#sweetly salted berry

[shadowdaddies]

Idyllic Interlude

Elain Archeron x Reader Drabble

A/N: just a peaceful day at the beach with Elain

The warm sun shone down, illuminating Elain’s hair like a halo around her, the light within her shining from the outside as well. The two of you had taken a trip to the coast for the day, and despite the chill of the waters so far north in Prythian, being near the sea where you could smell the salt in the air and the cool breeze gave you restored breath you hadn’t realized you were missing.

Elain smiled back at you from the water, laughing as the cold tide rushed her ankles. She hiked up the skirts of her dress, running towards where you stood where the sands met the grassy fields. Gently pushing your windblown hair from your face, she kissed you sweetly, unable to help her contagious smile as she did so. The two of you laughed softly at your shared bliss, you intertwining your fingers with Elain’s as you led her to the space in the meadow where you had set up for the day. There was a blanket laid out, but the two of you opted to lay in the grass, reveling in the fresh smell of the greenery and the warmth of the sun as you laid entangled on the ground. Hair, arms, and legs wrapped around each other, there was no telling where each of you ended and the other began, except for the tell of her fingers gently brushing yours that were still joined with hers. 

You looked down to admire her beautiful hands, the small scars and callouses from her work in the garden, and lifted them to your lips, kissing each mark and blemish upon them. The sea breeze, the sunshine, Elain by your side - overcome with joy for the day, you sang a nonsensical sea shanty as you pulled Elain to her feet, the two of you dancing clumsily before you tripped over each others’ feet as Elain fell back into the grass, you on top of her. You admired the way the sun highlighted the different colors in her brown doe eyes, taking a breath to remember the scene. 

With a gentle kiss, you laid back in the grass beside her as she reached for the berries you had brought with you, the two of you savoring this momentary reprieve from the real world - the warmth of the sun, the rich berries, and the soft touch of your love as you lived in a moment that you would relive forever.

[recoveringdreamer]

TIMING: current PARTIES:  @closingwaters & @recoveringdreamer LOCATION: darkling lake SUMMARY: teagan and felix find their spa day interrupted by teagan's 'duties.' CONTENT WARNINGS: references to parental death & sibling death

Rage was the tempest of emotions, a turbulent storm churning with sorrow and anger. Like thunder and lightning colliding in the dark, relentless sky that made up the core of the nix’s heart. She didn’t tremble, she didn’t shake. As she set up each new trap in the surrounding forest of the lake, Teagan was the calmest she had been in weeks. For as long as she could remember, the storm never broke, it never ceased to be a calamitous eruption, but now? 

All Teagan could feel was a slight rumble. She’d failed before, but this time would be different. She’d be far more calculated and far more careful. Having a desperate wish, Teagan would heed the ghosts of her regrets and failings, accepting that her heart would always be haunted by hundreds of ghosts. There would be no exorcism, and there would be no turning back. She’d done that enough when she let her family die. 

“Okay, next we’re going to polish this off with some spritz.” A sweet aroma danced in the air as the bottle was squeezed after the face mask was removed. It had been days since the traps were set, with no bites. Patience would just have to be taken over satisfaction, and as she waited, Teagan would enjoy her times of peace. Invite Felix over, who was quickly becoming something of a very good friend. They needed someone to help them relax, and Teagan needed the same. It only made sense to utilize her time that way.

“How are ya feelin’? Posh and relaxed?”

This was definitely new. Self care wasn’t something Felix had ever really been taught, even before their mother’s death. While she had been more worldly than their father, she hadn’t had much time for face masks and spa days, too busy teaching her children how to live in two worlds without knowing they’d one day be plucked up and forced to exist only in one. After she was gone, of course, the concept itself became laughable. Their father went into survival mode, consumed by his grief and his vengeance, and there was no room for anything outside of it. ‘Self care,’ in that cabin in the woods that was half home and half jail cell, was getting a few hours of sleep before being shoved out the door to patrol the perimeter and kill anything that dared to break it.

So this was a new experience. But Felix didn’t think it was a bad one. They weren’t sure what they were supposed to be feeling with the weird clay resting upon their face, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. And Teagan, as always, was good company. She seemed serious about making sure Felix had a genuinely relaxing day, and they didn’t think anyone else had ever done that before.

“It’s nice,” they confirmed, smiling a little. “Relaxing. What about you? Are you having fun? It’s your spa day, too. And we’re in your house, so, you know, I think it’s important that you enjoy yourself, too.”

A soft smile laid sweetly on Teagan’s face, eyes twinkling with joy that Felix managed to actually feel relaxed. Everything she was, was meant to protect. Whether it was with claws and fists, or with gentle whispers and lingering affections, she could do both. “Good, good.” She booped Felix’s nose playfully, spritzing herself now that she was done taking care of them. Always a second thought, always last to be fed. “Look at me, I’m relaxing, too, enaid. I’m having loads of fun. Taking care of others is my nature.” Her smile was reassuring, and she planted a kiss to Felix’s forehead before grabbing her cane and heading to the kitchen for some snacks.

“All…right! I made a delicious tray of goodies. Stones, berries—not the ones that will make us tired grumps—cheeses, and some salami for your carnivorous side. None for me though. Too much salt!” The tray was placed down with a quiet and metallic clink, the arrangement something like a Pinterest photo. And honestly, that’s exactly where Teagan got it from. She spent hours on Pinterest and YouTube trying to figure out how to do it all. Thankfully, it came out beautifully. “Go ahead and dig in. I’ll get the wine and–” A chime interrupted her thought, freezing Teagan into one spot for a few beats before she collected herself. Traps have been set off. They needed to be checked.

“I need to do something.” She excused herself calmly, lying with a bright smile as she walked backwardly toward the door. “Enjoy the heated blanket and snacks, and I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Taking one last look at the chime, Teagan bursted into a sprint, straight toward the trap connected to the alarm.

Felix looked at Teagan carefully, trying to ensure that she really was relaxing. She worked herself a little too hard, sometimes. They hadn’t known her long, but they could still tell. She reminded them of their oldest sister, in that way; taking on too much responsibility, taking care of everyone but herself. But she did seem to be relaxing now, and they offered a satisfied nod. “Okay,” they said, “good. That’s good.” The last thing they wanted was to be a burden here, to be someone Teagan sacrificed her own comfort for. That sort of thing never sat right with Felix.

They grinned softly at the mention of snacks, nodding their head as their stomach rumbled quietly. Everything she mentioned sounded wonderful, but the salami was especially tempting. The jaguar had been restless ever since their last fight with Razor, the one that left them with an impressive chunk missing from their arm. The injury was carefully hidden beneath their sleeve, and all the other results of the fight were similarly put away beneath clothing. Teagan, Felix knew, would worry, and they couldn’t explain what had happened without explaining the Pit as a whole, and then she’d want to help, and… Felix couldn’t risk anything happening to her. Not for them. It wouldn’t be worth it. “This looks great,” they told her, looking at the spread with an impressed expression. “You did a really good job.” 

A chime filled the room, and if Felix hadn’t been looking at Teagan, they might not have thought much of it. But the way she froze up, the way she stilled… There was something about it. And then she was excusing herself, walking backwards and — they heard her feet slamming against the ground as she ran. 

Felix was on their feet in an instant. Whatever was going on, it was clearly something dangerous. Why else would Teagan run like that? Shifting enough to allow them to move with all the quick silence of a prowling jaguar, the balam took off after the nymph, silently apologizing as they stalked behind her.

Leaving Felix to their devices felt awful, but there was a responsibility that the nix had taken. She was never one to falter or leave jobs half-done or completed poorly. Seeing her mission through was her only option, until her very last breath. She hoped that wouldn’t be the case, but nature and Fate didn’t deal in hope, didn’t feed on the prayers of the pawns it moved. Teagan’s journey was a dangerous one, she knew that going in, and she accepted it anyway because that time would be different. 

There was more to fight for, a red line to protect. It grew taut with each aching step she took as she hastily made her way through the trees, weaving through the familiar paths until she threaded herself into her destination. Teagan’s eyes widened with wonder and excitement, her focus completely on the hunter struggling to notice anything else, much less the low crunch of dirt behind her.

“Help!” She exclaimed, just as all the others did, not yet realizing what she was there to do. “There’s a trap. Be careful,” She wheezed, frantically trying to remove the small plate of spikes embedded in her thigh. Watching the scene made Teagan laugh, finding it humorous that the stranger had yet to catch on. Though…that was strange. Wardens normally noticed by then, and the woman wore everything a normal hunter would. Could she be a ranger? If she was, then she would still die, but if she was just a human? Teagan bristled at the thought, inching forward.

“What are ya doin’ out here, lass? Dangerous, even in the middle of the day.” Teagan quirked a brow.

“What?! Just help me! Just…” The woman froze, looking every direction and struggling with more ferocity. “Ma’am, you have to come toward me. Please. Get behind me. There’s a—no time! Just listen to me!”

Teagan’s brows knitted together and she looked behind her, seeing nothing. “What ya blabberin’ ‘bout? It’s only—” The sound of something whizzing past the nix interrupted her question, followed by the sound of cracking bark. Whatever she was aiming for, she missed, and Teagan quickly sprang into action by tackling the now confirmed hunter and punching her repeatedly to prevent any more arrows from being shot.

Where was Teagan going? She wasn’t the type to pause an interaction abruptly without good reason, Felix was confident of that. There was a clear sense of purpose to the way she moved, too; a determination that would have certainly been absent had the goal she was striving towards been anything less than important. Whatever she was doing, it mattered. They suspected it was dangerous, too; otherwise, why not invite Felix along? 

But Felix could handle dangerous. Teagan might not know that. They knew they didn’t give off the vibes of someone who could take care of themself. They didn’t like violence, even if most of their life had seen various people insisting that they partake in it. More than anything, Felix wanted a life of peace, a way to live without having to fight anyone. But they’d still fight to protect their friends, if they had to. They’d still help Teagan with whatever it was she was moving towards, with whatever that chime had meant.

She slowed, and Felix slowed, too. Their brow furrowed as they heard a voice. Not Teagan’s, not anyone’s familiar, but it was calling out for help. Was that what Teagan had come out here for? Was the alarm to tell her that there was someone in the vicinity who needed help? Felix took a step forward, craning their neck to see what was going on. There was… a woman. She looked like she was trapped in something, though Teagan’s body blocked most of the view. 

Shifting their ears, Felix listened in on the conversation, but their confusion only grew as they did so. Teagan wasn’t helping the woman; not right away, at least. And the woman was… warning her? About wh—

An arrow interrupted the balam’s thought process. It embedded itself in the tree next to their head, and they dropped to the ground in anticipation. But no more arrows were fired. Instead, there was the sound of knuckles hitting skin. It was enough to spur Felix forward, the scene laying itself out in front of them. The woman in the trap, with the crossbow full of silver bolts. Teagan, punching her. Blood on the ground that didn’t belong to the nix. 

For a moment, Felix was fourteen again. Their father’s claws were dripping red, a man hanging in his grip. These people, mijo, they want to hurt us, their father had insisted quietly. They do. So we hurt them first. What happened to your mother won’t happen to you, to your siblings. We’ll make sure of it. 

It made them sick then, the same way it made them sick now. Felix took another step forward, trying desperately to get between Teagan and the woman in the trap. “Teagan, stop! What — What are you doing?”

Felix’s voice was like an alarm bell, a tolling that called for all violence to cease. The meaty and squelching thumping instantly turned into silence, which was quickly replaced by panicked breathing. “I’m-I’m…” Teagan choked out, finally, trembling when she locked eyes with Felix. That’s when it clicked, why the woman had tried to protect the nix and why she had been quick to attack. The hunter was no warden, and she never would’ve been a slayer to begin with—it was daytime. She was a ranger, and she would’ve most certainly hurt Teagan’s friend had she not attacked.

