#this is the story of a hunter. an orchard. and a dream

[articskele]

Incoherent thoughts about a Bloodborne-inspired Lorax AU that I am by no means confident in but HEAR ME OUT

Ok so instead of using the blood of the Great Ones, it’s the sap of ancient trees, discovered in a sinkhole below the city when people were investigating a problem in the sewers!

But as the night goes on, the trees start to grow in and around the rest of the city, spreading through whatever means necessary in an attempt to keep itself alive.

Something something the hubris of man harvesting the lifeblood of the world and using it for their own gain, and how that’s bound to catch up to them eventually.

So any supernatural happenings, like the beast plague or how the night goes on for what feels like an eternity, is because the balance of the world is fucked six ways from Sunday and they have no one to blame but themselves.

—

I imagine hunter weapons have an emphasis on axes and saws and the like.

To my knowledge, chainsaws used to be hand-cranked medical tools for removing diseased bone and aiding in childbirth! It wasn’t until much later that electric chainsaws were made to be used on wood! Which fits pretty well methinks ouo

FLAMETHROWER. FLAMETHROWER ATTACHMENT FOR FIRE DAMAGE. LET'S GOOOOOO

On that note beast designs are More Creature because I said so! Tree antlers babeyyyy! Also enemies with white flowers bc some white flowers are pollinated by moths and bats at night!

EVERYONE HAS THEIR OWN SIGNATURE FLOWER. I’LL GET TO THAT LATER

—

Can you imagine what it must be like to live in this place? Hearing stories of a bloodlike sap that can cure any ailment, the stuff of miracles, all found within the walls of this one city.

The architecture, a hybrid of several styles due to many different people from all walks of life coming here. Churches boasting imagery of trees and other plants. Old books about the roots of the earth itself.

The scholars in their grand university, well-versed in plants and flesh alike, finding new uses for the stuff every day.

Sap is often administered through injection and transfusion, though accurate to the time period, bloodletting and other such methods were used as well.

The sap, with its addictingly sweet taste, was even used for medicinal tea. A warm drink for whenever you’re feeling under the weather. Meanwhile, the brave and experimental swallowed seeds.

The branch of scholars who dealt with flowers were nicknamed hummingbirds for the reds and greens of their uniform, always flitting about the gardens and collecting jars of sweet nectar.

—

But with these wonders, came a price. The sap isn’t pure. Locals blame outsiders, nobility blames commoners, and the church blames anyone they deem corrupt. But in truth, it simply wasn’t meant for human consumption.

Too much for too long will render the eyes cloudy, the skin rough and almost bark-like, the lungs flooded with flowers and spilling out of your mouth hanahaki style.

No two cases are exactly alike, but the end result is the same. You are no longer human.

And so, people took up arms to hunt these beasts. A curfew was made, if there wasn’t one already, and civilians were told to stay indoors.

However, hunters are also using sap to heal themselves and boost their strength, so it’s only a matter of time until they become yet another beast to kill.

—

Many suspicions and superstitions were born of this time, out of desperation to keep the plague at bay.

Incense was hung outside houses, and those who showed “suspicious behavior” were killed before they even had symptoms of beasthood.

It was believed that the beast plague crept up the right leg, so hunter gear features a band there. As most hunters are right-handed, sap is injected into the right leg.

—

WAITTT. What if the Onceler’s dad takes the role of Father Gascoigne OH MY GOD

His mom going out to find her husband, disappearing into the night, leaving the Onceler to care for his younger brothers alone. Days passed, a week, but no sign of either parent’s return.

The Onceler crawling out the window, since the door was locked, assuring that he’ll find them and bring them back.

Searching the streets of the city, only to find the woman’s cold body and the faint whiff of her floral perfume on the breeze.

You know… She said she was going to find Dad, but she’s so close to the carriage that takes you out of the city… Nevermind. It must be a coincidence.

—

The Onceler set out to be a hunter just like his dad….. Maybe he never really had the chance to know the man. Having a relative that you’re supposed to be close to, but you’ve hardly ever heard his voice.

Daydreaming about what he must be like. How similar the two of you must be. What he’ll order when you go down to that little bakery together once this is all over. The sun has to rise eventually.

But when you finally see him after so long, when you finally witness what he’s become… Perhaps it’s best you never knew him.

As serrated metal blades screech against each other, you look up. He looks so, so much like you. Messy black hair that shines even in the dark. Sharp blue eyes and hazy, dilated pupils staring into you.

An old, visceral reflection that’s already too far gone.

—

Petrichor tainted with the stench of blood. Back against the tall brick walls of the city, sinking to the cold floor.

Chest heaving as you reach for something in your pocket; a small music box, softly playing a familiar tune as shaky hands bandage your wounds.

One of the few, hazy memories of your father was this song. A dreamlike sunny day with music and laughter in the air, the man picking you up and spinning you around. A time when nothing else mattered.

You even caught your mother humming the tune from time to time, though she stopped at some point. Things never were the same after that.

The wave of memories gets caught in the Onceler’s throat, pulling him back into the present. Pulling down the brim of his hat to cover his eyes.

—

I especially want to emphasize that feeling of becoming the thing you sought to destroy.

Hunters inevitably becoming beasts, getting drunk off the blood. Forgetting that their prey was once human, and thus, losing their own humanity in the process.

Blades cutting into bark, trampling flowers, lapping up sweet juice. You take and you take and you lose yourself in it until there’s nothing left, of you or the orchard.

Apple seeds in your stomach. Cyanide, growth, killing you from the inside.

The Onceler wants to end the cycle, to raise the sun in hopes of bringing everything back to normal. And he technically does end the hunt by burning all the trees, but in doing so, he brings about the end of the world.

—

Ok concept: One of his brothers goes into the sewers, but he falls through one of the holes that led to the ancient trees, and turns into a shambling mess with a big ol flower for a head

I dunno what Norma’s deal is here but. Chances are she’s not having a good time kajsfd- As her story progresses she falls ill, coughing up orange blossoms.

Comic in my brain of the Onceler coming back to see Norma dead, impaled by a blooming orange tree. His expression is unclear, unreadable. He picks an orange, peels it, and takes a bite.

Orange blossoms representing purity and they’re known for being used in weddings………

—

Ok hear me out. What if Artic was a doll. Just a cute cameo and reference to Bloodborne’s Doll, but maybe she was made out of wood from one of the ancient trees? Flowers just naturally grow in her hair ouo

Someone tried to create life using the wood, but things didn’t go as planned, and she was abandoned. Now she’s only seen in the dreams of hunters, a strange little place hidden in the folds between life and death.

Tending to gardens and graves, ever in a state of transience. Hunters come and they go in this endless cycle of bloodshed, but even in this brief respite from the world outside, they never stay for very long.

Maybe her signature flower is sakura! Life, death, renewal, optimism, and the fleeting nature of life.

—

WHAT IF THE ONCELER'S FLOWER IS MORNING GLORY. Wanting to bring back the morning and how morning glory is a vine- OUGHH I’m just picturing the vines wrapped around his arm

AND THE POSITIONING OF THE FLOWERS IS IMPORTANT TOO

ON THE ONCELER’S ARM FOR TAKING ACTION. SPILLING OUT OF NORMA’S MOUTH FOR HER WORDS. IN ARTIC’S HAIR FOR HER KNOWING THINGS THE OTHERS DON’T BC SHE’S MADE FROM THE TREE

YOOOOOOO maybe there’s a boss fight against Artic since she knows burning everything to the ground is Not A Good Idea so she tries to stop him

And she uses these dual swords covered in flowers both in reference to Bloodborne’s Lady Maria, and how other versions of Artic use dual swords!!

[librivore42]

The Tall Man

OKAY FINE I will stop being a coward hiding my original fic in the middle of my ao3 works. I will also share it on tumblr dot com. This is a small segment of my Horrible Fae is still obsessed with the human who escaped him story.. It's only 1k so it's all under the readmore if you don't want to go to the ao3 link but I'd love if you did? Drop a kudos, a comment, a CONCERN ABOUT POOR MATTHEW.

