her back into a cell to rot into. If she betrayed them, she would never get another chance to prove herself worthy of freedom.

But if she joined Loki, maybe, just maybe she could get the freedom she wanted? To be freed from the questions that had haunted her for decades, to live in a world with answers and the opportunities to do whatever she pleased. Could Loki truly offer her that or was he manipulating her so she would ease his escape?

“I wish I could trust you,” Y/N admitted to him after a while.

To her surprise, Loki put his large hand on her cheek, caressing her skin ever so gently. Her eyes widened by the gesture, but she didn’t mind it. In fact, it felt nice. Was this another trick? Did he have the power to allure her into his grasp or did she genuinely enjoy his gentle touch? It felt like her heart yearned for it, for more.

“Trust yourself,” Loki told her. Whatever he meant by that; she would figure it out eventually. Right now, she only wanted to melt against his touch. Although she couldn’t remember him, she was now certain that they shared a moment in the past. Otherwise, Loki wouldn’t be this sweet. She wouldn’t react to his touch like it was an instinct. It was all so natural.

She hadn’t felt this way in years. It made her eyes sting painfully as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Y/N was happy and sad at once, desperate, and hopeful. There was conflict raging within her.

Their moment couldn’t last forever. Y/N’s eyes snapped open and she found herself back in the helicarrier, on the cold metal floor by Loki’s cage. A familiar face caught her attention. It was Thomas! Seeing the guard there nearly made her forget about her more than bizarre lucid dream. He stood by her with a blanket in his hands and a smile on his face. “I thought you’d want this,” He said kindly, “You looked cold.”

“How…why are you here?” Y/N asked him curiously. Her voice was still raspy from sleep.

“I requested to be transferred here after they decided to move you. Fury approved,” He gave her the short story as he threw the blanket over her.

Y/N appreciated it. She had felt a little cold and a blanket would offer her comfort. She wasn’t going to sleep now. Memories of her dream with Loki flooded into her mind and she felt her muscles tense.

Why on earth did she lean into his touch like that? Her blood turned to ice in her veins as she remembered just how comfortable she felt. What was that all about?

“Are you okay?” Thomas wondered.

Y/N investigated the cage where Loki was. The god of Mischief was sat on the same spot as before and now a cold look painted his face. He looked nothing like he did in her dream. Back there he seemed to kind, so gentle. Now he frightened her. His creepy gaze sent cold shivers down her spine. Was his cold exterior an act or was he truly the monster everyone said he was?

Brushing Loki off her mind, Y/N looked away as she stood up, wrapping the blanket over her shoulders. “I’m okay, Thomas. Just worn out. I didn’t expect this much from this mission.”

“I see. It must be nice to be somewhere new though,” Thomas assumed she was happy to be out of the facility. It was half the truth.

“Yeah, I mean I haven’t really gotten a chance to enjoy this yet. Fury doesn’t trust me,” She admitted.

That seemed to remind Thomas of something, “Right! He asked me to bring you to a conference room. Apparently, you should get to know your teammates better. I heard that Thor’s here.”

Thor? Oh, yes. Y/N remembered that the god agreed to come with them. She was surprised that she nearly forgot about that. “Lead the way,” Y/N told him, trying to seem excited when in reality she felt lost. All she could think about was Loki and his mysterious offer.

Just before they left, Y/N turned to look behind her shoulder to meet Loki’s gaze. It was so intense that it made goosebumps rise on her body. Whatever connection they had that allowed them to escape in a dreamy world, it was real. The look on Loki’s face said it all.

                  Just as promised, Thomas lead her to the others. When they entered the conference room, they were in full conversation already. Y/N knew she was supposed to be excited to get a chance to talk and interact with people, but now all she felt was anxiety. Would they think of her as a traitor?

“Any luck on finding the tesseract?” Natasha asked Y/N, being the first one to notice her. That made everyone else turn to her as well, eyes full of curiosity.

Y/N smiled a little bit as she walked further inside, “No. He said he sent it off and he doesn’t know where it is.”

“He told me so as well,” Thor let Y/N know. At least Loki was consistent with his story. Y/N noticed how oddly Thor looked at her, as if he was studying her. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes spoke louder than words. Y/N decided to ignore that.

“Do we have a plan?” Y/N ignored Thor and tried to focus on the mission.

“I’m going to talk to Barton once he’s in the right head-space,” Natasha explained. “Maybe he can recall something, anything that could be useful.”

