#like when it's sunny in spring but still kind of cold and there's a few clouds

[kitchensinksurrealism]

having a sibling of a similar age is so weird bc you'll have this vague dreamlike nostalgia for something you're not sure actually existed, and then there's just someone else with the exact same memory

[mere-mortifer-writing]

I've dreamt about you (nearly every night)

Pairing: Sanji x Reader Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 7.900+ words Themes: PWP; huddling for warmth; getting together; mutual pining; fingering; intercrural sex; dirty talking; sub!Sanji, cis female reader Notes: This is my first reader insert fic in this fandom and my first one in general for a long while. I don't use Y/N in here, nor did I add physical descriptions for the reader of any kind (I tried my damn hardest) but she is explicitly a cis woman! Summary: The crew is caught in a storm awfully unprepared for such bad weather. Sanji offers you to take his sleeping bag, but when he's the one left out in the cold, you decide you can't let that happen. Can't you just share, and stay warm together?

Written for @infixop. This is my gift to @jsitmfgoesnsfw. I hope you enjoy it! I tried to put as much things you like in it as possible xoxo

Find me on Ao3

The cold bites like a starved dog.

You’ve got nothing more than a few inches of your face exposed to the mean night air, and that’s all it takes to freeze you down to your bone marrow despite the tent you’re in. For no longer than thirty seconds, you manage to shuffle lower into your sleeping bag, bathing in your own body warmth, but then the need to look at the silhouette impressed on your tent’s thin sides overpowers you once again.

The two lanterns still lit outside paint Sanji’s figure in a stark shadow. He’s sitting out there, in the freezing cold, keeping an eye out on the Sunny—at least, that’s the excuse he came up with when he gave up his own spot for your comfort. Even with how fuzzy his outline is, you can see him tremble, one foot tapping anxiously on the ground with no respite. He was chain-smoking earlier, but he must have run out of cigarettes at some point.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you utter under your breath. You’re in your little tent, almost cozy in Sanji’s sleeping bag, and he’s fucking dying out there. He’s more sensitive to low temperatures than other members of the crew, and well aware of it. In the morning, before they started exploring this atoll, he’s one of the few that insisted on bringing all the camping equipment the crew is now using.

They had thrown anchor when the sun was still high in the sky, bathing the little alcove and the surrounding forest in the warmth of a spring day, but it took Nami only a moment to study the winds and the cloud patterns above them and declare, with whatever sixth sense she’s been gifted with, that  by night they’d be surrounded by winter weather. She was right—but she undersold it. By a lot.

Zoro—who says any opportunity to survive challenging environments is an opportunity he’ll take—and Luffy—who just couldn’t be bothered to pack properly—barely changed their outfits before leaving the Sunny. You had least layered a bit and brought scarves and gloves with you, but that’s about it.

Meanwhile, Sanji rounded up all the sleeping bags and tents they had, saddling Usopp and Franky with sharing the burden with him. It had seemed unnecessary to bring so much extra weight for what was supposed to be a casual stroll on this little speck of an island, only big enough to keep Luffy’s attention for a day maximum, but thank God he decided to play it safe.

It was like the Sun decided to set early today, aided by a sudden deluge of dark clouds. A blizzard started raging in the distance, right above the poor Sunny, impeding the crew’s safe return to their warm beds and an even warmer meal, so you had to camp out in the open for the night. Neither the snow nor the rain reached the tundra-like stretch of open land you found yourselves in, but the cold was—and is, even worse now—brutal. Chopper was deeply apologetic to be the only one enjoying the situation.

The tents were set up quickly, and they offered a little comfort, but the ground you are all trying to sleep on remains frigid at best. Nami, who borught her own sleeping bag, managed to squeeze Robin right next to her for the night, but there was no hope of letting a third person in.

“Let’s switch. I’ll be okay with sitting nearby and keeping watch, at least for a while,” Robin tried to propose, and from the gasp Sanji let out upon hearing that, one might have thought she just shot him in the chest. 

“Nonsense!” he exclaimed, blonde fringe flying left and right as he emphatically shook his head no. “Mon ange, you take mine. I insist.” 

Your mouth snapped closed at his preemptive rebuttal. In hindsight, you could have tried to manipulate his chivalry and convinced him that sharing was the perfect solution, but in the moment you lacked the courage. Strange how his eagerness to put the women around him on a pedestal has somehow looped around to make him intimidating—for you, at least; Nami and Robin certainly have no such issues. He thinks of you so highly, and the idea of shattering that perception by saying or doing the wrong thing often paralyzes you.

Now, that proposal that died in your mouth is all you can think about. We could sleep together, would you mind? He would have blushed at the double entendre and caved in quickly if you had made your tone sweet enough.

Another minute of your thoughts spinning around the same centre, another minute of running a nail over the edge of your teeth to dispel nervous energy, and you decide that neither you in here, nor Sanji out there, can take any more of this. 

You extend an arm outside of the warm cocoon of the bag, and stretch it as far as you can to open the tent a bit. The sound of the zip raising up a few inches makes Sanji’s silhouette shift as he looks in your direction, and before you can actually call out for him he’s moving closer on his own. 

One gloved hand goes to close the zip again. “Wait, Sanji,” you whisper to stop him. 

He stops trying to pull. “Oh, darling, y-you’re awake?” You can feel your face fall into a grimace at how shaky his voice is. “I thought the wind was making your t-tent open or something.”

“No, no, it was me.” Without having to slip out of the sleeping bag all the way, you try to tap the zip further up and open. A frigid tendril of wind snakes in and makes you wince. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Me? ‘M doing just fine,” Sanji says. Just because he’s lying with ease, it doesn’t mean it sounds convincing. “Was I, uh, keeping you awake…?”

Your heart squeezes in your chest when Sanji lowers his head to peer at you through the opening. He’s trying to bury his whole face in the puffy neck of his coat, but there’s a constant tremor in his jaw like he’s attempting to keep his teeth from chattering. Eyes large and round, darker spots on his cheeks and nose that would be a bright red if colours weren’t so muted by the moonlight—he’s probably the cutest he’s ever been. And so visibly uncomfortable.  

“Come in here for a while.” You meant to first reassure him that he hadn’t woken you, but the invitation tumbles out of you before you can manage. “You must be freezing. Come on, just a few minutes.”

“I don’t want to let the cold in here…” he protests weakly, but you can see that he wants to say yes. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth as you repeat your plea to stay with you and warm up. “I guess—if you really don’t mind—”

You limit yourself to a wide smile when he finally acquiesces, and that’s all you can do to avoid tugging him down to lay on top of you before he’s even managed to fully crawl inside. You watch him as he squats in a spot as far away from you as he can. He takes off his gloves, sighing in relief when they’re not wrapped around his hands any longer.

“We should have all listened to you, we were not prepared well for this weather,” you say softly. You frown when he starts trying to blow warm air on his fingers. “Did your gloves not help you at all?”

“They may have gotten a little wet, it’s really humid outside,” he admits, sending a small but sincere smile your way. 

“Sanji…” you sigh. You hope you don’t sound exasperated, since all you are is pained that a boy you hold so dear was literally left out in the cold like an abandoned puppy, but Sanji still looks a little downtrodden at your tone. “Can you come here, please? Why are you so far away?”

“I don’t want you to get cold!” he reiterates, but still shuffles near you at your request. The groundsheet crinkles under his knees. “Darling, I promise you I’m fine—”

He’s finally close enough that you can grasp one of his hands. You gasp at the complete lack of human warmth in his fingers. Sanji’s hands, so precious to him, almost blue from the cold? And he thinks you’ll just curl up in his sleeping bag and doze off while he suffers? 

“Holy shit, that must feel awful.” You free your other hand and bring it out of the bag enough to gesture that he should let you hold both of his, and he complies easily. The image of him kneeling next to you, hunched over so you can rub some life back into his fingers, while still mostly buried in a plush lime-green sleeping bag must look funny to an external viewer. All you can think about is how to convince him to strip down a little and get in there with you. 

He gently interlocks his fingers with yours when your movements slow down. “That’s so much better, angel, thank you. I’ll change my gloves and be more careful not to get them wet—”

Holding him like this, no matter the context, goes to your head. “No way I’m leaving you to freeze.” Before you can consider if the move is too revealing, you swipe your thumbs down the line of his index fingers, trying both to soothe him and draw him closer by the sheer strength of your longing alone. “You don’t have to keep guard or anything, you can just use your Observation Haki—”

“I promised Nami-san…” he protests, eyes downcast to stare at where you’re touching. You can’t tear your gaze away from his face—from the redness, first induced by the cold, now spreading all over from being alone with you. 

“Not true, you told Nami you’d stay awake and keep an eye out. You think she wants you to die of hypothermia or something?”

Sanji sighs. “No, of course not. And I guess if I catch a cold I won’t be able to properly take care of my favourite ladies.”

That drags a smile out of you. Sanji never misses an opportunity to act too cute for his own good. “Think of it however you need, as long as you get in here quickly.”

“In where?” he asks, one curled eyebrow raising tall on his forehead. “In there?”

“It’s your sleeping bag, and there’s some more space in here,” you try to explain. A good dose of mortification falls like lead into your stomach. Was that too forward? Have you been pressing too hard on the topic this entire time?

Sanji’s mouth hangs open for a moment, and his hands go slack in your hold. You take it as a sign to release him, some more of your courage waning. “More space—to fit both of us? In there? Together?”

“Sanji,” you groan, shuffling deeper down into your cocoon, hoping at this point that a portal will open at the bottom of it and swallow you whole. 

You can’t get over the embarrassment now that Sanji is acting so bewildered by the notion. Part of you, no matter how much insecurity you harbor about Sanji desiring you as much as you desire him—at times the thought feels absurd— believed he’d jump at the chance to get in bed with a girl, even just to sleep.

“No, hey, don’t hide! Come back up, darling,” Sanji coos. “I don’t want to say no, obviously.” Maybe he read your mind. “Why would I want to say no to such a wonderful offer?” Or maybe that strangely confident part of you was right. 

“Come in here, then,” you say without reemerging from the depths of the plush fabric. You realise anew how warm it is under there, and your blood starts pumping faster at the thought of Sanji squeezing in next to you and cuddling close to share that warmth. “So we can both sleep.”

“I—okay. I need to take off some of my clothes, is that okay? Or you’ll be the one freezing.”

You nod before you remember that he can’t see you. “Y-yeah, no problem.” He could strip naked and let you kiss every inch you can reach in such proximity—that would be ideal—but you’ll take a Sanji with three layers on over no Sanji any day of the week. 

You listen to the sounds of shuffling, metal buttons popping open, and quiet curses when his coat drops to the floor and Sanji can feel the cold tenfold. You pretend you’re being very patient, but the way you’re tapping the toes of one foot against the others tells another story. 

“Darling?” he calls, hesitating after he’s taken his shoes off. “My trousers are kind of damp, I can’t—”

“Take those off, too, then,” you interrupt him with the most indifferent, placid tone you can fake. Sanji wears shorts sometimes, when they’re in a stretch of hot weather on the Grand Line, but even his swimwear is usually on the longer side and quite baggy. You’ve only ever seen a few inches above his knees, so your excitement at the prospect of seeing his bare legs borders on comical.

Not that you see much of anything now, either. Sanji manages to take off his pants while hiding most of his body from view, as if he needs to be ashamed of anything, with a physique like his, and the dim light blurs the details of what you can observe. You think his boxers have a heart print on it, but it’s not a safe bet. 

Sanji crawls closer to the edge of the sleeping bag, and you signal once again that he should get in by unzipping the side. “Thanks,” he says, voice huskier than his usual. 

Your breath stays suspended in your lungs as he slips inside next to you. Despite his efforts to not touch you, the space he’s trying to squeeze himself into is smaller than a single bed, and your sides slide together as he lays down. He murmurs a few sorry’s as it happens, but his earlier protests seem to have died down completely.

When the warmth has had a moment to sink into him, he lets out a tremulous sigh of relief—it’s obvious that he needed a break from the harsh weather, and still he never would have asked for it. Your heart constricts painfully at the tremors that shake Sanji's body. He's still trying so hard to keep his teeth from chattering, but there's little he can do for everything else. 

“You've got to stop,” you beg. There's enough anger over Sanji's self-sacrificing tendencies to turn it into a command. 

Sanji tries and fails to shuffle back within the confines of the sleeping bag. “Sorry,” he whispers shakily, “it should get better soon.”

Frustration and fondness form an unlikely mix that grips tight around your throat. “No, no, Sanji, come on.” You move a foot blindly, hooking it around Sanji's calf to still his retreat. “I didn't mean stop shaking or moving. Stop doing stuff like this to yourself.”

“Ah, Mellorine—” Sanji mumbles, and you know, you feel it in your bones, he's going to try and downplay his near-hypothermia and shower you with compliments to deflect your worry. Be it the late hour, the pressure behind your eyes that demands you close them and sleep; be it how cold Sanji still feels or the sweet ache in your bones at being so close to him—whatever it is that imbues you with courage, you decide you won't let him get away with that this time. 

“I don't wanna hear it.” You were hoping to get it out with a firmer tone, but you sound on the verge of tears instead. “Shut up and let me help.”

You reach out, fingers bumping into his shoulder, the soft material that surrounds you pushing and pulling. It seems more than happy to get you closer, folding over your bodies as you shift enough to feel Sanji's chest on yours. 

Shielded by the shadows that cover your face, your lids flutter at the novel sensation. You'd feel ashamed of the tendrils of pleasure slowly pulsing in time with your heartbeat, since, after all, you got this man in your sort-of bed for medical-adjacent reasons, but…it's Sanji. He's never shown anything but breathless gratefulness at being touched by a woman. 

Just in time to squash any lingering doubt, you hear his breath hitch at the contact. He dissolves into a long shiver that breaks his resolve, and suddenly you're gripping him tighter, nose in his fine hair, knees knocking together before you raise one thigh over his. 

Sanji moans softly, in obvious and innocent pleasure now that your body heat is enveloping him properly. “Oh, ‘t feels so nice,” he stutters over your neck, “you really are an angel. Thank you, darling.” 

You almost thank him back on instinct. You might feel nice to him, but he's perfect in your arms, cuddled up as best as he can against you like he wants to sink into you. Gladly, you hold him tighter, burning up now that you have him in such close proximity—your face might as well be on fire, heart pumping hot blood like an overworked engine. He must be able to hear it. Surely all the layers of clothing between you are not enough to muffle the sound of it exploding out of your ribs. 

“You're so silly,” you mumble instead. His hair smells superficially like faint smoke, and like artificial mint from his shampoo when you brush your nose between the soft locks. “Your hands okay?”

You barely bite back a pet name at the end of the sentence. Sanji shuffles to get his arms folded between the two of you, and his closed fists are frigid when they bump into your stomach. “Mh, they've felt better, but it's okay. I’m also pretty sure my toes are all attached, but who knows—’t’s not like I can feel them.” 

You huff a laugh, and his face opens into a boyish smile. You can't see it, only sense his cheeks where his face is touching the naked skin of your neck. ”You joke, but we better check.” At the bottom of the sleeping bag, where there’s more room for movement, you have to swipe your own feet forward before you manage to meet his. Sanji, for all his insistence on being ready for bad weather, hadn’t bothered with proper boots or heavy socks. You hiss in sympathy at how cold his naked ankles really are when you touch them. 

“Sanji, your leg can catch on fire, how did it get this bad?” you mumble into his hair. 

Sanji’s little content sigh that he lets out when your warmer skin stays in contact with his just about breaks you. “I gotta be at least a little mad for the fire thing, Mellorine,” he explains, dismissing the topic with a gentle shake of his head. “You shouldn’t worry so much about me, I’ll be just fine. Don’t let me keep you awake any longer, please.”

You bite your bottom lip to hold back your own plea, wishing you could infuse the very air around the two of you with all that joyful, desperate fondness Sanji evokes in you. He could soak it all up, too tangible to doubt, and he’d feel soothed and weightless as if he’d just lowered his tired body into a hot bath. Frightened as you are to speak your feelings for him out loud, the best you can do is fumble to hold his hands. “We’ll both rest when you’re all better.” Before you can second-guess your intentions, you bring Sanji’s hands under the hems of the shirt and tank top you’re wearing. The first overwhelming impression is that you just shoved ten icicles up against your flank, but the knowledge that a part of Sanji’s body you’ve fantasised about one too many times is now under your clothes is enough to make you melt. 

“Keep ‘em there, it’s warmer,” you choke out quickly, not trusting what your voice will reveal if you let your desire to fully set in. 

“Miss, I—that’s—” Sanji stutters. His palms press more firmly into the dip of your waist, only for a moment. “You’re too good to me,” he settles on eventually.

Your vision is tinted blue from the moonlight filtering through the tent’s walls, and Sanji’s humid breath trickling down the collar of your shirt is making a haze settle over all your thoughts; all in all, this is starting to feel more like a dream you’ve had a thousand times. The oneiric atmosphere is not conductive to make well-thought out choices—but maybe that’s what you’ve needed this whole time. You could have had Sanji like this months ago if you’d found the courage to make the first move. 

While he’s mumbling more of his thanks, throwing a couple more Miss in there like the title is not making your cunt throb, you grab both his wrists and slide his hands up towards your solar plexus. You’re not wearing a bra, which Sanji notices with an accidental brush of his fingertips and remarks on with a gasp that silences his words. He lets you properly slide an arm under his neck, and soon enough you have him moulded comfortably to your frame—entwined legs included. 

“Try to rest, ‘kay?” you tell him. Your thumb swiping back and forth on his nape seems to do the trick; Sanji’s one visible eye slips shit after a couple of slow blinks.

“You, too. Goodnight, angel.”

He goes out like a light. You try to fall asleep, you really do—perhaps it’s physically not possible to do so when your body is firing on all cylinders, begging you to get some sort of sexual relief. Just knowing that Sanji’s legs are naked, meanwhile you are wearing stupid fucking clothes that keep you from feeling his skin on yours, is driving you insane. A couple of minutes of staring off into nothingness while listening to Sanji’s steady breathing calms you down just a notch, so at least now your heartbeat isn’t an active bomb threat anymore, but you’re a far cry from relaxed.

After a while, Sanji starts grumbling and moving in his sleep. You attempt to soothe him by petting his hair, whispering sweet nothings that he won’t remember, but it only gets worse until he wakes up with a confused call of your name. 

He stiffens for a second upon opening his eyes, and you let him move back a little from your embrace. Is he still in pain from the hours spent outside? Were you touching him too much while he slept?

“You okay?” you ask tentatively.

“Mh? Yeah, sorry! I woke you up again?” Sanji refuses to meet your eye. His fingers twitch over your stomach, and he seems shocked to find them still there under your shirts, right before sliding them out. 