The Tall Man (1247 words) by Librivore42 Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Original Work Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Original Characters, Original Non-Human Character(s) Additional Tags: I'm rating this teen just for general spookies, Body Horror, not heavily focused on but its definitely there, There's Also A Spider, she's only there for a line but still Summary: Matthew's freedom was hard-won, and it coloured his life with caution even as he took in a foundling, even as he built a life for himself. But you do not escape the Fae, not truly, and the Tall Man is always watching for ways to bring his Matthew back to him.

~~~~

Her uncle had told her to avoid the birch trees. The ones where the snapped branches scarred like eyes. She knew why, knew why he stayed as far away from the tree-line as possible, knew the cause of his fear, and she would never want him to feel that fear again. He had loved her too well, too fiercely, for her to ever dream of causing him pain.

The forest was kindly, but the small copse of birch trees at the far edge of it was to be left well alone.

How then was she here, with tall white birches before and behind her?

The goat she had been ineffectually trying to chase back to their little farmstead had vanished, as had the, well-trodden path they’d been on. As had the view back home, and the horizon itself. Everything had been swallowed up by the trees no matter where she looked, though she’d swear she’d been only in the familiar part of the forest, had only just passed the tree-line with the open sky visible at her back.

No matter how far she walked, there were the trees. Never taller or shorter, never thicker or thinner, a strange unnatural uniformity that made her skin scrawl. Nearly as if they had all been selected and placed, and she was wandering lost in an orchard that belonged to someone who had yet to find her trespassing.

There was not a single low branch to grab onto, to haul herself up into the canopy so she might see how far the end of it all was. The branches and leaves swayed overhead, endlessly far and yet enclosing. Swallowing.

Oh wasn’t it silent here? As if the bark and the leaves and the deep undergrowth swallowed all sound. Not a rustle. Not a flutter or wings.

Not a sign of insects on the trunks she passed. Where were they all? Why was this place so deeply lonely?

In the shed back home was a spiderweb, a thin-legged black spider heavy with eggs that she used to watch warily, ready to run if it scuttled towards her.

What she wouldn’t give to see that spider now.

The branches must have been there once, they must have been, because the trees all had the same scars that looked so unerringly like staring eyes, with no other marks on their smooth white bark.

Not a hole for a burrowing beast, not a crack for other plants to thrive.

Silence, deep and breathless, seeming to press her lips shut with the very weight of it. Would it swallow her voice if she tried to call out? She must try, she must. Some woodcutter or hunter would hear her.

They must hear her. They must.

She tried to open her mouth—pulled a panicked breath through her nose as the muscles in her jaw wouldn't obey her.

Again.

Again.

The weight of the silence would force her to her knees if she let it. She steadied herself on a trunk, breathing, breathing. It would be alright. She had only to walk in a straight line, to keep walking, and she would be at the end of it in time.

… that wasn't true. That had not been true for at least an hour.

Ever since the silence began, ever since the trees had become so chillingly regular, she should have realised there was no stepping out of it. These were no longer the woods near her farm, with warm sunlight and staring foxes and and end to it, a home on the other side.

These were the woods her uncle had spent years in. Had been a child, lost and wandering and taken and kept. Had earned scars and nightmares for daring to dream of escape.

Scarred bark twitched under her fingers like the flutter of an eyelid, and she yanked her hand away, an agonised noise rising in her throat, crashing against her teeth and falling back down into a roiling stomach.

And there he was, as if the tiny noise of fear had summoned him. Tree-tall and birch-pale, silent as darkness in the deepest places, smiling like frostbite. Less cunning than cruel, but with endless cruelty.

The Tall Man.

"Good day."

The silence released her mouth with a gasp, but she did not reply.

"He hasn't taught you manners," he tutted. "But he did try to teach you sense. You know of me."

Enough to fear him. Enough to know that this might be the last and most foolish mistake of her life, and enough to know that if she didn't try, it would be too late.

Spinning on her heel, she ran as the trees behind her swallowed him up instantly, too intent on running to wonder why he hadn't moved to stop her.

As far as she had walked, it would take half that time to run. There must be some window, some passage that she had missed, the way in that was the way out. There must, there must. But oh the trees were all the same, and the light slanted as it had slanted hours ago, unchanging, and the silence abounded as she froze in place abruptly, her feet rooted to the ground.

Rooted.

Rooted.

The Tall Man stepped out from between the trees, shaking his head with a little sigh.

"No more of that. I will let you go soon enough."

Skin smoothing over to something hard and white, arms thrown up in the shock of being frozen, branching out to the sky. He smoothed a hand over her hair gently, and she heard a soft rustle of leaves as her heart started to slow. He looked away from her panic as if it hardly mattered, staring off into the distant trees.

"I see him. He has always stayed so far away. But he will come for you. Do you wish to find him like this, beyond help?"

He had graced her with just enough movement to shake her head, bark creaking.

"It would break his heart, would it not?"

In any other place, by any other hand, the tug on her hair might have been playful affection as she felt life seeping back into the roots of her, the boots of her, and felt her arms grow warm and she wrapped them around her skin-soft self.

"Better. There are ways to keep you here, remember that. So be good, will you not? Until what is mine comes back to me."

It was better to stay silent, better to keep the voice that she had only just been given back than risk it being taken away again, and yet-

"He isn't yours. He's his own," she managed, voice hoarse, unused for decades.

The Tall Man laughed, low and deeply amused, and the leaves overhead shook with his laughter despite the still, chill air.

"Is that what he's taught you? Oh little sapling, what a fine lie. He is mine. He always will be, until his mortal body fails him."

Distant footsteps. A familiar tread, heavy and cautious.

No.

He smiled, sharp as a woodsman's axe as he saw her weigh the chance of running again. He did not move, and yet the silence seemed a many-fingered thing, gripping her shoulders as it sensed her intent.

"Love is a fine and weakening thing. The land he would not dare to tread for decades, he treads for you. Be good now, or it may break him to see what became of you.

[phloxclan]

Moon 78

Vinepaw earns the warrior name Vinepath.

Roachstripe has greencough. Murkfreckle fell into a river and has been coughing since. Squirreldapple is injured saving Snowshadow from a hawk.

Carnation has a litter of 5 kits, with Wisteriaheart as the other parent. However, the strain of the birth and her severe injuries is too much, and she dies. Fruitkit - Brown and white molly with emerald eyes and long fur, sweet, interested in the Dark Forest. Only kit named by Carnation. Fluffykit - Red tabby tom with emerald eyes, daydreamer, interested in herbs. Named by Coppersight. Sorrelkit - Brown tabby molly with emerald eyes, noisy, quick to make peace. Named by Coppersight. Ratkit - White molly with pale yellow eyes, noisy, careful listener. Named by Wisteriaheart. Carnationkit - White molly with one ginger leg and pale yellow eyes, noisy, quick to help. Named by Wisteriaheart.

A kittypet and kits are found at the border and brought to the clan. The nursery is extremely full. Geodeflow - Ginger molly with heather blue eyes and long fur, 121 moons, childish, great teacher, good speaker. Minnowkit - Pale ginger and white tom with amber eyes, 2 moons, polite, moss-ball hunter. Auburnkit - Ginger and white molly with yellow-green eyes, long fur, and a maple leaf, 2 moons, troublesome, interested in Starclan. - When looking at Auburnkit, Weevilsun can't help but remember the dream she had when Phloxclan first formed.

Moon 79

Clawpaw and Dewpaw earn their full names - Clawspot and Dewglade.

Weevilsun has a single kit. Brush is the other parent. Flashkit - Dark gray molly with cyan eyes, charming, lover of stories. Weevilsun and Brush have not interacted at all and have 0 affection (romantic or platonic), so I've decided they just both wanted kits and decided to co-parent, but have no interest in each other.

Orchard was bitten by a snake but lived!

Shrubfoot confesses her feelings to Flaxwhistle again, and is rejected again.

Moon 80

iPod went for a walk and is later found dead.

Clawspot has whitecough and Cloverdust's tail was injured by a falling branch.

Groveglide comes out as a trans molly, and Flaxwhistle finds maple seeds to wear.

Bluebriar purrs for a long time at Salmon's joke.

Weevilsun confesses to Falconfade, and they have become mates. Falconfade adopts Flashkit.

Sandspeckle bonds with Coppersigh and Sneezekit.

Wisteriaheart ignores Sorrelkit, then bristles when Canopytail scolds him. Clawspot spends time with Sorrelkit.

Jump is found at the border, exhausted but happy to be back! They gather the kits up and tell them about their journey.

Paleflicker finds an abandoned kit, rushing her home and adopting her. Lichenkit - Tortie molly with hazel eyes and long fur, 2 moons, polite, splashes in puddles.

Sprites:

[rockislandadultreads]

Happy Fall!

Commonwealth by Ann Patchett

One Sunday afternoon in Southern California, Bert Cousins shows up at Franny Keating’s christening party uninvited. Before evening falls, he has kissed Franny’s mother, Beverly - thus setting in motion the dissolution of their marriages and the joining of two families.

Spanning five decades, Commonwealth explores how this chance encounter reverberates through the lives of the four parents and six children involved. Spending summers together in Virginia, the Keating and Cousins children forge a lasting bond that is based on a shared disillusionment with their parents and the strange and genuine affection that grows up between them.

When, in her twenties, Franny begins an affair with the legendary author Leon Posen and tells him about her family, the story of her siblings is no longer hers to control. Their childhood becomes the basis for his wildly successful book, ultimately forcing them to come to terms with their losses, their guilt, and the deeply loyal connection they feel for one another.

Harvest Moon by Denise Hunter

Forever walking the line between passion and conflict, Laurel and Gavin's relationship ended in divorce after years of miscommunication and unmet expectations. Now pursuing their own separate lives and careers, the two are content... though not completely happy.

When their best friends, Mike and Mallory, are killed in a plane crash, Laurel and Gavin are stunned to learn they've been named guardians of their friends' young daughter, Emma. Putting their differences aside, the estranged couple search for a suitable guardian as they care for Emma and manage Mike and Mallory's apple orchard.

Soon tempers flare - as does the passion they both remember so well. And Laurel and Gavin find themselves working through their past - their mistakes, their miscommunications, and ultimately the tragedy that ended their marriage.

Will the seeds of love, still growing inside them, thrive and flourish? Or will grief and regret strangle the feelings before they can fully blossom?

This is the third volume of the "Riverbend" series.

Lost Autumn by Mary-Rose MacColl

Australia, 1920. Seventeen-year-old Maddie Bright embarks on the voyage of a lifetime when she's chosen to serve on the cross-continent tour of His Royal Highness, the dashing Edward, Prince of Wales. Life on the royal train is luxurious beyond her dreams, and the glamorous, good-hearted friends she makes - with their romantic histories and rivalries - crack open her world. But glamour often hides all manner of sins.

Decades later, Maddie lives in a ramshackle house in Brisbane, whiling away the days with television news and her devoted, if drunken, next-door neighbor. When a London journalist struggling with her own romantic entanglements begins asking Maddie questions about her relationship to the famous and reclusive author M. A. Bright, she's taken back to the glamorous days of the royal tour - and to the secrets she has kept for all these years.

The Orchard by Kristina Gorcheva-Newberry

Coming of age in the USSR in the 1980s, best friends Anya and Milka try to envision a free and joyful future for themselves. They spend their summers at Anya’s dacha just outside of Moscow, lazing in the apple orchard, listening to Queen songs, and fantasizing about trips abroad and the lives of American teenagers. Meanwhile, Anya’s parents talk about World War II, the Blockade, and the hardships they have endured.

By the time Anya and Milka are fifteen, the Soviet Empire is on the verge of collapse. They pair up with classmates Trifonov and Lopatin, and the four friends share secrets and desires, argue about history and politics, and discuss forbidden books. But the world is changing, and the fleeting time they have together is cut short by a sudden tragedy.

Years later, Anya returns to Russia from America, where she has chosen a different kind of life, far from her family and childhood friends. When she meets Lopatin again, he is a smug businessman who wants to buy her parents’ dacha and cut down the apple orchard. Haunted by the ghosts of her youth, Anya comes to the stark realization that memory does not fade or disappear; rather, it moves us across time, connecting our past to our future, joys to sorrows.

[ayearincontent]

2024

key

bold = highlight of 2024

+ = not new in 2024

# = book club

books

A Day in the Life of Abed Salama: A Palestine Story, Nathan Thrall (2023)#

Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoevsky (trans. David McDuff) (1866)

Restless, William Boyd (2007)#

Ablutions, Patrick deWitt (2012)

The Hummingbird, Sandro Veronesi (trans. Elena Pala) (2021)

Faith, Hope and Carnage, Nick Cave and Sean O'Hagan (2023)#

The Life & Times of Michael K, J. M. Coetzee (1983)

The Twilight Word, Werner Herzog (trans. Michael Hofmann) (2023)

Darryl, Jackie Ess (2021)

Kitchen Confidential, Anthony Bourdain (2000)

Caledonian Road, Andrew O'Hagan (2024)

Feet in the Clouds, Richard Askwith (2004)#

Arrangements in Blue: Notes on Love and Making a Life, Amy Key (2023)

Small Things Like These, Claire Keegan (2021)

A Box of Matches, Nicholson Baker (2004)

Jesus' Son, Dennis Johnson (2012)#

Ecstasy: Three Tales of Chemical Romance, Irvine Welsh (1996)

Sleepless, Marie Darrieussecq (trans. Penny Hueston) (2023)

The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat, Oliver Sachs (1985)#