Looking at her bloodied and bruised hands, the fae took a few moments to respond to Felix’s question, unsure and terrified. They had just become friends, relaxing and truly connecting the way they were supposed to. What would Felix think if Teagan told them what she’d done? Knots weaved and tightened impossibly in her stomach, and she stood up to back away. She didn’t dare lock eyes with her friend. The rejection Teagan expected to be there would prove too much for her to bear, and she was terrified of what that would do to what was left of her heart. There was no way she’d be accepted. If her family couldn’t, then how could someone with no ties to her leave their arms open? Losing Felix was inevitable, Teagan knew that. She just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.

“I…I set up traps. After-after one hunter, it started with a few.” A pause, if only to prolong their friendship. “After the second, a few more. Then-then���” Breath hitched in Teagan’s chest, tears streaming warmly down her cheeks. “Then my tail. He took my tail, and I held back as much as I could! I did! I did!” She wiped her cheeks, smearing stinging blood on her face, but hardly caring. “These monsters just take and take and take! When does it end? When, Felix? Because everyday, every night, I see what they did in my nightmares. They took my family, and I watched them do it.” Teagan’s eyes reluctantly landed on Felix’s, desperation filling them, and acceptance trickling down. “Who’s going to stop them?” She croaked, falling to her knees, right next to the still breathing hunter. “Who’s going to stop another child from sitting in blood like me?”

Felix was fourteen the first time their father came home bloody, eyes wild and face alight. They remembered the panic that set in at the sight, remembered running up to him with their heart pounding. Their mother’s death had been so fresh then, so recent, and the idea of losing the only parent they’d had left had been terrifying. What happened, papi? They’d asked desperately, tracing their hands over his arms in search of injury. But there had been none to be found. The blood wasn’t his, he’d told them. There was someone outside. She’d stumbled onto the property, and Felix had never known if she was a hunter tracking them down or if she was just a human who’d gotten lost in the woods. Their father never specified, and they’d been too afraid to ask; they didn’t know, even now, whether or not their father had known the answer. 

She’d been the first. She hadn’t been the last.

It wasn’t a common thing. They were far off enough into the woods that people finding their property was rare. Sometimes, they went a year without anyone stumbling onto it. Other times, there would be several spread across just a few months. Every time, though, regardless of the frequency, the end result was the same. Someone came home covered in blood, with a body behind them. The ground outside that cabin in the woods went from a sanctuary to a graveyard, with the parts of the bodies that weren’t ‘put to use’ buried in the dirt in mass unmarked graves. Felix used to keep count of them. Some desperate attempt at retribution, they thought, some quiet way of pretending that they weren’t a part of it. But they lost track, after a while. There were so many bodies. There was so much blood. The ground was rotted with it.

They missed their family. There was no doubt about that. They ached with the absence of them, yearned to see their siblings again, wished they could ask their father for advice on how to get out of the mess they’d made for themself with the Pit. They missed them, so much that it hurt like a physical thing. 

But they didn’t miss the blood.

And here was more of it. A different forest floor, a different nearby cabin, but the blood smelled the same. The ranger in the trap was barely breathing, half-dead and very likely entirely unaware of the conversation happening around her. Felix couldn’t take their eyes off of her, couldn’t stop staring at the blood. Their throat felt tight, like they were fourteen again, like they were still in that cabin across from a father they both loved and feared trying desperately to remember how to breathe. “You can’t — It isn’t an excuse,” he choked out, eyes darting to Teagan’s. “I get it. I do. But you can’t… You can’t use your grief to — to justify more violence. Because where does that end, Teagan? Where does — It keeps going. Over and over and over again. You kill her, and — and her child comes to avenge it. And then — and then you kill them, or they kill you and someone avenges that, and it’s just — This isn’t preventing anything. This isn’t stopping anything. It just… prolongs it.” 

They moved forward carefully, hands trembling. They did something they’d never done with their father — they knelt down next to the broken body in the trap, and they pressed their fingers carefully against the side of her throat. There was a faint thump against their hand, and they closed their eyes for a moment with a sigh. “She’s alive,” they said quietly. “She’s still alive. Can I — I want to… To get her help. To take her to a hospital, to try to save her. That — Teagan, that’s how you stop it. You can’t end violence with more violence. You can’t stop death with more death. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what you went through, but you can’t keep using it as an excuse. You can’t. You’ll never move on if you do.” 

Their father certainly hadn’t, and Felix didn’t want that for their friend. They didn’t want her to be in a cabin in the woods someday with children who loved her just a little bit more than they feared her, didn’t want her to be the monster in her children’s closet the same way the hunters who had hurt her family were the monster in hers. Teagan’s experience was one of a child who lost everything and grew to avenge it, but Felix’s was one of a child who lost everything because of their father’s desperate vengeance. They knew what this sort of thing led to. They wanted better for her. “Help me. Please, help me get her to a doctor. It doesn’t have to be… this.” 

Teagan could tell memories were flooding Felix’s mind, a reel of horrors projecting and flickering painfully. Had they bore witness to the same, or something just as vile? Two sides of a coin, flipping endlessly and growing the nausea in their stomachs. But the source of their disgust was not the same. Felix made that clear when they found relief in the beating of the hunter’s heart. She supposed they didn’t understand, couldn’t, no matter how hard they tried. 

True, death would never cease if the nix continued to fight. Why was she supposed to move on, though? Why was it okay that the ranger attacked with no regard to the beautiful life she could’ve ended, had the bolt met its mark? “You don’t get it, then.” No one ever could. Teagan watched through a slit of the door as her family fought, one by one being taken out like common animals. Watched as Catrin crawled to the door of the closet her daughter had been thrown in for her safety. 

At ten years old, Teagan had witnessed what true evil was, how quickly everything could be torn away. At ten years old, she sat in the warm and sticky blood of her family until it grew cold and thick and dry against her skin. How was that fair? How was it right that Teagan let go of a monster so she could continue and possibly do the same to another family? “I can’t let you do that,” She shook her head vehemently, voice thick and riddled with pain.

“If she lives, then she will heal and hurt someone else. The cycle never ends because hunters will never stop. Who else is going to stop them? What if they hurt you? I won’t let them hurt you. I can’t! You don’t know what I’ve seen!” Teagan all but shrieked, begging Felix to turn around, to let their friend do what she must. There was no malice, no anger toward the Balam. There couldn’t be. “Felix,” Teagan began, crawling to them and hovering her hands over their cheeks so she wouldn’t stain his skin. 

“We can’t stop the violence, we can’t, I know that, but we can stop them. That’s what I’m trying to do. I don’t want the families they hunt to live through what I did. I don’t want families to be cut in half because of their traditions!” But Teagan saw no budging, Felix’s eyes were resolute in their decision on helping this monster. She sighed, scooting away and stumbling to her feet as she searched for a direction to run. Watching Felix defend that thing was hard enough, anything more would just be salt in the wound, burning worse than usual. “I won’t help. I won’t. But I…I won’t stop you.” She continued to back away, receding into the trees. “I won’t hurt you. I never want to do that. You’re my friend, okay? I just…I just can’t help. I can’t.”

“Teagan,” Felix murmured gently, “you’re not the only one who’s lost people.” Hadn’t everyone? Wasn’t that what this life was? Not just for supernatural beings like the two of them, but for the hunters, too. For the humans whose loved ones had disappeared in the woods near the Mendoza’s cabin, for the children whose parents never came home and the parents who turned off lights in empty bedrooms at the end of every day. Felix understood the ache of it. Their mother was shot like an animal in the woods, her body left to rot because someone was afraid. People did terrible things under the guise of fear and protection. The blood on the forest floor was proof enough of that. 

They tensed a little as Teagan approached, the same way they used to tense when their father got near. Her hands, like their father’s, wouldn’t hurt them. They knew that. Everything their father had done had been done in the name of protection, just like Teagan. But there was blood on those hands, anyway. And what did it matter what the intention was? What did it matter if it was done for protection or for vengeance? It didn’t change that terrible shade of red. 

“You don’t know that,” they insisted. “Maybe she lives and goes right back to hunting, but maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she grows. Maybe she becomes better than she was yesterday if she just — If she gets a chance to try. People will never change if you snuff them out before they can try to, but if you give them the chance, they — People are capable of being better. They can work towards it. They can try to be more than they were yesterday. They can. And everyone — everyone deserves a chance to do that. She does. You do. Everyone does. What she does next is on her, but what you do next? That’s on you.” 

They had to believe that. They had to. Because if people weren’t capable of change, what did it say about them? About the father they loved just a little more than they feared him, about the siblings who’d done what they were told no matter what shade of red it left their hands? Felix wanted the hunter to be capable of change, wanted Teagan to be capable of change, but there was something selfish to it, too. They wanted a second chance. For themself, for their family, for everyone. 

Teagan scooted away from them, and disappointment tasted acidic in their throat. She wasn’t going to help them. They’d figured that might be the end result. But… maybe it said something, still, that she wouldn’t stop them, either. Maybe it meant something for them both. “You’re my friend, too,” they said quietly. “This doesn’t change that. Not for me. But I need to get her help. I need to try to make sure she’s as okay as she can be.”

“O-okay.” She finally managed to whisper painfully.  It felt like betrayal, just for a moment, the way Felix fought back so hard. There was no changing their mind, but maybe, Teagan thought, their desperation said something more. The use of everyone wrote some much in a story that she hadn’t yet heard. There was no judgment, not really. Just hurt and disappointment. 

The balam had their own pain, and the nix had hers. Teagan could respect that, especially for a friend that wouldn’t become a ghost of the past. There would be no longing wishes left from a broken relationship. That was a relief, even as heartbreak set in motion with each respective decision. With each trembling step toward the darkness Teagan had led herself into, digging further still. 

“Don’t do anything foolish, okay? I’m sorry I ruined our day.” That’s what she did best though, wasn’t it? She did it constantly with her family, and she was doing the same with the new connections she’d made. Still, the pain lay thickly in Teagan’s chest every time. It wasn’t easy doing what she must, but the pain was deserved. She knew that. Because all broken shards are cut when one wasn’t careful while they picked up the pieces, and Teagan broke into several more as she made her exit. 

She agreed, and it felt like a weight off their back. It felt like an accomplishment. Felix had tried to argue with their father, so many times. They’d put their foot down only to have it forcibly removed, had been called so many terrible things and accused of such awful atrocities just for wanting to save a life. And for a moment, they’d been afraid Teagan would do the same. They’d been afraid that they couldn’t save her or the hunter or anyone at all. But Felix put their foot down and, for once in their life, it was respected. It was honored. It was a good feeling, even if there was still a tightness in his throat and a nausea tugging at his gut. 

“Nothing foolish,” they replied with a small smile. “And it’s not — It isn’t ruined. Just… rescheduled. Okay?” The friendship could survive this if they let it. It could. Felix could save someone, for once. Could save more than one person, maybe, if Teagan took their words to heart. (They wouldn’t hold their breath on that, though. Felix’s words had never counted for much. They’d always known that.) And tomorrow, maybe, they could try again. Tomorrow, the rain would wash the blood off the forest floor, and they could move forward. It was a pretty thought. 

They heard Teagan leave, swallowed their feelings in response. Carefully, they extracted the injured hunter from the trap and lifted her. They’d get her away from Teagan’s cabin before calling for an ambulance — less questions that way. 

Standing, Felix began a quiet trek out of the woods. Behind them, blood soaked into the dirt. 

They pretended their hands weren’t covered with it, too.

[recitedemise]

Lilah: “I have never met anyone like you. It is maddening, how much you consume my very being.”

Royal, Fantasy Romance, and Spice: still accepting.

It's funny how often love is talked of like a ravenous appetite. They write of it so sweetly, berry filled and crispy with its hordes of butter. It's difficult to walk from, to not sink one's teeth to but sample a taste, and to ask for a kiss is like to ask for a pastry. Or profiteroles with custard. Or a tarte tatin with fig. It's easy to want, to long for both seconds and to clamor for thirds. Of course, when one's starved, too, the hunger's gnawing intensity all but grows, and gods know how long he has lived on morsels! Where scraps, mere crumbs, felt like feasts.