The loss of contact saddens you more than you thought possible. “Kind of, I had just dozed off,” you lie. “It looked like you were having a nightmare, though, I was worried.”

“It did? I don’t remember what I was dreaming.” You swear a blush spreads on his face, but the faint moonlight doesn’t help you decipher his expression that well. “I’m good now, darling. Let’s go back to sleep, I promise I won’t wake you up again—I wouldn’t want my princess to be tired tomorrow.”

His princess. That’s a low blow—you can’t argue with him after that. You only nod, bidding him goodnight again, and you’re gifted one of those beautiful smiles of his. 

Determined to not act like a freak this time, and just relax and doze off for real instead of sniffing his hair or whatever the hell you were about to do earlier, you try to settle in a more comfortable position. The goal is not achieved, since you accidentally press one thigh over Sanji’s front, and feel—

“Ah, fuck,” Sanji says under his breath when you gasp. He’s very clearly hard, enough that you can half guess the length of his cock, that’s how obvious it is. 

So he was blushing, and he was not having a nightmare. How did you miss this when you were half on top of him? 

If you were aroused before, it pales in comparison to the sudden, violent heat that starts in your stomach and quickly pools low between your legs. It’s like you got sucker-punched by desire, so much so that you lose your breath with that gasp, and can’t find words to defuse the situation. 

Sanji tries to shuffle away from you, instinctively raising on one elbow like he wants to jump out of the bag. The way he’s pulling on the fabric makes you roll closer to him, and it’s all you can do not to moan when suddenly not only you can feel his erection, but your cunt is pressed so, so nicely over his own thigh. The unfairness of the situation hits you: Sanji can’t hide his physical reaction, meanwhile you’ve been getting wetter and wetter since he got in there with you, and he’ll remain none-the-wiser unless you shove his hand down your underwear. 

The thought of those long, lithe fingers playing with your clit almost makes you black out. You’re trying to stay lucid, but you’d like to see someone else coping with a wet dream come to life. 

“Damn it, I—I’m sorry, I can’t control it. I mean, I can control myself! Just, not it,” Sanji babbles, clearly building up to something close to panic. “It’ll go away, I promise, sorry. I mean…okay, it’ll go away if I stop touching you, that’s what I was trying to do. You’re just…so soft and warm. And pretty, duh! Oh God, why am I still talking. Make it stop, please.”

You snake a hand up his chest until you can press your palm over Sanji’s mouth. You catch him mid-word, but the sentence dies down quickly with a tortured bitten-back lament.

“Calm down,” you say softly. If you sound breathier than intended, it's because you can't hope to hide all signs of your demanding arousal. “It's okay, Sanji. You didn't do anything bad, did you?”

Sanji stares at you for a moment with huge watery eyes, the usually hidden one left more visible by his fringe all knocked askew. 

“Did you?” you prompt him.

His lids drop lower, as he exhales a warm breath over your hand as he relaxes his body at your request. He shakes his head without removing your palm from over his mouth.

You do it for him. “Everything’s fine.” Sanji should never look this unsure and embarrassed, especially around you. You adore him, he’s your favourite everything. Isn’t it obvious? “Sweetheart, lay back down. You’re letting the cold in.”

Sanji’s eyes go wide again, be it because of the first pet name you’ve dared use for him, or the reminder that his seated position is keeping the sleeping bag half open. With one smooth move, he’s laying on his side once again, one hand clutched on the open hem to squish it closer to your bodies. 

“Why aren’t you kicking me out?” he whispers after he’s settled. He bites back a sound when you shift your hips just enough to satiate your curiosity—yes, he’s still hard, and yes, touching his cock even through all the layers of clothes has the same electrifying effect on you the second time as it did the first. “It’s going to be like this all night, Miss,” he commiserates, a little whine behind his tone that snaps whatever composure you had left. 

“Sanji, are you really that blind?” you ask in the near darkness. You cup his cheek in one hand, tucking whatever you can of his fringe behind his ear. “You haven’t figured it out?”

He frowns like he’s either worried or confused, and part of you can’t blame him—you’ve never  spoken to him this way, voice trembling with excitement. You enjoy what you can see of Sanji’s flushed face framed by your fingers, then you close the distance to kiss him. 

With great effort, you keep that first touch brief and chaste. The tip of his nose is cold where it presses gently on your cheek, his lips a little dry, but you enjoy immensely both that perfect cupid bow of his and the tickling sensation of his moustache. When you pull back a millimetre, which is all the distance you can bear to put between you, you’re awash in goosebumps and hot shivers. “I want you, too,” is all you can manage to say to fill the silence.

“Oh,” Sanji replies, “oh, I must still be dreaming.” He nuzzles into your hand, his own freeing the sleeping back to clutch your wrist instead. “I hope I don’t wake up too soon.”

A dopey smile opens on your face—you’re sure you look stupid with love and desire—and you want to put two coherent words together and tell this beautiful smooth-talker that he’s very much awake, or stuck in your dream if anything, but Sanji kisses you again. 

This one doesn’t end quickly; if you have it your way, this one won’t end at all. Sanji tilts his head and slots your lips together with a wanton moan muffled by the contact. Your finger sinks in the soft locks of his hair, slipping like fresh water between your digits as you caress him. There’s not enough space to move freely, to roll on top of him or pull him until he can lay all his weight on you—phantom feelings you’ve chased through your daydreams hundreds of times, and are now just out of reach, but what you get is enough. It’s everything. Sanji moving his arm out of the way so he can wrap you in a half-hug and squish your chests together; your leg pushed between his so you can properly get his flat abdomen and hard cock right up against you. 

His breath hitches as his hips roll forward. With the grip you have on his hair, you instinctively tug his head back, breaking the wet kiss just in time to hear his breathy moan. “No, please, more. Wanna kiss you more,” he begs—and really, who would say no to such a request?

You lick his bottom lip just to put to rest the demon that once made you stare at Sanji’s side profile while he cooked for way too long, whispering in your ear his lips are so plump, wouldn’t they look good on a girl? You don’t know about that, but they are extremely kissable.

At the time you thought that Sanji, who strives to be a real gentleman—emphasis on the man—would be freaked out by those thoughts…seeing how he’s behaving now, maybe that’s not the case. Maybe he’d enjoy being talked to and handled like a precious little thing. Still, you abstain for now, horrified by the idea that you could ruin this long-awaited moment, and content yourself with kissing him silly.

Well. Calling what you're doing to him kissing is an euphemism; you're licking into his mouth as if with enough effort you could taste his soul, and when the push and pull of your bodies separates your lips, he lets you curl your tongue around his in the open air before you pull back properly. 

“‘M so hard, I could come just from this,” Sanji mumbles while you move down to suck over the pulse point on his neck. Your eyes are closed, but they still roll back into your skull when the fading scent of his aftershave fills your senses. 

“You won't have to,” you promise. You grasp at him blindly through the tangle of your limbs and the obstructive plush fabric all around. Sanji, sweet angel, perfect boy, arches to push his hips right into your palm. 

You let out a giggle and a dreamy sigh on the tail end of it when you manage to properly palm his hard cock, even if just above his boxers. You’d be embarrassed by the sound if you were lucid. There are many times when your affection for Sanji simmers gently and far away from lust, but this isn't one of those times.

Sanji stiffens at the first stroke you clumsily give his cock, just to quickly melt again in your arms. “Please, let me touch you, too.” His hands run down your form until he can hook his fingers into the waistline of your pants. “I want you to feel good with me.”

You nod with an enthusiastic hum of assent against the skin of his neck. The first touch of Sanji's fingertips on the naked skin usually covered by the hem of your underwear almost makes you jolt. You follow suit, shoving your hand inside his boxers. “Oh, fuck, yesyesyes,” Sanji mumbles before you’ve even done anything, just closed your fist around the tip of his cock. He’s leaking just enough to smooth the way as you play with him, teasing strokes and swipes of your thumb on the slit. 

It’s not that you’re being mean on purpose, eking out his pleasure like he might just run out if you get too greedy—you’re just so distracted by what he’s doing to you. Already, he had the unfair advantage of your near-obsession with his hands, born mostly from his insistence that they must be reserved for loving acts. He usually means cooking, of course, but Sanji has never hesitated to hold, carry, protect and serve the women in his life with his hands…so can you be blamed for getting ideas? You feel vindicated for each dirty thought you’ve ever had about them in the here and now. As soon as you raise your thigh high on his hip to leave him some space, Sanji slides his hand fully into your panties and cups your pussy like he’s cherishing being allowed to touch you so intimately. He doesn’t leave you waiting for something more substantial, quickly moving to sink his middle finger between your labia, gathering the copious amount of slick wetness. You have one moment to wish he had just pushed inside you before he starts drawing circles over your clit instead, and then the choice to just let him do whatever he wants is easily made. 

“How are you so wet for me? I barely touched you,” he asks with a tone that should be reserved for his first glimpse of the All Blue. 

You almost laugh at that. “I’ve been wet since you took off your pants,” you admit, “and then you kept calling me Miss—”

Sanji tilts his head to make eye contact with you, forcing your mouth away from the delectable line of his neck. “Wait, you like being called Miss? Really?” He has no business sounding shyly pleased; you suspect he uses the title specifically to elicit this sort of reaction—or is it that you have a heightened appreciation for it? You’ve never thought to ask the other girls what they think about it…Nami’s teasing over it would be brutal.

“Don’t take too much advantage of it!” Your pout robs the intimation of its strength, but Sanji’s eyes drop to stare at your lips like he’s hungry to get another taste, and you finish off the attempt at distracting him with a good series of strokes up and down his cock that he seems to really appreciate. He lets out a guttural moan that you’re sure whoever is sleeping in the tent next to you must have heard even above the wind now raging outside.

Sanji must take your renewed efforts as a sign to up the ante himself, and finally he slips a finger inside you. He figures out roughly two seconds in that quick and shallow thrusts make you writhe in pleasure, knowledge he has no qualms abusing until you’re shaking, lingering on the precipice of an orgasm. 

You’re still trying to give him the attention he deserves, but you know your movements over his cock have gone artless and a bit sloppy. “Mmghfuck, Sanji—” you moan through your teeth, biting the neckline of his shirt. You want to kiss him and lick wherever you can but your body is acting on its own. You think you add something along the lines of gonna come, just for you, baby, you want that? but you can’t be sure; maybe you’re just mewling nonsense with your face hidden in his neck. 

Whatever he hears, it’s enough to get Sanji very excited. “Yes, holy fuck, you’re perfect. So good for me.” You don’t know how he does it, but in a quick move he lifts you to lay more heavily on top of him with his free arm, locking it around your waist to keep you still. He’s got two fingers pumping in and out of you with no reprieve, but he hazards a guess and slides them out to focus on your clit again. In an ideal situation you’d like both things at the same time—hell, in an ideal situation you’d be bouncing on his cock already—but at this point you want to come, and being played with like this will get you there. You're clutching both hands around his sides now, palming at his abs, and Sanji’s erection is pressed tight over your hip. He doesn’t complain, taking advantage of how his underwear is riding too low on his hips to grind against you and seek out some friction.

“Like this okay, darling?” he asks with a murmur in your ear. You nod fervently. “Fuck, I really can’t believe this. My whole hand is wet, you’re dripping. Next time—can I—I want to lick until you’re coming on my tongue, I need to know what you taste like.”

Your eyes fly open, all the muscles in your legs and abdomen tensing with pleasure at Sanji’s words, the rumble of his voice thick with desire, the mental image of his blond head buried between your legs. That almost does you in, but the promise of a next time brings a realization—now I can have him like this again and again and again—that makes you fall over the edge. You come with your cheek pressed on his solid chest, one of Sanji’s hands now closed around the back of your neck, your voice stuck in your throat. Wave after wave of shivers run down your spine, wracking your body even as you’re coming down from the high, because Sanji won’t stop rubbing wet circles over your clit. 

“Stop, stop, I need a breather,” you complain, trying to escape his touch—but not really. Even as you’re supposedly squirming away from him, between the stifling top of the sleeping bag, and your leg locked around his hips, it’s clear that you’re right where you want to be. 

Sanji relents, sliding his fingers out of your now-ruined underwear. “Sorry, my love, you just sound so good while lost in pleasure.” He squeezes you in a full hug, pressing a few kisses over the crown of your head. “I can’t believe you let me do that…”

“I didn’t let you do anything. And there’s nothing strange about a woman wanting you like this, Sanji.” You tilt your head up, trying to meet his eye. “You know that, right?”

Shily, he allows the eye contact. You wish it wasn’t so dark in here, but the stronger winds must have brought clouds to cover the moon, and the lanterns Sanji had lit outside had long since died. You can’t see the stunning blue of his irises. 

“If you say so, darling,” he says, much to your chagrin. You hate how often you have witnessed Sanji being rejected, and in hindsight, by virtue of dismissing his advances as unserious, you have contributed to it. But he must have had his fair share of sexual experiences if he can bring a woman to orgasm as easily as he just did with you. 

You hope to have the opportunity to ask him about it. The urge to get to know him better, to be closer in all meanings of the terms, is stronger than ever—but now is not the time. You’ve got something else to focus on. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to believe me. I can just show it to you.” You manage with some more wiggling to get your pants and underwear at least halfway down your thighs. “You thought I was going to leave you hanging, baby? We can’t, uh, go all the way…not right now, I don’t have protection—” you start to explain while trying to slide a bit further up his body.

Sanji starts shaking his head, eyes as wide as saucers. “Oh, no, you don’t have to do anything for me! I can’t possibly ask for more!”

You kiss his lips to silence him. Sanji whines like a wounded animal when you raise yourself just enough to hold his cock again—he has not gone soft despite the lack of stimulation, which doesn’t shock you. This is Sanji, after all. 

“I’ll come and stain your clothes and make a mess,” he says all in a rush, his fingers spasming around your hips. 

“Ssh, it’s okay. Don’t worry about anything, just let me take care of you.” You bring his cock between your legs, forcing them open despite the pant’s waistline pressing into your skin; when you’ve got the hard length pressed over your bare cunt you get your hand back on Sanji’s chest and squeeze your thighs.

You don’t know what feels best for him—clenching your legs as tight as you can, or to leave more space to swing your hips up and down—but whatever you try, Sanji vocally loves it. Despite how cold he had felt when he first got in the sleeping bag with you, he’s now burning up just like you, and you’re both starting to sweat under your clothes. You can feel him leak more precum when you raise up as far as you can and squeeze just the head of his cock between your thighs.

“Oh God, Miss,” he breathes out at that move. His hands slide down to grope your ass, and the feeling of him kneading the muscle there to his heart’s content makes your eyelids flutter. 

“Feels good, baby?” you ask. The question is redundant, but dammit, you want to hear him say it.

Sanji nods with a hum, lips parted and his cute little curled brow frowning in pleasure. “Yes! Yes, you feel perfect, you’re so soft. I would stay between your legs forever if you let me.”

Oh, this man. He doesn’t know how badly he drives you crazy, even when he’s just babbling the first thought he had. You lean down to dip your tongue in his mouth, your hands firmly planted over his pecs. He accepts the kiss easily, moaning each time you nibble his bottom lip or snap your hips down with more vigor. You pull back with a string of saliva still pulling between your mouths. “Next time you can fuck me like this,” you promise. Your mind is clouded with lust again, and you have half a mind to reach down and angle his cock so you can sink down on him for real, but you hold onto sanity enough to avoid that. “As soon as we’re back on the Sunny. You want that?”

“I’ve wanted that since the first time I saw you,” Sanji replies. He grips your ass more firmly, guiding you into moving faster. “I’m so close, please, just keep going.”

You don’t know if you can believe something like that said in the heat of the moment, but either way, he’s just so cute. In your imagination Sanji has been everything from the experienced lover that blows your mind to a playful partner that laughs with you in the middle of sex, and you’ve loved all those versions that existed in your head—but if the real one is this submissive and needy, you have no complaint. Reducing such a powerful and competent man to a moaning mess is nothing short of intoxicating. 

Gladly, you keep doing what you’ve been doing. Sanji begs for another kiss, and keeps you so busy with it that you realise he’s coming only when he gasps open-mouthed over your lips. Hot liquid drips over the back of your thighs—you spare him the overstimulation he inflicted on you earlier, out of the goodness of your bleeding heart, but it’ll be a while before you even consider unclenching your legs from around his cock.

Sanji takes in one last shuddering inhale, and all but melts into the thin mattress underneath him. One wet kiss pressed to his cheek, and you feel him smile as wide as when he serves you, Nami, and Robin some snacks and he gets to listen to all three of you compliment his cooking at the same time. 

“Mh, it’s too hot in here now,” you note with humour, “don’t you think?”

“It’s ‘cause I’m burning up for you, Mellorine,” Sanji replies. You huff a laugh when he attempts an exaggerated wink, which doesn’t work when one of his eyes is completely covered by ruffled hair. 

You slide a little to the side, keeping in mind the streaks of come splashed on your skin as you do so. Sanji lets out a saddened sigh when you’re not pressed skin-to-skin with him anymore, but you’re still so close, your heads only barely peeking out of the sleeping bag. 

“You were right, you did make a mess.” You’ll have to take off your pants off and use them to clean yourself and Sanji somehow—or maybe he’ll volunteer his boxers for the job, still pushed barely down his legs—as soon as you have the energy. 

“Ah, sorry…I usually have very good manners, I swear.” The apology seems genuine, but Sanji is just too giddy to sound contrite. “Hey, can I ask you something? But I don’t want to ruin the moment.”

You smile at him. Now that the adrenaline peak is fading away, your eyelids are once again heavy and ready to stay closed for a good six hours at least. “You can’t ruin it, Sanji.”

“You have a lot of faith in me, darling.”

“Just ask, dummy.”

He clears his throat, embarrassed by his own stalling. “I know that I-I said something about doing this again first, but then you said it, too, and I just—I don’t know if you meant it. Because I did. So, would you like to…?”

“Would I like to? Baby, I’m gonna wear you out.” You would sound much more convincing if you weren’t actively falling asleep. “I’ll ask Franky to build a secret bedroom, and no one will ever see us again,” you mumble before being interrupted by a yawn.

You feel the warmth of Sanji’s fingers caressing your cheekbone, the line of your jaw. You smile thinking of how this started, with Sanji’s poor hands cold as ice shoved under your shirts. 

“I’ll ask you a few hundred times more in the morning, sweetheart. You’re about to pass out, I’ll clean you up myself, okay?”

You think you nod, or maybe you just hum a vague affirmative sound. The last thing you remember, with the rumbling of the wind and the distant raging of the ocean lulling deeper into sleep, is Sanji pressing a kiss on your neck, warm and heavy with affection. 