The Memory Police, Yōko Ogawa (trans. Stephen Snyder) (1994)

Monsters: What Do We Do with Great Art by Bad People?, Claire Dederer (2023)

Great Britain? How We Get Our Future Back, Torsten Bell (2024)

Requiem for a Dream, Hubert Selby Jr. (1978)#

What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, Haruki Murakami (trans. Philip Gabriel) (2007)

Foster, Claire Keegan (2010)

The Secret History, Donna Tartt (1992)

Regeneration, Pat Barker (1991)

The Secret Life of John Le Carré, Adam Sisman (2023)

The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald (1925)+

Mothering Sunday, Graham Swift (2016)

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S Thompson (1971)

Simple Passion, Annie Ernaux (trans. Tanya Leslie) (1991)

films

Sound of Metal (2019)

Saltburn (2023)

The Two Popes (2019)

All of Us Strangers (2023)

Hell or High Water (2016)

Boyz n the Hood (1991)

Past Lives (2023)

The Devil Wears Prada (2006)+

If Only I Could Hibernate (2023)

Searching for Sugarman (2012)

All the President's Men (1976)

The Informant (2009)

Force Majeure (2014)

Paterson (2016)

Anyone But You (2023)

Triangle of Sadness (2022)

22 Jump Street (2014)+

Before Sunrise (1995)

Before Sunset (2004)

Before Midnight (2013)

Arrival (2016)

Emily the Criminal (2022)

Hit Man (2023)

Shoplifters (2018)

About Time (2013)+

Roman Holiday (1953)

Judas and the Black Messiah (2021)

Gladiator (2000)+

American Fiction (2023)

The Holiday (2006)+

Maurice (1987)

albums

'Stretch for the Stars' (EP), Joshua Idehen (2023)

'Shiver' (EP), The Libertines (2024)

'the record', boygenius (2023)

'Wall of Eyes', The Smile (2024)

'Promises', Floating Points, Pharoah Sanders & The London Symphony Orchestra (2021)

'Where's My Utopia?', Yard Act (2023)

'Cold Fact', Rodriquez (1970)

'Coming from Reality', Rodriquez (1971)

'What Now', Brittany Howard (2024)

'Mountainhead', Everything Everything (2024)

'This Ain't the Way You Go Out', Lucy Rose (2024)

'Blue', Joni Mitchell (1971)

'A Dream Is All We Know', The Lemon Twigs (2024)

'Romance', Fontaines D.C. (2024)

'Samurai', Lupe Fiasco (2024)

'This Could Be Texas', English Teacher (2024)

'Small Changes', Michael Kiwanuka (2024)

exhibitions

'Time is Out of Joint', National Gallery of Modern and Contemporary Art (Rome)

'Philip Guston', Tate Modern

'Women in Revolt! Art and Activism in the UK 1970-1990', Tate Britain

'Taylor Wessing Photo Portrait Prize', National Portrait Gallery

'The Cult of Beauty', Wellcome Collection

'Expressionists: Kandinsky, Münter and The Blue Rider', Tate Modern

Permanent Collection, Museum of Modern Art New York

Francis Bacon: Human Presence, National Portrait Gallery

live music

Ben L'Oncle Soul, Alcazar Live

Yard Act, Rough Trade East

Romy, Roundhouse

Dan Shake / Pretty Girl, Phonox

Lapsley, Moth Club

Berlioz, Brixton Academy

theatre

The Cherry Orchard, Donmar Warehouse

Dr Strangelove, Noel Coward Theatre

restaurants

Perilla, Stoke Newington

Felice a Testaccio, Rome

Salumeria Con Cucina Roscioli, Rome

Zahter, Carnaby Street

Beckford Inn, Tewksbury

Chez Bruce (*), Wandsworth+

Ottolenghi, Spitalfields+

Dalla Terra, Covent Garden

Faros, Soho

Little House, Balham

Ye Olde Hobnails Inn, Tewkesbury

Pot Luck Club, Cape Town

Scala Pasta / Bar, Cape Town

La Colombe, Constantia

El Burro, Cape Town

Franks Corner, Franschhoek

The Girl's On The Square, Wilderness

Pumba Game Reserve, Eastern Cape

Nest, Knysna

Maillard Baking Co, Knysna

Sirocco, Knysna

Coral, Mauritius

Kot Nou, Mauritius

Lemongrass, Mauritius

Le Benetier, Mauritius

Le Chamarel, Mauritius

Muang Thai, Camden

thirty7, Covent Garden

Morito, Hackney+

Nobu, Shoreditch+

Botanica Hall, Clapham Junction

Devonshire Terrace, Liverpool Street

Brutto, Farringdon

St John (bar), Smithfield

Mechela, Seville

Mamarracha, Seville

Caminata, Balham (x2)

Pasha Mangal, Balham (x2)

Hawksmoor, Air Street+

Dishoom, King's Cross

Som Saa, Spitalfields

180 House, The Strand

Three Uncles, Brixton (x2)

Balham Social, (...)Balham

The Duke of Malborough, Woodstock

The Perch, Binsey

Megan's on the Hill, Balham

Le Bab, Covent Garden

Well Street Pizza, Hackney

Mele e Pere, Soho+

Five The Beach, Clevedon

Ascough's Bistro, Market Harborough

The Inn at Freshford, Freshford

The Bird, Bath

Bussia, Amsterdam+

Bar Bouche, Amsterdam

Blue Fig, Balham

Flesh & Buns, Covent Garden+

Roka, Canary Wharf

Smoking Goat, Shoreditch

Boucherie West Village, Manhattan

Bagels & Schmear, Manhattan

Fette Sau, Brooklyn

Cosme, Manhattan

Broad Nosh Bagels, Manhattan

Estela, Manhattan

Mirabella, Miami Beach

Cubata, Miami

Crispin, Spitalfields

MCR Restaurant and Bar, Holborn

Fumo, Covent Garden

Cornus, Belgravia

Joro, Sheffield

Timmy Green, Victoria

Serata Hall, Old Street

The Carpenters Arms, Burford

Milk, Balham (x3)

FIRIN, King's Cross

Barraca da Chiquita, Rio de Janeiro

podcasts

Kermode & Mayo's Take+

The Russell Brand Podcast (Radio 2 / Audioboom / XFM)+

The News Agents+

The News Meeting+

Today in Focus+

The Adam Buxton Podcast+

Joel Golby's Book Club

Desert Island Discs+

Off Menu

Young Again+

The Louis Theroux Podcast

Conversations with Tyler

Freakanomics Radio

Double Jeopardy

The Lawyer Podcast

80,000 Hours

tv

Mr Bates v The Post Office (limited series)

The Traitors (series 2)

Six Nations: Full Contact (limited series)

One Day (limited series)

Gossip Girl (series 1-4)

Ripley (limited series)

Kin (series 1)

Gordon, Gino and Fred: Road Trip (series 1)

America's Sweethearts: Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders (limited series)

Industry (series 3)

Better Call Saul (series 1-5)+

talks

'Judges, Politics, and the Public: A Judge’s View from Inside Westminster' by Sir Nicholas Green, Leicester Lit&Phil Society

'Beer, bribes, and brawling: an accurate representation of elections in Victorian England?' by Nigel Siesage, Leicester Lit&Phil Society

foreign travel (no 'favourites of the year', all excellent)

Rome

South Africa (Cape Town, Franschhoek, Wilderness, Pumba Game Reserve, Knysna)

Mauritius

Seville

Algarve (work)

Amsterdam

New York

Miami (work)

[universalinfo]

The Grand Vermonter Box: Your Black Friday Must-Have

Hey there, fellow shoppers and food enthusiasts! It’s that time of the year again: Black Friday! But this year, we’re not just talking about any deal. We’re talking about an exclusive opportunity to dive into the heart of Vermont’s culinary treasures with Champlain Orchards’ Grand Vermonter Box. 

Imagine a box, brimming with the finest, most delectable treats Vermont has to offer. Now, hold that thought, because it’s not just a figment of your imagination: it’s real, and it’s spectacular. 

Let’s embark on a delicious journey to explore why the Grand Vermonter Box is your must-have this holiday season.

Discover the Essence of Vermont with the Grand Vermonter Box

Vermont is more than just a place; it’s a taste, a feeling, a memory waiting to be made. And nothing encapsulates this better than the Grand Vermonter Box. 

Packed with an array of handpicked, gourmet delights, each item in the box is a testament to Vermont’s rich, culinary heritage. From the savory notes of Vermont Salumi Red Wine and Garlic Salami to the sweet embrace of Blake Hill Preserves Jam, every bite is a journey through the Green Mountain State.

Why the Grand Vermonter Box is the Perfect Holiday Gift?

The holidays are about sharing joy and creating memories. What better way to do that than with a gift that speaks volumes of care and quality? The Grand Vermonter Box is not just a collection of snacks; it’s a curated experience. 

Whether it’s for your employees, friends, or a special treat for yourself, this box has something to delight everyone. The Plymouth Artisan Cheese Hunter Cheddar is a cheese lover’s dream, while the Sugar Bob’s Maple Spiced Pecans offer a unique, flavorful twist.

A Peek Inside: The Treasures of the Grand Vermonter Box

Dive into the heart of Vermont with every item in the Grand Vermonter Box. This isn’t just a collection of snacks; it’s a carefully curated selection of Vermont’s finest, each with its own unique story and flavor with Champlain Orchards. 

Here’s what you’ll find inside:

Vermont Salumi Red Wine and Garlic Salami (4 oz.): Gourmet salami with a rich blend of red wine and garlic.

Plymouth Artisan Cheese Hunter Cheddar (8 oz.): Robust, creamy cheddar ideal for cheese platters.

Blake Hill Preserves Jam (10 oz.): Sweet artisanal jam perfect for enhancing breakfasts and snacks.

Republic of Vermont Raw Honey (1/2 pound): Versatile, golden raw honey, sweet and healthy.

Castleton Crackers Alehouse Cheddar Crackers: Savory crackers complementing cheeses and jams.

Small Batch Organics Cherry Granola Bark (8 oz.): Blend of sweet cherry and crunchy granola.

Sugar Bob’s Maple Spiced Pecans (2.5 oz.): Sweet and spicy pecans with a maple twist.

Lake Champlain Chocolate Bar (3 oz.): Luxurious, smooth chocolate for a sweet touch.

Untapped Waffle Cookie (30 g): Light, crisp cookie, great with coffee or tea.

Maple Hard Candies: Classic Vermont sweet treats.

Champlain Orchards Maple Syrup (8 oz.): Famous Vermont maple syrup, perfect for various uses.

Champlain Orchards Apple Butter (6 oz.): Rich and flavorful, made from eco-grown apples.

(5) Champlain Orchards Eco-Grown Apples: Fresh, crisp apples straight from the orchard.

Each item in the Grand Vermonter Box is a celebration of Vermont’s rich flavors and culinary craftsmanship. This Black Friday, give the gift of Vermont’s best or treat yourself to these exquisite tastes.

Savoring Vermont’s Best: More Than Just a Snack Box

When you think of the Grand Vermonter Box, think beyond a mere collection of edibles. This box is a journey through the lush landscapes and rich traditions of Vermont, a celebration of taste and craftsmanship. 

Each item in the box is not just a snack; it’s a piece of Vermont’s culinary art. The box brings together a variety of flavors and textures. It’s a symphony of tastes that represents the state’s passion for quality and its love for the finer things in life. 

Imagine unwrapping this box at a family gathering or a friendly meetup. It instantly becomes more than just a gift; it’s an experience, a conversation starter, a way to connect and share stories. It’s the warmth of Vermont, wrapped in a box, ready to light up your holiday season with its unique charm and flavors.

Black Friday Exclusive: Don’t Miss Out on the Grand Vermonter Box

This Black Friday, the Grand Vermonter Box stands out as not just an amazing deal, but an unmissable experience. It’s a once-a-year opportunity to bring home the essence of Vermont at an exceptional value. 

Picture this: a box filled with the finest gourmet treats, waiting to be explored and enjoyed, now available at a price that’s as delightful as its contents. This isn’t just another Black Friday sale; it’s a gateway to creating unforgettable moments and memories. 

Whether it’s for gifting or indulging yourself, the Grand Vermonter Box is the perfect choice. But remember, like all good things, this deal won’t last forever. It’s a limited-time offer that beckons the savvy and the swift. 

So, mark your calendars, set your reminders, and get ready to embrace the best of Vermont. This Black Friday, let the Grand Vermonter Box be the highlight of your holiday season!

Conclusion

In wrapping up, the Holiday Gift Box is more than just a collection of Vermont’s finest. It’s a gateway to experiencing the essence of the state’s rich culinary heritage. Each item in the box has been carefully selected to bring you the best of Vermont. 

This Black Friday, treat yourself or your loved ones to this box of delights. Happy shopping, and here’s to a holiday season filled with the joy of sharing and the taste of Vermont.

[kitkatt0430]

Iris arrives at the remains of the old Kent farm in Kansas where, five years ago, the Kent family and the author - and conman - HR Wells disappeared when a tornado tore through the farm. She's supposed to be fact gathering for a follow up story - the Kent family isn't exactly a big deal outside of Smallville, but HR Wells had been part of a rather big scandal at STAR Labs. One that had caught the whole nation's attention. Of course, five years later it's barely going to be an interest piece, but Iris is curious to find out what really happened anyway.

No one ever found the bodies. If Iris can, then she can give the Kents' friends and family closure. She can give Randolf Morgan his friend to bury. She can close the book on what really happened when the tornado destroyed the farm.

Of course, a storm comes out of nowhere while Iris is investigating the farm and she takes shelter in the half-destroyed barn. Which does nothing to protect her. The rest of the barn is ripped away, but the room Iris is in stays intact as it glides up into the tornado and... far away.

When Iris wakes up and leaves her little shelter, she finds herself in a land unlike anything she's ever seen before. But some things stay the same. She's on a farm. Run by the Kent family. A very alive Kent family.

Martha and Jonathon Kent are very nice, but Iris quickly realizes their son Clark is still missing. Taken by the Wicked Warlock, they tell her. Just a little over a year ago, when the fighting in North OZ got too close to their little midland farm. HR Wells had gone to try and find the kid, but had lost the trail somewhere around the capital city. He was still looking, according to his latest letter anyway. But he'd gotten tied up in some political problem that he was certain was related to Clark's abduction. The Kents would've gone themselves, but between Jonathon's bad heart and Martha's difficulty walking... better they stay at the farm with the Munchkins in the nearby town looking after them.

Iris has no idea if this is a weird dream or really real - yet - but she ventures into town to learn more about this Wicked Warlock fellow and the fighting in North OZ. There she gets an earful about the Wicked Warlock of the West - in rhyme, which quickly loses novelty - and how the Evil Eobard Thawne is trying to take over the North, protected by the Good Witch Caitlin. And the equally evil Warlock of the East, Hunter Zolomon, has been threatening the southern and middle countries (fighting hasn't broken out in earnest yet), though the Good Witch of the South - Frost - has been keeping them safe for now. Though word is Frost hasn't been seen in a few weeks.

After thinking things over, Iris starts heading North along the Old Yellow Road, which leads to the capitol city. Along the way she finds a political exile - a zipperhead (yup, taking influence from the Tin Man mini-series here) - calling himself Barry. He can't remember much more than his name given that his brain was stolen by the Warlock of the West, but he's certain he was a good person and definitely not a criminal before his brain got taken away. Iris needs a guide so she gives him the benefit of the doubt.

Then Iris and Barry find an old iron maiden type device - a cryochamber, according to Barry (who briefly remembers he used to work as an inventor before forgetting again) - and release the man inside. Eddie Thawne, a Tin Man (lawman, of course, more mini-series influence) who'd attempted to arrest his own cousin, Eobard, before he ascended to being the Warlock of the West. He failed, of course, and Eobard thought it'd be funny to torment him for the rest of forever by leaving him in the cryochamber, able to watch the world but not ever be a part of it. He joins Barry and Iris and they head for what should be a shortcut through an old orchard.