Lilah doesn't do that. Lilah fills him full.

Searing the lamb chops, the smell of oregano takes the air, and listening to her words, Gale...smiles.

He doesn't meet her eyes yet, but he feels it, the syrupy, golden glow of her easy love. So easy. Like the way the twilight gives to night kind of easy. He prepares their dinner, Tara casting her curious eyes hoping he lets drop some meat. They've fallen into rhythm, Lilah slotting in quickly as Waterdeep had borne her, and the terrace is bared with the shutters drawn open. There wafts the mingling of sea salt and the trickle of the breeze.

The Absolute is gone. The Elder Brain's extinguished. Now, she's her bardic drafts foldered in a study that had once been storage, and she's the smell of her perfume in their well-pillowed bed. Gale plates their dinner and walks on over.

"I'd ask for some leniency. In my defense," he tuts, setting their dishes on the table by the fireplace, "it's difficult to content myself with merely a bite." He meets her gaze, now pouring some Berduskan Dark, pricey and full. "I will always crave you. There is not a moment where I don't hunger." And know that he'll always hold her gently in the cage of his teeth to fill up and crowd the heft of his empties.

He kisses her cheek as he lays down her glass. "Now, allow me to satisfy your appetites." Cheekily, he adds, "if at all possible."

[ashenoaktradingcompany]

Our Spa Bundle is up! The whole thing is about $10 cheaper than buying it a la carte, however we've only made 6 of them so be sure to grab one before they're gone!

Each bundle contains:

One (1) shimmering gemstone heart soap, sweetly scented with the aroma of berries and cream One (1) rose scented bath bomb, formulated to make your bathwater extra silky One (1) 6.5 ounce bag of our Bacchanal bath salts One (1) 6.5 ounce bag of our Persephone's Garden bath salts Two (2) chocolate scented shower steamers (not currently available for individual sale)

[pokerecipes]

Ivysaur bites

This is classic dish served in a lot of fast food restaurants was part of all of our childhoods I'm sure. Ivysaur meat is usually not the first candidate to make into bites but since my dad made them one time I am deeply in love with them. The ivysaur has a sweetly-sour quality to it that I personally just appreciate a lot.

Also, I'm a huge advocate for defunding big chain fast food places and instead making things at home, which is often cheaper than one thinks, or going to proper restaurants.

The following recipes feeds around 4 people and takes just a spell to prepare.

Ingredients

1kg Ivysaur meat cut as vaguely sphere shaped (2-3cm diameter)

480g flour

240ml of buttermilk

240ml of any hot sauce (or curry ketchup)

1 egg (large)

30ml of any cooking oil

20g of garlic powder

30ml belue berry juice

8g salt

240ml frying oil (I recommend peanut)

Appropriate seasonings for raw meat

Instructions

Mix the egg, cooking oil, garlic powder, belue juice and salt in a blender and then cool it in the fridge.

Prepare your deep fryer/ deep frying pan with the fryong oil and make sure it gets to around 170°C (Be careful with the oil!)

Either cut your meat or get out your pre-cut meat and season it with whatever spices you think are appropriate

Fill a plate with the flour and roll the meat around it until it's coated from all sides

Mix the hot sauce and the buttermilk in a bowl until it's a homogeneous mass and dip all your meat in there so it's coated

Roll the meat around in the flour again

Fry your bites for maybe 2 minutes or until they're golden brown

Let them rest and cool on a paper towel for a minute

Serve them with the previously made sauce!

Clean up the kitchen and pat yourself on the shoulder

[ramyeonupdates]

{ #healthyfood } || source: sweetly_salted_berry

[anon-e-miss]

Imagining desperate alpha/bull jazz, the farmers have been so mean and haven’t let him cum in ages, his balls are so swollen and heavy. He’s their best stud though, and they’re getting a new Praxian heifer though, and he’s never been bred before. They want jazz to get a whole herd of calves out of prowl, and an endless milk supply too.

“Are you sure about this bull?” The farmer asked. “He’s a little small.”

“Have you see the spikes and reservoirs on ‘m?” The other farmer said. “Polihexian bulls produce a special nanite in their transfluids. Let ‘m at the heifer’s sheath and it’ll trigger the formation of another valve and forge. We’ll get twice as many calves off that heifer and his energon production will quadruple at least.”

Jazz, as the bull was called, snorted with impatience. He had been kept from heifers all season and his reservoirs were sore they were so full of transfluids. In ire, he turned his horns towards the skiddish farmer he had been contracted to. The other farmer cackled and tapped Jazz’s back end with a long stick, herding him towards an open field. Jazz snorted but his complaint died when he saw a pretty heifer standing alone in the grass. He smelled sweet and ripe like ruby berries in the late spring. Jazz bellowed and thundered toward the heifer.

“Why’d you pick that one?” The farmer asked. “He’s so nasty. I was thinking of turning him out to the plows.”

“He makes the richest energon,” the other farmer said. “Keep his forges full and his udders heavy and his code’ll settle down nice.”

The heifer flicked his tail at Jazz, flashing his damp, swollen folds at him. He indeed lush and ripe and ready for breeding. Like every heifer in the height of their season, he wanted to be bred. That did not mean he wanted to be bred by Jazz. Knowing better than to just mount the bigger heifer, delicious as he smelled and looked or not, Jazz circled him, showing off his long horns and hard spikes. The heifer watched him, stared intently at his spike. When Jazz circled behind him again the heifer lifted his tail again. Jazz rose onto his hind legs and mounted the pretty heifer. His upper spike nudged at the heifer’s valve and the pretty thing made a sweet moo.

“What’s yer designation, Pretty?” Jazz grunted as he resisted the urge to plow forward and to take everything the heifer had to offer him.

“Prowl,” the heifer mooed.

“Ya smell hot ‘n heady, Prowl,” Jazz teased his spike against the heifer’s folds as he mewled a moo. “Ya want calves, Pretty?”

“Yes,” Prowl moaned. “I want calves. I have never been covered by a bull like you.”

“Ya won’t be covered by another bull again,” Jazz promised as he buried the tip of his spike in the heifer’s welcoming valve.

His lower spike nosed nosed along Prowl’s array but found a sheath and not a valve. Jazz groaned. He had obviously not been covered by bulls worth their salt. His second spike butted against the heifer’s sheath and then sank in. Prowl squealed as Jazz pulled his thick hips back as he butted forward and buried both his spikes to the deepest reaches of the heifer’s frame. Prowl mooed sweetly as Jazz covered him, and covered him well. Throughout the mega-cycle, Jazz covered Prowl over and over, until his belly was swollen with transfluids. When the farmer called them from the field, Jazz followed Prowl into his creche and mounted him again in the straw.

“I don’t know why we’re keeping that bull with him,” the farmer groused. “I don’t know why the heifer let’s him keep covering him. He obviously caught, look at the belly on him!”

“Twins in both forges,” the other farmer grinned with pride. “You always complain he was a sour heifer, well as long as he’s getting stuffed with bull spike and transfluid in his downtime, he’s sweet as can be come milking.”

“Moooo,” the heifer moaned orgasmically as the bull ground his spikes inside him. In the next stall the calves from the last season tussled. The farmer flushed with second-hand embarrassment. His colleague guffawed.

“‘N you can’t deny they make fantastic calves!”

“Hopefully some heifers this time,” the farmer grumbled.

“If not, the stud fees we’re gonna get from their bulls will make us a fortune!”

[skullrock]

melt with you

pairing: Steve x Reader

summary: simply a fic about Steve’s praise/body worship k*nk <3

warnings: gentlest smut of all time

word count: 1.5k

===

Steve’s not used to having someone pay attention to him so closely. It frightens him at first - he’s worried you’ll find flaws. But all you find are things you love, and it makes Steve’s heart skyrocket to hear you praise the little things.

It starts with his hands - big and warm, calloused but soft. His long and nimble fingers relax as you kiss them, paying special attention to the pads and knuckles. “They’re so pretty, Steve,” you murmur, gently and lightly kissing his index finger. “So strong and gentle.”

You kiss from his palms up his arms, pressing your lips to his freckles and blue veins. Your lips and eyelashes tickle, and he smiles as he watches you with blown pupils. You always go over his freckles twice, tracing them with your lips and fingers, marking the patterns that they make.

Then your lips attach to his neck, making him moan lightly. You kiss all over, sucking on his beauty marks and lightly licking over his Adam’s apple. You kiss up his ears and then back down, sweetly sucking on the dots that line his neck.

It’s up to his jaw from there, peppering kisses all over it. You compliment how strong his jawline is and his stomach flips, chest filling with admiration as he feels your soft kisses. Then, finally, his lips - “You’re such a good kisser, Steve.” You dart your tongue out and lick his bottom lip, relishing the whine that comes from his throat.

His cheekbones are next. You kiss up to his temple and back down, to the soft flesh of his cheeks, and then up along his forehead. You take note to wrap your fingers in his hair, tugging just as he likes it. His eyes are softly closed, lips slightly open, as you kiss down the bridge of his nose. His skin is so soft under you, so perfect and so flawless. “You’re so pretty, Steve. You look like a marble sculpture.” He blushes and you kiss his cheeks again before pushing him gently onto his back.

Steve’s shirt comes off and you kiss over his broad chest, moving slowly and intentionally. You never once close your eyes; instead, you drink him in, how pink and plush his lips are and how warm his eyes iris’ are. You give extra care to the ribs on his left side, too. You remember the black and purple bruises that bloomed after Starcourt, and you always made sure to give them extra love. Your kisses seem to temporarily melt the trauma of Steve’s broken body, which still hurts from time to time.

Gently moving down his navel, you lace your fingers through his, squeezing reassuringly. You love how soft his tummy is, how it’s not muscled but toned. “You have the perfect body.” You press another kiss right below his belly button. “You’re perfect. So handsome, Stevie.”

His shorts and underwear come off then, but you kiss down his thighs. You pay special attention to the few stretch marks that line the inside of them, where he’s grown fuller since his basketball days. Steve loves it when you ghost over them - usually self conscious, he feels like they belong when you worship them. You trace them with your fingers, too, smiling up at Steve. Then you continue kissing. You kiss over his scarred kneecap - he’d fallen off of his bike when Tommy pushed him as a kid. Down his lean calves, tickling the back of his knees with your fingers, making him chuckle above you.

You pay attention to his backside, too - lips tracing over the stretch marks on his back, silver and striped, back up to the nape of his neck where his beauty marks meet. You comb through his hair lovingly with your hands, and Steve sighs happily, hugging the pillow below him. You breathe in how he smells: like pine and berries and like him, unique and intoxicating. “You always smell so good.”

Flipping him over once again, you kiss down his stomach and to his erection, stiff and begging for the same attention. You kiss his tip softly, savoring how he moans above you. You splay your hands out on his hips as you kiss down and around his cock, slow and purposeful. Steve moans loudly as you finally take him in your mouth deeply, both of your eyes rolling back. After a few bobs of your head you pop off of him, gently stroking with a hand. “You taste so good, Stevie.” You kiss the tip again, tasting the salt of his precum. “Make the prettiest sounds, too.”

“Please,” he whimpers, wrapping his hands in your hair. “More.”

You oblige, taking him down your throat again, savoring his moans. You watch him through your lashes, how his chest heaves and his head throws back, mouth agape and lips plush. Then he looks back down at you, eyes full of the same admiration you have for him.

After a while, you move back up to his lips to kiss him again. He’s intoxicating, lips moving just right and so passionately. He always smiles into his kisses, as if he’s drunk on the love he holds for you. When you finally sink down onto him, he sighs happily, his fingers digging into your hips.