Omfg. I've had this idea for a while and jumped at the chance to write it when I saw that it could work for my assignment in this exchange. Huge shoutout to @twoflowers for passing onto me the "Sanji calls women 'miss' intstead of using honourifics" demon, as you can all see I've used and abused that idea.

[moonlight-prose]

FIRST LOVE IN THE LATE SPRING AIR

a/n: guess who is back on her joel miller shit again. i had the image of young joel possibly in love and just starting out and had to run with it. after not writing for him for some time, i really did miss this grumpy man. i do have a few fics in the works for him so hopefully this fixation lasts some time. this is an unedited jumble of words so enjoy! divider by the incredible @saradika-graphics.

summary: in the late spring air with summer setting like the sun, life with joel suddenly becomes clear.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, fluff, domesticity, she wrote something without angst y'all, allusions to possibly an apocalypse but not really, mentions of pregnancy (don't worry), joel miller being a fucking softie, they're just so in love it's sick.

His sheets clung to your already warm body, molding to the bare skin that scratched along the wrinkled cheap cotton. You asked why he never bought something better, he claimed he didn’t mind how it felt. Of course, that’s how it usually went. Your questions, answered with sarcasm layered in anguish. He never bought more because he never thought he deserved it.

You ignored it for his sake—never pushing further than necessary; he felt like a stone wall at times, and you were the person searching for his cracks. A place to set your hammer into place and swing.

The sun cast shadows in the darkened room, his curtains pulled away to expose the already open window. He was helping his mom fix the air conditioner; you were sweating beneath his covers. The dichotomy felt wrong—too domestic for you to swallow. Yet you drank it down like cold water straight from the tap, already addicted to the way it chilled your insides and pooled in your stomach.

It never occurred to you that the things you did for love would feel silly in ten years time.

But that was in ten years. And this was now.

“I can feel you,” he mumbled into his crushed pillow squished between his arm and cheek. 

You’d been scooting away from him for the past ten minutes. Not because you desired distance—quite the opposite—you couldn’t fathom the way his skin gave off heat. He was a fire waiting to burn you, singe the hair on your arm and beg for more to consume. You were merely asking for reprieve from the suffocating way he felt atop you in the middle of the night.

Spring in Texas was promised to be cool. Sunny air, bright dispositions, and weather you’d find in a luxury brand’s catalog. The kind his mother kept around for you when they arrived in the mail. Yet as soon as May set in, welcoming humanity with open arms and blooming flowers, the heat shoved its way forward. Settling into the air with a vengeance. A promise that you’d suffer through the next few months until you felt defeated enough to beg for winter.

“It’s hot,” you whined, shoving the thin gray sheet off your body. “I need a cold shower.”

“Mm.” His arm slid beneath the covers, tanned skin and already rough fingers reaching out to find you. “Sounds like a good idea.”

You bit back your smile and scooched even closer to the edge of the mattress—your leg halfway off and nearly to the floor. “I meant for me.”

The mess of rumpled brown hair shot up from his pillow, hazy brown eyes catching you in the snare of their web. “You’d leave me outta that?”

“Joel—”

“Cold water and you naked?” He shook his head, flipping onto his back and sitting up before you could get both feet on the floor. “Sorry darlin’. Ain’t happenin’.”

“You’ll distract me.”

He smiled all lazy and warm. Enough to have you considering your chances of braving the overheated bed sheets that still clung to your thigh. Joel in the morning wasn’t a sight to forget so quickly. He looked like he’d been dragged from sleep roughly, as if he’d rather spend hours more in the unconscious state than out with the real world. But when he gazed at you like this—eyes glassy with sleep and lips curled into a soft smile—you finally understood why people died for the ones they love.

“That’s the point.”

How could you argue? When he practically pleaded with you through his gaze alone. His hand grabbed ahold of your upper thigh, fingers digging into the warm flesh in order to yank you closer. Fighting his strength was no use when you were lazy with sleep yourself. Still halfway past the waking point and a dreamland that housed an image of a man who looked oddly like Joel.

Just a few years older.

“What time do you work today?”

He grunted. Awake enough to comprehend you naked, but still far too delirious to realize he’d have to be up in an hour to make it on time. He slept less than he wanted, but on days where the sun was warm and spring beckoned life forward, he didn’t mind so much.

Tommy being away didn’t help the loneliness that had settled on his shoulders within the past few months. His younger brother—the troublemaker. More fuckin’ trouble than he’s worth. Were words Joel was spouting two months ago the night before Tommy’s leave; you caught the pain in his eyes, the dull emptiness that chewed away in his chest.

Despite the multiple jests and bickered words that never quite stuck like they used to—now that they both knew there’d be no time to make up with cheap beer snuck into the backyard and cigarettes Joel claimed weren’t his—Joel would miss his brother.

“Two hours,” he mumbled, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye.

“Then go back to sleep.”

His gaze narrowed. “You’re gonna have to get back in.”

“Why?” You rolled your eyes, already reaching for his t-shirt tossed to the side last night when silence gave way to heady looks and soft promises beneath the light of the moon.

“Can’t sleep when you’re not here,” he huffed, falling back into the mess of sheets. “Need to feel you.”

An ache pricked at your heart, barely a nick in the fleshy organ, but you knew you’d feel it in a year's time. When life looked different. When life shined a bit brighter and Joel finally started up his business. When those promises came with a feasible future.

Wordlessly, you climbed back underneath the too warm sheet that immediately settled over you like a muggy cloud. But Joel’s hands sliding around your waist, tugging you closer, appeased whatever discomfort that attempted to push through. As if his touch was a promise of protection against the weather’s strange antics. A warning to be careful not to fall in too deeply. Lest you wind up left with a broken barely beating heart and a hollow space where he once occupied.

“What are you doin’ today?” he breathed, his leg sliding between yours, ankle hooking around the back of your calf.

Your hands found their way into the tendrils of his hair that stuck up in the back—curling with the heat. “The diner opens at ten.”

He hummed. “I’ll be there for breakfast.”

“Mr. Miller, what on Earth will people think of us?”

“That you’re my fuckin’ girl.” His eyes fluttered open, lashes longer than yours yet still dainty against his face. “Besides. We always have breakfast together.”

You hummed, bliss soaring in your heart as you shifted closer. Life with Joel must resemble this. Simplicity in such a small bubble of privacy you already created together. Mornings filled with coffee over a shared newspaper, lunch on the phone, dinner in a kitchen that always needed cleaning. Nights on the couch until one (or both) of you fell asleep, until Joel eventually woke, leading you to the mattress that would engulf your hopes and dreams with open arms.

The promise of domesticity with the knowledge that it would always be more.

“I have a question,” you whispered.

“Uh oh.”

An audible groan echoed in the room when your elbow met his stomach lightly. “It’s not a bad one.”

“Then shoot darlin’.”

“Romantic. Cowboy,” you scoffed. “What’s our life gonna be like in five years?”

He stilled. The hand sliding gently along your hip in soothing motions suddenly a heavy press against your waist. And you could feel the weight in your chest begin to sink like an anchor, settling in your stomach with force. Lead, cannonballs, the pain of intestines twisting and twining. It all hit you like a hurricane rushing to the shore, wiping clean every bit of life in its path. There was no swimming away from it, no catching the path of the torrential waves that sucked you under.

You could only wait, breaths measured and heart racing, as he processed your words.

“Got somethin’ to tell me honey?”

The gravity in his eyes nearly floored you—his meaning slamming into you with enough fervor to make you lose your breath. “No! Fuck. No, no, no, no—”

The solemn way he watched you never wavered, even as you breathed a laugh in the hopes of moving on quickly. “Definitely not that.” You sucked in a breath, lighter than before. “I just meant…what will we be in five years?”

His lips twitched, hand sliding even lower in order to cup your ass. “Hopefully that.”

“Joel—”

“I love you darlin’.” Something familiar—warm like the soothing balm of the sun caressing your skin in the afternoon—bloomed in your chest. Enough to make you nearly tear up. “That ain’t gonna change in one year or five or ten or even twenty.”

“Yeah?” you murmured, curling in so close your lips brushed his. “You sure you won’t get sick of me?”

He huffed, lips capturing yours briefly as his eyes slid closed. “Can’t get sick of somethin’ I’m addicted to.”

You laughed into the kiss, eyes daring a glimpse at his serene expression. “I’ll hold you to that in twenty years Miller.”

“Good.” His face dug into the crook of your neck, body wrapped around yours. “Means you’ll be around.”

The sheet lay above your heads, forming a haven you had no desire to leave. A space that breathed whispers of a future you could finally form a picture of. What once existed in a dreamscape you often habited on nights spent grasping for more than simply one spring and summer, now turned physical. Slowly shaping that malleable past that led you to right here.

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Word count: 3500+

Warnings: babies and pregnancy

Part XXX

Tamlin was sitting on sofa enjoying beautiful sunny day from private balcony of his bedchamber. Well, your bedchamber. Since the day he married you, he felt nothing but endless happiness and joy. To him everyday was like a dream. His home used to be a cold, dangerous, unwelcoming place where his own family ignored him or threatened him. With you it changed into something he never experienced, something he never dared to even dream about. Every room and hall that held bad memories turned into his favourite place full of warm rays of sun as soon as you walked through. He couldn't believe his luck, spending every minute of every day praying and thanking to the Mother for giving him such a gift.

With one leg up on the sofa, back leaning against the armrest, he held a stack of documents in one hand, the other one rested on your waist. You were settled between his legs, back leaning against his broad chest.

You were reading a book that you found in library some time ago. It was one of his mother's favourite ones, just some romance, but you couldn't put it down. Tamlin liked to watch you while you were reading, waiting for the moment you got so engrossed in the story that you stopped paying attention to your surrounding. He loved to see how your expression changed based on what you read, showing all kinds of emotions. If he didn't have so many responsibilities, he would just sit and watch you for hours without getting bored.

Since he returned to his duties, he was very busy, sometimes even leaving estate for several days to take care of issues on borders or distant corners of the Spring Court. This Court was completely ruined and it was pretty hard to restore it back to its original state. No need to say that Tamlin decided to take advantage of this opportunity and change things he didn't like. Because not all of the traditions and rules that previous High Lords established, were good. On top of that whole Prythian was slowly changing thanks to all new young High Lords with dreams or rather visions of better future. Tamlin wanted the same for his Court. And he did really good job so far.

Villages, cities and roads between them were repaired and rebuilt, new rules gave hope to all, whether poor or rich, for better tomorrow. Hearing about all the changes, not only original inhabitants of this beautiful country had came back, a lot of new Faes decided to move in here, too.

So as could be seen, High Lord of Spring had his hands full. However, whenever he could, he spent as much time as possible with you, even when he was working. Just like now. Your presence made him feel better whenever he felt down and you did your best to support him and help him with his duties.

Tamlin put down documents he was holding, on the table that he moved closer to the sofa for this purpose and took another one. He quickly skimmed it with his eyes.

"Little rose, your brother wants to see you. He's coming today's afternoon," he informed you.

"Really?" You put your book down, looking up at him with smile. You hadn't heard from Rhys much since the wedding. You were so worried. Lately he started to at least write you more often, but his letters were hectic and none of them explained what's going on. Tamlin seemed to know something though. When you were trying to get it out of him, he just declared that he promised to not speak about it. So you could only wait for your brother to tell you the reason.

Tamlin gently kissed your forehead, nuzzling to your hair and rubbed your belly. "He wants you to officially meet someone," he breathed out and handed you the letter to read.

"Do you know who could it be?"

"I have a certain idea, but I might be wrong," he laughed. His other arm wrapped around you, tugging you closer, so he could reach your lips.

You moaned to his mouth, turning over to him. Your hand slipped down to his crotch and to the bulge you felt there.

Pulling away he sighed. "I still have a few documents that I have to go through. Tonight," he promised and pecked your cheek.

"I already can't wait," you muttered, resting your head in the crook of his neck so you could drown yourself in his rich scent.

You smiled. "Will we tell them?" you asked after a while.

Tamlin frowned. "I'm not sure. I think that we should wait a bit longer," he said uncertainly. "Until it's safe."

You pursed your lips.

"But if you want," he added quickly. "Maybe we could wait to see who they'll bring with them and then decide."

"That sounds great," you smiled, satisfied. Your husband was a decisive male as you recently found out, even harsh in some ways, and he definitely knew how to get his way. A soldier indeed. But when it came to you, he had a soft spot for you and never tried to push you into something you didn't like or want, and rather let you make your own choices.

The morning passed quickly and just as was stated in his letter, Rhysand came on time. And he wasn't alone. Feyre was standing right beside him with a small bundle in her arms. The bundle moved and small voice echoed through the hall. You gaped at them in awe. Tamlin watched you with interest with a hardly there smile.

Rhys proudly grinned seeing your expression. He took the bundle from Feyre and together they stepped closer. "Y/N, Tamlin, I'd love to introduce you Nyx, our son."

A small fist flew out of the blanket and little baby made a satisfied sound. Apparently he didn't like to be swaddled much.

"Hello," you cooed at him offering him a finger. He immediately grabbed on it and giggled. It was a lovely baby with tuft of dark fine hair and tan skin of his father, and bright blue eyes inherited from his mum.

"So this is what you were hiding," you said softly holding Nyx's hand and gently rubbing his soft skin with thumb.

"Well," Rhys suddenly got serious. "It was quite a complicated situation." The blanket disappeared and you spotted a small pair of black wings on Nyx's back.

You gasped. It was well known that it was impossible for females who didn't have at least pinch of Illyrian blood, to give birth to baby with such wings. There weren't many cases of Illyrian male choosing female outside of the camps, but when it happened and female got pregnant, it usually ended with her and baby's death.

Your eyes shot up to Feyre, looking at her carefully. She was little bit pale and tired, but otherwise she seemed to be fine.

"How..?" You couldn't finish your sentence.

"Well, it wasn't exactly easy," Feyre smiled sadly and waved her hand. "It's quite a long story, maybe we should rather skip that. It's nothing interesting, really."

"And bloody one. You almost died," Rhys grunted. Now you understood why he looked so bad when you saw him the last time. He was desperately looking for a way to save his mate and unborn child. Even if he asked you, you couldn't help them, but he could at least confide with his worries.

"But thanks to Nesta, it didn't happen," Feyre gave him a look. "She came just in time and used whatever powers she snatched from Cauldron to safe me and Nyx."

Your shoulders slumped and you turned to your brother. "So that was what worried you? Can you imagine how much worried I have been, knowing that there is something going on and you don't want to tell me about it? If I knew we could tried to help you looking for a solution together."

"I told Tamlin and asked him for help. I didn't want you to be involved in this. I didn't want to stain your happiness. After everything that happened to you, you deserve it more than anything."

"Do you think I could be happy if someone from my family died without me even knowing there was something going on?" You hissed.

Angry, you turned to your husband to confirm that he really knew about this.

Tamlin next to you cleared his throat, obviously feeling uncomfortable. "It's true. He told me the day we informed him about our engagement. I tried to help and transform the wings before the birth but it didn't work."

Feyre's brows knitted together. Apparently she didn't know that he visited Velaris and tried to save her. Neither did you.

You narrowed eyes on him. You clearly remembered when he told you that he knew what was going on in Night Court, but that he promised not to tell you. You really shouldn't be angry with him but only with your brother because it was his doing, but still you were a bit angry.

Feyre noticed the change of mood and came with different topic.

"Y/N, I'm so sorry I missed your wedding. I've heard it was beautiful and I'd love to learn more details later if you don't mind. I hope the two of you are truly happy."

"Yes, we are very happy," Tamlin was faster and answered in a reserved voice, pulling you closer to his side. He was trying to be polite and smiled at her, but you felt tips of his claws looming under his skin.

It was the first time he paid her any attention. Since they came, Tamlin didn't as much as looked in her direction. It must have been hard for him to meet her in person again after everything that happened between them. Feyre also seemed to have problems to look directly at him.

She stepped a bit forward and cleared her throat.

"It's okay if you say no, Tamlin, but could we have a word? It will be quick, I promise," Feyre bit on her bottom lip.

He didn't need to ask for permission, yet he did it anyway. Tamlin looked down at you and fingers of his hand on your hip clenched into your loose dress. You squeezed his hand, nodding. He leaned in and kissed you before he left with Feyre. Whatever it was, you hoped they could solve it and find it in them to at least forgive each other. You liked your brother and Feyre, and you'd really like for both of your families to meet up from time to time and enjoy those moments together. You watched them until they turned around the corner and then turned to your brother and small Nyx who seemed to feel so comfortable in arms of his father that he fell asleep.

"You really could have said something," you said in small voice trying not to wake up the baby, watching his lovely face.

"I'm sorry. I- I just.. I was so scared," He admitted, watching his son with love. "I couldn't even imagine loosing them, living without them. I felt that when I tell you, it'd be definite, ultimate, that there would be no hope left."

You huffed. "Why even bother to imagine such things. You wouldn't have to live without them. You would die together with them," you sighed heavily, tears stinging your eyes. The realisation of how close you were to loosing your brother suddenly hit you.

"You remember," he snorted.

"Of course, I do. You gamble with your own life. I understand why you two did what you did, but still. Imagine she would have really died with you following after her soon. What would happen with Night Court?"

At that moment, Tamlin and Feyre came back, saving Rhysand from answering. You breathed a sigh of relief when they seemed to feel somehow more comfortable in each others presence. You were sure Tamlin would tell you what they talked about later. He stepped to you, kissed you with a soft smile and his hand once again found its place on your hip.

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing interesting, really. Just some siblings nonsense."

"I see. It seems someone was so bored that he fell asleep," he nodded to little baby, now sleeping in Feyre's arms.

You chuckled. "Do you want to tell them?"

"And you?" He asked carefully, already knowing your response in advance.

You nodded and Tamlin sighed.

"Tell us what?" Rhysand asked, always the curious one.

Tamlin just waved his hand and your scent filled the room.

"You are.." Rhys gasped, utter shock on his face.

"Pregnant?" Feyre finished for him with big smile. If she didn't hold Nyx, she would run to you and squeeze you in tight hug. "Congratulations! How far are you?"

"Well, baby is due in two months or so," you announced, smoothing your dress so they could see the rather small bump you had. Tamlin's other hand immediately lifted to your belly in a protective way. You both were worried at first, expecting that in this stage of pregnancy you would be already so big that it would be impossible to hide it. However healer assured you everything was okay and explained you that the baby was just in a very good position.

Your brother's face changed from pale to red.

"Two..? What?! So soon? Why you haven't said anything? That's your doing," Rhys spew words.