Except the orchard is dead, it's former keepers are hungry, and they accidentally save a seer on the run from the West. Cisco escaped the castle and has no intention of ever going back. Or ever having visions again.

The four make for an odd group, but they head to Central City - the capital city, of course - together. The old Emerald City on the hill... where they learn an old tradition's been re-instated by the new Mayor. Everyone in the city must wear green sunglasses, tinting the whole place a lovely Emerald. A moral booster, thought up by Mayor HR Wells.

Iris manages to get an audience with the Mayor by name dropping the Kents and he explains the situation as he knows it. Eobard got his hands on some ancient magicks and kidnapped Clark because he's got super powers, being the last survivor of Krypton. Iris revisits the 'am i dreaming' question at learning now there's magic and aliens going on. Eobard was using magic to control Clark, making him Eobard's enforcer but the magic grew weak in the rain. HR thinks that getting the kid soaked would give him a chance to break free but they'd yet to successfully pull off the equivalent of dumping a cooler of water on the teen yet.

Eddie is determined to take out Eobard and Barry's now dedicated to helping Eddie (it's Iris/Barry/Eddie/Cisco for the ship, give Iris all the cute boys) and Iris decides to go with them. Cisco is terrified but he cares about the other three too much by now and agrees to guide them to Eobard Thawne's lair.

It eventually turns out that the water thing is actually Eobard's weakness and he melts. Barry observes that it's a side effect of the artifact Eobard was using to artificially expand his powers. Iris just kind of stands there holding the bucket, staring at the goo that used to be a person, and wonders if mis-aiming a bucket of water counts as a self-defense murder.

Clark goes home and Iris takes her little group back to Central where HR introduces them to Caitlin. Her ex-husband Ronnie (amicably divorced) is going to take over as the Warlock - non-evil - for the Western region since he's part of a group known as FIRESTORM. They'd been fighting Eobard's forces, unable to break through the line (or sneak through, like Iris's little group had) until Eobard's death caused a number of mind controlled servants to come back to their senses.

Big party because ding-dong the evil Warlock #1 is dead. Sure, there's Hunter Zolomon and Caitlin's worried about her sister Frost, but there's half the OZ's biggest problems fixed. Barry's brain is located and re-installed, though he'll always be a bit absent minded. And probably late.

They head back to the Kent farm to check on things there only to learn that fighting has broken out in the South after all. And by fighting, they mean Zolomon has been razing towns for the fun of it. To the East it is. The polycule's got another evil warlock to off.

And by that point? They are absolutely a polycule. Barry and Cisco are cuddlers so having lots of people to cuddle at night? They are both thrilled. And while Iris started off wanting a way home, she's decided she is home now that she's got Eddie, Barry, and Cisco.

[katz-cradle]

WHERE IS MY

/POS!

Ik you said that’s all you had so far plot wise but I’m curious to learn mroe and about the five because I’m incapable about being normal when my friends tell me their stories

WAAA HEAJKHFHAOHAK I'm glad u really enjoy World End Class!!!

Here's the basics of the five, aka the little info blurb I have in the google doc lol;

Brooke Webb (She/Her)

“Brooke Webb is just a normal 18 year old, being the child of two office workers and a straight B student Brooke has never been seen as anything too interesting outside of wanting to be a therapist.. Maybe that’s why she never had any friends in school. Brooke has no idea who would want anything from her or her family.. Or at least nothing that she knows..”

Ari Kennedy (He/It)

“Ari Kennedy is a 19 year old high school dropout, his mother is a porn actress while his father is completely out of the picture. He’s a major trouble maker being an anarchist; it’s commonly in trouble with the law though nobody, not even himself, knows how he hasn’t been jailed yet. Ari was just graffiting a billboard when he seeming suddenly fell asleep and woke up in the same scenario as the other. It's the most determined to escape, afraid his mother will do something to herself when he’s gone.”

Lavender Lane (They/She)

“Lavender Lane is a shy, quiet 18 year old, working at their fathers bookstore. Lavender wishes to find purpose in her life outside of their tiny little town. Lavender was home-schooled by their father her whole life, rarely going outside and having no friends outside of their cousins who she’d rarely see. Lavender was researching biology when they passed out at their desk, waking up at the place with the other four. Lavender is terrified, not used to being around people at all hoping she’s making a good impression.”

Hunter Adams (He/Him)

“Hunter Adams is a stereotypical southern 18 living with his alcoholic pa and innocent ma, he plans on one day owning his own fruit orchard. Hunter barely tries his hardest in school, caring much more about his messy family than anythin’ else he’s had to repeat multiple grades because of it. Hunter had just had a massive fight with his father before waking up at the abandoned school, he believes that he’s in just a still dream.. He doesn’t want to believe this is real.”

Juliet Baker (She/Her)

“Juliet Baker is 19 and the richest girl in her neighborhood, being extremely popular for that very reason, though not really having any real friends. She also happens to be a micro-online celebrity going by the name “Ju-Star” online, she mostly streams games and such online. Juliet is lovesick, wishing to date whoever will treat her like a princess like she deserves! One night nobody showed up to Juliet’s stream oddly enough.. She went to bed extremely upset but woke up in this place. She's terrified that she was kidnapped by crazy fans being untrusting of everyone for a good while.”

there's the basics of them and their personality's i have 4 them rn!! Hope they sound interesting

[elysiancore]

quotes masterlist

- lucky people should hide. pray the days of wrath do not visit their homes ~ josephine heart

- you said i killed you—haunt me, then!

- so this was how you died; in whispers you did not hear ~ ernest hemingway

- my whole being calls for an act of violence, but i still use velvet gloves ~ anaïs nin

- the gods envy us. they envy us because we’re mortal. because any moment may be our last. everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. you will never be lovelier than you are now. we will never be ever again ~ troy

- i felt my existence was tainted, in some subtle but essential way ~ donna tartt

- there is blood everywhere and i am lost in it. i breathe blood, not air ~ kelly cherry

- until the lion learns how to write, every story will glorify the hunter ~ african proverb

- and when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. what do you call it, freedom or loneliness? ~ charles bukowski

- i keep remembering—i keep remembering. my heart has no pity on me ~ henri barbusse

- i have the choice of being constantly active and happy or introspectively passive and sad. or i can go mad by ricocheting in between ~ sylvia plath

- you sliced me loose and said it was creation. i could feel the knife ~ margaret atwood

- show me an orchard where i have not slept / tell me a time i have not loved ~ dorothy livesay

- trauma sends you letters, without warning, for the rest of your life, usually disguised as something else ~ brenna twohy

- the blood on my teeth begins to taste like a poem, like religion, like the way you look at me ~ sean glatch

- we begin in the dark and birth is the death of us ~ antigone?

- i sat with my anger long enough until she told me her real name was grief ~ c.s lewis

- love isn’t soft as the poets say. love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close ~ stephen king

- is this all you? mysterious and lucid present and absent at once ~ mahmoud darwish

- i cant exactly describe how i feel, but it’s not quite right. and it leaves me cold ~ f. scott fitzgerald

- artists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide ~ donald winnicott

- death is the mother of beauty. and what is beauty? terror. well said. beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. quite the contrary. genuine beauty is always quite alarming. and if beauty is terror then what is desire? we think we have many desires, but in fact we only have one. what is it? to live. to live forever ~ excerpt from the secret history

other language ones:

- veritas nunquam perit. the truth never perishes. ~ seneca

- atrox melior dulcissima veritas mendaciis. the bitter truth is better than the sweetest lies

- post tenebras lux. after darkness (I hope for) light

- eheu. fugaces labuntur anni. alas. the fleeting years slip by

- nihil est incertius vulgo, nihil obscurius voluntate hominum, nihil fallacius ratione tota comitiorum. nothing is more unpredictable than the mob. nothing more obscure than public opinion. nothing more deceptive than the whole political system ~ cicero

- verba volant, scripta manent. words fly away, writings remain

- sic itur ad astra. thus you shall go to the stars

- aut viam inveniam aut facium. i will either find a way or make one

- pedes in terra ad sidera visus. feet on the ground, eyes on the sky

- timendi causa nescire est. ignorance is the cause of fear

- ex nihilo nihil fit. nothing comes from nothing

- natura nihil frustra facit. nature does nothing in vain. ~ leucippus

- imperare sibi maximum imperium est. to rule yourself is the ultimate power ~ seneca

- tempus fugit. time flies. ~ virgil

- fortuna caeca est. fate is blind

- vita somnium breve. life is but a dream

- tempus edax rerum. time, devourer of all things

- vita brevis et ars longa. time short and art long

- omnes una manet nox. one night is awaiting us all

- astra inclinant sed non obligant. the stars incline us, they do not blind us.

- rien n’est éternel. nothing lasts forever

- soif de vivre. lust for life

[junie-bugg]

The Heartrender - Chapter One: Ashes

Hey everyone! Here’s my latest Enemies to Lovers Everlark fic. It’s a fantasy AU inspired by Leigh Bardugo’s Six of Crows duology, more specifically Nina Zenik and Matthias Helvar. You don’t need to have read Six of Crows to understand this story since I took ideas from Bardugo’s world and then made it my own. It doesn’t take place in the Grishaverse but is heavily influenced by it. I came up with countries, parts of a new language, and backstories for my witch!Katniss and witch-hunter!Peeta. 

All four chapters have been written and I plan on uploading every Friday:)

You can read here on Tumblr or here on AO3.

Rating: Explicit

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Sexual Content

Relationship: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark

Tags: Enemies to Lovers, witch!Katniss, witch-hunter!Peeta, AU - Shipwrecked, AU - Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Explicit Sexual Content, Furs and Fires, Angst and Fluff and Smut, sexually experienced Katniss, virgin Peeta, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, Laughter During Sex, Blood and Injury, Imprisonment, Peeta has some prejudices to work out, Peeta also has an accent, Inspired by Six of Crows

Summary: 

He hated her. He hated her for what she was: an abomination, a demon sent to tear at the fabric of the natural world. He hated her for making him want to laugh. He hated her for being so brazen and sensuous and everything the women of his country were never allowed to be. But mostly he hated her because he realized he didn’t hate her. Not even a little bit.

After a shipwreck has left an abducted witch and a member of the ominous Order bent on wiping out her kind stranded on the icy shores of an uninhabited land, the two must work together to survive or face tearing each other apart in the process.

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Chapter One: Ashes

Peeta had imagined his death many times. A slit throat or an ax in the chest. Perhaps run through with a sword and thrown from a cliff. A warrior’s death, a man’s death, as was expected of him in his service to Sjorkden. Never did he think he’d pass bloodlessly and without a foe to fight. Yet here he was.

Drowning.

The frigid water wrapped around his body like a salt casing, water-logging his shoes and pulling at the cloth of his uniform. He imagined clammy hands latching onto his limbs, dragging him down, down, down. In the harrowing moments before he ran out of air, he watched dreamy streams of moonlight filter towards the black bottoming out of oblivion that was the ocean floor. Below him gaped miles and miles of seawater, and he would be lost to it.

He prepared himself for what was to come, slowly counting down the seconds to when he would snort salt water into his lungs and end it. No use in prolonging the inevitable, though his dreams lay like air pockets in his stomach, lifting him to hope there was still time for him to change things. To achieve something with the life he would have had if not for this stroke of bad luck.

Water pressed at his lips like an unwelcome guest. He was truly out of air now and the suffocating vacuum in his chest was enough to burst him apart from the inside out. The tips of his fingers began to tingle painfully, oxygen deprivation or the effects of cold, he couldn’t tell.

His last thoughts before he lost consciousness were of the countdown to drowning himself.

Three… two…

And then nothing.

X

Peeta awoke to an embrace. Thin arms twined about his ribcage, hoisting him above the frothy crests of waves.

His people believed in Gratka, the valley of heaven, the holy place of worshippers, warriors, and the most pious of women. A divine world spun from light and cloud, flowing with rivers of honey wine and heavy with the scent of eternal orchards. Peeta was not sure if he had been worthy of Gratka, but surely the chasms of hell would have been hotter than this.

He jerked his head about, trying to get his bearings back. His lips dripped with saltwater and his lungs burned with every ragged inhale.

He and his companion were bobbing on the frigid waves. The sky wheeling above was full of black, ominous storm clouds and the ship, The Bloody Rose, was on fire.

He hadn’t meant to, but he must have let out a cry because suddenly the arms tightened around him and a pair of lips pressed against his ear.

“You can’t save them. Just help me swim.” Then a strangled grunt and a: “Gods, you’re heavy. What do they feed you? Horses?” The words were choked, spoken in the voice of someone who had swallowed too much seawater and was struggling against the current. She spoke in Krellian, a sharp language of hissing consonants and hard breaks, only punctuated by the occasional swooping vowel. He twisted to face her, his lip curling in disgust when he saw those flashing silver eyes.

The witch.

How had she gotten out of her cell?

Her eyes bulged in panic as he kicked away, ripping himself from the circle of her arms.