That’s when Bruce Banner spoke up. Y/N hadn’t heard much from him yet, “I’m trying to study the scepter, but I haven’t figured out how it works. Tony and I will continue looking into that,” he let everyone know. The scepter was nearby. Y/N could feel its strong presence in the room. The scepter had negative energy packed into it, which was bizarre. Although it looked like metal and rocks, it felt like it was sentient. As odd as it was, Y/N believed that the scepter had the potential to reveal a lot it they could just dig into it.

Steve turned to look at Y/N, “You should try to speak with Loki again. Maybe Thor could help you. He’s his brother after all.”

They had clearly done much of the talking when she wasn’t there. It almost felt useless to even stand in the conference room.

“Find out why he killed 80 people in two days,” Natasha muttered clearly out of spite. It was understandable that they didn’t like Loki. Y/N shouldn’t like him either, but she couldn’t help but feel for him. He hadn’t shown any signs that he wanted to be Y/N’s enemy. It was hard to hate someone without a reason.

“He was adopted, but he’s still my brother. I will find out what this is all about,” Thor assured them. He just had to mention he was adopted. Yes, it was a surprise, but it was strange of him to mention it. Was Thor ashamed of Loki? It sure seemed like it.

“Maybe you’d like to see him alone first? He might speak with less distractions,” Y/N suggested, now facing Loki’s brother. He was tall and muscular too and a little intimidating, to be honest. But she wasn’t afraid. She had faced much worse and it seemed like Thor wasn’t a threat anymore.

He let out an empty laugh, “I don’t know how much he’ll talk to now. Things have changed since he left.”

Since he left? “What do you mean?” She inquired, curious to learn more about how Loki ended up on earth. Everyone else seemed just as keen to learn more about him.

Thor seemed tense as he prepared to explain the situation. Clearly, the past was a burden on his shoulders. “I think Loki is doing this to get revenge on me. We had a pretty nasty fight on Asgard. I let him go. I thought he was dead, but I was wrong,” Thor started dramatically. Would Loki truly go through so much to get revenge on his brother? Before anyone could question Thor, he continued, “When I caught him, Loki said something odd. He told me about worlds that he saw in his exile. The person I spoke to was so distant. It’s like Loki is far gone. Someone showed him these powers, but I do not know who.”

“Are you saying that Loki isn’t working alone?” Tony wanted it confirmed.

Thor faced the man of Iron heavily, “I think so, yes.”

“But who could he possibly be working with?” Y/N thought out loud. She tried to connect this new information with everything Loki had told her. He did seem like he was holding back but why? Was he threatened? Had he made a deal too?

Thor gave Y/N half a smile, “Let’s find out, shall we?”

 The moment after Thor and Y/N walked away from the others, Y/N sensed a shift in Thor’s demeanour. At first, she blamed it on his nerves. After all, he was going to talk to his brother who he had thought dead. Then Thor spoke to her, which confused her even further, “Have we met before, Lady Y/N?”

She narrowed her eyes and glanced at the golden locked man – god, beside her. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?” Thor inquired.

“I’m sure I would remember if I had met you,” She faked a smile, deciding not to mention her issue with her memories. Surely, she hadn’t met Thor before. After all, he wasn’t even from Earth. Then again, Loki seemed to know her so why wouldn’t Thor?

Thankfully, Thor let it go. “You just remind me of someone. Must be a coincidence.”

They finally reached Loki’s cell, which filled Y/N with excitement and grudge. Perhaps now with Thor’s aid, they would get some answers. Hopefully, answers that would steer away the attention from her. She hated being treated like a criminal.

Loki glanced at them, almost as if he knew they were coming. Y/N let Thor go ahead and she followed behind closely, growing more nervous with each step she took. If Loki said one thing wrong, it would cost Y/N a lot. For now, she could only hope that Loki wasn’t in the mood to ruin her time.

“You’ve come to see me, but I assume it’s not for a heart-to-heart conversation,” Loki stared at Thor, raising his dark eyebrow curiously as he spoke.

“You assumed right,” Thor pulled his lips into a thin line, imitating a smile. It was clear he wasn’t happy at all. “As I said earlier, if you give up this wicked plan of yours and come home, we can put it all behind us.”

Somehow, that seemed to offend Loki. The proposal of going home didn’t make Loki look relieved or excited at all. Y/N crossed her arms over her chest as she stood there and studied the two otherworldly men. She was intrigued by their past. It wasn’t easy not to wonder how they ended up here, like this.