Feyre put her hand on his chest. "It's wonderful news," she told him in calm but a bit scary way. "You should be happy you'll be uncle and congratulate them, honey."

Rhys took a deep breath, thinking it over. Then he stepped closer to you and Tamlin growled. "It's my sister. I won't hurt her," he declared with narrowed eyes.

Tamlin seemingly still didn't like the idea of any male in your proximity, but he released you. Rhysand stepped even closer and carefully watching your husband, he slowly pulled you into a hug.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, for my previous reaction," he whispered to you softly. "I'm just.. surprised. I didn't expect my baby sister to grow up so soon, but I'm really happy for you and hope that everything will go smoothly. I can't wait to meet my little niece or nephew."

"Thank you," you whispered back, feeling easier, now, when even he knew about it.

Two months later

Tamlin ran across the gardens and up the stairs taking three at a time, swearing under his breath. He knew that he shouldn't have left. Nothing would happen if he postponed the visit of the farthest point of borders where they had some minor problem with supplies. He felt it coming, but you convinced him that it would be fine and you wouldn't give birth any time soon. Not even half a day had passed since he bid you farewell and you were fine back then, full of energy. The Mother had to hate him for some reason now.

As soon as he got the message, he ran all the way back. It was a big day and he didn't want to miss it by any chance. He knew that giving birth wasn't an easy task and he wanted to be there for you no matter what.

Heaving heavily and all sweaty he finally abruptly stopped before the double doors of your bedchamber. Something was amiss. He hadn't noticed it before as he hurried through halls, but the whole manor was quiet, too quiet. There should have been some kind of commotion, maids running around, screams or a baby cry. With a bad feeling and shaky hands he pushed the doors open wide. Small healer who took care of you during the whole pregnancy, emerged out as if she was waiting behind the doors for him, startling him and closed the doors behind her.

"Milord," old fae bowed. "You are late."

He swallowed hard around the lump that rose in his throat, his heart painfully squeezed and sank down. "Late? What do you mean by that?" His voice was hoarse, thick with panic. "Where is my wife? How is she? And what about the baby?"

The healer raised her hands as if trying to calm a startled animal. "Everything is okay, Milord. Milady and the baby are both healthy and fine. They are resting now."

Tamlin breathed a sigh of relief, running hand through his hair. It took him a moment to calm down his rapid heartbeat. He was in acute need of something to lean against or at least a gulp of strong alcohol. He had never felt so relieved in his entire life.

"Let me congratulate you to a healthy baby girl, Milord," healer smiled.

"A baby girl? I have a daughter?" Tamlin's eyes filled with tears of joy. His knees buckled and he almost fell down. He had to lean against the doorframe, taking another moment to process the information. "Can I see them?"

"Of course, Milord," healer bowed again, holding the doors open for him.

Nervously he stepped in and the healer closed the doors behind him. It was so quiet inside. On shaky legs he crossed the sitting room and stopped in the alcove leading to the bedroom. The door was wide open.

You were in bed, back rested against pillows. You looked so tired, but it wasn't what stopped him. It was a sight of you holding the little baby, your finger gently caressing chubby pink cheek. You were smiling down so softly at your daughter that his breath caught in his throat and Tamlin fell to his knees, momentarily overwhelmed by the emotions. His girls. The perfect picture of you two had engraved deep into his heart. Maybe some day he could ask Feyre to paint it for him. He already knew where he would hung it: to his office so he could have you two in sight even when he had to spend some time separated from you.

That's when Tamlin felt it.

All this time he was waiting, certain that you were the one, but it never happened, not until this very moment. It didn't snap for him when he proposed and you said yes nor when he saw you in that beautiful wedding dress walking toward him, not even when you spent your very first night together. It didn't really matter whether you were his mate or not, he was already so happy with you. You already were his soulmate whether the Mother blessed you two or not.

However, all it needed, was just to see you with your baby girl in arms. The bond had finally snapped for him and his stone heart came to life, moving. For the very first time in his long life he felt his heart beating, really beating, not only its echo. It was quite painful at first and he clenched the shirt on his chest in the shock, but with every beat it slowly got better and pain soon disappeared.

"I knew it," he sobbed, tears rolling down his cheeks. "You are mine. Mine."

Finally, you noticed him and looked up. You were surprised to see him on his knees, but you smiled nonetheless. "I've always been yours. Just as you are mine."

Tamlin crawled to the bed, impatient to see his daughter. His fingers trembled as he reached out, gently squeezing her tiny hand in his.

"I'm so sorry I missed it. I wanted to be here with you." He couldn't stop the tears. The little baby in your arms whom he loved so dearly even before he laid his eye at her, immediately won his heart anew. There was no way he wouldn't love her. She was perfect, a small version of you except of the hair as he could assume by few hairs that he saw.

"You are here now," you snuggled to his side. "Would you like to hold her?"

Little girl frowned as she left her mothers arms and shifted in discomfort. Tamlin expected her to start crying, but she only looked up at him with bright green eyes, yawned and again fell asleep.

Tamlin smiled as he brought her closer to his face. She smelled like you and the baby soap he had prepared for her. Small hand came to his cheek, tiny fingers trying to find something to grip on. He offered her his finger and she immediately grabbed it. Her pinky lips curled into a smile.

"She's perfect," Tamlin breathed out, unable to take his eyes off of her. "Thank you for this gift, my love. Thanks to you I'm the happiest male that ever walked this world. I love you so much."

He leaned in, giving all his gratitude into a kiss and sending a wave of love down the bond. You wrapped your arms around his neck, surge of need to be close to him overcoming you. However, the small bundle of joy between your bodies, didn't like it a bit. The both of you laughed out and snuggling together watched your little miracle.

That night Tamlin slept a deep peaceful sleep, holding both his beloved girls on his chest close to his beating heart.

Note: This was the last part (until I learn to write some good smut👀)of for now the longest story I've ever written. It was a long journey, but I had a lot of fun and learnt a ton of new things. Thanks to this story I also met a lot of new people here who are very kind and I'm very grateful for that. I'd like to thank all of you who stuck with me until the end. Hopefully you enjoyed it. This story wouldn't be what it is without you, your comments and questions, and your support. Thank you so much😘💕

And I very hope to meet you again in a new Eris' series🤞🥹🤞

Taglist:

@impossibelle @sevikas-whore @b0xerdancer @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @nocasdatsgay @yunloyal @nebarious @isabiss @st0rmyt @lilah-asteria @ubigaia @paleidiot @acourtofimagines @harahettania @talesofadragon @ceoofyearning @little-nightowl

[callivich]

Hi Calli! It's a gloomy and rainy early spring Saturday where I am, so I thought I would ask... how do you think Ian and Mickey would spend a day like today?

Hi Kat!

I’m sending you some of the sunny weather I’ve got here right now ☀️

Love this question. Ok, I think because it’s raining, Ian doesn’t go on a run and he could go to the gym….but well, he can’t be bothered. He’s awake and Mickey is still asleep. So he does what any normal person would do and he rolls onto his side, props his head up on his elbow and watches his husband sleep for a bit. And Mickey’s got some kind of sixth sense for Ian’s staring so he opens one eye, gently pushes Ian’s shoulder and calls him a weirdo (fond)

“why aren’t you running?” // “it’s raining” // “could work out in the gym since we pay that huge service charge for it” // “hmmm” he rolls on top of Mickey “but I’d rather work out here….with you….if you know what I mean” // “no Ian I’ve got no fuckin’ clue what you mean”

Cue a playful ‘workout’ which is followed by a joint shower and then breakfast. But they’re feeling kinda lazy so they don’t cook but order some breakfast burritos to be delivered and make out on the couch while they wait.

They have a leisurely breakfast and Ian turns on the fire because “it’s fireplace weather, Mickey!”

After this, they watch a couple of movies, play video games for a bit and then end up napping on the couch for a few hours. Ian wakes before Mickey and lets Mickey stay asleep on top of him while he scrolls through his phone and finds a recipe they can make together for dinner.

He finds a pasta recipe that he thinks looks good so, when Mickey eventually awakens, they have a beer while they cook while listening to some music. By then the rain has kinda stopped and it’s not too cold so they eat on the balcony, smoke a couple of joints and try to guess what stars they can see (not many and they make up stupid names for the few they can see).

They end up back in bed where they fool around for a bit before falling asleep in each other’s arms.💖

[potatonugget7]

You Are My Sunshine

Chapter 1 of my new QSMP borrower AU. Also posted on AO3. Next Part.

TWs: Fear of death, blood and injuries, a scary owl. 3.6k words.

Tubbo never seemed to learn his lesson when it came to trusting humans. Yet there he was, fleeing yet another home. This time though, he had a child with him. Yeah, he adopted a child. Considering he was still *kind of* a kid himself, maybe it wasn't the greatest idea, but it was too late for that now, they were inseparable like glue. Now it was Tubbo and Sunny against the world! Plus she shared his love for coffee! When he was her age, he wasn't allowed coffee, so Tubbo was *pretty sure* he was doing a fine job.

Hopefully this new house wouldn't have such weird and nosy humans.

Thunder rumbled in the dusk coloured sky overhead, followed by smaller cracks and flashes of bright light as it stormed. It was spring, the season of heavy rain and occasionally snow; also known as the perfect formula for hypo-fucking-thermia. Tubbo grimaced as the rain continued to beat down on them mercilessly, another heavy drop of freezing cold water crashing down on his head as he and Sunny trudged through a muddy forest of unkempt grass blades. It would be night soon. The sun was setting already, which meant the temperature would be dropping further and dangerous predators would be out hunting.

“Sunny, remember what I said? Stick close to me so we can share the umbrella,” he chattered out and Sunny nodded, squeezing his hand tighter.

All things considered, the leaf they were using as an umbrella wasn’t very effective. They were both drenched, covered in mud and dirt. Tubbo had tried to keep her out of the mud when it first started raining, but he couldn’t carry her and the bags. He cursed under his breath, squinting up at the darkening sky. It was just not their lucky day. Correction; not their lucky week.

They had to move on short notice; in the middle of the night, which then led to walking all day. Humans travelled much faster than borrowers could and Tubbo wanted to put as much distance between them and their previous ‘house mate’. For hours they trekked through forests of overgrown grass, across plateaus of dirt and brick. Along shores of large ponds and watering holes. He was certain that by now, they must’ve travelled at least a ‘city block’ as the humans called them. 

It should be far enough. He hoped it was far enough. His legs ached and his feet were numb with cold. Tubbo wasn’t sure if it was his own exhaustion, or the rain weighing them down, but the bags felt so much heavier.

He paused as he felt a tug on his hand. Sunny had stopped and dropped the leaf-umbrella, a strained wheeze escaping her as she clutched her chest. 

“Sunny?” Tubbo dropped the bags and crouched down in front of her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

Sunny tried to nod as she coughed dryly, a pained look on her face. The poor girl had lung problems. Tubbo was pretty sure it was called asthma. It couldn’t be cured as far as he knew. He did everything he could; taught her calming breathing exercises and upon hearing that coffee supposedly could help, he started making it more often. However he wasn’t exactly sure how accurate that information was, considering its source was Pierre. Though he did quickly learn that Sunny shouldn’t have more than one cup a day or else she would be bouncing off the walls for hours. Sometimes it got really bad though, especially in the spring and all he could really do was hold her hand.

“Just stay calm princess, you’ve got this. If it hurts you can squeeze my hand, okay?” he whispered calmly, taking her hand gently.

Sunny nodded again and squeezed his hand tight. She had described the feeling to him before. 

‘I feel all tight and like the air is being squeezed out of me.’ she had explained.

“Try and pretend you’re smelling some tulips, or maybe some coffee? Take a nice deep breath,” Tubbo said quietly, giving her the most reassuring smile he could muster.

A few minutes later, Sunny was able to reign it in again, but it felt like hours. Sitting there in the chilly air, getting battered by raindrops as he held his daughter’s hands. Unfortunately the rain didn’t set with the sun and as a bolt of lightning shattered the velvety sky, both borrowers jumped in fright.

“Pa…” Sunny tugged on his hand, frowning up at the sky as thunder rumbled loudly overhead. “Can we please stop here? I’m tired… and it’s really muddy and dirty.” 

The smaller borrower kicked at the dirt with her muddy boots, a foul look on her face. Sunny wasn’t a typical child. While most borrowers her age would love to be playing in the dirt and enjoying the outdoors, Sunny would rather stay inside and count her collection of bits and bobs. Tubbo didn’t mind though. It brought him peace of mind to know Sunny was safe at home, waiting for him to bring her back whatever shiny new trinket he’d come across on his latest borrowing trip.

“I know Suns, I know,” he looked around, squinting past the tall grass blades around them.

They were about halfway across a particularly overgrown backyard. The house it belonged to stood tall in the distance. From what Tubbo could see it did have a back porch, standing on sleek, dark wooden beams, with a grate of sorts that wrapped all the way around. It would be the perfect place to make camp for the night.

“This umbrella sucks,” the small girl huffed, motioning to the leaf they were using. “I miss my parasol.” 

Tubbo sighed. Regrettably, they had left it behind and he didn’t have the heart to tell her that it would’ve been useless anyway. Being made of paper, it would’ve been ruined in a few minutes of being out in the rain.

“Well maybe I can find you another one once it’s warmer out. I think the humans like to put them in their fancy… erm, barbeque drinks,” he gave her the most cheerful smile he could muster in the moment.

“Can you make it shiny pa?” Sunny asked with a hopeful smile.

Clearly she was in a much better mood already when it came to being promised new things. Tubbo felt a small weight lift off his shoulders at the sight of Sunny's smile. The weather was gloomy enough as it was, they didn't need either of them bringing the mood down any further.

“I guess I could reinforce it with some aluminium?” Tubbo smiled back at her, but it was a mask to hide his own gloom.

He had left behind… well, just about everything. His workshop, his machines and inventions, his materials. It would take years to rebuild both the workshop and his collection, assuming their new home would even have what he needed. Tubbo didn’t think human engineers were very common, and certainly not living on the same street. Disclaimer; he had no evidence to back that up, it was just a hunch . Honestly they'd be lucky to even find an abandoned borrowers’ hovel, let alone an available home with a proper forge setup.

“Oh…” Sunny visibly deflated, pouting at the ground as they trudged through the squelchy mud.

It felt like a punch to the gut.

“Poppetttttttttttttt… please don't make that face. It can't be helped for now, I'm sorry,’” Tubbo drawled out.

Squinting through the downpour, Tubbo could see they were almost to the human house which this yard belonged to. The structure was impossibly large, its rooftop easily grazing the skies as it towered over the small borrowers. The grass was getting thinner as they got closer to the building. Instead, large, flat stones were embedded into the dirt. Weeds were fighting to break through the cracks, between the tiles and several puddles of water turned the path into some kind of stoney bog.

They were so close to the porch now; all they had to do was cross the stone terrace. The whole thing made Tubbo nervous. Something in the back of his mind told him that if something bad was going to happen on this trip, it should happen sometime around now. There was almost no cover on the stone plateau, save for a few overgrown dandelions and upturned stone bricks, but he would hardly call that cover. If any birds spotted them, it would be so joever. 

“Welp, up we go Suns,” Tubbo hauled himself up onto the stone, his muscles aching and sore from exhaustion.

 “Pa, can we have avocado soup for dinner?” she asked as Tubbo reached down and pulled her up too.

“Sure…” he replied quietly, taking her hand as they began crossing the stone terrace.

In all honesty, he really just wanted to get to sleep. Unfortunately that's just what parenting was, it seemed. Tubbo was a little worried about a fire. Even a small one could draw unwanted attention. The brunet glanced up at the house ahead of them.

He didn’t see any lights on, but what if they somehow smelled the smoke and woke up? He couldn’t just feed Sunny cold soup though. For one, she wouldn’t eat it cold to begin with. Two, she needed to warm up or she might catch a cold! A sick child was the last thing he needed right now. Tubbo really hoped these humans ate avocados at least.

“Hey Princess… um, I just want to warn you. I might not be able to get you avocados anymore…” he said slowly, trying his damndest to avoid eye contact.

Sunny paused midstep, letting go of his hand. She looked up at him with a blank face, but Tubbo could see fire in her eyes.

“Huh.”

“Well it’s just…” Tubbo crouched down in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Avocados aren’t super common I don’t think. When I was your age I’d never even heard of them before.”

“Really..?” Sunny asked with a look of awe and horror on her face, like she couldn’t begin to comprehend life without avocados.

“Yeah,” he stood back up, a sorrowful expression on his face.

“Well- what about- what about coffee?” the younger borrower asked in a desperate voice.

“No, I think coffee is universal–” Tubbo paused, feeling goosebumps prickling down his spine.

Lightning cracked through the air and the flash of light revealed a shadow on the ground. His eyes widened in panic and he let out a gasp. Quickly, he grabbed Sunny and threw himself to the side, hugging her tight. 

A pair of talons crashed down where they had been just seconds ago. A piercing ache jolted down his arm as his shoulder slammed into the stone, taking the brunt of the fall. Tubbo bit his tongue, swallowing back a pained cry. Now that the adrenaline was pumping, he barely noticed the dull throbbing in his shoulder.

“Pa?!” Sunny cried, her eyes wide with terror. 

An owl towered over them, its grey and brown serrated feathers having made it virtually silent. It looked like a demon, with its massive glowing yellow orbs and feathery horns. Tubbo had seen one in action once. It swooped down on a field mouse with terrifying accuracy and snatched it up into the air. The poor mouse never had a chance.

He didn’t answer her as he scrambled to his feet. The owl recovered quickly too, flapping its wings wildly as it swiped at them with its talons again. Tubbo darted to the side, dragging Sunny with him, dropping some of the bags.

“What is that?!” the younger brunette practically squeaked.

“An owl–” Tubbo breathed out, shuddering as the owl's head turned a hundred and thirty degrees, staring directly at them.

Terrifyingly silent, the owl sprung at them again and Tubbo scooped Sunny up with his good arm, the adrenaline pumping through his veins giving him abnormal strength. The brunet vaulted over a slanted stone tile, feeling the wind rush passed them as the owl jabbed its beak into the stone. He ignored both the pain in his injured arm, and Sunny’s snot soaking into his shirt. The poor girl had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she shook, her face buried in his shirt.

He sprinted as fast as his legs would carry him, jolts of pain travelling up his ankles every time his shoes slammed into the hard stone. They were almost there. Tubbo wouldn’t let either of them get eaten by an overgrown finch right before reaching their new camp.

“Suns we have to be- very quiet,” he heaved out, the cold air making his lungs ache. “O-okay?”

“Mhm,” Sunny whimpered.