“No!” she screamed as she grabbed at him, but without her there to buoy him, his head quickly slipped beneath the waves once more. His arms felt sluggish and he realized with a paralyzing rush of cold that she had been keeping his blood warm with her magic.

He struggled to break the surface, coughing up a mouthful of seawater and thrashing about as he tried to find her once more in the dark. “Witch?” he sputtered, ashamed of the sharp edge of fear in his voice. They reached out for one another, barely holding on by their fingertips as a wave crashed overhead, but then it passed and they were righted once more. He didn’t try to get away this time, afraid of his dipping heart rate and the hazy rush of dizziness that quickly abated with her touch. He didn’t feel warm, but the numb ache in his limbs lessened. He pulled her to his chest, locking her body within his arms like a vice.

“We can make it to shore, but I need you to kick. I can’t swim and keep both our hearts beating.”

He blinked the water from his stinging eyes, already exhausted.

She pressed the back of her head into his shoulder in frustration. “Jųlaik, ” she begged.

Please.

He grunted in reply and then started swimming. In return, she kept their hearts beating despite the cold. They weren’t sure which way the shore was. For all they knew, Peeta could be bringing them further out to sea, but with every passing minute the blazing ship they’d escaped from grew smaller and smaller until it collapsed in on itself, a charred heap dipping below the waves.

Not only had Peeta’s brothers in arms been on that ship, but Peeta’s future had been on that ship. Seventeen witches, four of which he had captured and that he could claim, all dead, except for one.

In his service as a witcher, he had brought forty-six witches to court and he had witnessed them all, his bounties, burn at the stake. The sweet stink of smoke and the way that charred flesh falls away from bone were all too familiar. This was his country’s way. This was justice. Four more would have won him his freedom, his manhood, his honor. Four more witches and he would have held the world in his palm like a flowering bud ready for plucking. All the blood and sweat and sleepless nights spent scouring the wastelands of countries far from home would have been worth it.

Hours passed. The storm clouds released their last torrents of icy rain and then cleared to reveal a bright purple smattering of stars above, carving their ancient celestial paths across the sky. The only sounds were his labored breathing and the sloshing of waves. Peeta’s legs felt as if they were going to fall off, both burning from the physical exertion and freezing in the arctic water. His nerves didn’t know what sensation to succumb to, retreating into numbness. He felt as if he were kicking around two logs.

The witch hadn’t spoken since the ship disappeared, but Peeta could tell by the way she was gritting her teeth that it was taking everything in her to keep them from freezing to death. He almost laughed at the irony of the situation. The witch and the witch hunter. Not a pair destined for groundbreaking teamwork.

So why had she saved him?

Dawn peeked over the horizon, pulling it’s smoldering pinks and oranges upwards until the stars faded and the moon was just a paling ghost of its nighttime brilliance.

“There,” the witch whispered through chattering teeth, her voice weak with exhaustion. Peeta turned his head to see what she had gestured to.

A coastline with tall cliffs crusted in ice and snow, and there at the shore, a black stretch of beach. Peeta swam on against the surf, the waves pushing them back out as if the ocean wasn’t quite ready to let them go. Finally, Peeta touched bottom and they crawled to land, collapsing on the sand with water lapping at their ankles. The two were heaving and freezing and giddy with the fact that they were alive, against all odds they had survived, though the silent celebration didn’t last long. The air was bitter and their wet skin puckered beneath its needle-sharp caress. They needed to find shelter, and fast, or the witch’s magic wouldn’t be enough to keep them alive.

Movement was hard. Peeta’s body felt as stiff as a piece of plywood and each attempt to stand left him trembling under his own weight. He looked back at the witch lying prone in the sand. Her hair was a tangled mess and clung to her face in dark, wet clumps. He almost thought she wouldn’t make it, that she’d just stay collapsed and never get up again. But she managed to rise onto her hands and knees, and then slowly to her feet.

They didn’t talk as they climbed a narrow pass up the cliffside. The rock was black and smooth, flowing magma that had cooled, dotted here and there with the greenish-brown blooms of lichen. Perhaps the land had once been volcanic, but that must have been a very long time ago.

As they reached the top of the cliffside, they found themselves marooned in a land of winter. Sharp white mountains jutted up in the misty distance and the foothills that spread out before them were dotted with boulders and stretches of snow and the shrubby, paling vegetation that hinted at a short growing season. It was a harsh land where only the most adaptable species could survive, and Peeta knew if they didn’t find a cave or some sort of outcropping to huddle in soon, they’d be done for.

Luckily, they stumbled across a cluster of circular lodges at the top of the cliff. The witch, shuddering so violently Peeta almost thought she could be seizing, disappeared past the thick curtain that acted as a door, shuddered one final time, and then collapsed onto a pile of discarded furs.

Peeta limped inside and scanned the den. It had been constructed and then abandoned by a whaling expedition, which were common this far north, though whaling was only done in the spring. The walls were layers of tanned animal skin and were held up by thin ashwood beams running from floor to curved ceiling. They looked like the bones of a rib cage bleached chalk-white in the sun. A thick column stood sentinel at the structure’s center so the roof wouldn’t sag and beneath it lay a small fire pit with a few half charred logs. The lodge was designed to house upwards of fifteen people, whalers with thick cloaks and packs full of food and supplies, but now just sheltered two shivering, salt-crusted water rats with nothing. The whole place smelled of wet fur and welcomed Peeta with open, shadowy arms.

“We should start a fire,” Peeta croaked, his throat ravaged by salt and exertion. He nudged the witch with the toe of his boot when she didn’t respond. “Are you dead?” A part of him wanted her to be. He hated owing her for his life, a debt he knew he would have to repay before this horrible nightmare was over. But if the swim had killed her, he wouldn’t have felt a shred of guilt.

As he circled around he saw that she was in fact very alive. Her eyes were propped open, wide and glassy, as if she didn’t have eyelids, shot through with red where there should have been white. She was chanting he realized. Praying perhaps.

It scared him.

“Hey!” He kicked her shoulder and the witch’s eyes cleared as if they were rising above a cloud line. “Stop that, it’s freaking me out.”

She glared up at him. “Never disrupt me again.”

“Why?" he sneered. "So you can curse me? Blind me or make me impotent? Cast a horrible death upon me and all my descendants?” Witches were known for curses. Pregnant women whose unborn babes had offered strong kicks days before, born bright blue and as limp as dead worms. Men cursed to wander the forests until they clawed out their own eyes and died of blood loss. Children swallowed up by thick mountain mists, never to be seen again. Death. Woe. Suffering. All at the hands of a wretched few.

“I have not cursed you. Your allegiance to a false god has done that.”

“And yet, we’re in the same predicament. Seems your gods have doomed you as well.”

This struck a nerve. Perhaps the same thought had been pressing on her mind. She narrowed her eyes, bunching her fists in the fur she lay atop of. “If I had the strength I would burn that blackened heart of yours right out of your chest.”

“Should I be worried about tomorrow then?”

“Very.” She rose to face him, hatred pouring forth from her eyes and twining about her head like a poisonous snake baring its fangs. He met it with a hardened look of his own.

“I’m still waiting on a ‘thank you’ for dragging you out of the ocean,” he said.

“And I’m waiting on a ‘thank you’ for keeping your tiny heart from shriveling up. Trust me, it was no easy task.”

He smiled coldly. “My, you have a big mouth for someone so small.”

“And you have a big head for someone with such little brains.”

He almost laughed, but they had been through a lot and Peeta was tired of arguing. He crossed to the fire pit and ignored the eyes boring into the back of his head.

“What? No response?” she goaded bitterly, but Peeta didn’t rise to her bait, focusing instead on starting a fire. After scraping two jagged rocks together, there was a spark. Thankfully the kindling was dry and after a few harsh blows and a prayer, Peeta was successful. The fire was delicious, like a tiny heart slowly beating life back into his frozen fingers.

He realized that this was the first time in weeks that he and the witch hadn’t been separated by iron bars.

As if in response to the shameful flush of heat that had radiated through his body at the thought, he heard a muffled sound, like a bird’s wings rubbing together, and turned his head.

The witch’s dress was off, her body bared to him. Her small, rounded breasts and jutting hips shone like caramel in the soft light.

Peeta’s cheeks flamed, afraid that he had been caught staring. “What are you doing?” he sputtered as he moved to shield his eyes.

She turned to pick her dress up off the floor and shot a look over her shoulder. Her very bare shoulder. “You don’t seriously think I’m going to spend the night in a wet dress, do you?”

“But you’re naked!” He winced at how petulant he sounded, how very much like a child he still was in some ways.  

She rolled her eyes at him, but he was too focused on avoiding the very sight of her that he didn’t notice. “You’ll get naked too if you have any sense. No use in wearing wet clothes when you can let them dry.”

“You’re perverted.”

“I’m being practical.” She twisted the seawater out of her dress and then snapped the damp fabric at his back. “Now strip.”

X

He had to admit, shucking off his wet uniform and wrapping his body in a pelt had made him feel much better, though he was careful to cover the flesh between his legs when he did.

“Aw, you’re blushing,” she laughed. The sound set Peeta’s nerves on edge. The witch lounged near the fire pit on a nest of pelts she had constructed, wrapped in a glossy black fur that reflected threads of reddish-gold in the firelight. As she sat, the weak glow of the flames cast her features into warm relief, deepening the shadows under her cheekbones and darkening her lashes. Her salt tangled hair was as ebony black as a night sky with no stars and her skin was flawless, the color of water beaten clay beds.

“Come here,” she beckoned.

Instead, Peeta took a step back. “I do not take orders from witches. Even naked ones.”

“It’s like you don’t want to survive the night,” she scoffed. “See this?” Her furs shifted as she reached out a hand, allowing a dark sliver of her inner thigh to catch the light.

Peeta tried not to stare.

She pointed a finger towards the dwindling fire. “We barely have any wood left, and when the fire dies while we’re sleeping, the only thing keeping us warm will be each other. Now get over here. I don’t plan on freezing to death when I have a big lump of muscle to keep me toasty.”

She made a good point, but still, Peeta hesitated. What if this was just a trick? A lure to get him close enough so she could pounce and gouge his eyes out. Or maybe she’d wait to finish him off when he fell asleep, his beating heart ripped from his chest while he cradled her against him.

In the end, he decided there was little chance of them surviving out here with no food and only three measly logs to keep a fire going. If he was going to die, he’d rather die warm. Besides, having his heart ripped from his chest would be over faster than starvation.

He moved towards the nest, and only after he had discarded his pelt and shimmied under hers did she speak.

“Closer, lieutenant,” she urged in a singsong voice.

He growled in response.

“Seriously, you’re acting like a blushing schoolboy.”

“I do not wish to lay with a witch.”

“This is not laying. This is surviving. If you had any experience pleasuring a woman you’d know the difference.”

Peeta’s body stiffened behind her.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed by it,” she chuckled meanly. “I thought the whole point of your pious Order was that you prided yourselves on being virgins. That and murderers.”

He ignored the word murderers. Only a witch would consider what the Order did murder. Everyone else considered it justice. Shearing the rot riddled branches off the tree that was the human race. Magic was a disease, nobody should have that kind of power over another. It was unnatural and the world was better off absent of her kind, but he didn’t expect her to understand.

Monsters were always blind to their own evils.

So instead he addressed her derisive use of virgin. “We marry only when we’ve proven ourselves worthy to the Order.”

“Shouldn’t you only have to prove yourself to your wife?”

What a silly notion, Peeta thought. “A man does not have to prove himself to a woman. He has responsibility over her. Nothing more.”

“How romantic.”

“Do not mock me, slum scum.”

“I think I like ‘witch’ better,” she quipped. She was infuriatingly quick-witted and Peeta seethed in silence, unsure that he could contend with such a sharp tongue.

“Whatever,” she said after the silence grew too long. “Just know that there’s nothing to worry about. Even if I wanted to, I would never defile my body with the likes of you.”

“That’s reassuring,” he muttered.

Despite her declaration, the witch drew nearer. The goose flesh of her back felt clammy against his chest, but soon their body heat melded and all he felt was radiating warmth prickling against the chill that had settled into his bones.

“Why did you save me?” he asked lowly, unable to quiet his racing thoughts. A part of him wanted to keep her talking so he wouldn’t have to close his eyes and picture Yasser’s bloated body lost at sea.

“Because you’re a human being,” she murmured, her voice saturated with drowsiness. “And because I knew if you survived I’d have someone to cuddle with at night.” Suddenly, and with a rustle of fur, she turned to face him. He scooted back. “Relax, lieutenant. This isn’t where I have my way with you. I just prefer to sleep with my back to the fire.”

“Are you always so lewd?” he asked, the disapproval in his voice as clear as a church bell ringing across a courtyard.

“If you knew me you’d know the answer to that is yes.”

“I do not wish to know you, witch.”

“Good. You don’t deserve to.”

With these terse versions of “good night” exchanged, they settled against one another, though Peeta was careful to avoid the brush of her breasts. She smelled of sea and sweat and the musk of fur, but something sweet lay underneath all that. Lavender milk. A chamomile bath. Medicinal salves. Jasmine blossoms suspended in freshwater. Long tumbles downhill.