Loki walked around the cell, taking long yet silent steps. His hands rested on the small of his back and he seemed deep in thought. “You’re wasting your time, ‘brother’. Your blindness won’t let you see the deeper truth,” he finally spoke, spitting out the word ‘brother’ as if it were poison on his tongue. Then he glanced at Y/N, but luckily said nothing – yet.

“Then help me see!” Thor seemed frustrated with Loki. His words didn’t make sense at all. “Let me help you. You don’t have to anything you’ll regret.”

“Who’s to say I’ll regret anything at all?” Loki snapped angrily. He was so different now. Earlier, he seemed calmer and even kinder when he had spoken to Y/N.

Thor turned to face the woman who had been quiet so far. There was a shadow of desperation in his blue eyes. Was he hoping for her to say something?

Y/N felt the pressure on her shoulders, so she decided to try something. “Are you working alone?” She asked Loki, dismissing the conversation he had with his brother.

Loki faced her and some of his anger seemed to lift. “Ah- someone is asking the right questions.”

“You could be more straightforward,” Y/N narrowed her eyes and surprised herself with her attitude. She hadn’t intended to sound so harsh, but she hoped it would work on the god of mischief. Loki smiled. He seemed to like the sudden change in her attitude. Thor was quiet - for once - as he anticipated Loki’s reaction.

As Loki waltzed closer to Y/N, so close that the wall of his cage stopped him, she grew tense. Despite his witty smile, Y/N noticed something strange about him. His eyes were so sad. He looked at her longingly, which confused her beyond understanding. It almost convinced her that whatever façade he put up here had a deeper meaning. As they stood close, Y/N noticed other subtle details; Loki’s skin was pale and she could swear it looked bruised. His eyes were full of broken veins and whenever he put weight on his right leg, he seemed more cautious, almost like he was in pain. Something was wrong.

The silence dragged out too long for Thor’s liking. He couldn’t understand why Loki and Y/N were staring each other down. Thos has a lot on his mind right now. Seeing Y/N didn’t help at all, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe anything. It was merely a coincidence that she was so much like someone he knew long ago. Right now, Thor wanted his brother back. “Answer her question, brother.”

There, he had to ruin the moment. Y/N was frustrated because she felt like she was getting a grip on him. As soon as Thor spoke, Loki’s vulnerability disappeared. “If you truly want to find out, I’m sure you’ll find another way to reach your answers. Maybe punch your way through it all,” Loki suggested coldly.

“Don’t make me come in there!” Thor growled. Although he tried to sound angry, Y/N knew he was upset. Thor clearly cared about Loki, but their relationship had struggled a lot.

“Oh, I wouldn’t stop you,” Loki tried to rile him up.

To Y/N, that seemed like a terrible idea. She looked at them closely and felt a yawn creeping up on her. She tried to hold it back but failed miserably. Her hands covered her mouth, but they noticed her weariness.

“You’re boring her, brother,” Loki mocked Thor and turned his back to them.

“I know you’re not working alone, Loki. Whoever showed you these things…whoever they are, I will find out about it. This isn’t you-“

“I’ve changed!” Loki defended himself.

Then it was quiet.

Thor turned to Y/N and he sighed deeply. They didn’t have to say it because it was so clear. They weren’t going to get their answers from Loki this way. But it had been worth a try.

                         Fury had been kind enough to give Y/N a room where she could rest in. He had found Y/N with Thor and told her that he had seen the surveillance tape. According to Fury, it would be better for her to sleep in private than on the floor right next to a god-like ‘villain’. Y/N was more than grateful, although the room was small. It had a bed and a small nightstand. It was more than enough.

She took a shower, which was much needed and then she finally got under a blanket – the same blanket Thomas had given her. He must’ve taken it from the room. The moment Y/N’s head hit the pillow; she fell asleep. It was as if someone had turned off a switch. She drifted to her dreams with one thought in her mind, would she see Loki again?

 The sound of a kettle whistling on the stove caught Y/N’s attention. She was in an old-fashioned kitchen, sitting by the open window on a blue chair. She took her eyes off the small garden outside and hurried to the stove, taking the kettle off it, careful not to burn her fingers. There were two teacups on the counter with honey in them already. The golden goo had spread evenly on the bottom of each cup. Silently, Y/N poured the hot tea into the cups and then put the kettle away. With a spoon, she swirled the tea and watched how the honey disappeared from sight. It smelled amazing, like lemons and ginger.