You kiss around his face again as you both adjust to the feeling. “You always fill me up so good, Stevie,” you whisper. “So fucking big, baby boy. You fill me so perfectly.”

His lips part again as you start to ride him, hips moving slowly and gently. He loves when you take him like this. It’s full of nothing but love and passion, and it makes him feel so whole with your bodies connecting.

“I love you,” you say, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “I love you so much.”

Steve moans, hips bucking gently up into you. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

“My everything,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss his neck again. You move up to his ear, biting lightly on his earlobe. “My world, my life.”

Goosebumps form on his flesh as he whines, thrusting up into you again. He moves your lips back to his and kisses, sliding his tongue over your bottom lip. Although you’re moving so slowly, the attention makes butterflies erupt in his stomach, and he can feel the coil tightening already. Small moans and whines come from his mouth as he kisses you, his fingers now rubbing small circles into your hips.

“Stevie,” you moan, pulling back to ride him a bit faster. “I love the sounds you make.”

“Oh,” he moans, hips bucking yet again. His eyes roll back and he whines, “Please.”

“You’re doing so good, taking me so good,” you moan. You move your hands to his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “Does it feel good?”

“God, yes,” he moans.

“I want you to cum for me, baby boy. Can you do that?”

He nods, eyes squeezing shut. His stomach tightens and he thrusts up into you quickly, hands on your hips to hold you steady.

“Steve - you feel so good! Just like that, baby -“

A load moan of your name escapes his lips, his grip tightening on you. “F- fuck... ‘m gonna cum....”

“Cum for me, Stevie,” you gasp, feeling yourself come closer as you watch Steve unravel beneath you. “Fill me up - no one else can make me feel this good -“

He pulls you down to kiss you passionately as he comes undone, his warm cock twitching inside of you as he finishes. He gasps and moans and pants against your lips and you pet his hair as he works through it. Feeling him cum and continuing to thrust makes you come, too. Steve’s eyes drift shut as he feels your pussy flutter around his cock, thrusting a few more times before slowing and stopping.

You both pant as you push off of him, caressing his face as he tries to catch his breath. “You did so perfect, Steve - so good for me, my love.” You kiss wherever you can reach as his heart beat finally slows down, his eyes hooded as he finally relaxes. You get off of him and lay down, pulling him into you tightly. He sighs at your touch, leaning into your embrace.

You both whisper “I love you” over and over as you drift off into a nap, your hands lacing through Steve’s again as you fall under.

[inspiringruleandkill]

124th Biannual Presidential Ball - Drink Menu

Bee Sting (Hailey) This drink is a combination of gin, club soda, lemon juice and sugar. It’s refreshing, fizzy and sweet, with just a little sting of sour. It’s garnished with a flower to attract any buzzing bees that might be nearby.

Bloody Finger Cocktail (Raluca) Vodka, Passoa Passionfruit (liquor), three drops of tomato juice, and a rose petal garnish are combined to create this macabre drink. Not the sweetest. Is served with a sword straw and salt on the edges

Jelly Bean Flop (Rainy) This sugar-sweet non-alcoholic drink tastes like a jelly bean (five blue flavors offered). When you stir with the straws, the jellyfish move around the cup. They remain suspended until there isn’t enough left, in which case they can be eaten. Serengeti Sweet (Mario) This non-alcoholic drink is inspired by a certain pair of tributes from District 6. Its tangy yet sweet, and tastes a bit like orange koolaid.

Serpent Outhouse (Kai) Description: Bourbon, fresh apple cider, and lemon juice poured over a layer of maple walnut syrup. “Snakes” formed out of tart honeycrisp apples and shiso for garnish complete this fruity and refreshing drink.

Polar Prosecco (Kayla) Chilled, minty, and refreshing is this mixed drink, with notes of spearmint and sweet peppermint given an effervescent lift by a healthy portion of dry prosecco. The drink is finished with a mint leaf garnish and powdered sugar “snow” around the rim. Berry Backwoods (Helen) The Berry Backwoods cocktail is earthy with a hint of sweetness just like the mysterious Bear Backwoods where dirt and bears roam, but where one might just find a refreshing moment by a freshwater spring to collect oneself. The drink comes topped with a full strawberry garnish.

Cove-arita (Layla) It tastes fresh, with a hint of sourness once you hit the jellyfish.

Monkey Tail (Nicole) A mocktail with kiwi, mint, a splash of lemonade, and topped off with one’s choice of club soda or tonic water. Peer close enough and you might just feel like you’ve fallen onto Monkey City!

King of the Pride (Katie) It’s a sparkly, spicy drink inspired by the king of all animals. Mango and lemon juice paired with some sparkling wine and a shot of fireball that burns ever so sweetly. Be prepared to hear the guest roar.

[oblvvicn]

Arthur Charles Meyers - Character Development

Who are you?

BASIC CHARACTER QUESTIONS

First name? Edward Arthur

Surname? Jones Meyers

Middle names? Charles

Nicknames? n/a

Date of birth? October 29th,1977

Age? 43

PHYSICAL / APPEARANCE

Height? 6 ft 1 inches

Weight? 198 lbs

Build? Average

Hair color? Black

Eye color? Green

Glasses or contact lenses? Reading glasses

Distinguishing facial features? None, really..

Which facial feature is most prominent? That damn fine chin according to Tara.

Which bodily feature is most prominent? His hands have only been the that he’s looked at his whole life and saw himself in- for that alone they’re most prominent because of the truth they hold.

Other distinguishing features? He’s a pretty plain jane  

Skin? While the tan he used to have from his days under the sun has gone, it’s not saved his skin from the hands of time. Wrinkles settle into his forehead, and around the creases of his eyes.

Hands? Arthur’s hands carry the truth of him, it’s easy to look at them and see the callouses that haven’t left after years, and the faint scars that remain on the back of his hands. They’ve seen years and years of hard work before he started writing, but those years cling to them and weathers them.

Scars? Most of Arthur’s scars are from at least 20 years ago, if not more- So they’ve faded beyond the point of recognition for the most part and blended with his skin. Faint silver slithers are still seen if you look close enough.

Birthmarks? He’s got a faint birthmark stretching across his shin to his calf. It’s mostly hard to distinguish these days.

Tattoos? He’s not got any tattoos.

Physical handicaps? Nothing outside minor lingering injuries.

Type of clothes? Arthur mostly wears white button downs tucked into trousers, and on more formal occasions such as work, he’ll wear a suit jacket and tie along with it. Different varying levels of formal trousers of course, he’ll hardly be caught in jeans. On his days around the house, those white button downs turn to plain white t-shirts.

Race / Ethnicity? White , Caucasian

Mannerisms? Arthur while is a bit blunt quite often, is polite- especially to those he doesn’t know. Old habits die hard they say, and it’s hard for him not to be on best graces with those he speaks to.

Are they in good health? Relatively, smoking as much as he does doesn’t do well by his lungs- and drinking takes its toll some mornings.

Do they have any disabilities? No.

PERSONALITY

What words or phrases do they overuse? He doesn’t really have any.

Do they have a catchphrase? You’re lucky if you speak to him enough to get one.

Are they more optimistic or pessimistic? Despite what it may seem, Arthur’s more of an optimist. He’s often pretty certain of things working his way.

Are they introverted or extroverted? Introverted.

Do they ever put on airs? Most of his life

What bad habits do they have? Smoking and drinking the most obvious, and his immediate response to flee when too much pressure is put on him.

What makes them laugh out loud? Mostly naive youth with promising hopes, but you can usually get him with a solid joke.

How do they display affection? Through honesty, even if that is in slithers of personality.

Mental handicaps? He has a mild case of PTSD

How do they want to be seen by others?

How do they see themselves? Arthur struggles to look at himself and see, well himself. He sees anyone but. Mostly he looks to himself and sees a crumbling world dissolving in his hands, as he tries constantly to patch it back up.

How competitive are they? Not very.

Do they make snap judgements or take time to consider? Snap judgement when under pressure, the rest will work itself out.

How do they react to praise? Depends on who it’s from, he mostly won’t give much of a reaction to avoid people using praise as an attempt to suck up.

How do they react to criticism? He usually takes it with a grain of salt.

What is their greatest fear? Being unraveled to the point that he’s forced to face everything that’s true about him. Being forced to face that there’s perhaps nothing true left to him. In a similar sentiment, perhaps his past catching up to who he is today.

What are their biggest secrets? Besides their whole life? I mean mainly that his whole identity is a lie.

What is their philosophy of life? Start again, maybe this time you’ll do it right.

When was the last time they cried? He can’t remember.

What haunts them? His own demons.

Are they indoorsy or outdoorsy? Pretty much a mix, I’d say mostly indoorsy?

What is their sinful little habit? Do affairs count?

What sense do they most rely on? Sight

How do they treat people better than them? Like they’re on the same level.

How do they treat people worse than them? Like he’s a good role model.

What quality do they most value in a friend? Loyalty?

What do they consider an overrated virtue? Morality

If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be? He thinks he might like to be human.

What is their obsession? Mortality.

What are their pet peeves? Someone speaking to him when it’s really not necessary.

FRIENDS AND FAMILY

Is their family big or small? Who does it consist of? Which one? jk, jk, i swear - his immediate relatives, he doesn’t have any alive, and it was small even before that. He does have a wife, and two children, but that’s not to say for very long.

What is their perception of family? Arthur honestly, doesn’t really have one. He’s used to it being him alone in the world.

Do they have siblings? Older or younger? None.

Describe their best friend. Before Wade, it was their boss who was the closest thing to his best friend. He wasn’t a secretive type himself, but that wasn’t to say he didn’t have his own secrets- they just happened to be ones Arthur knew of. They understood eachother on some level, and he at least understood what Arthur needed. He knows he was expecting him to leave, they’d both made their peace with that a long time ago.

Ideal best friend? Someone who understands that Arthur will never be around for long.

Describe their other friends. He mostly keeps people at arm’s length.

Describe their acquaintances. Anyone else who might have been considered a friend, really was just an acquaintance. Mostly work colleges, people in the neighborhood who he’d attend dinner parties with, people in social circles at soirées.

Do they have any pets? None

PAST AND FUTURE

What was your character like as a baby? As a child? Arthur or well,, Edward was a quiet child- He was stoic before he knew to be a young boy. He would never speak out of line, or step out of line, he was easy to forget as he spent most of his time trying to blend in.

Did they grow up rich or poor? Poor

Did they grow up nurtured or neglected? Neglected

What is the most offensive thing they ever said? He’s known for being quite brutal sometimes, there’s a few things up there.

What is their greatest achievement? He couldn’t tell you. He doesn’t think he’s achieved much in life.

What was their first kiss like? The boy would remind him of summer, with the breeze in his laugh and the way his hands crushed strawberries like they were blood dripping from wounds. He was light, and graceful, and didn’t know what pain looked like except when he would stare into Arthur’s big eyes and he’d see that mirror to his soul. They kiss as they’re playing knights, berries sweetly staining lips, and Arthur lost his breath. He didn’t see the blonde boy after that.

What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved? Arthur’s never really felt that strongly for anyone, so it doesn’t take much for him to do others wrong.

What are their ambitions? To do something right this time.

What advice would they give their younger self? Think about it.

What smells remind them of their childhood? Hay bales, and mulberry bushes, and tractor exhaust, and whiskey, and cheap cigarettes, and sprinklers on freshly mowed grass.

What was their childhood ambition? To be someone worth living.

What is their best childhood memory? re bio: kissing that boy

What is their worst childhood memory? He does his best not to think about those thanks. re bio: all of it.

Did they have an imaginary childhood friend? No.

When was the last time they were crushed with disappointment? When he was sent to boarding school.

What past act are they most ashamed of? Re: all of it

What past act are they most proud of? He doesn’t have a moment he’s proud of.

Has anyone ever saved their life? When he served in the army, it’s easy to say everyone there would take part in saving his life. Let alone the nurses who cared for him each time.