The smells soothed him, until he remembered she’d been locked in the brig for a month and shouldn’t smell anything but horrible. A spell then. He was surprised. He thought all Krellian magic was blood rituals and sacrifices, not a spell in place of perfume.

Despite himself, his eyelids grew heavy. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was of slinging an arm around her waist.

[gukptune]

Pairing: jimin x reader, member x reader

Genre: angel!au, angel!jimin, angelhunter!reader, fallen angel!member, unrequited love?

Warnings: explicit language, gore, unhealthy sibling relationship, funny business, loads of sexual tension, eventual smut

Summary: only once in a blue moon do an angels fall from the skies, to the luck of a young angel hunter an angel fell right into her hands.

Words: 6.6k+

Note: This has been in the works for the longest time!!! This is a multiple members x reader, but the second member is revealed in the story! I’ll add them to the tags a few days after the release, spoilerss. I hope you guys will like it, it’s very original (i hope).

The crunching of snow, crumbling at the heel of your shoes. The pure white earth blending with the light blue sky of the early morning, the only sign of ground being that of the overgrown Oak trees, bare of leaves with only some stringy twigs remaining. With the occasional cuties running across the ground and little furry creatures, lightening your mood by the minute.

The crisp wind slicing the bare skin of your cheeks. Your fingertips tightening around the leather wrap of the basket in your hand.

Skipping over the protruding roots of the Oaks, you make your way towards the far creek, far enough for your heels to start aching. The wisps of your hair brushing past your cheeks in strange patterns, as if it was getting rougher. Giving you a sense of unease. You faced the direction of which the wind originated letting the air rush past your ears as you watched the obscurity in the distance.

It looked like nothing special to the usual eye, but you weren’t usual. If you were just anyone else, you’d just assume it was some bird flying in a strange circle and you would have gone about your day. A sinking feeling maybe had found itself within you, was it really that time again?

Instantly, you forgot about the basket and your search for the pollen, it wasn’t as important now that you’ve seen that.

You ran like your life depended on it back towards Hearth. As soon as you reached the gates your fellow mates faces twisted with confusion at the usually calm collected girl running like a crazed witch ablaze.

“Brother! Brother!” You yelled, as you reached the castle’s courtyard, hoping to get a sense of his direction. Within an instant one of the hunters raised his finger in the right direction. You thanked him quickly running into the left wing, he must be in the library.

Blasting the damned door open, you scurried about. Whipping your head around, you finally see the spot in which his dark hair illuminated by the large window. He’s completely covered in thick fur, making your nose flare but you couldn’t think too much of it now. Your tapping heels quivered his ears enough to make him expect your arrival but the look on his face changed when he sees how distressed you looked.

“What happened—”

“I saw one, it fell in Ivory Orchard—well not really. I was near it and it was falling east from the direction of Hallow Creek,” You spit out, catching your breath with your hands on your knees bracing yourself.

Your brother’s eyebrows cocked, “Are you sure?

“Yes! I’m sure, Taehyung—you know it was suppose to happen weeks ago, it’s here now,” You told him.

The look on his face was doubt and worry, of course, you had just given him hope for the season. It had been slow and well, it was about time. You’ve all been lacking in game.

“I’ll get the Guild out,” Taehyung got up, dropping his book on his seat as he pushes past you without a glance.

You were fuming, knowing damn well what he meant, “The Guild?”

“Yes, if you saw one there’s always bound to be more than one,” He responds, marching towards the main hall with you trailing behind him.

He was walking fast, and you were walking even faster than him. Managing to get in front of him you scoffed, “I found it.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter if you’ve seen him, y/n, only matters when you catch one,” His eyes burned into yours.

Grunting you made your way past him, “So I’ll go fucking get it.”

Before you could get far, he roughly grabbed you, pulling you back, “You’ve never caught one, shit, you’ve never even fucking seen one up close Y/n. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Neither have you.” Friendly rivalry wasn’t something that ran in your family, it was rather brutal. You all wanted to be the epitome, the best. Never given the chance yet now was that time.

You didn’t understand his anger, you gave him information, if there were many why would he be worried that he wouldn’t have the kill.

“Y/n, look at yourself. You’re kidding yourself if you think you’d actually kill one of them.”

“Look at you, we both know I’m more hunter than you are—Father’s said it, Mother’s too fucking nice to tell you the truth,” You spat.

Reality was hard on him, you know that. Since childhood you’ve excelled past him. It was humiliating, you knew it. Whilst you were praised for your talents, Taehyung was considered a waste. You were twins, they considered you the blessed twin thinking that you excelled past many because you got all your Father’s talent leaving none for your twin, making him the lesser.

Your parents never treated you guys differently, but neither was your father a liar. He was honest, to the point, wouldn’t bullshit whatsoever, whenever Taehyung would slack, he’d get in trouble. You never thought Taehyung would ever grow into a hunter, you never thought he wanted to be one. You two used to share a bedroom where he’d constantly be reading, dreaming and drawing. He’d follow you on herb hunts to merely draw the flowers, he was strong, physically but he couldn’t stand the sight of blood.

During your physical maturity he passed out seeing the red stains on your bedsheets, he also cried thinking you were going to die. You were close, as close as any twin could be until he could finally understand the stares and murmurs he’d get about being the lesser twin. It was then, when you were both sixteen when he broke away finding his own group of friends and leaving you alone. You didn’t seek friendship, neither did you try.

Your brother became his own person, of course many would still talk when you needed to stand together side by side with your Father but otherwise, he was his own man. A man many women lusted for and well, had. He became a true man-whore. Picking women like they were toys he could discard, one of the reasons why you preferred being away from him. That and his disgusting friends, none of which were worthy enough to be called hunters.

He kept his mouth shut, his eyes dropping towards your shaking hands. You knew he can’t stand in your way. Pushing past him you rushed to your bedroom to ready up. Gathering all the gear you’d need, gathering your thoughts for the first time—a lifetime of training to finally kill—

An angel.

The long day had drained into a long night, teams of what few hunters existed unearthed the area. Ripping apart the little greenery and even threatening the villagers around. You rolled your eyes at their attempt, of course the people around here despised your kind—mostly out of fear and hatred.

Hunters, they should be grateful. The kingdom does nothing to protect them, only the Hunters do the dirty work, getting paid little for it, leading Hunters like yourself to sell your catch to others that would pay a high price for it. Including, alchemists who’d used the parts for their craft, or wealthy nobles who’d consumed them for holistic beliefs. Or if desperate you’d even trade them to witches.

Of course, many hunters lurked for different hunts, you were the most daring kind. Angel Hunters, hunting the feathered that fell from the sky during a blue moon. They’d all fall the same time and scatter around the world for safety, their safety whilst causing chaos to your world. They’re of high priority to the royals and rich, they love to hang their precious wings on their walls for status. Getting their asses kissed by those that desire to be them as they gloat about their hunt, eluding the fact that you, angel hunters like you, get drenched in blood getting those pretty wings for them.

As much as you hated angels, you hated those people way more.

The snow had started to level, stomped on by your people. You had lost hope at this point, you weren’t going to get that angel, over the hill you could see your brother ordering men around to find the angel. They’ve found a feather, so now they’re determined.

Most Angel Hunters were men, they could handle their strength easier, it was just the truth yet the rare females were always stronger, if we inherit it that is. You weren’t going to come out this far again anytime soon in this weather if you hadn’t thought it would be the right chance to finally get that pollen, before it’s all gone.

Huffing you trudged over towards the ravenous creek, known to have killed many little children from neighbouring villages apparently. Good, you didn’t have to worry of teeny devils getting in your way, you’d gladly push them into the water in fact.

The red pollen plant popped clearly against the white snow, you fell on your knees, deep in snow as you eyed the plant trying to get a sense of a good one. Needing a healthy, juicy one to properly extract. Turning around you grabbed your bag and pulled out a small drawstring bag, lined inside with leather and wool on the outer. Leather to keep the plant from getting into the fabric, with edition from the wool keeping it all dry. You continued to pick at all the pollen you could.

It was strangely serene, the sound of rolling water and the occasional chirping from birds. If only you could sit here forever, if only that wasn’t extremely boring.

Getting off your bum, began to get back, eyeing a large group of pollen, excitement filled you as you ran towards it. One of your hands, trying to wisp it all up, causing a stain on your bare skin, your eyes widening in shock as the stain began to drip off you onto the dusted white snow illuminated by the night sky.

What—

This wasn’t pollen. It was blood, it wasn’t just any blood, fresh blood. At this point in the season and time, no animal was out hunting. It was hard to believe at first that it was blood, but the smell was enough to secure that thought. No more second guessing, it has to be.

Your head whipped around, looking for any signs of more blood, hopefully a trail. The damned thing lost what seemed like a ‘death approaching’ load of blood.

A thrill shot through you, a trail. Not just any, a trail any animal could smell from far away.

Instantly, you rushed towards the droplets. Red and fresh, hard to see in the darkness but reeks enough to tell you it was close.

You knew this area well, you knew everywhere very well. Thanks to your talented twin who’d sketch maps and locations all the time, you managed to remember most of it, without his permission of course. You could only think of one place it would be hiding in.

There it was—whimpering.

Heavy breathing.

Your heart raced, somehow in the tiniest place in your head you wished it wasn’t an angel, hoping it would be anything but that, yet there in the thorny bushes circling(circling) around a bare space where a large white oak once sat before lightening took it down. Approaching it, you gripped the blade in your waist. Unsheathing it and twirling it in your hand to point in its direction. Within the ring of bushes, you saw something over the thorns. Stealthily you hopped over the bush, landing without a sound. Seemingly your previous skills worked wonders in this case, you were used to doing dirty deeds for others with enemies.

You circled the white fluff covering the ground, its feathered covering it from danger but also from knowing of approaching danger like yourself. Your heart raced, you felt like it was beating out of your chest at this point. Choking you up slightly, beating at the base of your throat. Your chest heaving trying to keep yourself calm.

Calm like the wind.

Finally getting around to a point where you could see light hair peeking out of the large wings. A weighted feeling filled you, it was just like you, looked like you. Human but winged, you blinked away your thoughts, they weren’t the right things to be thinking right now, those things were scums.

Before your feelings could get in the way of duty again, you lifted the blade to strike at it, where it would kill within an instant. With your body ready to strike a twig snapping underneath your feet causing light coloured eyes to blink into life.

A gasp left your lips as its wings feathered outwards, pushing it back away from you within an instant. As the wings spread apart it revealed the being that hid underneath the soft surface. Its eyes ripped apart with a shriek spilling from its lips.

The being scrambled towards the far end, pushing itself into the vines of the thorns and razor-sharp leaves, visibly leaving dents into its wings—feathers puffing through the air.

You hovered over it, trying your hardest to focus on your intentions, gripping the hilt of your knife so hard your hand could literally turn red. As you took in its physical attributes you saw it all.

The angel’s pure white lashes over its light eyes glimmering in the moon lit night, pupils directing its gaze towards the glistening dagger in your hand. Its bare chest heaving as it finally meets your gaze.

Your breath hitched as you could feel your heart tighten at the thing in front of you, seemingly so innocent, pure, nothing like you were raised to believe. It didn’t seem to be a shell filled with evil but rather, a terrified, frail, losing, prey.

Its white skin covered with scratches, blood, even dirt. Snow peppering on the ends of its relatively messy hair, as a flake falls right on the end of its button nose, you sneered causing your prey to whimper, not truly from its attempt to duck but from its strained movement.

As it laid on its side, you laid eyes on the palm that grasped its waist, holding onto a large wound, dirtied with twigs and grass. Its bare feet kicking even though it did nothing to get up, it was pathetic, even sad how hard it was trying but in the end it does nothing to help.

You stepped closer to it, blinking towards it, finding a spot for you to strike. It squinted in pain, its mouth shivering as it managed a few words, “Please—I—I won’t hurt you.”

It spoke the language you do and for some odd reason you didn’t expect that. Of course, you’ve heard the tales, gotten the lectures and studies about Angels but to finally be in front of one and getting the information firsthand was just—different.

“You can’t hurt me even if you tried,” You spat, narrowing your eyes at the angel’s wounds. It took note, nodding as it lets out a deep breath seemingly spacing out.

Its head whirling, as its eyes kept drooping.

You couldn’t help but feel sympathetic, but you couldn’t show it, “Gosh, from all the tales I’ve been told to fear those like you—you don’t live up to your reputation angel.”

It blinks, puffing its cheeks before responding, “Fear me? I don’t—I’m sorry?”

You cocked your head with confusion, maybe the thing was losing braincells, “Don’t play dumb.”