Everything felt so peaceful. She was happy, but she couldn’t recall why.

Y/N grabbed the cups and made her way through the house like she had done it several times before. The house was so familiar. Even if there were no lights on, she would’ve surely known her way around. Eventually, she reached a large living room. The ceiling was high and the walls were pale green. On the couch with a book in hand was the man she dreamt of nearly every night. The sight of him warmed her heart. “I made tea,” Y/N told him and walked closer to him.

The man looked at her lovingly, putting his book away as he gladly accepted the hot drink from her. “Thank you, my love.”

Somehow, his voice made her stop in her tracks. He was really familiar. It felt like they had always known each other, but right now it was different. She looked at him and her head began to pound. A pained expression appeared on her face as her headache grew worse dangerously fast.

“Are you alright?” The man wondered. He put his cup away, hers too, and then he caught her hands in his. “What’s the matter?”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she remembered. That was Loki! She realized that she was dreaming again. Learning how to be aware in her dreams was peculiar. It all felt so real, like a memory. “Loki,” She breathed out his name. Why was he acting like that? The last time they met in a dream, he seemed fully aware of his surroundings too. Now…he was different.

“Do you need to lie down?” Loki asked her, clearly worried. He didn’t wait for an answer as he gently tugged her down to sit on the emerald couch. Y/N was in shock as she let him pull her with him. They sat so close and he didn’t let go of her hands. It felt nice, but she was so confused.

“Loki, what are you doing?” Y/N muttered, hoping that he would return to his usual self, whoever that was. This didn’t seem anything like the Loki in the cell.

He burrowed his dark eyebrows together and put his large hand on her forehead. “What am I doing? I want to make sure you’re alright, love.”

Love?

Y/N tried to think why he was acting this way. That’s when a thought summoned her. Perhaps she had dreamt herself into a memory? Maybe all her dreams with Loki were memories? As she looked around, she noticed just how old all the furniture was. The house barely even had electricity! It looked like it was ripped straight from the early 20th century.

She felt chills running all over her skin as she noticed more details. It had to be a memory! She was sure of it. That’s why Loki was acting so strange. But if it was a memory, did it mean they used to know each other? Were they close? It sure seemed that way. Why else would Loki hold her and call her such sweet things?

The longer she thought, the more freaked out she felt. This couldn’t be good.

“Y/N, darling. What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” Loki snapped her out of her thoughts.

By now, she felt tears pricking her eyes. Her headache didn’t go away completely, but it wasn’t that bad anymore. Something was happening to her, but she didn’t know what. She was shocked and frightened. Getting a word out of her mouth felt impossible.

Loki looked at her with pity when he noticed that she was on the verge of crying. Instead of mentioning it, he wrapped his arms around her shaking body and concealed her into a loving hug. Y/N rested against his chest and his cologne made its way to her lungs. It was such a familiar scent and it did manage to calm her down just a tad. When he hugged her, she blinked, and a few tears rolled down her face. The unknown was taking a toll on her. She felt guilty for enjoying this hug. It was the most comfort she had experienced in a very long time.

Loki’s hand rested on the back of her head, pulling her even closer to him. Despite how terrified she felt, she wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck. It felt like a reasonable thing to do.

“I’m here. Tell me what’s bothering you once you’re ready, I won’t rush you,” Loki cooed softly as his other hand drew patterns on her back. Even that felt good.

Y/N swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat as she tried to find her voice. It was a dream, so she figured that she couldn’t do much harm if she questioned this dream Loki. He must’ve been a creation of her lost memories. Perhaps, deep down she had these memories? Maybe this way she could reach them again?

“Who am I?” Y/N whispered, unsure which words she should use. At the end of the day, this was a conversation between her and her subconsciousness.

Loki backed away just enough so he could face her. He seemed deeply concerned. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I don’t…I don’t remember anything, Loki. I don’t even know what I am,” More tears escaped her eyes in a stream down her cheeks. All the pain, the paranoia, anxiety, everything seemed to return to her. The worry she had carried for decades, it was all there now. Feeling it all at once was difficult. It hurt. She hated crying, but she couldn’t help it.