Daring a glance over his shoulder, Tubbo realised he didn’t see the owl anymore. A wave of anxiety washed over him and a pit formed in his stomach. It must’ve flown back to wherever it had been perching before it jumped them. They were lucky the first time when the lightning struck and Tubbo managed to catch a glimpse of the shadow. He didn’t think it would happen twice.

He stopped to catch his breath, and squinted up at the dark sky; it wasn’t circling above them. Tubbo turned his gaze to the shrubs and trees around the backyard, scanning the tall towering fences and the nearby houses. He didn’t see the owl anywhere though. 

“Okay Sunny… I- I don’t want to scare you–” he started, setting the younger borrower back down on the stone. 

“Pa… that was already really scary,” Sunny interrupted.

Tubbo took a deep breath, his legs shaking from the adrenaline. The pain was starting to really set in, and the cold and the damp really didn’t help either. Looking over at the porch, he could see how the skirt was made of wooden plants. The planks created a criss-cross pattern, with holes too small for any creature bigger than a small rabbit. The owl wouldn’t be able to get them there. 

He gently took her hand again and began walking across the stone plateau once more.

‘At least the rain had stopped…’

“I know, but that owl might still come back. So we need to get under the porch, quickly and quietly. We’re gonna set up camp there,” he explained, helping her jump over a crack where a dandelion had challenged the tiles and won.

“Finally…” Sunny yawned.

“Sunny. Kid. You are way too nonchalant for someone who just nearly got snatched by an owl,” Tubbo deadpanned.

“I thought you didn't want to scare me,” she stated, a blank expression on her face.

“...” they stared at each other in silence for a moment. 

“Look– you know how fragile my ego is.” deep down though, Tubbo was happy she was so quick to recover.

Sunny rolled her eyes, letting out a scoff. Tubbo went to clutch his chest dramatically in betrayal– but let out a pained yelp, quickly remembering that he had an injured shoulder. The cheeky look on the younger borrower’s face turned to sympathy when she noticed.

“Does your arm hurt Pa?” she asked, gently tugging on it.

“Uh, yeah. So please don’t pull on it,” Tubbo grimaced.

“Sorry,” Sunny mumbled.

Relief washed over him as they finally crossed over to the last stone tile. Tubbo breathed a sigh of reprieve as he shoved aside an overgrown dandelion stem. He didn’t notice the owl was back until he was slammed into the stone. 

His brain buffered, taking a second to catch up before he realised what had happened. Sharp talons pinned him to the ground, digging into his arms and Tubbo let out an agonizing wail. He squirmed, pushing up against the owl’s superior strength. However even with the adrenaline pumping through his veins he was no match for a massive, hungry bird of prey.

“Go! Sunny hide- under the porch–!” he yelled, his voice cracking.

“But–”

“Go!” he struggled, reaching for his sword.

The smaller borrower nodded, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. Tubbo managed to unsheathe his sword, using it to block the owl's beak as it tried to chomp his head off . At the same time, Sunny climbed up and between one of the criss-crosses in the porch skirt. 

Tubbo pointed the tip of the sword at its face the second time the owl lunged for his head. The pin was embedded in the feathery bastard's eye. The owl let out a deafening shriek and started flapping its wings frantically, scratching at Tubbo as it shrieked. The borrower let out yelp and curled up in a ball, covering his head with his hands.

‘Maybe that wasn't a great idea–’

Tubbo froze as he heard a click. Suddenly squares of light flooded the yard. Next, a loud shuttering noise, which was then followed by a resounding slam rang through the air.

“Yeah hang on Phil, it's that stupid owl again,” a deep voice groaned.

Thunk, thunk, thunk, clack, clack, clack–

His eyes widened in horror as he listened to the footsteps of the much scarier predator that was fast approaching. The owl noticed too, turning its stupid creepy head to the giant that now towered over the both of them.

“How many times have I told you to stay out of this yard?! Fucking bird,” the bald human yelled, stomping it's feet so loudly that it shook the ground.

The owl let out a shrill shriek, squawking angrily at the human before it took off again.

Tubbo slowly picked himself up, biting his tongue to quiet his own pained whimpers. His body felt like it was on fire. His shirt was ripped, and the sleeves were covered in messy, dark red stripes; gifts left behind by the owl's talons. 

“Jeez…” the human pulled a light box (Pierre said they were called phones) out of its pocket and held it up to its ear. 

“Sorry I'm back. Yeah the little one that won't leave the crows alone.”

The human didn't see him yet, and Tubbo didn't want to change that. Quietly, slowly, he pulled himself up onto the trim of the porch and crawled through one of the many gaps in the wood. He managed to drag himself behind one of the wooden posts that framed the porch before he collapsed in the dirt, panting.

“I mean, maybe? I didn't see one. It might've just been a rat.”

Tubbo heard some shuffling behind him and awkwardly sat up, leaning against the post for support. He pulled his heavy bag and laid it down in the dirt, still working on catching his breath. He just needed a minute to recover.

“Hello?” 

The brunet slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle the startled noise that tried to claw its way up his throat. 

“Is anyone or anything down here?”

Tubbo knew there was absolutely no way the bald human could see him. Even laying down, it couldn’t see him from that angle, in the dark no less. Well- unless it could see through walls, which he severely doubted. However, the urge to get up and take off running again was strong. 

“Yeah, I think it was just a squirrel or something,” the human got back up, dusted itself off and went back inside.

“K, I have to put the kids back to bed now. I think the owl woke them up again”

Tubbo still felt his heart hammering against his chest. The ridiculous amount of close encounters he and Sunny had experienced today gave him enough heart attacks to last a month thank you very much. He waited until it stopped raining sawdust and the footsteps above him faded away to move again. 

Once he was absolutely sure the human wasn’t listening, Tubbo grabbed his hiker’s bag and got back up again, (much to his body’s dismay).

“Sunny?” he called out, stumbling over the uneven terrain. “Poultry Princess? Where are you?” 

“Pa?!” his eyes darted to the source of the sound.

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave. Sunny was fine, she was alive in one piece. The little borrower had peeked her head out of her hiding spot; behind another wooden support. Tubbo rushed over to her, nearly tripping in the process, and lifted her up into a tight hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay…” he whispered, setting Sunny back down on the ground when she started squirming.

The younger borrower grumbled, crossing her arms. She was giving him the look.

“...What?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Am I not allowed to hug you or–?”

“Don’t do that again Pa!” she cried, pounding her little fists on his chest lightly. “I thought- I thought you were gonna–...” her exclamations died down into sobs.

一

Once Sunny had calmed down, Tubbo had gotten a small fire set up. Though their clothes hadn’t dried yet, the warmth from the fire was welcome, and leftover avocado soup had never tasted so good. Luckily, the most essential items had been packed in their backpacks, and not in the bags they’d left behind while fleeing the owl attack. Tubbo didn’t think going back out there to rescue them was in his best interest at the moment. He’d just finished bandaging his new wounds after all, he wasn’t exactly keen on opening them back up already.

“Pa, can you sing me a lullaby?” Sunny asked as she helped her dad unravel their sleeping mat.

“I- well, I can try. Are you ready for bed then?” he pulled a blanket out of his bag and laid it down on the sleeping mats.

“I was ready for bed hours ago,” the younger borrower sassed as she flopped down on the mat.

“Fair enough,” Tubbo put the fire out before laying down next to her, pulling the other end of the blanket over them, like a blanket taco.

“Argh,” he cleared his throat. “My voice is a bit scratchy right now, so bear with me.”

“That's okay.”

“Ahem. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are grey… You’ll never know dear… how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

“Pa…”

“Yeah?”

Sunny turned to face him.

“Is that about me?” 

“Um, I guess you could interpret it that way, yeah,” he gave her an awkward smile.

“Okay…” she turned her back to him. “I’m glad the owl didn’t eat you.”

“Yeah, I am too, no more talking though. Sleep time,” he yawned out, pulling her into a warm hug.

“Night Pa.”

“Night Suns…”

[puimoo]

Bruce and Dick 'Beauty and the Beast' AU

So.  I was working on my letter for the hurt/comfort exchange, and how, one of this things I was interested in, was a Beauty and the Beast version of the following tag: Character A is under a Spell/Curse and Character B's Love sets them free, with the idea of it being a platonic Bruce and Dick fic, with Bruce as the Beast.  But … then.  Then.  I realised I would really LOVE this in reverse, where we have tiny Beast!Dick, who lives alone out in an old abandoned mansion in the woods and who cursed himself (unknowingly?) because he doesn’t believe himself to be lovable following the deaths of his parents when he was 8 and having lived in a medieval orphanage.

Dick’s probably all of 10-13 when the story starts, and he’s tried to make the mansion as homely as possible (while failing miserably). Each night, he still goes out as Robin to help others because even if HE is undeserving of love, it doesn’t mean that other people still don’t have worth and value.  Back when he’s at the mansion, he’s still usually wearing his Robin outfit (Robin is basically the Beast version of Dick) because he’s so desperate to be good and worthwhile, and Robin is much more like that in his mind than Dick Grayson could ever be.  I can just imagine Dick, dressed at Robin, sitting at the end of a long table in an otherwise empty dining room, a couple of candles burning as he eats his dinner cold because he was too tired to get the cooker to work after a difficult night out.

And this is where Bruce enters the picture.  Perhaps he gets injured near Dick’s mansion and Dick manages to bring him home, but Bruce finds himself quickly – reluctantly – taken in by this desperately earnest and lonely boy who is trying to make Bruce feel at home while Bruce recovers, all while Dick is wearing his weirdly bright colours, strange mask and cape.   I don’t know if Bruce sticks around because of his injuries or if Dick keeps coming up with increasingly transparent excuses for keeping him there, but they start to bond and Bruce slowly gets to know Dick: how brilliant and clever and kind he is, how lonely and depressed and self-sacrificing – how much he’s hurting beneath the inconsistently sunny exterior.  The more they bond, the more Dick starts to shed individual parts of his costume, until eventually it’s just Dick and Bruce in the room together, rather than Dick-as-Robin.

And Bruce, Bruce is still very Bruce throughout – he’s more like the traditional Beast than Dick ever is.  He’s not a Belle stand-in; he’s exactly how you would imagine Bruce being represented if you transported his usual characteristics and plot beats into this one.

I think that, if Bruce recovers from his injuries and Dick is ‘tricking’ him to stay rather than Bruce being too injured to leave, then Dick potentially starts to take Bruce out with him at night, and thus, Batman is born.  At some point, Dick (rather desperately) convinces Bruce to stay until Spring.  At this point, Dick is feeling the pull of the curse, and he doesn’t want to spend his last few months alone – doesn’t want to die alone.  He’s hoping to live long enough to hear the robins return to the forest when the snow melts, and the joy that Bruce brings into his life (in that very weirdly Bruce way) is enough to keep him going.  Bruce doesn’t know any of this when he makes the promise to stay, although he is figuring out something is wrong – he is Bruce, after all, even as Dick tries to hide his declining health.

Of course, then something comes up in village!Gotham, and suddenly Bruce is the only one who can save the day.  He asks Dick to release him from his promise for one day, promising to return straight away once whatever needs to be has been settled (maybe it isn’t Gotham that needs saving, but Alfred?).  And … and Dick knows.  He knows that Bruce won’t be back, that this is the last time that Dick will see him and it means that he will die alone. But Dick adores Bruce too much, and he’s too self-sacrificing anyway, so he sends Bruce away with a bone crushing hug…

And Bruce doesn’t return.  It’s weeks, and there is no way Dick is making it to Spring, and he doesn’t even care about Spring anymore because it was Bruce who made life worth fighting for, not the return of the robins.  He’s been too weak to go out as Robin, so he has no idea that Bruce is being kept away against his will, and when Bruce does finally return (in a violent flurry) it is almost too late…

Tale as old as time.

But only almost 😊.  And, the thing is, the curse isn’t simply broken by someone loving Dick, but by Dick also believing that they love him, so Bruce has his work cut out for him when they reunite (given that this is something that canonically the pair have struggled with).  Still.  This is a fairytale retelling, and I have faith!  Is this a very cheap way of saying that I’m not exactly sure how they come together in the end? Absolutely!  But they get there in the end and have their happily ever after.

… now that I have done that mental dump, I may be able to actually get back to writing my hurt/comfort exchange letter!

[gyu-dloml]

Sunshine & Midnight 💛

Summary : Where you fall slowly but surely in love with the sunshine personified and he's there to swat away all your doubts.

Pairing : Seokmin x Gn! reader

Genre : Angst, fluff

Word count : 1k

Warnings : Self depreciation, insecure reader, a little crying

You can see the rays emitting from his body, literally. Because he's standing in the way of the sun to protect you. Although you can't clearly see his face considering you were almost blinded a few moments ago, you're sure he has that goofy smile plastered on his face still.

"Is it too sunny here?" Seokmin asks while holding out a hand for you to stand up.

"No, it's perfect we can stay as long as you want." You say trying to feign love for the sunny weather.

"Its okay, we can sit in the car while we eat." He giggles and leads you to the car, still holding your hand.

You've been flustered ever since this day-out with him started. It was supposed to be you, your best friend and her school friend she'd just reunited with, but guess who came down with a cold the day before? Now you're desperately trying not to blush whilst you hang out with sunshine personified.

"You don't seem to enjoys summers, do you like rain?" He asks with an unusually big, kind smile.

"No."

"Ahhh right, spring?"

"I guess."

"Then what is it that you like?" He asks while you resist the urge to say "You", but as soon as Seokmin starts blushing, you realize you said it out loud.

You slam a hand to your mouth and look like a deer caught in a headlight.

"You're cute." He says as he removes your hand away from your mouth. You smile sheepishly and he hands you your food.

"Did you buy this?"

"Who else would" He chuckles. It hasn't even been an hour and he's already making you stupid.

"Let me transfer you half the money."

"Oh no, that's unnecessary."

"I insist."

"How about we count this as our first date instead? You can treat me to dinner next Saturday." He says grinning.

If only you knew how bold Seokmin himself was being today. His hands are sweaty and he's panicking internally but he couldn't let his introverted self miss out on a date with you. You had enamored him all whilst being clumsy and easily flustered.

"Sounds great." and now you were comfortable enough to give him as big of a smile on his face.

Over time, you and Seokmin hung out several times a week and went on all dates you had dreamt of going as a young teen. He was far more than perfect, knew what to say at the right time, made you laugh like nobody had ever before. He made you want to wake up everyday and not go to bed. Your cheeks hurt whenever you were with him.

But this one night, he was busy with an assignment and you were laying on your bed thinking. Thinking about how much he means to you. And what do you give him in return? A friend? You're not sure if he thinks you're funny, or pretty, are you any close to what you think he is to you?

He could have any girl with his charming self. He was made to be loved. He loves unconditionally. But you're scared to love, to trust. If he's the sun, are you even worthy to be called the moon? As you spiral down a rabbit hole, you hear your phone ring.

"Hi pretty." he's been calling you that for a few days.

No matter how sad you may be in the moment, a small smile makes it's way to your face as you reply, "Hey."

"Are you okay? You sound down. How about a convince store run? I'm starving."

"Yes, I'll be down in 10. Pick me up?"

"Always." He says with a fond smile. He figures it's best to talk to you after some food.

After you guys are done eating, you sit down on a bench outside the store. Seokmin notices you've been quite tonight.

"Y/n"

"Hmm?"

"Whats up?"

"It's nothing Seok, just silly stuff."

"When you say silly, it's never silly." He says while holding your hand, making you look into his eyes. It looks like he holds the whole universe, and you're sure he does.

"I know it's an annoying question, but why do you like me?"

"I liked you when we first met because you were just there. Existing. Then I fell for you laugh, which you think is weird but I want to hear it all the time. I love the way your eyes get when you smile. How you always put others before you. Your love for your family is admirable, and you are just an amazing person. I feel so lucky when I'm with you, that I'm the one who gets to walk with you, hand in hand. Then there's your-"

You don't let him finish his sentence because you grab his collar and kiss him on the lips. It was just a peck but it lingered for long. Your insecurities left your body in the form of a single tear drop and Seokmin was quick to kiss it away.

He pulls you into a hug and says, "I'm sorry baby, that I made you feel any less than you are. I planned to confess my love and ask you out after our finals but I don't think we should wait anymore."

He pulls out of the hug and gets on one knee before you. He holds your hand and kisses your knuckle.

"You don't have to say it back pretty, but God I love you so much. You made me fall like a mad-man. Would you please be my partner? I promise to cherish you everyday and I'll-"

You cut off his rant yet again, this time while holding his face with both of your hands. "I love you, Seokmin." And you both knew, you didn't believe people could fall in love this early but you'd never say something like this if you didn't mean it.

Seokmin smiles brightly as he starts to get teary eyed. And even in the dim light of the convince store, he doesn't shine any less brighter than the sun. Because he believes there exists no one as beautiful as you, to bask in his light.

hehe some dk fluff obv inspired by taylor swifts - midnight rain! if you liked it, reblogs and likes are very appreciated, thank you <3

[whollyjoly]

Hi Em!! Thank you so much for putting together such an amazing ask game 🩵 I hope you’re doing well. Would you mind answering 1, 4, 17 and 25? Take care 🩵

hello hello my dear!! its been my absolute pleasure seeing everyone spread the good vibes, so im glad people are enjoying this 🥰

im sorry its so late, but here are my answers!

1 - what is your fav part about being in the fandom?

i wrote a super sappy and long answer here, but basically all of YOU is what makes this fandom the most fun to be a part of!

4 - whats a moodboard that you just want to live inside of?

ohhhhhhhh so many?? the moodboard creators in this fandom are fucking TOP TIER and i love all of them so much!! but here's a few that come to mind:

this christmas babe and gene moodboard by @footprintsinthesxnd is so comfy and so cozy and they deserve nice christmases okay!!

speaking of christmas moodboards, @onlyyouexisthere has this incredibly aesthetic board for some of our fav boys around christmas time, and i just want to live inside every single one okay??

this speirs moodboard by the one and only @xxluckystrike is so beautiful? like i love the combo of hard and soft edges (the bandage + the smoke + the chess), since i feel like that dichotomy isnt something thats always shown with speirs, but feels so true with his character. anyways i want to walk through a museum with blood on my knuckles and smoke in my lungs after looking at this okay

and of course, this chuck grant moodboard by the incredible the amazing YOU @sweetxvanixlla was one of the first things i saw and loved in the fandom for grant?? the beach vibes, the light blues, the carefree energy, it all is so perfect. and i was like "holy SHIT this is good also now i too love grant" so i can thank you for that 🥰

bonus from @the-cinnamontography-is-amazing that i cant stop laughing at it

17 - your fav fanwork about an underrated character?

oh i was HOPING to get this because there's this one fic i love SO MUCH and i just!! want to scream about it from the rooftops!!