The look on its face was enough to answer that. You shook your head pointing your blade at it, “Your kind fall from the sky to disturb the peace on our lands. No one in our world believes the folklore that was told to us as gullible children, that ’angels are messengers of god’ if anything you all serve the devil.”

Its eyes widened with disbelief, murmuring to itself. Pulling itself together it looked to you, “Is that what you believe? That we’re descendants of the devil?”

Its eyes watered. You couldn’t believe it, it must be acting, faking it for your sympathy maybe it would survive. Or it was stupid.

“I don’t believe in much of what they say, I believe in what I see—”

“And do you see the devil?” It cuts you off, “Please, we’re here to help.”

“Help with what exactly, it’s been centuries since your kind was valuable to us in terms of ‘help’ let’s just say—” You dropped to your knees, your hand striking your blade onto the end of the angels wing causing it to shriek out in pain.

“—nobles value your kind for reasons that you’d rather not know of.”

It nods, knowing that it’d survive longer agreeing than fighting you.

“You’re one of those angel hunters…aren’t you?” Its voice wavering, tears ran right down its face now, dropping all over its bare chest and—thighs.

Yours eyes looked down subconsciously, seeing exactly what you didn’t intend on looking at. You looked away, blade still plunged into the angel’s wing. Its shaking hand hovered over your own, suddenly it drops onto your skin. The angel’s hand was cold and delicate over your torn-up knuckles and broken nails.

It saw the hesitation in you, with every step you doubted. It wasn’t stupid at all. It read you, it understood you. It showed this, “We aren’t bad—we’re brought down here to help you all. We’re just messengers of heaven we have no ill thought or even the means to do such bad things.”

You didn’t want to listen to it, not at all. “Please—”

Its cries struck within your core.

“Then what are you here to do, angel.” As much as you didn’t want your heart to win against your head it always managed to. You blankly stared awaiting a response from the feathered being.

He breathes deeply before his eyes sank into your own, “To teach what can’t be taught through violence and pain.”

An overbearing weight on your shoulder told you it was a mistake, the little devil on your shoulder said to just stab him in the back right now—right through his heart—the back of his head through his eye sockets.  

But you couldn’t even imagine doing that, fuck, what was wrong.

You felt pathetic, like a failure. All your life you trained to finally lay eyes on your prey, to kill him and take his wings like the savages you were supposed to be. But you can’t, it felt so wrong. Your skin crawled, itched, grew hives thinking of it. That feeling in your chest, squeezing tightly within you had just made you the weakest link of all, a hunter who couldn’t hunt.

Here he was, the angel you thought to kill, walking in front of you with your overcoat covering him and his large wings. From afar he merely looked like an extremely pale boy with glittery hair and features, walking barefoot. His wings wouldn’t retract, he said from his injuries he can’t make himself hide it, he needed to heal first. What were you even doing?

He would look back every now and then, was he making sure you weren’t going to kill him or whether you’re still following him. You were guiding him to your home, you chose to be behind him to get a view of him and whatever upcoming dangers. You didn’t tell him another reason was to keep him where you could see, you didn’t trust him, not fully. He had his way with words, somehow so eloquent with his words and so convincing, maybe it was one of his traits, lying.

You decided to take him the long way that would allow you both to arrive behind the castle at Venandi Hallows, you weren’t about to drag an angel right through the front gates into the training ground for all the hunters who trained after dark to jump him and neither were you going back the same way you came to face your twin and have him see what you’ve decided to do, gosh he would be so angry, disappointed, he wouldn’t believe himself.

The angel cradled your coat around himself like a child, as he padded through the snow, the closer you got to home the more nervous you became. Hopefully no one would be out the back at this moment in the night.

“Is this the place?” His voice echoed, dragging you back to reality.

You blinked at the view ahead, nodding, “Yes, it is. We better be quick unless you want to die.”

He looked back at you, giving you a visible full nod as he side stepped for you to lead. You didn’t look him in the eye as you passed him, even feeling his radiating heat, must’ve been an angel thing which would explain how he was able to withstand the freezing weather with nothing on and not get hypothermia or well, die.

Your bedroom was the only place you knew as safe, no one would dare walk in unannounced. It was also further up the tower than most other bedrooms, the only problem being your brother who might’ve been in his room across your own.

For safe measures you locked the door as secure as you could, for some reason you felt a sense of possessiveness over the angel. The angel that now, still draped with your raven black coat, sat on your cotton sheets. He feels at the fabric underneath him, his gentle small hand brushing over it with such curiosity.

“What am I supposed to do now,” You mumbled.

The angel heard you. His eyes watch you pace back and forth around your room with such worry. You could feel his burning eyes. He lets out a squeak before he seals his lips shut, he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know if he could. You pause, looking over at him to lock eyes with him.

His chest freezes mid breath, he doesn’t even blink, staring back at you.

“You wanted to say something, angel.”

The angel nods, taking a deep breath before he responds, “I apologise for putting you in this position.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. You didn’t need to help me, I don’t know why you did but I thank you… for saving my life. I owe my entire existence to you, I shall serve you until your last breath.”

That was unexpected. You didn’t want this, no, you wanted to get rid of him but instead he’s devoting himself to you just like that. You recalled the events earlier, groaning with frustration. He mentioned ‘we’ as he spoke, could that possibly mean there were multiple here to serve whatever purpose that he was here for as well.

“You mentioned something earlier, I want to know whether there’s more of you,” You asked.

The angel froze again, looking down at his hands whilst twisting them about, “Yes, there are.”

He seemed troubled having to express this. You didn’t expect him to be so straightforward to you.

“Angel. What are you actually here to do,” You pushed, stepping closer to him. You see him tense up. The little hairs on his skin standing up.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds, “I was sent to fall because of a prayer.”

“A prayer? Could you speak with sense! Stop speaking in metaphors.”

“They aren’t metaphors. A girl called for us, she’s spent her entire life praying for us to come here and we’ve finally been able to,” He explained, his voice wavering as if he was going to break out in tears.

It caused you to feel a squeeze in your chest.

“Who’s the girl.”

“I don’t know.”

This wasn’t going the way you wanted. You’d had hoped if there was a name, you’d take him to her, and he’d finally leave. You move yourself over towards a vacant chair, dropping yourself on it as if you were some heavy load.

The groan that left your lips and the hands that rubbed against your face told the angel that you were burdened by him. He felt awful, “I—I’d like to know your name.”

“My—my name? Why would you need to know that?”

“I don’t need to know it, but I’d like to know it.”

You sighed, “Y/n.”

“Y/n. Y/n…” The angel mumbles your name quietly, you could only see his lips move while he pronounces the word, “My name is Jimin.”

“Jimin? Strange name for an angel.”

He nods, letting out a breathy laugh, “I know. I was told to use this name when I’m here, it was my name before I died.”

Before he died. So, it was true that angels were the souls of those that passed. He must’ve done a lot of good to become an angel. Maybe he was the kindest person to exist, he seemed like he was. He was changing a lot of your assumptions of his kind, they weren’t so scary, they weren’t murderers of yet, nor were they seemingly ‘spawns of the devil’.

“Do you like being an angel?”

“Yes. I get to help people. I get to see things people don’t get to see. Most importantly I get to meet incredible people…if I was never an angel, I would’ve never met you.” His words were sweet, too sweet for a world like your own.

“I—“

“Y/n!” A loud knock in the door made you jump off your seat, “It’s me, we’ve caught one.”

It was your brother. He’s, he’s actually caught one. You look towards Jimin, his expression showed everything—he was scared, worried for his fellow angel. He begins to get up, your coat slipping off his body.

“No! Sit down,” You whisper shouted, motioning for him to stay seated. For his own safety and your eyes’ purity.

You knew you had to go out to see it, hoping Jimin would listen and stay put, “I’ll be there in a second, brother.”

You hear him respond before his footsteps echo further and further away. Breathing a sigh of relief, you hear Jimin ask, “That’s your brother? He sounds… scary, did he catch an angel?”

“I think so.”

“Please—I need to help him—“

“No, I’ll figure something out, just please don’t go anywhere,” You cut him off, pleading at him, “I… I don’t want to lose you, okay?”

His face flushes red, his eyes widening. Jimin nods rapidly, settling himself into your bed. You don’t know what had gotten into you, there was just an overwhelming sense that filled you. But it wasn’t important right now.

You rush out of the door, taking one last look back at him. He gives you a worried smile, assuring you that he’d stay put but also showing that he was worried.

The race downstairs was quick, you could hear the loud shouting coming from the dungeons right away. It was indeed your father and brother arguing. You pushed past all the people in the way to get a proper look at the situation.

The angel tied up in the centre of the room, he was hanging from his bound wrist off the ceiling. He was terribly wounded, and his eyes couldn’t even stay open. Something strange did stand out amidst the argument.

Your father takes one look to realise you were here, “Y/n, tell me why your brother caught a defective angel.”

“A what?”

Taehyung growls, “Father said that this angel is defective, take a look at it.”

You knew what he meant, the angel didn’t have pure white hair, or pure white wings. They were black, pitch black. He was much larger than Jimin. You’ve read about these types of angels before. Fallen angels.

You knew one way that could allow him to live, one way.

“He’s a fallen angel,” You announced, the angel’s ears perked. He looks up at you from between the space of your father and brother. His naked body, glimmering in the candle lit room.

His left eye bruised and cut, his body covered in stab wounds, yet he still stood on his knees with dominance.

“So, it won’t sell,” Taehyung spat, “Like I fucking said, Dad.”

Your father curses, whipping his hand at the crowd of hunters motioning for them to leave. He lets out a sound of frustration.

“It’s been months since we caught one, Taehyung you need to lead a proper hunt. Y/n, I know you’re a good tracker, I know you can do this alone. We won’t survive without another one, please.”

That was all he said. Your father walks away without another word, knowing that you two would do as he told. You sighed, seeing your brother in distraught.

“Tae—“

“Don’t talk. I need to figure this out,” He interrupts, mumbling some plans to himself.

You look at the poor angel on the ground, probably wondering what his fate would be. “What about him.”

“It. Will die,” Taehyung pulls out his pocket watch, “With cuts like that, he’ll bleed out anyway. A painful death for a worthless hunt.”

Your brother doesn’t bother saying another word or sparing you a glance when he leaves. Stomping his way out of the dungeons leaving you standing across from the tainted soul. You took in his appearance this time.

Stepping closer, you see him try to move backward away from you with fear.

You continued, eyeing him. His hair was tousled, curly and longer than Jimins’. His body was stocky and buff, much more than Jimin. He was naked of course, you were trying to avoid eye contact with his privates. His thighs, his very muscular thighs, were what your eyes couldn’t part with.

You walk towards the table against the wall, pulling out the fabric underneath the gruesome tools and tossed it at his crotch. Completely covering him up. The angel’s head turned up, his eyes snaps towards you.

His lips curled into a smirk, “Can’t stand the sight of me?”

You tilt your head. He’s indeed very different.

“I bet you feel disappointed.”

“Disappointed?”

“Yes, in your men. I’d be disappointed too if I looked like them,” He laughs, his body language filled with arrogance. Well he was very deviant compared to Jimin.

His bounded hands rustled, the chains clanged against each other, he was getting off his knees. You see the way he didn’t care that the cloth had dropped off his crotch, he stood fiercely over you. His broad shoulders covering most of the light behind him.

He cocked his head sideways, narrowing his eyes into you. You hold your head up high unmoving, you didn’t want to show him that you were intimidated whatsoever.

“You look different from most of the hunters I’ve seen.”

“You’ve seen more than this?” You motioned behind you where the hunters were.

He nods his head, “You aren’t the only camp of hunters, darling.”

The word he used shot a spike through you.

“By that I assume that you’ve survived their hunt, why have you lost to this one?”

The angel bites the side of his lip, “A bad day, I guess.”

From the little experience you’ve had, he was the first fallen angel you’ve ever seen or even talked to. He was indeed fearless, he didn’t even flinch when your brother mentioned he was to die. He was so, ominous.

“You have a big ego.”

“No, I think I’m just confident.”

“You think you’re better than everyone—“

The angel clicks his tongue, “No, I just know I’m better than everyone around here. Don’t lie to yourself, all the sad brutes you house, they don’t compare to me. Be honest, wouldn’t you rather suck my cock than theirs?”

His perverted words should’ve made you feel disgusted, but instead somehow you were confused, your body was confused.

“How are you so shameless.” You took a look around to make sure no one else heard a thing.

He raises his eyebrow at you, “You’re the only pretty thing I’ve seen in years. How could I not be, I want to live too.”

So, he was trying to use you to save himself, great. You rolled your eyes, watching as the angel twists himself around possibly stretching out his sores and aches, giving you a look at his flexing abs in the process.

“Come on, it’s not like you’re not keeping a little secret already.”

You felt nerves rising up your spine, your face heating.

“I can smell the angel you have, no one else knows?” He grins, “You’re one naughty hunter, aren’t ‘ya.”