Loki pulled her close again, letting her cry against his chest. When he placed a kiss on the top of her head, Y/N seemed to relax. That was Loki’s cue to speak, “You know more than you dare to admit, dear. Deep down, you’ve always known it. You might think you belong to the place you’re trapped, but it’s the furthest thing from the truth.”

She listened to every word he said. He was right. She had always known she was different than other human beings and at times she believed she wasn’t even human. Could it possibly be that she was something alien? It would make a lot of sense if that was the case.

“If I’m not human, what am I?” Y/N dared to ask him.

“All I can say is that you and I aren’t that different,” Loki replied mysteriously.

Loki was Asgardian. Could it mean that she was Asgardian? How come she didn’t remember anything about it? Why was she on Earth? That didn’t make any sense.

Loki seemed to notice how confused she became. “A lot had happened in your life. You started a new chapter on Midgard and encountered tragedy. It will take time for you to heal and remember but be patient. One step at the same is more than enough.”

Why was Loki being so damn mysterious? Was it him or was she having a conversation with her own subconscious? Y/N felt impatient, she wanted to remember more. She wanted to know more. She wanted to believe, truly she did, but she wasn’t sure if she could. It was frustrating. All she wanted was for someone to be honest and straightforward with her. All of the mindgames were tiring.

Y/N took a deep breath and tried to relax in Loki’s arms. “What are we?” She whispered her question. It made her heartbeat faster, jumping all the way to her throat as she waited.

A chuckle left Loki’s lips. He slid his palm to her cheek, cupping the side of her face so he could make her face him. His handsome face was dangerously close now. “We’re two beings who are destined to find each other again and again…” He seemed to lean closer to her as he spoke. Y/N felt his nose brush against hers and Loki tilted his face. Why didn’t she back off? She blamed her dream state for being so comfortable with this. Her eyelids closed gently, and she felt Loki’s lips on hers. They were soft, gentle, familiar. The kiss was so inviting, and she seemed to kiss him back without giving it any second thoughts. In fact, it felt good to kiss him. Their kiss was passionate and electric. It felt like sparks ignited between them and made her feel happy.

As their lips parted, she found herself wanting more, but she didn’t initiate anything. That’s when Loki spoke again, looking directly into her eyes as he did so, “…and again.”

 Loud knocking pulled Y/N out of her slumber. She groaned, annoyed of being awakened. As she opened her eyes, she found herself staring at a metal ceiling. It reminded her of the enormous helicarrier she was in. The mission, Loki, everything came back to her. That’s when the door opened, and Thomas entered.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but Thor wanted me to fetch you. It’s about Loki.”

Y/N remembered her dream and she felt her cheeks heat up. She had been fully aware in her dream and she had kissed him! Thinking about it now was bizarre. She felt embarrassed and she truly hoped that there was no way for Loki to find out about it. Could the things be true what dream Loki told her? She feared they were.

“It’s alright. I’ll come with you,” She cleared her throat and got up from the comfort of the bed. Her body was still half asleep, but she would be alright. Surely, seeing Loki would wake her up. The thought of facing him after her dream was making her nervous. After she had brushed her hair and straightened her clothes from wrinkles, she was good to go.

They walked out into the corridor, like they had done many times before, and Thomas let his curiosity guide him. “So, you’re an Avenger now?”

“An ‘Avenger’?” Y/N wondered.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you. Right, well this project is called the Avengers project. I suppose the team they put together, you included, is called that which makes you an Avenger. I thought Fury told you that much,” Thomas explained it to her. Even he knew more about this than her. It made Y/N’s gut pinch a little bit. She felt so underappreciated.

“I suppose you’re right. And no, they haven’t told me that much yet,” Y/N answered with a hope someone would tell her more sooner or later.

As they were about to turn to the right, the alarms on the helicarrier went off. Only a moment later, they heard a loud roar from a small distance away. It only took them a few seconds to realize something was horribly wrong.

Someone or something had awakened the true beast onboard, the Hulk.

“Fuck,” Y/N cursed as she put the pieces together.

“This can’t be good,” Thomas seemed just as worried. He had been told to keep an eye on Y/N and that he would do. “Let’s go check if Loki is in the cage.”

That was an odd thing to do when a huge, raging monster was roaming the ship, but Y/N didn’t bother to say anything. She followed him as they broke into a run. In only a short moment, they reached the space where Loki’s cage was.

The cage itself was missing!