Come In From The Cold by rebelsquad (T, 24k) is a Smokey-centric Coffee Shop AU, and it just warms my heart in all the best ways. First of all, Smokey is an incredible narrator, and I love how the author captures his voice in this so hard!! I also just love that it centers around some of the more underrated characters (Smokey, Alley, Shifty, Tab, Skinny, and Popeye), but also has great interactions with the regulars as well! The found family vibes are just *chefs kiss*, and it is also the perfect mood for winter ✨ I cannot recommend it enough!!

25 - what colors do your mutuals most remind you of?

i dont even know why this turned out like this? but i went full vibes ✨

@sweetxvanixlla - midnight blue feels so right for you, my dear. starry nights and deep blue velvet cushions, something steady and calm but sparkles in just the right light. a cup of herbal tea on a tuesday night, and the thrum of a quiet city hums beneath your tongue. theres something so quiet and still about the night, that moment when people are talking and you dont have to participate, you just sit and let their words flow over you, enjoy their presence and energy and that feeling is midnight blue.

@xxluckystrike - girl, you are golden. warmth and positivity and laughter that itself is a kind of music, just as much as the songs you love and share and make art for. its the type of gold you feel on a late summer day, echoing up from the passenger seat of a convertible as you drive with your friend across a rolling field of wheat, of corn, of wildflowers. there's soda in the cupholders, and the carbonation matches the bubbles springing from the bottom of your lungs. sunny, summery, golden.

@malarkgirlypop - pink. the snap of a piece of bubble gum, the sugar rush from a strawberry lollipop, the pop of a bright shade of lipstick, quirked up into a smirk. your presence is loud and beautiful like the sound of a boombox atop a vespa, zipping through a busy beachside pier and delighting everyone who hears. pink is the feeling of just being yourself, unashamedly and wildly, and reveling in the wake of your energy.

@panzershrike-pretz - green, but that vibrant green of the sun hitting a park just right, and there's almost a glow, or a halo, across the field. it's the kind of green reserved for grass stains, made after the first spring day that's warm enough to go and spend time outside. it's the color of collapsing in a cackling heap after goofing around with your friends, and they're laughing because you're laughing because they're laughing. what are you laughing about? it doesnt matter, maybe its nothing, maybe its the cow chewing away on the green grass in the distance. no matter, because it is joy.

@footprintsinthesxnd - idk why but lavender is the immediate thing that comes to mind? something calm and soothing and steady, a breath of fresh air, walking through a field with the sun on your neck and the smell of the purple flowers filling the air. a gentle breeze ripples across your fingertips. it's quiet, but not silent, and the lavender doesnt break in the wind - it bends, and the flower seems to brighten in response. your energy is the deep breath that is taken after that moment - content and at ease.

@blood-mocha-latte - so this might not make sense outside my head but...that color a candle flame gives when reflected off a marble statue. something in the liminal space between warmth and cool, between hard and soft, between cold creams and whites and bright oranges and yellows. the ethereal quality of walking through a gallery alone, silent save for the feeling welling up from each piece of art you pass. the tiles echo this soft color, the flickering candle makes the shadows across the paintings dance, and one can't help but want to explore further, to linger with the treasures you've created.

@ronsparky - sky blue, but not the crayola sky blue. the sky blue of an early morning on the top of a mountain, mist obscuring pieces of the horizon and you could convince yourself you are the only human on the planet. a sky blue that rivals on being crisp and soft, that suggests unlimited possibility if you just reached your hand out a little farther. one can't help but feel that every small, new thing from this view is a joy - and its a feeling so wondrous and contagious that you cant help but spread it to those you interact with. the sky shifts, ever so slightly, but the color follows you down the mountain.

@georgieluz - red, but not quite. a bird flitters into view from where you sit on a bench in a forested park. its winter, and the trees feel bare and lonely. surprisingly, the bird isnt a pigeon - it's a vermillion flycatcher. the bird stands out triumphantly against the monochrome sky as if a beacon, or a challenge to some higher power that says i am here. its bold, its singular, and one cant help but admire the sheer presence of this small vermillion creature. but when it opens its beak and sings, the trees dont look so lonely any more.

@next-autopsy - you know that color when a fire burns down, and the embers are glowing with a deep mahogany? the edges of smoke dont obscure the color or heat from the coals, it only seems to make them more ephemeral. its a mesmerizing color, its the feeling where you want so desperately to stretch out your fingers and know what that heartbeat of fire feels like, and although the burn doesnt completely dissuade you, you still pull your hand back. the dancing mahogany glows a little brighter, then dimmer, as if in time with your breathing.

@onlyyouexisthere - the words "pale green" dont quite do justice to the vibes your presence gives off. the softest pale green? cashmere, the color of mint leaves reflecting morning dew? maybe that's the closest, the feeling of looking out over a snow-brushed hill, hands warmed by a mug of silver needle tea, wrapped in a cozy cashmere sweater. something comforting but crisp, familiar but fresh, nostalgic but new. something pale green.

@land-sh - one time, i was on an airplane flying across the arctic. it was the middle of the night, and i looked out the window and slowly, over the course of two hours, watched the sun rise. the sky started as a pitch black, stars breaking up the endless void, and slowly, one color at a time it lightened into a blindingly bright day. but there was a moment, about 37 minutes in, and im pretty sure everyone on the plane was asleep. outside, all i could see was this deep, vast purple. it felt like there could be anything and everything beyond that color, and i was the only in the universe who would ever see it. idk why, but thats the color and vibe that comes to mind when i think of you.

@coco-bean-1218 - see, i thought about chocolate brown for you before i even realized that its just your username. but maybe its more than chocolate, maybe something closer to chestnut. you're that feeling when you walk through an orchard, it's november, and although the sun is shining its the kind of sun that seems to make everything more crisp than warm. as you walk through, there's a small crunch under your shoe - a chestnut. there's a deeply satisfying smell in the air, something woody and comforting, and you just want to get lost in the rows upon rows of chestnut brown dotting the branches and littering ground.

@samwinchesterslostshoe - okay so bear with me on this one - slate gray. the slate gray of a city on a rainy day, clouds and sky and sidewalk almost blending together into one entity. you duck into a coffee shop you never would have noticed if not for the weather. at first, you think the walls are just reflecting the color from the outside, and you feel a lonely pang. but then, you notice it - art, stickers, little notes of love written in sharpie and tucked in the space between tables. they stand out among the walls, and the absence of color makes their presence even brighter. and the coffee? so good. it's the best you've ever had, and you realize the coffee shop is just like the walls - you find beauty you never would have noticed without the slate gray of the sky.

....so i have no idea if any of this makes sense outside of my head, but here we are. if i missed you i am so sorry!!!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

okay okay i am sorry this is so long-winded. i am in fact, a long-winded bitch.

but thank you so much for asking this, and for just being such a wonderful part of our community! i hope your day goes super well!! 💕💕

[ameliahiatt]

basics.

Full Name: Amelia Pearl Hiatt Nickname: Molly Pronouns: she/her Gender: cis female Romantic attraction: Panromantic Age / DOB: 40, December 18, 1984 Sign: Sagittarius (Sag sun, Sag moon, Cap rising) Hometown: Ripton, Vermont but she spent 30 years of her life in Nashville, Tennessee so she also considers that her hometown as well. Time in Bleeding Hearts Springs: one year and eight months Occupation: Librarian at the Bleeding Hearts Springs Library

physical appearance.

Face Claim: Mandy Moore Hair: shoulder-length brunette Eyes: brown Height: 5’ 10” Features: doe eyes, a regular red-tinted lip usually plastered across a sweet smile Tattoo: small outline of a butterfly on her wrist

family: 

Parents: Hannah & Levi Hiatt Sibling: Grace Hiatt

personality:

Positive traits: easy-going, hard-working, kind, compassionate, determined Negative traits: too trusting, resentful, impulsive Likes: blueberries, sunny skies, picnics, heartwarming novels, thrillers, animals, the color yellow, red wine, camping, family road trips, roaring fires in fireplaces, creeks, the sound of a banjo Dislikes: noisy places, books that are too long, stagnant characters, dishonesty, cold rain, men who leave their wives for their scene partner

fun things:

Hobbies: reading, cross-stitching, writing, writing and reading plays, watching musicals, taking walks outside (not necessarily full-on hiking), porch sitting, listening to live folk bands, watching rom-coms Favorite animal: elephants Favorite color: yellow, specifically pastel yellow Favorite food: pizza with goat cheese Favorite weather: sunny skies, low humidity, 75 degrees Favorite flower: sunflowers, purple hyacinths Favorite book: Anne of Green Gables Favorite holiday: Christmas

bio highlights:

Molly is the eldest daughter of Hannah & Levi Hiatt and ten years senior to her younger sister, Grace. Despite the age gap, Molly and Grace have always been incredibly close. The whole family has always been close, spending summers on family vacations and holidays at home. Molly’s sister opted to stay in Nashville with their parents when Molly decided to make the leap and move to Bleeding Hearts Springs despite knowing nearly no one there. Grace supported her sister in her decision to attempt to turn over a new leaf and actually encouraged her to find somewhere new. 

For much of her twenties and early thirties Molly spent her time working and volunteering in the Theatre scene in Nashville, spending time at both community and regional theatres. She wasn’t much for performing but had a knack for writing, directing, and sewing which came in handy for helping build costumes. Molly’s always been able to feel things very deeply, so in the community scene it was especially helpful to have her around to help actors who were struggling to find a balance with their characters. Molly has been writing for as long as she can remember, starting with journals when she was young, thriving in creative writing classes at school, obtaining her English degree, and writing a few plays in her adult life. One of her plays did make it on stage in a community theatre, but that’s as far as she let things go. At 32, she went to graduate school to get her Masters in Library and Information Studies. 

At the age of twenty-two, Molly married her high school sweetheart, Roger. They began dating at fifteen and were married for sixteen years. Roger was everything to Molly, she loved their little life together, a life that was filled with get-togethers, shows, adventuring, writing, sharing muses, and everything in between. Roger is a published author with at least one book dedicated to his now ex-wife. 

She loved their little life together until she realized he had been seeing someone else, him claiming that she had become so obsessed with her work that she “wasn’t paying any attention to him” and that they didn’t have enough time together and he just couldn’t help what he did (*cue Nobody Needs To Know*).

Molly’s still not sure what all happened before she felt her life falling apart at the seams but she’s not sure that her heart can handle the full truth. She just knows that seemingly out of the blue, her life began to feel like a Jason Robert Brown musical. 

After an incredibly rough month marinating in her heartbreak at her childhood home and a lot of hard conversations with her parents, sister, and therapist, Molly decided to take a chance and start a new chapter in a small town. After a few online searches for towns similar to that of Avonlea, and a recommendation of a family friend, she landed on Bleeding Hearts Springs. She decided that the name alone was enough to draw her in and she has yet to be disappointed.

[eldritchaccident]

Timing: Current Location: Darkling Lake Feat: @closingwaters & @eldritchaccident Warnings: Nothing in Particular from the list, but there is descriptions of a panic attack Summary: Lets go for a swim!

New England weather never ceased to amuse Theodore Jones. They didn’t know if they’d ever quite get used to it, but that was half the fun. On Tuesday it’d be snowing. Blustery bitter cold, enough to make a witch’s tit shivver. By Thursday it’d practically be tropical. All warm, sunny, and wonderful. The ex-demon was incredible grateful for the latter, and how the fates had seen fit to alleviate the gloom of early spring with the golden glow peeking through the bare branches above. 

They were walking in the woods. Not something they did too often, but a task that was about as enjoyable as anything else. Teds liked nature. Maybe not as much as the nix they sought, but who besides the lovely fae and maybe a few really crunchy hippies could love it that much? Not many, Teddy thought. Still, seeing the woods like this was a welcome change to the fairly constant self imposed house arrest they’d been under. Too much shit going on, the least of which was the goo that had separated them from…

Teagan. 

Such a sweet and lovely lass, ripped out of their life mere moments after being added to it. Teddy was tearing themself apart with guilt even after the nix was freed. Arden said she wasn’t dead, and they hardly believed it. She said the nix hadn’t suffered too much, that it was like a blink, and she was back. Tired, but back. Void below Teddy hoped that was the truth. Just about nothing in this world sounded more horrific than being in a stasis, unable to move, to speak, but still conscious of your surroundings the whole time.    

In an attempt to chase away the wibbles and wobbles of anxiety and guilt, the ex-demon had brought snacks. A tin full of cookies and treats, a thermos full of hot cocoa. Extra marshmallows. Extra love. All homemade. Maybe it’d make up for the fact that they hadn’t been able to save her. Not when it happened, and not during the month she was trapped. 

“Vala! Wait!” The kelpie brayed excitedly, continuing the fast swimming pace that the weak nix could not keep up with. It was a kind of training that Teagan hoped would help, but it seemed only set on frustrating her and damaging her already poor self-esteem. “Argh!” She halted frustratingly in her path, watching Vala continue without looking back, which was just as well. She was having fun, and that was what mattered to Teagan. It brought a smile to her face, albeit a weak one, but it was a smile all the same. 

With a disheartened sigh, she made her way to the surface and took a peek. There was no one around as she scanned the area, taking a few extra moments to ensure no one was well-hidden in the brush. Teagan blinked once, twice, and then finally felt safe enough to find purchase on the silted ground of the shallow portion near shore. She stood there lamely, trying to gain her footing while her legs trembled with exhaustion. 

Teagan tried to hold the tears back, truly, she did, but the stinging in her nose overwhelmed her and eyes leaked while a breath hitched in her throat. She slashed at the water, immediately apologizing to it just before making her way to a nearby boulder. The coolness of the stone helped calm her a little, but only for a breath. 

When she caught sight of her tail, the pain of being too weak and useless caused the wave of frustration to mount over. She wanted to punch something, anything, even knowing it wasn’t the best idea with nothing soft around. Eventually, after rubbing her face and splashing her face with water, Teagan calmed, finding a spot to lay in where half her body rested in the lake and the other half remained on land. 

Sleep grew heavy on her lids, head bopping to the side, but her determination to stay awake was still somehow winning. Catrin did always say she was the most stubborn one of all her babes, and the thought brought a sleepy smile to her face, but only for a second. The soft thump of a nearby footstep took Teagan’s attention, and she rolled to her feet as quickly as she could. Her bagged and tired eyes met with a familiar face. A smile grew into a bright grin, and she giggled as her energy was renewed.

“Teddy!” Her voice was hoarse, body swaying just slightly, but nonetheless, she made it to them and gave them a wet hug. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re visiting!”

Their heart swelled by the sight of the lake, and even more so when the nix rushed toward them. Teddy laughed, taking the sopping arms and scooping the fae up in a quick spin before nearly falling in the moss beside the lake, carefully placing the treats down so they could properly squeeze back. Almost like they were confirming that, yes, Teagan was still here. They were real, and safe. Despite everything. 

“Hey there cuddle-fish, didn’t know I needed a second shower today.” Any sarcasm in their voice was fond, and the brightness of their smile only served to emphasize that fact. Ted, of course, probably would have done the same thing, rolls reversed. Still the warmer weather was once again, very appreciated. 

“Do you like hot chocolate?” Eager, of course, to bring out the gifts. Always. Never visit without something to give, Teddy wasn’t sure where they picked that one up. Certainly wasn’t from Leviathan, whose presence was a present enough. Obviously. “What are your opinions on cookies, truffles, and macarons?” 

Teagan couldn’t help but snort at the remark and nickname, only just then realizing she’d been far too wet to hug someone fully clothed. With a bashful smile and a scrunch of her nose, she backed away and clasped her hands behind her back, moving her weight front to back repeatedly. “Oh, please forgive me. I get overly excited at times. Turn into a bit of a scamp.” She bit her lip and winked, shaking her head and flicking water onto Teddy. They’d likely be a bit chilly considering the weather, but Teagan had a feeling they wouldn’t mind. Their playful nature matched one another’s. 

“‘Course I like hot chocolate. It’s chocolate and it has sugar. Why? Do ya got some?” Her interest was piqued and she took a look behind Teddy to see they had brought some gifts. “Oh, my dear, you’re speaking sweet music to me. Love sweets, and you’ve chosen the kind full of luxury. Hm…” Teagan tapped on her chin and considered what the next option should be. The two of them were the same in nature based on their first interaction. It would only make sense to partake in the lake and then some treats. 

“What do ya say we go for a swim and then warm ourselves with some of that hot choccy after?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Teddy beamed, taking the spritz with pride. “Cheeky little shit.” A rumble of laughter rolled through their chest. It was strange, with Teagan, there was this strange sense of closeness. Like they’d been best friends since childhood, they just somehow hadn’t figured it out yet. Teddy loved meeting people like that. Who didn’t seem to care if you spent a month apart, or a year. You could just pick right back up where you left off. Perhaps even more admirably in the fae, knowing all the trouble she’d been through in the meantime. 

“Well good to know you have taste then, I was beginning to get a little worried.” They were not. But gently and lovingly messing around was a language Teddy was perhaps more fluid in than any other. And they knew quite a lot of fucking languages. “Well, the tin looks extra fancy. They’re all from scratch. Ain’t saying that’s not fancy, but y’know. Packaging helps.” 

Teddy shifted uncomfortably, somehow they hadn’t the topic of swimming to come up. Hoping the cooler weather might quell some of the drive for that, but– It never had for them before. The ex-demon had gone diving off a damn iceberg before. Been swimming down in the depths where the waters were only ever warmed by thick columns of mineral smoke and thermal seeps. Their breath caught up in their throat. 

“Ah y’know maybe not today. Been a bit– tired lately.” 

Of course it was easy to fall into step in the dance of friendship with Teddy. They were kindred spirits, made evident on what ended up being the worst kind of day. But that didn’t matter right then, did it? Teddy was in front of her, and Teagan was free to live. None of it had been Teddy’s fault and there was no way she would place any blame on that sweet lad. After all, it was Teddy that had made sure to keep her as hydrated as they could. 

It was Teddy that stepped up to the responsibility and let Arden know the news. And it was still Teddy that had made the trek to visit someone they had met only briefly and yet treated her like they were just catching up. “Oh come now, Teddy. None of that! We’ve got to get you in! And there’s nothing like a swim to get the energy going, eh? Come!” Teagan pulled Teddy with her as she burst toward the lake. She didn’t give them enough time to protest again, and in an instant, the two were surrounded by water. 