Strongest childhood memory? He doesn’t let himself dwell on moments like these, but if any were to be the strongest it would be the one by the fireplace in the stone kitchen sitting besides the man who wasn’t his father. They ate in silence, it was long after they boy should have stopped feeling like a stranger in the home, but he knows he still is. So he thanks him for the meal as they bathe in the flickering light. His eyes run across the man, taking every wrinkle in, every scar and blemish on his skin like they have their own story. Like the freckles can line up his past and expose something. And the boy asks, because he sees it in his eyes, and hears it when he opens his mouth. “Why are you so alone?”

LOVE

Do they believe in love at first sight? No.

Are they in a relationship? Technically.

How do they behave in a relationship? Around his partner he comes off as the almost perfect partner, caring albiet a little distant at times. But he’s not behaved to say, spending nights with others, and sometimes leaving on impulse with a call in the morning with a lie. Business trips usually, last minute calls- he’s not ideal.

When did you character last have sex? Probably with his wife?

What sort of sex do they have? Who wants to know?

Has your character ever been in love? He thinks he might have been with that boy that tasted of sunshine.

Have they ever had their heart broken? No.

CONFLICT

How do they respond to a threat? He often brushes it off without much thought, or pretends it’s not gotten to him. Alternatively if it’s to do with certain things, he’ll leave.

Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? Tongue

What is your character’s kryptonite? Being known.

If your character could only save one thing from their burning house, what would it be? He’d let it all burn.

How do they perceive strangers? Depends on what use they are to him.

What do they love to hate? He can’t think of anything.

What are their phobias? Mild fear of heights, but that’s mostly not a big deal.

What is their choice of weapon? He’s not going to fight you.

What living person do they most despise? Himself

Have they ever been bullied or teased? Teased as a kid for being so quiet, but it never bothered him.

Where do they go when they’re angry? Away.

Who are their enemies and why? You, you nosey bitch.

WORK, EDUCATION AND HOBBIES

What is their current job? Highschool English Professor

What do they think about their current job? He doesn’t think much about it.

What are some of their past jobs? Journalist, Mechanic Hand, Farm Hand, Secretary, Copy Writer

Educational background? Studied English Literature at College

Do they have a natural talent for something? Saving a situation with what to say.

Do they play a sport? Are they any good? He played some water polo in college but was never that good at it.

What is their socioeconomic status? Upper middle, closer bordering upper class.

FAVORITES

What is their favorite animal? He likes fish, they’re chill.

Which animal to they dislike the most? Do ants count?

What place would they most like to visit? Somewhere no one knows him.

What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen? He was lieing there, heat smouldering around him and his breath barley caught staring up to the sky. It was pale and glistening in his eyes as his head spun, he knew everything around him, the fear that raced in his heart. But for this moment, he saw birds flying overhead, and everything was still.

What is their favorite song? Arthur will say he listens to Tchaikovsky- sometimes he does.

What is their favorite color? The off white of old book pages.

What is their password? It changes every month, he’s careful with privacy. This month it’s 423.RiceWhite

Favorite food: Lamb Chops and relish.

POSSESSIONS

What is in their fridge: He’s still at the motel, so cream, some beer, maybe some leftovers.

What is on their bedside table? His reading glasses. Maybe a book.

What is in their car? Whiskey in the glove box, along with his wedding ring and a road map. A map book under the passenger car seat, maybe his briefcase from work.

What is in their bin? Coffee grinds, a takeaway box, beer bottle tops.

What is in their purse or wallet? Arthur Meyer’s ID, and ‘old library card’ , he often keeps a fair amount of cash on him as he doesn’t like to use card, however still has one bank card under Arthur’s name. He doesn’t keep any personal memorabilia in there.

What is in their pockets? His wallet, keys, and maybe a napkin he was scratching on when he was in the diner. Also a pen.

What is their most treasured possession? His car keys, they’re his way out.

SPIRITUALITY

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel? He doesn’t have one.

Do they believe in the afterlife? No.

What are their religious views? Raised catholic, isn’t anymore. However goes to church in town for appearance.

What do they think heaven is? He doesn’t think it exists.

What do they think hell is? He doesn’t think it exists.

Are they superstitious? No, he doesn’t think the universe cares enough about what you do.

What would they like to be reincarnated as? God he hopes he isn’t.

How would they like to die? by the hands of someone who understands him, alone somewhere where no one identifies him or even finds him.

What is your character’s spirit animal? A crow perhaps?

What is their zodiac sign? Scorpio

VALUES

What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? They’re restrained.

What is their view of ‘freedom’? Existing.

When did they last lie? Probably in this questionnaire.

What’s their view of lying? It serves a cause.

When did they last make a promise? To his wife that he’ll be back.

Did they keep or break their last promise? Lol, you guess.

DAILY LIFE

What are their eating habits? Oh boy.

Do they have any allergies? Nope.

Describe their home. Well right now,,, it’s a motel so it’s as lovely as you think.

Are they minimalist or a clutter hoarder? Minimalist.

What do they do first thing on a weekday morning? Make coffee.

What do they do on a Sunday afternoon? Read the paper with some tea.

What do they do on a Friday night? Grade student work.

What is the soft drink of choice? Root Beer.

What is their alcoholic drink of choice? Whiskey.

MISCELLANEOUS

Who is their hero? He doesn’t have one.

What or who would your character dress up as for Halloween? Himself.

Are they comfortable with technology? Relatively.

If they could save one person, who would it be? It would be two, and it would be his kids.

If they could call one person for help, who would it be? He wouldn’t.

What is their perception of redemption? It’s just a concept.

What would they do if they won the lottery? Nothing different tbh. Save it for a rainy day.

Do they believe in happy endings? No.

What is their idea of perfect happiness? He’ll let you know when he finds it.

What would they ask a fortune teller? What’s true?

[mrscullensrutherford]

WIP Wednesday

I was actually tagged by @dafan7711 for Six Sentence Sunday but I was super busy over the weekend and forgot to post it. Rather than waiting a week, I figured I’d get tagged in this at some point today, so why not. 

Here is another look at the upcoming Altea Shepard/James Vega fic, Wrong Side of Heaven. 

************************************

She turned to him then, and her smile faltered slightly before she shrugged and returned to her cooking and singing.

Having been caught, he placed the bags on her coffee table and made his way over to her tiny kitchenette. Mierda, he thought as he saw the state of the eggs in the pan. “Uhh, Shepard, what are you doing?”

She smiled sweetly. “Making eggs.”

“No. You are burning eggs. Are you really going to eat that?”

She looked at the state of the eggs in the pan. They looked okay to her. This was how she always made them. Sure they came out a little crusty but at least they were real eggs and not the powdered substitute. “Why not?”

Taking the spatula from Altea, James lifted the pan from the heat and dumped the eggs unceremoniously into the trash. “Because I can’t let you.” He pulled down a small bowl and grabbed the ingredients he needed from her fridge. Eggs, milk, cheese, and hot sauce. Cracking three eggs, he pulled a whisk from the drawer. He added a little milk and a little hot sauce, then some salt and pepper. When he was satisfied with the consistency, he turned the hot plate back on, this time to low, not high. 

“Slow and easy, otherwise they burn.” 

**************************************

I did promise that Vega would cook for her. 

Tagging: @pikapeppa @oops-gingermoment @larissafae @myfeyrelady @ir-anuk @valaloy @redinkofshame @tei-berry and back at ya @dafan7711

[dearorpheus]

"We can go up there now," she said. I followed her up into the valley again and found it much changed. It was as if the light had coaxed a flowering from the frost, which before seemed barren and parched as salt. The grass shone with petal colors, and water drops spilled from all the trees as innumerably as petals. "I told you it was nice," Sylvie said.  Imagine a Carthage sown with salt, and all the sowers gone, and the seeds lain however long in the earth, till there rose finally in vegetable profusion leaves and trees of rime and brine. What flowering would there be in such a garden? Light would force each salt calyx to open in prisms, and to fruit heavily with bright globes of water—peaches and grapes are little more than that, and where the world was salt there would be greater need of slaking. For need can blossom into all the compensations it requires. To crave and to have are as like as a thing and its shadow. For when does a berry break upon the tongue as sweetly as when one longs to taste it, and when is the taste refracted into so many hues and savors of ripeness and earth, and when do our senses know any thing so utterly as when we lack it? And here again is a foreshadowing – the world will be made whole. For to wish for a hand on one’s hair is all but to feel it. So whatever we may lose, very craving gives it back to us again.

Housekeeping, Marilynne Robinson

[chille-tid-universe]

Plague at Lance Rock

Isolde awoke the next morning feeling invigorated. A new awareness had seeped into her mind, like the warmth of spring spreading across frosty moss, and she felt the spark of a new spell, granted to her by the goodness of nature. With a spring in her step, the paladin bounded down the stairs of the Swinging Sword Inn, passed a meager crowd of villagers starting their day with a hot meal, and stepped into the crisp morning air.

Isolde took a deep breath and tasted the scent of the woods around them; the pine sap, fragrant flowers, and near imperceptible whiffs of a rare herb growing somewhere nearby. Birds sang their cheery songs as they darted through the air, and golden beams of sun pierced the trees along the periphery of the surrounding forest.

Glancing around, she decided this spot would do. She stepped off the main street and sat cross-legged in the grass by the Inn. Closing her eyes, she felt her awareness spreading like tendrils of ivy, touching upon the essences of all around her, from the industrious ants beneath her to the chittering squirrels in the tree behind her. As she felt nature coalescing around her, like infinite vines entwined around the single strand of her consciousness, Isolde spoke the words of the spell and sent the magic along that chain of vines.

Immediately, she felt an answering awareness, somewhere down that natural chain; a noble, historied soul brimming with wisdom and patience. Isolde was content to sit, her spiritual self awash in the shared communion, as several minutes passed. Eventually, she heard a might whinny with her physical senses, and opened her eyes. Down the road, emerging from the forest, was a tall, proud warhorse, whose shoulders stood well above her own, of blinding white coat and with garlands of berries and ivy woven intricately through its mane. 

The regal warhorse trotted down the road, somehow avoiding kicking up any dirt, and stopped before Isolde, tossing its proud head gently. The paladin beamed and sprang to her feet, approaching the beast slowly and with reverence, just the way she had been taught all those years ago. The horse nuzzled her outstretched hand, staring at her with eyes that seemed infinitely deep. As Isolde began to pat down the warhorse’s neck, Loran walked up from a side road, a wide tray of steaming buns perched on her hip.

“And who is this magnificent creature?” the baker asked, cheeks rosy, bangs plastered to her brow with sweat.

Isolde glanced over, smiling at the woman, and replied, “He’ll tell me his name later.”

Loran looked a little confused, but recovered quickly as she reached the paladin. “I’m glad to have run into you, Isolde. I have something for you.” Isolde’s eyes snapped to the woman, but she was offering the tray of fresh buns, eyes sparkling hopefully.

Isolde gingerly picked up a bun from the tray, careful not to burn her fingers, and smiled wide. “Thank you, Loran, these look as delicious as ever.” As she bit into the vegetarian bun and gave an appreciative moan, Loran blushed.

“Would you like another?” the baker asked, offering the tray once more. Isolde smiled graciously and plucked another steaming bun from the tray, this time offering it on her palm to the mighty warhorse. The beast snuffled at the treat and, quick as a wink, the broad tongue lapped over Isolde’s hand, snatching the bun. A moment later, the horse neighed thankfully.

With six buns left on her tray, Loran sauntered up to the Swinging Sword’s entrance, then stopped, calling over her shoulder, “Aren’t you coming inside?”

Isolde had returned to petting the horse, pressing her forehead against its snout. “I was going to spend some time with my new friend.” She glanced over at the baker and saw sad eyes cast downward. Isolde felt a burning on her ears and quickly added, “But I can come inside.”