Y/N felt nauseous as she saw it. Loki was missing, the cage was missing, the Hulk was rampaging the ship and…

there was a body on the ground. Thomas and Y/N noticed it at the same time, but Thomas reacted to it much stronger. “Agent Coulson!” He yelled his name with worry and then ran towards his bleeding body. Y/N stood there. She could tell that Coulson was gone. The poor man wasn’t moving nor breathing at all. Despite how much she hated everyone working for S.H.I.E.L.D, it was shocking to see his lifeless body.

“Stay with him, I’ll go find the others. Maybe I can make myself useful!” Y/N told Thomas and left without waiting for a reply. Adrenaline rushed through her body as she sprinted through the corridors, hoping to find anyone or anything to do. This could be her chance to prove herself useful.

She nearly reached the lab when a voice caught her by surprise. It was Loki’s voice, “Y/N.”

She turned around swiftly and nearly screamed when she saw the man right behind her. Luckily, she managed to stay quiet as they faced each other. Now without the cage, she felt tense. Although Loki had been nice to her so far, she was still cautious. Besides, he was holding the sceptre! It was glowing yellow as he held it, pointing it at her. Something told her that this wasn’t good. “What did you do?”

“Oh, I got myself out of that cage. I have a job to finish. My offer still stands,” Loki offered her freedom again, at the price of cooperation. The last time, he seemed worried about her assistance. He hadn’t been holding the sceptre back then. He had seemed so much more concerned, frightened even. Now he had a dark look in his eyes, and he seemed excited.

Was the damn sceptre affecting him? Or had this been his plan all along?

“Come on, you can’t seriously wish to stay here. They’re using you for your powers. You’re not free,” Loki was in a rush. He needed to know now whether she would join him or not. Truly, he wished for her to join him so they would be together again. Y/N didn’t want to lose him, because of the answers she wanted to get from him. The longer they stood there, listening to the loud alarms, the more stressed they both felt.

Y/N’s dream returned to her mind. What he said repeated in her head clearly, ‘we’re just two beings who are destined to find each other again and again…and again’. The words somehow made her feel confident of her choice although it was absurd! If they got caught, she would lose her possible freedom. But if they succeeded in this, whatever ‘this’ was, she could get the answers she had waited for, for so long now.

Wishing that she wouldn’t regret it, she faced Loki with a determined expression. “Fine. I’ll join you. But you’ll have to answer my questions.”

A vicious smile spread on Loki’s face. “I knew you’d come to your senses. Now let’s go,” He grabbed her hand and pulled her with him. Yes, Y/N feared diving nose first into the unknown but running with Loki made her feel something she deeply desired. Her body felt alive, her heart was racing wildly in her chest and strangely enough she felt free.

[Ch. 3]

A/N: Your feedback would mean the world to me. Reblogs are stronger than likes. 💕

TAGS:  @lokislittlecorner @angelicwolf98 @iraniq  @thegirlbeyondtheuniverse @chipmunkchick @chimera4plums @myraiswack @grincheveryday @surprisinglyaestheticinfj @kinghiddlestonanddixon​ @subtlemalice​ @alfoos​ @ayamenimthiriel​ @whimsicalwoodlands​ @strangemcuvlogs​

[MASTERLIST]

[cythieus]

Mario/Peach Fic Rough Draft

Tasteful flower arrangements and buffets flanked by smaller round tables had transformed the palace courtyard from a spot for solitary reflection into somewhere guests were entertained. Clustered people engaged in conversation wherever room permitted, though no one had taken a seat yet. A semicircular bar guarded the southern side of the fountain, staffed by three Mushroom people. Servers used the bar as a kind of base, but spent most of their time flitting between guests and tables.

Most in attendance were Mushroom people or humans. There were a trio of Tostarenans noticeable because of their neon colored skull-like heads and short stature and a single Pianta with blue skin, his long nose jutting out from under the tree that grew from the top of his domed head. The ease with which Mario had become used to creatures that had no parallel on Earth was amazing, but everything on this side of the warp pipe was bit jarring.

If only he could get used to the reverent splendor of the Mushroom Kingdom and its Princess.

The kind of parties that Mario knew typically took place in cramped rent controlled apartments or the darkened spaces of Brooklyn bars that might have been built in repurposed alleyways. He never would have dreamed he would attend something hosted by royalty just a few short years ago.

You also didn’t think you would be breathing the same air as or get a kiss from an honest to God Princess, yet here we are.