Before words could be shared or explanations given, the cold waters of the lake rose to greet Teddy. Welcoming them into their depths, covering and cradling the one who once called the ocean their only true home. Instincts warred between two sides of the ex-demon. Drowner and drowned, a rush of air broke through the human’s resolve, blustering upward as they scrambled to catch the bubbles as if they could somehow shove them back in. A gasp for air was only met with icy water. Teddy’s vision swam while they sank. Their eyes weren’t built for this anymore. The surface became a dimly lit blob as the pressure built. 

Teagan was still holding onto them, of course she was, it had barely been a second. Might have felt like an eternity to the one struggling to stay alive, but the pair had only just submerged. Teddy struggled against her grip, panic rising like the tide, an aggressive gnarling gnashing thing. Long limbs flailed in every direction, one hand broke the surface. They tried to remember what could bring them closer to it but found themselves floundering instead. 

Luckily (perhaps not for her) their other hand found Teagan. The mop of wet hair tangled Teddy’s fingers and accidentally they gave a yank. They weren’t controlling their own actions, fear was. Certainly not behavior fitting one who’d been in the water all their life, but ones born of a war tearing up the inside of a creature newly formed. Not quite human enough, no longer demon at all. Lost. 

Panic. Nothing but panic overtook Teddy, and it was unlike a water-dweller to do so. They never said they had certain requirements for what water they dove in, and they’d been so excited at the prospect of a swim together. It was confusing, to say the least, and painfully alarming, to say the most. Thankfully, Teagan didn’t need to breathe, and so the yank to her hair and the thrashing against the water didn’t phase her, besides the pain. But that hardly impeded her ability to keep them both afloat. 

“Teddy, my dear, Ted—ah!” They gave Teagan’s hair hard enough tug to strain her neck. “Breathe.” Could they? She wondered for a split second before another tug tore her from her thoughts and pushed her to launch them both out of the water in a frenzy. The two landed on the cold shore with an unceremonious thud, silt running along their feet as the waves continued to run along the shore. “Okay, now breathe!” Urging Teddy with a few pats to their chest, Teagan paid close attention to her friend, careful to not cut them with her claws. 

“Talk to me, dear. What’s doin’ ya a panic? What was that?” There was no frustration in her tone, nor was there anger. Only genuine concern and confusion. After all, Teagan saw the panic and fear consuming Teddy’s body, and considering they’d spoken of true forms and their love of water, she could only guess that something had changed or something very bad had happened to them. Either way, she wanted to help calm Teddy down and let them know that she was willing to help any way she could. 

“What can I do? Do you want to go inside?”

Teddy and their mind sputtered. One dribbling the dregs of water out of their lungs, the other reeling through visions of what it still believed was happening. They were drowning. They drowned. They were dying, they were dead. Pain erupted from Ted’s chest. In reality from of strain from thick ragged heaves and coughs, but in their head it was the waves, the pressure. No longer the comparably safe and shallow lake, it was the ocean, the depths, the darkness. Even on land, Teddy thrashed. A series of screams finally able to escape between the hoary breaths they didn't realize they were taking. 

A voice broke through, hazy and muffled at first, but persistent. It sounded like their past. It was their father's growing tone, repeating the chant that stripped them of their powers. It was every shitty kid in every shitty schoolyard or park, hurtling alienating insults like daggers. Then it was the one and only phrase Teddy ever remembered in their mother’s voice, the words she tried to command the Leviathan with. The ones she used to give Teddy up, condemning her baby to death so she could live forever. The voices shifted through a clip show of the ex-demon’s greatest failures. Until it began to open to a clearer tone. Until it was obvious that the real voice was a helpful one. That it was close. Warm. It was Teagan. 

Their eyes had been open, but they finally blinked back to sight. To the surroundings of the clearing, to the worried axolotl, standing over them. On land. On land. On land. Teddy felt their body crumple, felt hot tears fill their eyes again. “I'm–sorry–” They croaked, they crushed themself against her lap, they sobbed. “I can't– I'm not– I'm sor– I'm sorry—” 

—

“Teddy! Teddy.” The first call for their name was a little too harsh, wasn’t it? For someone so panicked and apologetic, the treatment needed to be a little gentler. Teagan watched their eyes open, and she saw the way horror and sorrow swam in them like the worst tidal wave imaginable. “No, no, lovely. Shh…” Carefully, she brought Teddy into her and let them do what they needed to feel any sort of relief. She let them do that for a while, their sobs catching Vala’s attention enough to bring her to the surface. She peeked around curiously, snorting loud enough for Teagan to hear. 

The nix arched a brow and waved the kelpie over. She circled around and planted herself behind them, as if to both cover them from the elements and wrap them with a sense of safety. “Don’t mind Vala.” Teagan ran her clawed hand carefully through Teddy’s hair, trying to ease them into the realization that they weren’t alone. “She’s just a curious and concerned kelpie, and a mighty good friend.” In response, Vala placed her muzzle in Teagan’s lap, bringing a soft smile to her face. She looked around then, making sure their surroundings remained safe, but her attention quickly went back to Teddy, who was likely incredibly cold. 

“Why don’t we get you inside? You’ll catch your death out here.”

Sensation seeped back in, prickles of pain in their fingertips spread outward and illuminated Teddy’s arms and legs. Each limb felt like an icicle, sharp and jagged, and far too brittle. There was warmth, but coming from the other. It felt like they were hollow. A vessel fit only to feel the stings of thousand mistakes that had led them wherever they were now. Still, they soaked it in. Teagan’s arms around them, the strange fae horse. The comfort. Lost and found. 

Teddy wasn’t alone. Wasn’t lost to the waters without their father’s guidance, its power. It wasn’t the familiarity they were used to, the reliance. But she was there, she was holding them. Picking them up. Only just aware enough to parse the changes, Teddy realized they were being led off. Between the nix’s arms and the kelpie, they were steadied. She was pulling them toward a house not too far off the shores of the lake. There wasn’t much they could do to resist. Wasn’t much of a reason to try. 

Any residual ache unfortunately passed along to the nix, but thankfully the majority of Teddy’s pain was mental. Spiritual. A deeper, more undefinable thing. One that had them only really coming to once they’d been sat down, wrapped tightly in a blanket. Their eyes finally met with Teagan’s. Their heart felt like an anchor.

“I’m—” Tears stained Teddy’s cheeks again. Fresh, hot, stinging. “–I’m just a… human now. I’m nothing– I don’t– I can’t go in the water Teagan. I can’t even go in the water without– I’m sorry. I can’t do it–I’m not– I can’t… ” 

 “Hey.”

Panic and fear were two fiends that could hardly be fended off alone. They wanted to latch and consume, digging and digging until their victim was a husk or their former self. It was a wretched experience that Teagan had had far too many times, and seeing Teddy become undone by those same demons made her legs wobble and her nose sting. She sniffled, biding herself a little time before her own tears mixed with her friend’s. Now wasn’t the time for that. Teddy needed someone to be strong, whether they’d admit it or not. 

“Hey,” She said again, patting Vala to pause the trek indoors. “Human is enough. You’ll learn to swim again in time, learn to…to let the water consume you once more.” With a bit of hesitance, Teagan shuffled a bit closer to Teddy, mindful of her depleted strength. Vala obliged without request, huffing and nuzzling at Teagan. They were both in a safe place. “Taught Arden how to swim. She even plays with Vala sometimes.” She chuckled at the memory, eyes softening as she continued. “Kept the lake safe while I was gone. If she can do it, you can too. Because you will be okay again, and you are not lesser because you are changed.” Pressing her forehead to Teddy’s, Teagan raked a clawed hand through their curls once more, appreciating their existence. 

“You’re not ready now, and that’s okay, too. Took me weeks to even step outside after my tail was taken. I can only imagine how difficult it is when everything is gone.” With a swallow, Teagan stepped back to get a good look at Teddy. Their stubble, their deep eyes, the wrinkles at each corner of their lips from the smiles and laughter they’d had, and then, finally, the scar on their face. Beautiful, to say the least. But appearances hardly mattered when it came to the content of one’s heart. Handsome or not, Teddy was still themself. They were still Teagan’s friend, and she was going to get them inside to a change of clothes, a warm blanket, and hot tea. That, she promised herself.

“Now, come.” She kissed their cheek, giving them a good and slow blink as she would with Alffi or Hobbes. “I’ll put the kettle on, and you can sift through my laundry to find something to change into.” Taking Teddy’s hand, Teagan let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, allowing it to become a shaky chuckle. 

“You’re sopping.”

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

FEMSLASH FEBRUARY 2024 #13: in which Donna looks out the window with Cameron

Donna had become accustomed to coming downstairs to find Cameron standing near a window, mug in hand, sipping a hot beverage while she observed what was happening in their backyard. She regularly looked out the window with their black cat, Licorice, and once Donna had even heard Cameron go, “Ek ek ek ek ek ek ek,” at a bird near their house, and then turn to the cat, and ask, “Like that?” as if she expected Licorice to give her feedback. Donna would have said something if she herself wasn’t in the habit of having long conversations with Licorice.

Cameron was standing by the kitchen window, by herself, when Donna came home early from work on a sunny spring day. (Licorice was napping by the large window that looked out onto the pool.) As she entered the kitchen, Donna teasingly said, “Don’t you have a game you should be working on?”

Without looking at Donna, Cameron said, “I worked on it all day!”

Donna got a glass from the dishwasher, set it down on the island, and then retrieved a bottle of sparkling water from their refrigerator. As she poured herself a drink, she asked, “Is it the raccoons?”

A few months earlier, before she started working on her first game since Pilgrim, Cameron had somewhat impulsively built a pair of small wooden shelters for any local stray cats that might come along during the colder months. When Donna and Bos pointed out to her that it didn’t normally get that cold in San Francisco, Cameron had cried, “Well, okay, but sometimes it rains, right?”

There was no evidence that any cats had used either of the shelters, but a quartet of raccoons, whom Cameron had named Sam, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin, visited regularly. Licorice had scared them away from the big window, but they still stopped by the shelters daily, where they would usually nap.

“No, they left a while ago,” Cameron said. “Look, though!”

Donna joined Cameron by the sink, and looked out the window, to see a pair of hummingbirds perched on a glass hummingbird feeder. One of them dipped its beak to take a drink of the sugar water Cameron had put in the feeder.

“Since when do we have a hummingbird feeder?” Donna asked.

Cameron turned to Donna. “Are you serious? I installed it two months ago!”

“Wait, really?”

“I’ve mentioned it at least 4 times!” Cameron cried. “Do you listen?”

“Of course I listen!” Donna responded automatically. But, truthfully, Donna had been preoccupied with work lately, and had been putting in many hours of overtime at the office. She hadn’t noticed the new bird feeder, and didn’t remember Cameron saying anything about it.

Rather than argue with Donna, Cameron turned her attention back to the hummingbirds. Donna went back to watching them, too. They were dark green, with shimmery purple feathers around their throats. They seemed relaxed, happy to be perched there together, in the sun, close to a convenient source of food. Donna wondered if they were a couple, and if they ever fought.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t notice the new bird feeder,” Donna whispered. “Thank you for finding ways to attract all kinds of fauna to my backyard.”

“I don’t really do it for you, it’s an entirely selfish pursuit,” Cameron admitted.

“Well,” Donna kissed Cameron’s shoulder, “thank you just the same.” She went back to her forgotten glass of sparkling water.

Cameron didn’t say anything, still mildly upset, but then couldn’t contain herself. “I was thinking about maybe putting in a camera? Like a security camera, but not to catch people doing anything, just for the birds and raccoons.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Donna smiled. “We can watch the footage together, if you want!”

Cameron’s eye brows creased skeptically. “I feel like you might just be saying that because you still feel bad about the feeder debacle. You should know that I’m still going to hold you to it.”

Donna kissed Cameron’s shoulder again. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[zantedeschia-praesul]

🎩🎶 (saseki), 🎩⛄ (nagasone), also 🎸 if any muses can?

@kowaindar0u

THIS GON BE LONG HERE WE GO! 8D

🎩 - What would your muse wear to a formal event? Do they dress more modestly, or do they go all out? (Saseki & Nagasone)

Saseki sometimes might dress up for formal events, but the most he would throw on (in terms of modern clothing) is a suit jacket over anything smart casual. (he's almost in casual gear pre-saniwa days)

Now as saniwa, his canon outfit is pree much formal in itself, but the least he would do is wear the haori properly (as one does) rather than letting it drape over his shoulders like he normally does. He rarely does his hair up even for official businesses, but when he's out on leisure time, sometimes he'll tie his hair in something.

Nagasone though, since I HC him as somebody who picks up a few of Kondou Isami's mannerism more or less, he will wear a full suit (like his Kiwame design sans armor + gloves) to formal events. I'm pree sure he's still considered modestly dressed in any circumstances, even his canon design shhhh ;3c

🎶 - What kind of music does your muse listen to? Do they have a favorite genre? Do you think the aux cord would be taken away from them? (Saseki)

Sase loves classical music, adores them. His personal favorite (which is also mine) is Shostakovich's Quartet No. 8, Op. 110, (1960) II. Allegro molto and Bach's Cello Suite No. 1 in G Major, Prélude. Favorite genre wise, he prolly would be partial to alt rock, but anything that can make him fired up enough to throw paint on his canvas is good enough wwwww LOL NO AUX CORD THO HE DOES WIRELESS

⛄️ - What would be your muse’s ideal weather conditions? Do they prefer being hot or cold? What’s their favorite season? (Nagasone)

Both Yamayuri AND Nagame Nagasone love balmy weathers, something in between sunny and just a touch of cloudy. I think some days they're fine with rain (of course Nagame Nagasone would be accustomed to it like everyone else), but on other days, the rain would either be a nice weather for them to just sleep, or it's not the weather that brings back fond memories (rarely this happens tho).

They both like the hot and cold equally I think, and they're actually fond of Spring the most (on accounts of both Nagasone has some affinity for flowers; Saseki grows flowers on their highlands, Yuichi has his secret garden ;3).

🎸 - Can your muse play any instruments? Do they play them often, or rarely? How actually skilled are they at playing them?

I can see Kogarasumaru having some skills on the koto and possibly biwa. Mostly leaning to koto, but he doesn't play that often methinks.

atm I can't see any of my other main bois playing instruments, but if they're given any, I think bigger guys like Mutsunokami and Nagasone would prolly play the biwa. Probably.

Saseki can't play for shits SADGE but he knows notes just enough to play some familiar tunes on something (mostly piano or a percussion). He loves flutes and strings the most.

[highwayphantoms]

am I already writing fic about my Veilguard protag? yes. yes I am.

No spoilers for Veilguard, this is set before the game starts lol. Warnings for canon-typical things: violence, dark implications, Grey Warden fuckery.

no beta we die like Duncan, etc etc etc

pls enjoy your first introduction to an OC you will almost certainly hear more about in the next six months lmfao

-

Montsimmard, Orlais, circa 9:47 Dragon

Killing the two nobles had been easier than Aquile had expected it to. Almost laughably so; no one, not even the other servants, asked questions about a new elf suddenly appearing in the manor. In fact, the housekeeper had seemed relieved when Aquile offered to deliver the duke’s afternoon tea. They’d followed the older woman’s directions—up the main stairs, down the hall to the left, and out to the balcony—and found both their targets lounging in the early afternoon sunlight. From there, their task was simple enough: kill the man who’d thrown his only son out on the street, and kill the stepmother who’d demanded it in the first place. The duke was an older man, while his duchess was easily twenty years younger, but neither were expecting to be attacked by the servant bringing their tea.

The only preparation necessary was some quick spellwork to seal the door behind them. Then Aquile spun up a bolt of lightning as powerful as those produced by any thunderstorm and struck both duke and duchess at once.

The smell of singed flesh and burning hair assaulted them in the same instant as the clap of thunder, and Aquile recoiled immediately. Desperately trying not to inhale, they tore down the magical seal on the door and darted back through it, aware that it would not be long before someone reported the sound of thunder on a sunny day. They rushed back past the housekeeper, deaf to her baffled questions, and straight out the front door. Aquile slipped down the alleyway where they’d stashed a change of clothes, and then emerged a few minutes later at the other end of the alley dressed like any other traveler visiting Montsimmard.

From there, it was an easy half hour’s walk back to the apartment they’d been sharing with Olivier for the past six months. For much of the journey, Aquile entertained idle daydreams about the immediate future—Olivier claiming his rightful inheritance of the manor and his father’s title, rewarding them with both love and luxury. It was a pleasant daydream, even tinged with the knowledge that their being an elf meant that they could never marry. Not in Orlais, anyway. No, Aquile would have to be content with being his lover only, and they were. He was a sweet, kind man—everything Aquile had ever wanted in a partner.

And he wasn’t in the apartment when Aquile finally returned. It was odd, but not entirely surprising; Olivier had many friends and sometimes went with them on spontaneous outings in and around Montsimmard. He would be back by nightfall, they were certain. He always was.

Aquile would never know if he returned by nightfall. It was early evening, sunset still an hour off, when the city guard showed up at their door. When the sun did set, Aquile was locked in a cold, damp cell underneath the very heart of the city: the very keep the Montsimmard family called home.

At first, they were certain Olivier would come for them. With his father dead, he surely had the money and the influence to spring them free. With the Circles abolished, Aquile couldn’t be disappeared into one a second time, and it would be only a matter of time before Olivier discovered where they were.

Come morning, Aquile was still locked in the underground prison. They were woken by the sudden and harsh sound of metal on metal—a guard dragging a metal baton of some sort against the iron bars of each cell—and given no breakfast, not that they’d expected or wanted one. Though a templar had been sent with the guards to arrest them, in lieu of staffing the prison with templars, the guard had instead dosed them with a hefty amount of magebane. More than was necessary by far, but of course regular city guards wouldn’t know shit about how much magebane to use to negate a mage’s connection to the Fade. Even if they could’ve summoned the slightest spark of magic, they were still too nauseous to consider trying.

Evidently whoever had provided the city guard with a supply of magebane had neglected to inform them it was literally poison, capable of killing a person if you weren’t careful with it. If not for the fact that they were sure it would only earn them a higher dose, Aquile might’ve said something. Instead, they kept their mouth tightly shut.

Later that morning, news filtered down to the prison that their sentence had been issued. Death by hanging, an Orlesian favorite. The guard who delivered the news—a big man who reeked of alcohol—had added one other nugget of information. “Th’ duke’s son ‘parently demanded they schedule the execution immediately. Lucky you, judge didn’ agree.”

The duke’s son.

Olivier.

“That fucking bastard,” they muttered as the guard lurched away. “If I get out of here, I’m going to kill him.”

For two days (as best as they could tell, being underground) Aquile was left almost entirely alone except for their two daily deliveries: one midday meal, and their evening dose of magebane. They were kept separated from the other prisoners, no doubt because they were both a mage and a murderer, but that was fine. The quiet gave them room to think. To think, and to rage, and plot. Without magic, their means of escape were limited, but Aquile was confident it could be done. The guard who was always drunk was the obvious target—all they had to do was get him close enough to the bars that Aquile could reach him.