~~

In the rooms above, there was motion. The aroma of Loran’s buns had wafted through the air and into Robyn’s bedroom. Her eyes snapped open, and a moment later, her covers had been thrown back, she was halfway off the mattress, and she glanced around the room to recover her discarded clothing. An impossibly short amount of time later, the half-elf was heading downstairs.

Below, Isolde was announcing to the rest of the assembled group that she had a new horse, though this news was largely secondary to the arrival of breakfast in the form of Loran’s buns. As they munched on the steamy, cheesy meal, Isolde regaled them with a slightly exaggerated account of the ritual that had taken place not ten minutes ago.

As she reached the end, Loran and the innkeeper Caelessa approached the band. Together, they thanked the adventurers for agreeing to look into the claims of plague out at Lance Rock, and gave cursory directions for the area. Having completed their meal, the group collected their gear and headed for the door.

On the way out, Isolde waved at Loran and thanked her once more for the buns, which earned her another blush and a downward glance. As she stepped through the doorway, she spun around and asked, “Loran, would you like me to get you a souvenir?”

Loran and Caelessa exchanged puzzled glances, and the innkeeper replied, “You want to get Loran a souvenir from a plague ridden rock?” Isolde just smiled back at the pair, sweetly and painfully oblivious. “Uh, sure, get her something.”

Outside, the group was marveling at the grand warhorse. Isolde stepped up to her steed and wrapped her arms around his neck, which he allowed with a dipping of his regal head. As she pressed her forehead against his snout, each member of the group heard in their heads a proud voice, which declared, “I am called Icthuarrax.”

~~

On their journey to Lance Rock, the group came across a stream crossing the road. As they waded through the shallow water, Isolde perked up. From atop Icthuarrax, she had noticed a blur of motion to the left, further up the stream. As she looked closer, she saw a band of gnolls, attempting to quietly approach. Isolde called the alarm and grabbed her glaive.

The gnolls, realizing their ruse had failed, broke into a loping run. There were a pair of crossbowmen, three smaller gnolls wielding spears, and a larger specimen with bloodlust in his eyes and a large, crude sword.

The adventurers sprinted to meet them, Nula leading the charge up the stream bank with Charlot on her heels. Icthuarrux easily outpaced them all, though, and the warhorse raced up to the large gnoll as Isolde swiped down at it with her glaive, allowing the horse to dance away safely afterwards. Enraged, the group of gnolls collapsed on the remaining adventurers, and one hit too many struck Nula. With a strangled cry, she fell, clutching her chest as her wounds fed the bubbling stream.

Seconds later, the slaughter was over. Isolde’s glaive had felled the large gnoll, and the combination of ranged attacks from the rest of the group picked off most of the other gnolls. The last survivor had turned to flee, but was unable to escape the pounding hoofbeats of Icthuarrux.

Back at the stream, Robyn knelt beside her lieutenant. “Don’t you worry,” she muttered, reaching into her pack. “We’ve got just the fix for you.” Pulling a pack of salt from her kit, she wafted the bag beneath the unconscious half-orc’s nose, agitating the salt when nothing happened. The rest of the group exchanged glances, and Charlot gave a quiet sigh, subtly focusing his magic into a rope that would latch Nula’s soul back into her body. With a whispered word, he pointed at the bruised and bleeding body, and Nula gave a start, gasping as she winced in pain.

“It worked!” Robyn exclaimed, managing to seem confident that she had anticipated it. The others rolled their eyes, and a moment later Isolde returned, wiping gnoll blood from her glaive. A minute later, Isolde had placed her hands on Nula’s wounds and called upon the natural essence of the woods, pulling life force into her friend. As the two straightened up, Robyn asked, “Shall we continue?”

~~

Within minutes, the formidable form of Lance Rock could be seen rising above the trees. It was still almost an hour, however, before they arrived at the rock. The road stopped at a wooden sign, crudely built and bearing a message: “Come no closer, lest you catch the disfiguring plague which afflicts me.”

At the base of the menhir, an opening sloped gently downwards into an expansive cave system. The faint odor of death wafted from within. Just inside the entrance, a humanoid corpse lay on its back, its skin covered in crisscrossed scars and sutures. The group glanced among themselves, then Oskar shrugged and hefted his battleaxe. As he brought it down, however, it hit resistance a few inches from the corpse. The dwarf grunted in surprise, then applied more force, and the blade sunk into flesh.

The corpse began to squirm, and lashed out as Oskar jumped back. The group leapt at the reanimated body, and a lucky shot from Robyn threw the zombie into a rage. In its berserk state, it struck Nula, who crumpled to the floor. Another arrow knocked the loose head from its undead shoulders. Isolde pressed her hands over Nula’s forehead, pressing her magic in to stitch up her wounds, and they continued down the passage.

In the next room, a large skeleton was laid out on a boulder, with wicked horns curling from its skull. As Oskar entered the room, a shower of loose rocks rained down on him. Three zombies carrying a now-empty crate jumped down from a ledge, shambling forward.

The group crowded into the room, readying for an attack, when the skeleton jumped down from the boulder, turning to the group, and lowered its horned head to charge straight forward. One zombie was unfortunate enough to be in its path, and was torn apart as the former minotaur slammed into Oskar, knocking him down.

Isolde and Robyn struck one of the zombies, sending it flying, while Uzza’s spiritual weapon took care of the last zombie. The rest of the group turned to the skeleton, knocking it apart, but the skeleton shuddered and pulled itself back together. It took another two hits before the bones lay quiet on the cave floor.

~~

Further along, a grisly scene awaited the adventurers. In a room with jagged walls, three undead forms shambled about in a crude approximation of a dance. A goblin corpse was decked in jester’s motley; a hobgoblin looked horrendous in a flowery dress and powdered makeup; and a massive bugbear was wearing an actual bear pelt, prancing about.

As the fight began, Nula’s blades struck through the hobgoblin’s dress to find chainmail waiting beneath, and as the bugbear struck down on Charlot with furry hands, cold steel gauntlets beneath dented his shield. In the span of a minute, all three were returned to death.

~~

It appeared they had gone as deep as the cave system could go. They emerged in a large cavern, forty feet high, lined along the walls with sputtering torches, illuminating the nauseating sight of half a dozen tables, stacked high with human corpses and severed body parts. Baskets overflowing with more body parts sat near the heads of each table. At the far end of the room, four skeletons armed with bows appeared to stand guard at the entrance to another room, while a rickety staircase was winding up the wall.

Between two tables, a hooded figure stood, turned away from the group, holding a bone needle and dark thread. Robyn lifted her bow and fired at the hooded figure, who toppled over, loosely affixed limbs rolling across the floor.

As the decoy fell, a disembodied voice rang out in the cavern. “You dare pit yourself against the lord of Lance Rock? Tremble in fear before me!”

A terror gripped at the hearts of the heroes, but most shook themselves and pushed through it. Uzza and Isolde, however, felt a heavy shadow fall upon their minds. They began glancing at the shadows in the corners of the room, nervously handling their weapons as the sewn together corpses on the tables began to stand.

Even with their fright, the two helped the rest of the group take out the zombies, and a dozen limbs that leapt from the baskets to cling at the adventurers. As the last reanimated body part shuddered and lay still, the voice returned, this time sounding slightly flustered: “Uh, you are clearly capable. If you go without disturbing any more of my work,I will give you an item from my treasury.”

Idu stepped forward and cried out, “Prepare to die!”

“Guess not.” The voice was now coming from another robed figure who had suddenly appeared near the back of the room. He quickly ran up the stairs to his left, and began mumbling a spell. Five more zombies pulled themselves up from the piles of corpses along the wall and began to walk towards the group while the skeletons began loosing volleys.

While the group met the zombies head on, Idu focused and spoke a word of power. Instantly, a thick sticky substance flew from his outstretched hand and coated the stairs where the necromancer was climbing. The webbing coated the walls and stairs, clinging to the necromancer’s clothing.

Oskar darted through the tangle of bodies, closer to the struggling necromancer. He pulled out his handaxe, hefted it, and tossed it through the air, to have it hit with a meaty thwak on the necromancer’s side. He muttered a word, and the axe disappeared, only to reappear a moment later in his hand, which he drew back and tossed the axe a second time. The necromancer had just fought free of his robe, however, and the axe missed as he stumbled down the webbed stairs.

In his path, though, was a roiling sphere of fire, and as Idu motioned with his hand, the sphere pressed forward, immolating the necromancer. As his screeching filled the chamber, the remaining zombies stiffened and began to fall, one by one, their stitched together limbs separating.

As the group glanced around the room, Nula was on the floor again. “Stand back,” Robyn instructed, pulling out a random assortment of herbs and pepper to wave beneath the half-orc’s nose. Charlot rolled his eyes and muttered a spell, bringing Nula back to consciousness.

~~

In the final room, dark tapestries adorned the walls, and a pile of coins and random assorted goods stood in the middle of the room. Rising over the rest was a gruesome pedestal, constructed of countless severed arms sewn together. The highest hand was clutched in a claw, over which a glowing sphere floated, barely the size of a fist. Idu rushed over to the pile, touching the sphere delicately as he focused.

Over the next ten minutes, the group rounded up and tallied the loot, finding stores of food and clothing, some of which wasn’t tattered. There was also a long staff, which they set aside for Idu, who straightened up and announced the sphere was a Driftglobe, which would come in handy in the dark caves they seemed to find themselves in often. The staff, he later told them, was a Staff of Birdcalls, which would imitate a variety of birds.

Outside the cave, Icthuarrux neighed daintily as Isolde walked up to him, sending calming thoughts as she asked if he was ok. Minutes later, they were on their way back to Red Larch.

~~

As they walked down the Long Road, several odd items made themselves apparent. As they drew about an hour from the village, billowing smoke could be seen in the skies toward the town. Once they got closer, the brush along the side of the road was trampled flat. As the scent of burning wood filled the air, the group broke into a run. Atop Icthuarrux, Isolde outpaced them all, and nearly fell from the saddle as she was met with the sight of a razed Red Larch.

The next handful of minutes were a blur of confusion as the remaining villagers swarmed around the returning adventurers. Sooty and tear-stained faces all clamoured to be heard, some indignant with anger that their heroes had abandoned them, others hysterical and begging for assistance, while many seemed unable to even speak for the shock of the day.

The story that eventually emerged was that a large pack of gnolls lead by a bloodthirsty leader had invaded the town, burning and pillaging, tearing families apart with their wicked blades and manic howls.

Caelessa and Mini soon came to the front of the group. Mini looked distraught, while a mask of fierce determination covered Caelessa’s features. “Pel… They took my Pel…” Mini was mumbling, wild eyes staring from face to face, as if one of them would suddenly change into her granddaughter’s.

Caelessa guided Mini to the assembled adventurers. “They came after you left,” she explained, looking around at the wreckage. “Looted, killed, tore down what they could.” She stared into the heroes’ eyes. “And they took Pel and Loran.”

Isolde’s hands tightened on Icthuarrux’s reins. “Tell us where they went.”

[c0ronas-blog]

can I request some javid fluff please? maybe an AU, but it's not required. thank you!

HI I LOVED WRITING THIS, SO SO MUCH. –

warnings: none

“JACK! HELP!” DAVEY CRIED OUT, WIRES WRAPPED AROUND HIS WRISTS. The orange-and-yellow lights, clinking as Davey tried to get them off his hands, flashed sweetly - completely

Davey was outside, perched atop a dirty silver ladder that was covered in various shades of dried paint splotches. He was struggling ever-so-obviously to hang the Halloween-themed lights over the front door while Jack watched with amusement.

The two had had a rock-paper-scissors competition to figure out who would set up the Halloween things this year and Davey lost after choosing scissors to Jack’s decision of rock.

Jack’s idea of Halloween was simple and warm: pumpkins, scarecrows, cinnamon, and sweaters. Davey? He would research the history of a certain item to make sure he liked the symbolism. No creativity? No problem. He’d make Jack add details to something to perfect it.