His suit sleeves felt rigid and unnatural because of how he was holding his drink up near his chest. It had been some time since he last wore a suit and he felt the need to get a new one for this occasion. He considered letting his arm down to his side and pinching his fingers around the rim of the glass, but years of rooting around in muck as a plumber still made him cautious about the idea of touching a drink with his fingers right where he would be putting his mouth. It was different for food, he didn’t understand the strange quirk, but it was something that he didn’t think he would be able to alter anytime soon.

A chime of laughter broke through the monotony of the distant conversation and clanking dishes. Princess Peach stood on the middle landing of the wide grand staircase that led back into the castle with her head tossed back in enthused laugh. While most of the women in attendance styled their hair up in buns pinned in roll at the back of their head Peach wore her blonde hair down. It cascaded off her bare shoulders and down to the middle of her back.

The crown that she usually wore was accented by a ring of pastel flowers that stayed firmly in place even as she looked down at a pair of children. One of them was tugging on her dress and she turned to the side, her laughing turning into a smile as she addressed them. Mario couldn’t tell if she knew these children otherwise. It was hard to judge with Princess Peach—she had a way of making everyone feel welcome.

Peach stepped in close to the kids and sank down into a squat, presumable so she was at eye level with them. The dress she wore today wasn’t something Mario had seen before; a pink off the shoulder dress that has a much flatter, more ruffled skirt than usual and fell to the midway point between her knee and ankle. She rested her slender, pale arms over her lap (no gloves today) as she spoke to the children.

Though she was across the courtyard he could tell by her smile and the way she squinted her eyes until the skin at the sides of her nose crinkled that she was sharing some irreverent, endearing tidbit with the kids.

Mario lifted the cap off of his head, smoothed his hair back, and placed the hat soundly back into place. It would have felt wrong without something up there. The gray newsboy cap wasn’t quite the same, but it offered a kind of comfort.

Better not stare, someone might notice.

He glanced at a waiter passing with a tray propped up on the bulbous pileus of its head. Mario had come to learn that the Mushroom people’s heads and the patterns and spots on them had all kinds of meanings to them both superstitious and founded in hard fact.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caused Mario to glance in the direction that the waiter had headed. Daisy’s orange dress seemed like a flare in the middle of the pastel and floral print of the worn by everyone else at the party. The big floppy orange hat perched atop her hair bounced as she wove her way around obstacles and people in her bid to get to Mario.

Without slowing her pace, she spun, plucked a pair of champagnes from the tray and used the back of hand to push the sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. “I guess it’s sad boy hour over here,” Daisy said before downing one of the champagne flutes.

“Those white trays are for non alcoholic beverages.” Mario kept his eyes forward, not looking at her as he spoke.

Daisy tilted her head down over the glass, letting the liquid empty back into the glass. “This is the worst thing to ever happen to me. And I was kidnapped by fucking aliens once. Is Peaches tying to poison me?” She said as she poured the contents of both flutes into a bush just behind the raised dais where they stood.

“Maybe you could slow down? I can smell vodka on you from here,” Mario said.

“Oh, a bird shit on my dress and I used the vodka to clean it off. I wouldn’t drink that cheap bilge-water they’re serving over there.”

Daisy glanced around as if expecting to see someone. Mario already knew what the next thing out of her mouth was going to be”

“Where’s your sexy brother?”

That hadn’t been how he had thought she would phrase it. “You know how Luigi is about crowds.”

“Right. He’ll eventually turn up.”

Mario nodded.

“Why don’t you stop moping in the corner and go talk to her?”

“And say what?” Mario asked.

“Whatever you normal-types say to each other. She likes you. She claims you’re dating now and here you are hiding from her like one of those little fat ghosts with the nub hands,” Daisy said.

“They’re called Boos. You’ve spent time with several of them over the years; you’ve got one’s number in your cellphone.”

“Know what your problem is?” Daisy asked.

Mario didn’t have time to answer before she leaned in closer to him, the smell of alcohol mixed with floral perfume dominating the air around her.

“You’re hung up in the minutiae of every situation. Go try to put your arm around her while she chats with those children, maybe grab a drink and try to have a little fun? Who knows, maybe she’ll let you turn her guts inside out.“ She said the last part very quickly and before he could cut in or correct her she waved a hand at him.

“—I need to go find something to drink before I have to suck this vodka out of my dress. There is too many boring people out here for me to remain sober.” Daisy rushed off toward the bar in a frantic pace, leaving the glasses resting on the railing behind where she had been standing.