They never got the chance. The same day they intended to make their attempt at escape, the drunk guard was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a guard with much nicer armor—likely the guard-captain—appeared outside their cell, accompanied by a woman in blue and silver armor with a griffon emblazoned on her breastplate.

Twenty-some years in the Circle had left Aquile ignorant of many things, but they knew what a Grey Warden was.

A Grey Warden was their ticket to freedom.

“They tell me you’re a mage,” the woman said, not unkindly. “A very gifted one, in fact.”

Aquile said nothing, still studying the woman. She was human, with the dark olive skin of a northerner, and though she was tall, she had a slight frame. Not a physical fighter, they guessed. No, this woman was likely a mage, too.

“Tell me this, where were you trained?”

“The Montsimmard Circle,” Aquile replied, an amused smile tugging at their lips.

The woman nodded thoughtfully, then turned back to the guard. “Guard-Captain, I’ll be invoking the Rite of Conscription. This mage, and the man accused of theft.”

Aquile was not surprised to see the guard’s face turn sour. “The Marquis will not be happy. This apostate killed a well-respected duke and his wife.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” the Warden said, undeterred. “Should the Marquis choose to take it up with my Warden-Commander, he is welcome to try. In the meantime, please release my new recruits.”

Barely twenty minutes later, Aquile was free and on the streets of Montsimmard with a Grey Warden and a thief. It was not, perhaps, the way they had envisioned getting out of the prison, but they certainly couldn’t complain. This was much easier than their plan would have been, at any rate. The Warden introduced herself as Elisa, recruited from the White Spire by the Wardens a decade earlier. The thief was Simone, though he refused to say anything else. By his accent, Aquile guessed he was actually Fereldan and that Simone was a false name, but they didn’t really care. None of this mattered. They just had to play along until nightfall, and then they could take advantage of the fact that both the Warden and thief were human and slip away in the dark. Slip away, find Olivier, tear him to shreds.

Elisa dragged them halfway across the city and conscripted another person—an elven girl who looked barely twenty and was still smeared with the blood of the man who’d tried to assault her—before starting towards the city’s northern gate. Just before they reached the gate, they were approached by another twenty-something kid who begged to join them; Elisa questioned him for a few minutes before she agreed. The questions she asked were odd—Aquile couldn’t begin to guess at what Elisa was trying to ascertain—but the young man answered them readily. He seemed nice enough, at least, offering the elven girl his jacket to cover her torn dress. By the time they finally stopped at a camp nearly an hour past the city gates, the sun had dipped halfway past the horizon and Elisa showed no indication that she planned on resting any time soon. At the camp was another Warden, a man with black and gray hair. Where Elisa was polite and friendly, he was very much not. He took one look at the four recruits, then gave Elisa a plainly irritated look. “I said two.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she coolly replied. “Do you have it ready?”

“Obviously,” he snapped. “Let’s get it over with. I want to be on the road north by morning.”

“Have what ready?” Simone asked, glancing around like he was preparing to make a break for it.

The second Warden had a longbow on his back. If Simone tried to bolt, he wouldn’t get far in the time it would take the Warden to nock an arrow and fire it.

“The Joining ritual,” Elisa answered, stepping forward to join the other Warden by the fire. A few moments later, they both turned, each holding two goblets.

Though masked somewhat by the woodsmoke, Aquile could pick out the combined smells of wine and blood. Foul blood. It smelled almost, but not quite, like rot. “The fuck is in those?” they demanded.

“Wine,” the male Warden said flatly, stepping forward and pressing one goblet into their hands. “Among other things. Drink up.”

The young man who’d asked to join them grabbed the second goblet the Warden carried, while Elisa passed hers to the thief and the elven woman. He was the first to lift it to his mouth and drink; he visibly gagged at the taste but swallowed it nonetheless.

Then, almost the instant the male Warden plucked the empty goblet from his hands, he collapsed.

A healer by training, Aquile’s immediate instinct was to check on him. The goblet in one hand, they dropped to their knees and pressed their free hand to the pulse point in his wrist.

Nothing. Not even the faintest heartbeat. Eyes narrowed, Aquile glanced back at the two Wardens. “That’s quite the poison if it kills that fast,” they said flatly.

“Poison?” the young woman echoed. “Poison?”

“Not poison,” Elisa said. “Darkspawn blood. Drink, please.”

Aquile groaned. “Fine. I was going to be dead by the end of the week one way or the other.” They didn’t bother getting back to their feet. Still kneeling on the grass, they lifted their goblet and gulped down its contents. It tasted about as horrible as it smelled, and their stomach twisted in response.

They were conscious long enough to see the young woman drink, too, and then the world went black.

[ecobravouk]

Eco Laundry Tips for Drying Weather: Save Energy Without Sacrificing Freshness

When the sun starts showing up more often and laundry finally dries without a machine, it’s a reminder of how easy it can be to do things differently. Warm weather makes space for small shifts. No more rushing to throw everything into the tumble dryer. Just clothes on a line, a bit of breeze, and the kind of freshness no fabric softener can fake.

There’s nothing complicated about air-drying. But there are a few things that make it even better—tools that simplify the process, swaps that reduce waste, and tips that keep your clothes feeling good long after they’re folded and put away.

Switch to detergent sheets

Spring’s a good time to rethink the basics, starting with what you wash your clothes in. Detergent sheets are one of the easiest upgrades. They’re light, space-saving, and come pre-measured, which means no spills, no overuse, and no bulky bottles clogging up the cupboard.

They dissolve completely in hot or cold water, work in all machine types, and often come in cardboard sleeves instead of plastic tubs. That means less mess, less packaging, and more room under the sink.

Ditch the dryer

Tumble dryers might be convenient, but they’re rough on fabrics and the environment. Using them less not only cuts energy bills, it makes your clothes last longer. The trick is getting into the rhythm of air-drying while the weather’s in your favour.

A foldable rack is easy to store and quick to set up in a sunny corner or next to an open window. If you’ve got outdoor space, even better. Use the line. Peg things out early so they have time to dry properly, and try to get heavier items like towels and bedding out first.

Use sunlight to your advantage

The sun does more than just dry—it’s nature’s way of deodorising and gently disinfecting. It helps remove musty smells and brings whites back to life without bleach.

Make the most of it by turning clothes inside out to reduce fading, spacing items well so air circulates, and keeping pegs handy in a basket so you're not hunting for them every time. Wooden pegs are a better choice than plastic—longer lasting, stronger grip, and fully compostable when they’re done.

Rethink fabric softeners

Those big bottles of softener might make clothes feel smoother, but they often leave behind residue and artificial fragrance. Over time, they can reduce absorbency in towels and irritate skin, especially for little ones.

Swap them out for a splash of white vinegar in the rinse cycle. It softens fibres naturally, helps clear out detergent build-up, and doesn’t leave a lingering scent. If you like a bit of fragrance, add a couple of drops of essential oil—lavender, lemon, or peppermint all work well.

Use wool dryer balls if needed

Even if you’re mostly air-drying, sometimes the dryer still plays a role—especially for thick items or when you’re in a rush. Wool dryer balls can help here. They bounce around to separate fabrics, reduce static, and speed up drying time.

They don’t contain synthetic perfumes and can be reused for hundreds of loads. You can even scent them yourself with a drop or two of essential oil.

Keep it simple and visible

The easier something is to access, the more likely you are to use it. Keep your drying rack somewhere close at hand. Leave your detergent sheets in a visible spot rather than buried in the back of a cupboard. Pegs in a jar. Vinegar nearby.

This way, it doesn’t feel like a whole production every time you want to do a load of laundry. It’s just a rhythm.

Dry smart indoors

Not every day is dry and breezy. If you’re air-drying indoors, a few simple tweaks help. Open a window to keep air moving. Avoid placing racks in rooms that don’t get much light or airflow. And don’t overload—give items enough space to dry properly.

Smaller items like socks, cloth napkins, or baby clothes dry fast and can be placed higher where the air’s warmer. Heavier items might need more space or a spin in the machine to finish off if the weather turns.

Clean less, fold sooner

Air-dried laundry doesn’t need as much ironing. If you give each item a good shake before pegging and smooth it out on the line, you’ll find most pieces come off wrinkle-free. Fold them as soon as they’re dry and the rest takes care of itself.

For extra freshness, hang a few items—like sheets or towels—outside even if they’re almost dry. That final hour in the open air makes a difference.

Tidy up your laundry shelf

Use the changing season as a cue to declutter. Clear out any half-empty bottles, worn-out brushes, or products you haven’t used in months. Replace them with a few basics that work: a pack of detergent sheets, a bottle of vinegar, a tin of pegs, a bar of stain remover.

It’s not about having more. It’s about having better.

Make it part of the week

Laundry doesn’t have to feel like a never-ending task. When you get into a rhythm that fits with the weather and your routine, it becomes a little easier. Maybe a Sunday afternoon load that dries while you make dinner. A mid-week batch for school uniforms and cloth napkins.

Once air-drying becomes part of the flow, you’ll wonder why you ever rushed it with machines. There’s something nice about seeing a row of clean laundry, drying in the sun, knowing it took less energy, less plastic, and left your clothes in better shape.

FAQs

Do detergent sheets work in cold water?

Yes—they’re designed to dissolve fully in all temperatures, making them perfect for energy-saving cold washes.

Can I use vinegar and detergent together?

Yes. Add the detergent sheet directly to the drum, and vinegar to the fabric softener compartment. They won’t cancel each other out.

How long does it take to air-dry clothes outdoors?

Depends on the weather and fabric weight. On a warm breezy day, most items dry within a few hours.

Make laundry day easier, get expert tips and eco-friendly advice at Eco Bravo!

© Eco Bravo

[johnhardinsawyer]

In the Midst of Life. . .

John Sawyer

Bedford Presbyterian Church

3 / 31 / 24 – Easter Sunday

Luke 24:1-12

Isaiah 25:6-9

“In the Midst of Life. . .”

(Wandering Heart – Week 7)

The women sat weeping outside the tomb. . . 

A few months ago, someone from another church in Bedford called us to ask if they could use our parking lot for a funeral.  We said, “Of course!” because we like to be good neighbors.  This other congregation was holding the funeral at their church, but the body of the person who died was being put into the Bedford Receiving Tomb, which is right across the street from our Fellowship Hall.  This is the place – built into the hillside of the cemetery across the street – where, on occasion, caskets containing bodies will be placed during the winter months to wait until they can be buried in the spring.  As a child, born and raised in the sunny South, I had heard about this kind of thing happening in the cold North, but had to see it to believe it.  

On the day of the funeral, at least one hundred cars lined Church Rd. and mourners got out to watch the body of the beloved person who had died – a young woman named Magna –gently placed into the Receiving Tomb to wait for spring.  And, since that day, on occasion, there have been some women who have come to sit right outside the tomb. . . weeping.  You could see them and hear them.  They were inconsolable.  

This is not something that we normally see – steps away from the road where all kinds of people (including myself) have driven by and been able to see private grief in a public place.  Of course, just driving by, slightly over the speed limit – listening to the radio, talking on the phone, driving by grief in a flash – it might be hard to fully absorb what is really going on at the tomb.  

But death and grief can be hard for any of us to fully absorb, can’t they?  In fact, if we’re honest with ourselves, we don’t like to think about death and grief very much at all, even though they are very much a very real part of the human experience.  

The church has been a place where life and death seem to coexist more often than other places you and I might go.  For example, on Easter Sunday, we gather here in the sanctuary to sing and say, “Hallelujah, Christ is risen, indeed!  Death has been thrown down!”  And yet, I’m currently planning four different funerals for people who have died – one funeral at a funeral home, one that will take place across the street in the cemetery, and two that will take place in this very room.

Centuries ago – way back in the 1300’s – some of our Christian spiritual ancestors composed a Gregorian chant that had the catchy and upbeat lyrics:  In the midst of life, we are in death. . . Holy and merciful Saviour, deliver us not unto bitter death.[1]  Our Episcopalian cousins, among others, still use these words when a body is buried. 

“In the midst of life, we are in death”?  This is not something that we often sing in our church.  By the way. . . you’re welcome.  But there is something to this idea from seven hundred years ago, when any number of illnesses and dangers – from the plague to a paper cut – could kill you.  

There is something to this idea – especially when we go through life, weighed down by grief, overwhelmed by news from war-torn places overseas, or tragedies right down the road, or caught up in the heartbreaks and sorrows of our own lives.  The test results come back, the news isn’t good, there’s that phone call in the middle of the night or the knock on the door that we’ve been dreading. . . In the midst of life, there sure is plenty of death.  

The Prophet Isaiah says that death is a “shroud cast over all peoples, a sheet that is spread over all nations.” (Isaiah 25:7)  It leaves no one untouched.  In the midst of life, we can be absolutely covered up – overwhelmed – by what appears to be the opposite of life.   

And yet the hope of Easter stands in stark contrast to this ever-present reality.  The promise of the resurrection of Jesus is the hope that death does not have the last word.  This is an ancient hope – one going back to the days of the Prophet Isaiah – and this hope is something that has been passed on to us. . .  planted in our own hearts and minds and souls by the Holy Spirit.  This hope is what brings us together this morning for the singing of “Alleluias” in the midst of this life when our “Alleluias” stand in stark contrast to what we see on the news, or right across the street, or in our own lives.  Many of us hold our “Alleluias” in one hand and the struggles, frailties, and brief reality of life in the other – two opposites, held in tension with one another.

We see this tension in the story of Jesus and what happened on that first Easter.  The story begins with grieving women who have come to the tomb to do the final preparations of Jesus’ body for burial.  Right before the Easter story, if you flip just one page back, to the previous Chapter in Luke, the gospel writer mentions these women three times in a very short span.  When Jesus is on his way to the cross, “a great number of the people [follow] him, and among them [are] women who [are] beating their breasts and wailing for him.” (Luke 23:27)  Then, when Jesus is on the cross, “all his acquaintances, including the women who had followed him from Galilee, [stand] at a distance, watching these things.” (23:49)  And, just a few verses later, these same women who had come with Jesus from Galilee “[follow a man named Joseph of Arimathea who takes the body of Jesus to bury it], and [the women see] the tomb and how his body [is] laid.  Then they [return to the city], and [prepare] spices and ointments [for the body].” (23:55-56)  In our rush to get to Easter, we sometimes rush past these grieving women.  But Luke notices them and calls them to our attention.  

The women have to wait for the Sabbath day to pass, according to the laws of their people.  And then, early in the morning – “at early dawn” (24:1) on that first Easter morning, the women come to the cemetery, thinking that they will find Jesus’ body in the tomb.  In the Gospel of Mark, the women actually ask one another, “I wonder who will roll away the stone from the entrance to the tomb?”[2]

But when they arrive, the stone has already been rolled away, and the tomb is empty.  Suddenly, the women are visited by some heavenly messengers, who say to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” (24:5)  In other words, “In the midst of death, there is life, because Jesus is alive!”

The women return to the city from the tomb and they tell the eleven disciples “and all the rest,” of Jesus’ friends and followers all that they had seen and heard.  Today’s story gives us three names of the first people to preach the good news of resurrection:  Mary Magdalene (from a town on the Sea of Galilee, not far from where Jesus spent a lot of time), Joanna, and Mary the mother of James.  There were other women there, too, who shared this news.  

Just as an aside, it’s funny in an ironic way and kind of tragic – that the first people to preach the good news of the resurrection are women.  All these years later, there are those who both claim to interpret the Bible in a literal way and don’t like to hear the voices of women in the pulpit.  Alas, even on that first Easter, there are those among the disciples of Jesus who do not believe these women.  Today’s story tells us that “these words [of Jesus being raised] [seem] to [the gathered disciples] an idle tale.”  In the original language, the good news sounds like “nonsense, humbug, foolish, silly, and frivolous.”[3]

“Don’t these women know?” the disciples are thinking, “In the midst of life, we are in death.  Not the other way around.  Hadn’t everyone seen what had happened to Jesus?  Why are Mary, Joanna, and Mary, and these other women being so insensitive – so silly?  Can’t they read the room?”  Grief – especially collective grief – is serious stuff.  

But then, even though the news seems so unbelievable – too good to be true – we are told that Peter gets up, laces up his sandals, and runs to the tomb.  

God bless Peter!  If there is anyone in the Bible who represents what it looks like for a real person to try and follow Jesus, it’s got to be Peter.  Over the course of the season of Lent, we have been hearing the stories of Peter – and all of his dogged faithfulness and all of his fabulous failures.  And today, here he is, holding the harsh reality of what he knows to be true – that his friend and teacher, Jesus, is dead – in faithful tension with what he longs to be true with every fiber of his being.  

As the story goes, Peter stoops and looks into the tomb and sees the discarded linen burial shroud lying there.  In the resurrection, the shroud that is cast over all the peoples, as Isaiah says, is no longer needed because death has been “swallowed up” (Isaiah 25:8) – which, in the original language, means that “death has been destroyed.”[4]  

Friends, this is no idle tale.  It is resurrection hope – that in the midst of life, we are in life. . . the life of Jesus Christ.  This is why, instead of standing at the grave and singing “in the midst of life we are in death,” even at the grave, we make our song, “Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!”

Now, if we still need to sit at the grave and weep, that is okay.  In fact, it might be just what we need to do.  And if we need to offer comfort and care to someone who is grieving, that is more than okay.  It is, in fact, what God calls us to do.  In the midst of death, though, may we hold on to resurrection hope – the day when “the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all peoples.” (25:8) 

It will be said on that day, “This is our God, the Lord for whom we have waited, so that we might be saved. . . Let us be glad and rejoice in God’s saving power, God’s power over the grave, God’s life in the midst of death.”  

In the midst of life – with all of the death that we might see and know and fear – there is Jesus, whose resurrection proclaims life, life, life.  May this life – the life of Jesus – fill us and make us new.  May this life wipe away our tears.  May this life send us out into the world ready to live and share the hope of the resurrection.

In the midst of life – the life of Jesus Christ – there is life.  Hold on to this life, in hope – for by, and in, through this life (even in the midst of death) we are saved.

Thanks be to God!

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  

-------

[1] Book of Common Prayer (New York: Seabury Press, 1979) 484.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Media_vita_in_morte_sumus.

[2] See Mark 16:3. Paraphrased, JHS.

[3] Walter Bauer, A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1979) 473.

[4] F. Brown, S. Driver, and C. Briggs, The Brown-Driver-Briggs Hebrew and English Lexicon (Peabody: Hendrickson Publishers, 1997) 118.