“Jack, come on, please,” begged Davey, holding out his bound hands in his boyfriend’s direction.

Jack just laughed, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his orange pumpkin sweatshirt. He had a black beanie snug over his messy hair and his eyes shone in the light of the setting sun.

“Dave, no, you’re doing great, sweetie.” He winked while saying the final word, causing Davey to groan.

“I’m going to fall, Jack,” came Davey’s whimper. “Please, I’m gonna-”

“Perfect!” grinned Jack. “It’s fall, so if you fall… great symbolism right there.”

Davey’s face paled and he wobbled a little bit more on the ladder. “Jack. Help me.” The lights around his wrists seemed to flash faster, like a ticking bomb, counting down the seconds until Davey fell.

“You have a pile of leaves! And a fluffy bush!” Jack pointed out, gesturing to the crisp brown handful of leaves at the foot of the ladder. Next to the few leaves sat a husk of a bush, the greenery completely fallen from it, leaving only pointy sticks.

“Jack, I-!” Davey let out a screech as his foot slipped from a rung of the ladder. He was falling, falling, and- “Ouch. I hate you.”

Jack stood over Davey, his arms now crossed over his chest and a satisfied smile playing on his chapped lips. “Hate you more,” he whispered, crouching down.

Davey, hands still wrapped with blinking orange lights, reached up and cupped Jack’s face. “Hate you the most,” he whispered back. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and from embarrassment.

“Impossible,” murmured Jack, closing the gap and placing a quick kiss on Davey’s lips. “Put the lights away and we go to the Movie In The Park.”

“‘Toy Story of Terror’?”

“Yup.”

“Untie me.”

The movie was long over when they came home. Jack headed inside while Davey finished parking the car, and when that was done and Davey came inside, hot chocolate was already perched on top of the kitchen counter in matching mugs that read ‘boo!’ in all caps.

Davey slipped his hands around his mug, smiling at the warmth it brought his freezing-cold fingers. “When did you have time to make this?”

Jack shrugged, taking a seat on one of the dark brown bar stools. He watched the steam floating from his mug for a moment before glancing up at Davey. “You’ve been goofing off outside,” he replied, tilting his head. “I had plenty of time.”

Davey rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. Instead, he took a careful sip of the hot chocolate, sighing in relief at the warmth traveling through him.

A similar sound escaped Jack’s lips and Davey’s eyes shot to his boyfriend, who was slurping his drink loudly.

Upon seeing Davey’s glare, Jack stopped and, lips coated in whipped cream, smiled. “We still have to ice those cookies,” he said after licking the cream from his lips.

Davey looked outside at the darkened skies. “Jaack, it’s late,” he groaned. “It’s not even officially Halloween yet. We have time.”

Jack set his mug down and turned to Davey, setting a hand on his shoulder. “Dave,” he began. “If we-”

Davey looked up. “What?” he asked. His hands, curled around his mug, twitched nervously and his baggy black sweater (it had skeletons on it) seemed very uncomfortable all of a sudden.

“You’re just-” Jack paused, reaching out to muss Davey’s hair. “Sometimes I just can’t believe that you’re mine.”

Davey gave Jack a look that he’d sent over many times. “That’s the fifth time you’ve said that today,” he said softly. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciated it; no, it made him all warm and bubbly inside. Davey just didn’t… why was Jack saying it?

Jack’s free hand moved to Davey’s hands and took them from the mug, squeezing them tightly. “You’re so adorable,” he whispered. “Messy hair, big sweater- you even have hot chocolate on your upper lip.”

“I do?” choked Davey. Not wanting to let go of Jack’s hands, he used his shoulder to swipe at his mouth. “Is it gone now?”

Jack just smiled. “Not all the way,” he replied in a gentle voice. “There’s just a little bit - right” he inched closer “- there.”

Davey was still as Jack used his pinky finger to dab at a remaining droplet of the hot chocolate. Their faces were so close now that Davey could hardly breathe, not wanting to ruin the moment.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” Davey murmured.

“What’s stopping you from doing it?” asked Jack, genuine curiosity marking his tone.

“Well,” Davey started, going red, “it’s not Christmas. A-and there’s no mistletoe, so that means-”

Jack leaned back, groaning. “Oh, come on, Davey!” His eyes rolled and then he stopped, a wild grin appearing on his face. “No, wait, follow me.”

The two, with Jack leading, marched through the house, coming to an arrangement of little floating bat cut-outs that Jack had designed.

“Here.” Jack’s grin was only growing wider. “Mistletoe.” Seeing Davey’s confusion, Jack gestured - with his hand still clasped with Davey’s - to a bat that hovered right above them.

Admittedly, it was quite similar to mistletoe: the bat’s wings resembled the leaves that mistletoe would have and the head of the bat could be said to look like a berry or something.

Davey, though? Davey just sighed. “Jack, that’s a bat, not-”

“I don’t care,” Jack said softly. “It’s Halloween, so it’s different. Now you can kiss me.”

Davey’s eyes were still on the bat that floated innocently above them. “But that’s not m-!”

Jack leaned up and kissed Davey. His lips still had a faint taste of the salted popcorn they’d eaten at the movie theatre, but the cinnamon-and-whipped-cream flavor from the hot chocolate was dominant and sweet.

When Davey leaned back, just enough to break the kiss, he was smiling. His eyes roamed over Jack’s face - his sparkling eyes, tanned skin, and the faint flush that was coming to his cheeks. Every detail equally precious.

“I love you,” Davey breathed, pulled one hand away to cup Jack’s face. “So much.”

“I love you more,” whispered Jack, his eyes locked with Davey’s gaze.

Davey laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Love you the most,” he whispered back.

“Impossible.”

Davey just smiled and kissed Jack again.

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[deviline]

Winter came coldly to Last Hearth, leaving the castle buried in deep snow, and the town treacherous with floes of ice that kept even the more experienced huntsmen huddled round the hearth. All of the far North seemed to shudder and lay still, no one willing to brave the bitter grey sky for any distance greater than the fire to their furs.

“It was a good year,” the lady Ryella told her lord husband, when he asked about their stores. “As long as the roads thaw by the end of Breakstone Hill, we should have enough to feed ourselves and the household. It might even stretch to Mole’s Town, if we are careful, and learn to like the taste of salted fish.”

The Lord Umber clasped her hand, pronouncing her the best and cleverest of wives; Arvin, who had come from White Harbor (--their uncle had taken him with him to hunt alongside the men of the family) just ahead of the storm, commended Mother for her foresight. “There will be meat enough for the Winter Feast. Even the hounds will have their share of veal and boar!” And Father roared with laughter, deep and joyous, looping an arm around Arvin’s neck and pulling him toward him, his noble face flushed with pride. “And we will once more ride forth to the Great Hunt together!” he grinned, raising his goblet and tipping it toward his wife before lifting it to his lips. But even as the conversation shifted to wood supplies and feed stores, Lisette, who sat smiling to her stitching by the fire with her little sister, could not help noticing how their little brother stood, pale and silent at the window—his look distant, and colder than the ice on the pane.

(Had they been alone, she would have gone to him right then, laid a hand on his crossed arms and asked what grieved his heart so. But it was not her place to ask him, what could steal the joy from him so suddenly, when the room was filled with people-- not only family but servants and cooks, even some of Father’s men—so she said nothing, for now, and left the little lord to the company of his own thoughts.)

“Harald!” they were alone in the courtyard, the snow falling thick and heavy upon the grey stone of the castle. She had seen him from the window of her chambers, robbed in their House’s habitual black furs and chains, his little face rubbed raw and red with frost as he practiced archery with such fierce menace, it made her frown, and swiftly had she ran downstairs to scold him,fearful of him catching a cold, drawing her own furs snugger about her, “--what are you doing out here?” her voice, astonished, “All day you have been complaining of the weather-- now you would turn yourself into an icicle?” she demanded breathlessly, her own cheeks scarlet.

For a long moment, Harald said not a word, only glared at her over the peak of his little shoulder, and then, bent his bow, took aim, and shot an arrow toward the tree that stood behind her.

Shocked, Lisette startled, and her face turned white with fear. “

Harald!” she screeched, a hand pressed to where her heart pounded against her breast. “Have you gone mad? You could have shot me dead!”  

“I could not have!” Harald was quick to protest, his little face, red, fierce.

“What do you mean to accomplish with such displays?”

“I did not mean to shoot you!”

“you certainly did shoot your arrow toward my direction and it could have struck anywhere--”

“it could not! even with the wind, it could not”

“you do not know that!”

“--do you not see? this is what you think, the whole pack of you! Arvin is not the only one with hand for bows and swords and I know that I--” he screamed, and Lisette cut him off, shaken,

“--this is not what I said!”  irritation edging into her voice.

“but is is! it could not have struck just anywhere because any where is not where I aimed for -- would you not look!” he demanded, furious now, and she frowned, upset, turned around and gazed toward the oak behind her, all white and wet with snow; the arrow had lodged itself deeply into the center of the trunk where Harald had earlier scribbled their sigil-- a mark, no doubt.

Surprised, she blinked at it, swallowing her anger; oh, Harald-- she thought, her expression softening within moments; tender-- oh, but he was jealous! Suddenly, her heart clenched, and she sighed softly, bit her lower lip and looked once more toward him, noticing how he stood, red-faced and trembling, his little bow clasped tightly in his hand.

“oh, little one...” she crooned gently and made to touch him, but he drew back defiantly and scowled, saying, “I am not so little as all that, and I, too, can hunt with the other men! why must Father only care for Arvin?” he demanded, and Lisette’s heart broke-- surely, he did not believe that.

“It is not so!” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it softly, “You know well how Father loves you, more than any thing. It is only that you are so very young and he fears for your safety--- and Mother would have him hanged if anything happened to you!” she smiled a little to lighten the mood, and he scowled, considering her words.

Harald exhaled, and she watched as he forced himself to be still, to fold his trembling hands together.

After a moment, he said, fiercely, determinedly, “will I not join the ceremonial hunt?”  

“Well...have you asked Father yourself?” she replied after a small pause, lifting a dark brow,

At that Harald flushed, and she continued, “if you are not so little as all that, young Lord, perhaps you had better ask Father yourself rather than scowl like a babe and play at bow and arrow in the snow, no? You do know there will be no Winter Feast for you if you catch your death out here, right?”

Something must have shown in her expression, for Harald trailed uncertainly into silence. He scuffled his shoes into the frost, frowning at his feet, and only said, quietly, “I wasn’t playing!” but he did move closer to Lisette, nevertheless, and she laughed, softly, curling her delicate arm about him, ready to mollify him, when,

“Lisette!” came Mother’s sudden scream from the window above the courtyard, and they both startled, turning around to look at her, rosy-cheeked and angered, her copper curls spilling like fire off the window sill, “What do you think you are doing down there with the babe, young lady? You had better make haste and come up here right this second!” she ordered, and Lisette felt Harald shake with laughter against her arm, content to let elder sister take the blame-- little rascal, she thought, fondly, exasperated. Not that little as all that, had he not said it himself? And yet...

“Yes, Mother.” was all she said.  

( Over the next days, Last Hearth seemed to stir from its white sleep, stretch, and come alive–the huntsmen could be seen taking the dogs out near every day, training, tracking and snaring, dreams of fresh venison driving them on; the pantler and the cook were too often found their heads bowed together, whispering over broths and meats. Maidservants ran through the halls with armfuls of fruit and grains, until nearly every pillar bore a crown of fragrant green, and even Lord Umber, himself, admitted to be sick of the sight of white berries. )

Lisette pulled her velvet gown more tightly around herself, stepping out into the cold of the yard. The large braziers were burning merrily, the firelight of them catching on the green silk tent that had been erected over the snow.