Mario lifted the glass to his lips and drank; the after being clutched in his hand for so long the liquid had warmed considerably, but he found it was often better to have something to take the edge off the things Daisy said.

She wasn’t wrong though.

It was rare that Daisy lied. He wasn’t sure that she had enough shame to know that she should really omit things in most cases. The lies she had told might have just been out of some sense of needing to conceal something for someone else or honest mistakes.

Daisy believed deep down that Mario was right for Peach and that her efforts in talking to him would help. Mario finished his drink and wandered near enough to the bar to exchange his glass for another. For a moment his reflection was visible in one of the decorations on the bar and he noticed his mustache looked a little frazzled. He reached inside of the breast pocket of his coat and plucked out a comb. Careful to tilt it just right to go with the grain of the hair he brushed down and away from his nose in clean, even strokes.

Peach leaned in beside him trying to rest her butt against the bar, but it was obvious that she connected to it with a bit more force than she intended and cause the whole thing to rock. One of the Mushroom People behind the bar grasped it to steady things.

“Oops! My apologies! Sorry, sorry!” Peach went to grab one of the glasses in a bid to keep it from falling over, but she bumped it onto its side instead. “Oh no, I am so sorry—this is my fault.”

A bushy eyebrowed Mushroom Person gave her a deep, close-lipped grin. “It’s fine Your Highness, we’re all used to your little accidents by now.”

Redness crept across the space on either side of Peach’s nose. While he had been admiring her with a kind of starstruck awe from across the room, being this close to her was like staring into the sun. Peach seemed to glow with more than just embarrassment as she pressed a slender hand to one cheek, the blue jeweled ring on her index finger catching the sunlight.

Right, the spill.

Mario tore his eyes away from her and spun to grab for a bar cloth. He pushed in close to Peach where the spill was and mopped it up. “Excuse me, Your Highness. I’ve got that,” he said hurriedly brushing the ice into his hand and depositing it into the glass.

The color in her cheeks faded as she turned to help. She took the glass and sat it behind the bar on the lower shelf before letting out a truncated giggle. Her blonde bangs had were pressed to one side, she seemed to notice at that same moment and used her fingers to fan them back out. She moved a tendril of hair away from her cheek, tucking it back over her ear.

“I haven’t seen you around here before.” She brought the hand that had been up by her ear down to rest against the side of her neck and her bright, blue eyes searched his face before nerves or something else got the best of her and she averted her gaze.

Somehow Peach was both graceful and awkward; he guessed that she fought to compose herself most of the time, but he had seen the woman trip over literally nothing while simply walking around. The only person he could think of less prone to accidents was Luigi.

“Very smooth, Your Highness,” Mario said with a smile. He left bar rag and took the time to remove his hat.

“You’re actually not allowed to call me that,” she said.

“Princess?”

“Uh-uh. It’s Peach, just Peach.” She shook closed her eyes and shook her head.

“Peaches?”

“Daisy only calls me that because when she was a little she had a speech impediment and couldn’t seem to say my name without messing it up. But I will be sure to let her know you’re making fun of her.”

“Don’t put me back in Daisy’s crosshairs…”

“Ha, you’re actually so scared of her! I won’t tell if you do me a favor and walk me around the back gardens.” Peach offered her elbow out to him as she often did when she wanted her to loop his arm through hers.

So he did.

“We hardly got to talk today so I’d—well I think I’d like that,” Mario said. Peach smelled like perfume, some scent that they didn’t seem to have on earth or if they did not one he could place, and sugar and flour from baking earlier.

“We haven’t had time together because you always seem to be as far from as this garden will allow.”

Now Mario was sure that there was some redness in his face. He moved to put his hat back on, hoping it would hide some of the color.

“Toadsworth!” Peach called to her steward.

Toadsworth was an older looked Mushroom Person with brown spots on the cap of his head, unlike most of the others of his race that part of his head was beige. He had a bushy mustache that concealed the bottom half of his face and when he spoke his words were always slightly muffled.

“Yes, Princess?” He said turning, his weight rested partially on a cane at his side.

“Can you watch things here for me? Mario is taking me on a romantic stroll.”

Mario swallowed. How even she shade from his cap’s brim wouldn’t hide the redness in his face. He could feel the heat bubbling up and a shiver shot through him.