It was difficult to see within the tent for the crush of people within and around it–all the household had gathered to partake, and many of the people from the settlements around the far North had turned out to either join or see the ceremonial First Hunt of Winter. Or, the little lady Umber wagered, to enjoy the hospitality of their lord’s table.

Still, Lisette could picture it in her mind, the great bowl of sacred boar, the high platform with the carvings of the forest gods, blood on the grain of the wood. Mother had prayed to them, as the carved panels were brought forth and set in their places of honor– every last one of the Old Gods, who ruled all the world; and to whose special favor the men and women of the Last Hearth entrusted themselves.

The cook’s daughter brushed suddenly by her, towards the great crowd beneath the tent, startling Lisette from her thoughts. On her heels was one of the huntsmen from White Harbor, who nodded graciously to Lisette as he passed. (They had come up from White Harbor a fortnight before to join the Great Hunt. It was not a sight she would soon forget, two dozen of them walking along the top of the snow as though it were solid earth, their white horses, gentler than any beast she had ever seen in her life.)

We heard there was to be a feast, her own uncle had said, after embracing Lord Umber and bowing to Lisette in greeting. We came to offer our strength for the hunting, and our voices for the singing, if you will have us.At least they were merry company, she thought, and Mother, too, seemed cheered-- if not delighted-- by their presence amid the bustle of preparations.

“Lisette!”

Lisette lifted her gaze to see Harald emerging from the great gathered crowd. He was dressed in all Northern finery–a silver circlet glinted at his brow, and the horsehair cloak he wore only at the greatest of occasions shifted as he walked towards her. He reached for Lisette’s arm as he drew near, laughing.

“Have no fear!” he said breathlessly, glowing with child-like pride. “Father said I can join the hunt! He even gave me this to wear,” he pointed at the great chain about his chest, grinning broadly, “and Arvin said I can ride next to him! -- we have not begun the prayer yet. Will you join us?”

Lisette smiled fondly. “No, I am contented to supervise our people in the hall with Mother and you know how little love I have for hunting...” she wrinkled her nose, laughing sweetly, and then, softer now, smiled at how proud he looked-- a proper lord of Last Hearth with his bow and chains-- “All will be ready, when you have finished, my lord.” she teased him tenderly and dropped a little curtsy, smiling brighter at how his chest swelled at that.

“Good... And Lisette. I–I spoke to Mother...” he blurted out, and at her confusion, “I am sorry, about the other day. That Mother scolded you and that you thought I shot my arrow at you.” he explained, his cheeks redder now.

“Oh,” Lisette breathed. “Oh, Harald, that is–you did not need to…”

“Lisette,” Harald chastened her. There was a tentative warmth to his expression, and he seemed to her, in that moment, not a babe, but a little lad--son of his Father, she thought, proudly. “You must know how grateful I am for all you have done...and all that you do...always.” he announced, and reached for her hand once more, smiling. I have not done any thing, she wanted to say--- but she knew that what he meant was: For listening. For treating him not as a small babe, but a young man, urging him to seek himself that which he longed for--

They were still smiling at one another when Father and, then, after mere seconds, Mother joined them, attired in the livery of Last Hearth. “Your people await, Lord Umber,” their Father said to Harald, with a greatly. “We should not tarry too much longer before beginning, or we will lose the daylight...”

“-- and you, look lovely,” he said, coming up alongside Lisette. “As does your mother.” his face shone, proud and joyful as he gazed upon them. He wore a crown of greenery with small white and golden berries, and Ryella’s curious stare made him laugh. “Your brother insisted. You know how he gets... He said it was a symbol of good fortune, and protection.”

“Those are goldencups,” Lisette said, her eyes dancing. “In White Harbor, they make contracts beneath its protection, it is said you cannot lie beneath it. You must swear a vow to your lady and then seal it with a kiss, Lord Father.”

Lord Umber smiled at Lisette, lifting his eyebrows as he turned to Ryella, amused. “Is there anything you would have me swear, lady wife?”

And Mother made a show of pondering the question, before asking, “What more could I possibly still desire, lord husband?” She rose up onto her toes and stole the kiss from him first, before darting away, back to the warmth of the hall, making both Harald and Lisette giggle, huddled together, at the manner Father flushed (he flushed!), satisfied, watching her walk away.

Later, there would be a great feast, and they would drink toasts to Lord Umber, to Arvin and the Lady Umber, and to the little Lord of the House, Harald, who sat beside her, red-faced with drink–she and her sister would dance with one another, spinning in reckless and yet somehow, graceful, circles that made them both dizzy and giddy, and she would sing the song about the white doves of Last Hearth, Mother and even, Arvin who claimed to loathe such songs, joining in on the chorus, and for however brief a time, she would be the happiest girl in all of Westeros.

[iamjustthemoon]

i’m missing finland again

I'm missing Finland again. an ache, in the deepest parts of where my heart starts, through the end of my stomach, with a flowing throb into the deep trenches of my upper intestines and a slow trickle down through the other organs that sit inside my waist. it’s an ache like the missing of a person.

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My nostalgic memories of my every summer habits tattooed into my being, start pulling at me wondering why I am not revisiting these places. The smells and places growing strong in the storage sections of my brain. They sit deep within my hippocampus to neocortex, iron clad in the almond shaped amygdala forever binding these memories into the emotional whirlpool of what I consider me.

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I ache when I leave, standing in the airport. That part hurts, just like the leaving of a lover, or a friend, or a family member you cherish. But then once on that plane, you look ahead, shift gaze forward, and it's onwards from here. You let the sinking sadness of the place float gently in the airwaves you are rocketing through, knowing you will be returning sometime, this pain is not forever.

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Now, in this global crisis, this ache of missing has started to throb from the absence of this place, as I physically cannot go. The missing started like a whisper, and as the days tick past, the weeks then months, my body’s muscle memory starts to pull at the parts of me that remember

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I start to use my imagination again. I tap into the pieces of my brain I haven’t actively exercised to their full potential. The child in us, who used to imagine everything; I use her now to get somewhere I want to be, but can’t. I let the shifting weather, with her cool whispers, remind me of the late summer Finnish days, always cool enough as the purple light of midnight sets around me. The clearer air and soft bird song, I let any inkling of similarity catapult me into a deep memory that I pull into and over me like the softest of blankets, covering my face and body into a sea of memory.

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I use sensory triggered imagination to reach the spots of memory in my brain, then unlock them with the most powerful potential, as scent is the most rudimentary of senses. Smell has roots trailing back to single celled organisms interacting with the chemicals around them, tapping into our brain now wired with over 1,000 smell receptors, versus the 4 we have for sight, and 4 we have for touch. Smell unlocks the deepest parts of our

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One whiff of a cool breeze, or the scent of cardamom, a mossy patch in the woods, or the laundry detergent my grandmother always uses, sends me rushing back into the space that I ache for. I hold on tightly to this space i’ve been catapulted to and sharpen my eyes of imagination to keep me floating there.

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I miss crisp summer days, midnight sun; where evening turns to dusk turns to purple blueish pink light that lasts up to eleven o'clock at night, and the darkness only sets in for about two hours, and even then it’s a dark blueish dark, not completely black. the sun starts to rise again around 2 am, and once your eyes open fully at 7 or 8, the sun has already danced it way high into the sky and you feel as if you’ve just risen at half past noon.

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I miss the clearness of the air and the forests, The simplicity of the birch trees and pine trees. the straightness of their trunks, and the mossy rocky undergrowth that blankets the forest floor. The sparse undergrowth of trees and small bushes. The stark contrast of the paper white birch trees; trunks of white with dark streaks of black that look painted on with deliberation, amidst the stick straight trunks of the dark brown pine trees. Small blueberry(bilberry) plants cover the forest floor. Unassuming and low to  the ground, their small green leaves hidden amongst the piles of moss and other small greenery that speckles the ground. But once the season hits, little blue berries dot these small green low lying plants, and the abundance of these powerful sweet berries is overwhelming.

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I miss the quiet of Helsinki. the stone walkways and smooth buildings with beautiful doors. The seagulls and the soft scent of salty air from the brackish Baltic sea. pastel painted old stone buildings that sit nestled together in a myriad of colors. the sloping dips of the stoney streets bordered by lines of soft colored stripes of buildings on either side. Burnt oranges, sandy yellows, deep ochres and mint greens.

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I miss the marketplace hustle of vendors selling blueberries, strawberries, apples, lingonberry (puolukka), snow berries (lakka), large sugar snap peas, fish of all kinds (salmon, muikku), wooden bowls and spoons, reindeer leather, small metal souvenirs. The scent of cardamom and cinnamon lingering sweetly in the air from the freshly baked yeasty sweet breads all Finns eat with coffee.

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I miss the clear bright blue sky. The clarity of it’s color cascading down to the tops of the trees and forests that are never far from sight. The reflective surface of the lakes that dot the quiet countryside, of rolling meadows and small, red wood houses, each one with it’s own small black sauna that sits on water’s edges.

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I miss the glassy still lake at sunset, when the surface reflects the purple blue streaks of sky, the colors that bloom just after the sun touches the backs of the trees and disappears for only a few summer hours. The stillness of the water creates a mirror to amplify the watercolor sky that turns the whole view into a vivid painting. The hot, smoky heat of the wood smoked sauna still lingering on bare skin as i step into the cool, still, painting. I dip my legs in purple, pink, and slowly sink myself into the cold ripples, watching the heat steam off my warmed flesh and into the evening sky. The extreme contrast of temperatures brings me to a sense of rebirth, as I submerge my head underneath the cold water and bring it back up to surface. Nothing feels better than this.

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I miss the grocery stores; the potatoes in massive barrels. New potatoes are smaller than the ones in the states; about the size of an egg. You can buy them cleaned (washed and scrubbed) in one barrel, slightly dirty in another barrel, and then completely dirt covered, no cleaning yet, in another barrel. This being the cheapest option, as you take them home and scrub them in the sink, or lake, with a potato scrubbing brush, or glove, or by rolling them in the sand at the shores of the lake, as we did in Puumala when I was a kid. the aisles of endless milk products. rows and rows of cartoned yogurts in every flavor, quark and cottage cheese, and plastic packaged blocks of squeaky cheeses. the meat and seafood counter with the majority dedicated to slabs of fresh fish. Salmon. Fresh salmon, salted salmon, dill salmon, smoked salmon, plank salmon.

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I miss the smells of raw birch and finnish pine; smells that linger in beautiful well designed buildings. Classic Scandinavian architecture with it’s clean lines, light wood, large windows; perfect use of space and light.

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I miss the ferries that meander around the island speckled coast. the salty air and ocean spray. the tiny little islands still inhabited, with traditional little houses painted in red, or yellows, sometimes whites. the quiet of the calm Baltic, softly wavy waters and continuous string of little islands as far as you can see.

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I miss the rolling coastline of the edges of helsinki. the small islands that dot the surrounding baltic sea, and the small bridges that connect them. I miss kallios, the epically smooth rock that reveal themselves at the edges of water, and speckled in forests. their smooth skin peaking like the backs of whales cresting the ocean surface. the secrets of time told by these rocks, smoothed down by the weather over eons of years. The silkiness of this stone is so gentle, it sends soft tingling sensations down to the bottom of my feet when I run my hands down the sides. with especially large ones like small mountains, kids like to make slides out of their smooth curved surface, marked by silky ribbons of use cascading down the sides.

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I miss the Helsinki airport. It's quiet silence, not eerie but welcoming. soft, padded sounds in a pristine clean space, light wood and floor to ceiling glass windows. Sometimes soft bird chirping sounds are heard in the bathrooms as ambient noise. The quiet in the airport is what gets me. It feels as if only two or three planes land a day, and spaced so evenly apart that the scattered speckling of people makes the space feel like not a bustling hub of international air travel, but a quiet abandoned, but well kept modern shopping center, hushed but breathing. the portal to my entering this sacred spot of mine.