“I think you need to shut up,” You said with a low menacing tone, “I could kill you.”

The angel nods, grinning to himself, “But you won’t. You’re too nice.”

Nice, in a world like this nice didn’t exist. It was a pity and the rare sense of sympathy from most. You just couldn’t process the fact that the damned angel had figured it out already, why didn’t Jimin tell you that angels could smell each other.

“If you help me, I’ll be on my way and you can keep your little white angel.”

You had to, there was no other way.

“And how do I do that, I’m no doctor.”

“The angel can heal—“

“Then why can’t you?”

He sighs, rolling his eyes at you, “Like you said, I’m a fallen angel. I’m not like him, I’m the worthless leftover of heaven. Why do you think they tossed me away, why my wings turned black and my hair burnt away?”

“Alright then, just don’t make a sound, okay?”

He seemed pleased that he managed to convince you. Standing up straighter, his face flinching whilst you tried to unchain him. It was rather easy to pick these chains. The chains dropped to the ground with a rattle, the angel breathed a sigh of freedom. Rubbing his wrists with a pure smile on his face.

“Now, where’s your friend?”

You didn’t think this through very well, you were never good at making plans. You did manage to sneak the angel up, his wings were massive though, but you were thankful that everyone was at dinner instead of the living courters.

Pushing the door open you see Jimin curled up under your blanket, sleeping away with a peaceful look on his face.

When you shut the door leaving all of you finally alone. The angel flutters his wings out, it was then that you realised that the bottom half of one of his wings were missing. He sighed, taking it in his hands. He brushes it against his face, closing his eyes to savour it. You did find beauty in the darkness of his wings, you’d like to think he did too.

He saw you watch him, locking eyes with you he gave you a foreign expression.

“He’s sleeping,” You said.

The angel nods, “I can see that. We can wait.”

He sits himself in the chair you once sat in, making himself comfortable. You see his wounds start leaking blood again, you couldn’t help but feel like you needed to do something.

“Would you survive the night, with cuts like that?”

“I don’t know,” He revealed, his voice showed signs of doubt. He flicked his eyes back and forth between his stomach and your face, “At least I’ll die with a pretty girl looking over me.”

“Shut up. You won’t die.”

You walked towards the end of your bed where you kept most of the supplies for accidents. Rustling through the chest, you came across some tonics, chemicals and gauze. Hopefully it would stop the bleeding. You also picked up the thing you hated, needles and thread, you could never imagine using them for wounds neither did you even dare watch someone use it.

You marched over to the dark angel, setting the supplies on the desk behind him where you usually worked. His eyes watched your hand drop the stuff down, he furrows his eyebrows at it.

“What’s that going to do?”

You took a deep breath, “Hopefully, it will seal you up.”

His face was plastered with doubt still, he must’ve never seen such things. You wouldn’t blame him he wasn’t human after all. You pulled up another chair to place in front of him. Picking up a thin blanket on the way, holding it out to him.

He looks between you and the blanket again, “What do I do with this?”

“Cover yourself up, I don’t need to see your…uhm that, or breath over it when I stitch you up,” You sat on the chair.

The angel’s face twists to a grin, his eyebrows curving playfully, “I wouldn’t mind you breathing over my cock if you wanted.”

He sees the look on your face and immediately covers himself. You weren’t in the place to play along right now or argue. You just needed to make sure he wouldn’t die in his sleep.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“It won’t hurt as much as getting my feathers ripped out.”

You wanted to apologise, for the shit he went through. The shit your brother did to him, or made others do to him. It was so unnecessary, usually we hunt angels with the purpose of selling them whole now a days. Keeping them pretty, but of course your brother was angry that he wasn’t a proper angel, so he took it out on him.

“I’m going to start, okay,” You told him, your hands shaking as you held the needle.

He notices this, taking your hand in his large warm hands, “I don’t know what you’re going to do but it’s okay, it won’t hurt me.”

You appreciate his motivation, nodding. You clean him up a little before beginning. Right at the first incision his hand drops to your thigh, gripping onto it, “Oh fuck.”

You let out a little chuckle unknowingly.

“Oh yes, it’s real funny.”

“I’m sorry!”

He shakes his head letting out a smile, “Yea, yea.”

You started with the wound closest to his chest, then you went down. Closing three of them up and having one left. The last one being on the side of his pelvis. He pushes himself further towards the end of the chair, leaning himself back giving you more space. But with that given space his thighs spread over your own, trapping you in between his own.

You lean over his crotch, resting your elbow between the joint of his hips and thigh. Surprisingly he lacked hair in almost every part of his body but his head. His eyes never leaving you, watching you seal up his cuts.

His hands shaking from the pain, you could see from the corner of your eyes they came close to your face. His hand lightly brushes the fallen strand of hair behind your ear, you paused, not knowing where to look.

You blinked up at him. His face seemingly getting closer…and closer. His wavering hand, slipping behind your nape, pulling you closer to him. Now he was the one breathing over you, his lips so close. His eyes locked with yours, the dark eyes seemingly even darker now.

You see the ball in his throat move as he swallows. His lips brushing against your own, before it fully takes you. The wet, warm and soft pink skin against your own, heating your body up against the winter cold. He was burning you up, his touch was stirring you up. Lips moving against each other without a care in the world, you’ve planted your hands against his abdomen, feeling up the flexing muscle of it.

He lets out a filthy groan, filling up your ears with its alluring sound.

He threads his fingers into your loose hair, holding you against his lips. His free hand sliding up your thigh, so close to your warming core.

He pulls away with a lewd smack, his lips wet with your mixed saliva, “I don’t even know you name, darling.”

“Y/n.”

He smiles with bliss, “Jungkook.”

[moskaisley]

migraine pt.3 | chronic

gif: @logan-solo​

rating: mature

word count: 3k

warnings: cursing, suggestive language, fluff but also ANGST, jealous!mando aka my favorite kind 

a/n: this literally took so long to write bc i basically changed the last half of this fic, but i’m rly happy with the results. there was a lot i wanted to include about life before din left, and i thought i’d put them in separate like one shots, but i figured that it would be include in the main story too. this is basically like an anime recap episode LMAO. enjoy!! thanks for the love <3

summary:

“But slowly and languidly, there was a sense of tenderness that began to bleed into the crevices of your daily lives.”

When you and the Mandalorian existed in another time, another place. 

parts 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

ao3 link / masterlist

Dreams these days never really consisted of anything new. Old memories played in your head like a holovid, both the good and the bad. Tonight, they were filled with him. 

In the beginning, the two of you never really acknowledged what it was. 

You fucked only a few more times after the cockpit. Business always came first, of course, and sex wasn’t a regular occurrence. But when the tension (often mixed with the adrenaline of bounty hunting) became too much to handle, you were all over each other. Most of the time, you were in either of each other’s bunks, and you only did it in the cockpit when you couldn’t bother to go down the ladder. At first, you chalked it up to strictly satisfying physical needs. With the two of you in such close quarters, it only made sense. The aftermath often involved getting dressed and cleaned up in silence. There would be an occasional joke or two, but the discussion usually steered itself towards the next mission. 

But slowly and languidly, there was a sense of tenderness that began to bleed into the crevices of your daily lives. Your hands would linger on each other longer. He seemed to loosen up around you, joke around and indulge you in conversation. It was such a stark contrast to his menacing, stoic warrior demeanour he used when rounding up bounties.

Once, you found yourself too distracted and flustered to even spar with him.

“At this rate, you’ll never win a match against me,” he poked, legs straddling your waist as he pinned your arms down

“Oh, shut up,” you huffed, irritated. He had won against you using the same move, twice. 

You’d never tell him, but your eyes were definitely indulging over the build of his body, imagining the way his bare muscles flexed or his lips moved against yours. 

Squirming against him, you hiss, “Off, Mando.”

He chuckles and your chest tightens. I bet his real voice sounds like heaven.

“I dunno, I think I like you like this.”

He studies you under him, helmet tilting sideways watching your chest heave up and down. A wave of heat washes over you at the thought of tearing off his mask and pulling him down for a kiss. Mando lightly laughs again and you swear you’re going to fucking lose it.

“I think you like it too.”

With all your strength, you bring your knee into the small of his back, knocking him forwards as you twist to launch him off of you. After shuffling up to stand, you spin on your heels and march away, embarrassed at how he’s got you flushed and smiling like an idiot schoolgirl. 

He’s still groaning in pain when he calls to you, “Done already?”

You stumble on a witty response, “You’re the worst!”

Smooth.

--

You weren't the only one losing their cool. Mando became a lot more defensive of you in those days; you nearly killed him once because he kept trying to cover you from blaster fire. He even started a bar fight for you. 

You hated the stares you received by virtue of being around him; traveling with him always meant that being unassuming was impossible. Normally, people would avert their eyes. If you were particularly lucky, a poor soul would try and push the Mandalorian’s buttons, not realizing they’re digging their own graves. One day, however, you’d hit the jackpot when they decided to  target you. 

You sat across from him in a booth, patiently waiting for the quarry to pass through; you took the side facing the door while he was turned away, taking advantage of the element of surprise. Out of the corner of your eye, three drunk bumbling idiots stumbled from the opposite end of the bar. Despite your stealthy gaze, one of them locked eyes with you, and when you saw his lips curl into a disgusting smile, you knew you were in for it. 

The man you saw and sauntered over to your side of the chair. His friends shuffled behind him like dogs, and he practically beamed when he saw Mando, seemingly nonchalant.

“My my, Mando! You’ve got quite the catch here,” he says, undressing you with his eyes, “Where’d he buy a thing like you, baby?”

Are you fucking serious?

You cocked an eyebrow and shot him a glare in response, but remained quiet. You turn back to your view on the door, praying to Maker that he’d leave you alone. But the man didn’t let up.

Instead, he turns to your partner inquiring,

“How good of a lay is she, huh, Mandalorian? Bet she’d be a real treat for me and my boys” his men move a little closer to corner you both, “How much to take her off your hands?”

Can a girl just exist?

“I’m not for sale,” you snarl, voice tight. A dull pain begins to echo in your temples.

“So she speaks,” Your irritation only seemed to egg him on, “C'mon darlin’ let us take care of you. I promise I’m good for it.”

Your fingers were itching towards your blades, but you were still waiting on the quarry to enter the cantina. A scene would scare him away and you would lose your money and time.

Business comes first. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

Mando’s voice cut through your exchange, “Get lost, she said she’s not interested.”

“Now, that’s not what we heard, was it boys?” His men laugh in agreement behind him. His eyes turn dark as he goes to place a hand on your shoulder, “The lady can speak for herself. I think we can negotia-”

A blaster shot whizzes by your ears before you can even think to fight back against him. Mando, ever the gunslinger, shoots again towards his leg, knocking him onto the floor.

And then the whole bar descends into chaos. 

Drunkards pile on top of each other as tensions crescendo; the sound of a single shot has everybody up in arms. Your migraine only grows in intensity as the situation spirals out of control. To top it off, amidst the chaos, you see the quarry a few paces away. His eyes were wide watching the shitshow before him, and in a panic, he scurried back out the door.

You’d caught him eventually, but not without traversing the entire underground marketplace that stretched under the city. By the time he was in carbonite and you were both in the cockpit, your irritation boiled over.

“Are you insane, Din?” You fumed, “When did you get so careless? We nearly lost him!”

He simply looked at you as if you knew the answer, but his silence only fueled your exasperation.

“Fine, don’t talk to me,” you grumbled, throwing your hands in the air, “I’ll be in the refresher.”

You turned to leave, but his gloved hand suddenly gripped your upper arm, spinning you into his chest. It was then that you realized how much bigger he was, dwarfing you in his arms as he rubbed the space above your elbows. 

“He was gonna touch you,” Mando’s voice was low, bordering on a growl.

Oh. The air in the room shifts dramatically.

You take a shaky breath, your voice quieting down to a whisper, “And if he did?”

The gloved hands on your arms squeeze like a vice grip. Your heart swells.

“He’d have a hole in his head.”

Your expression softens before your lips spread into a sly smile. You move as close as you can, eyes boring into the black space of his visor.

“Tell me something,” you swallow hard as you gingerly move his hands to your waist and trace your fingertips over his breastplate. Mando’s breathing is ragged through his vocoder, and you relish in his excitement. You bat your eyelashes a few times before peering up at him.

“How good of a lay am I, Mandalorian?”

His fingers dig deeper into your sides before pulling you even closer, erection already stiffening against you. He groans out a response, “Let’s find out.”

--

There were little things that warmed your heart, too. When you were stuck in your bunk with a migraine, he never let you get up to do anything by yourself. He brought you water and food and he took extra care in opening the door so no light was let in and he wasn’t too loud. When you could tell he was dozing off in hyperspace, you forced him to go to bed. If he was particularly stubborn, you shoved him into the co-pilot’s chair and covered him with a blanket. Sometimes, if you came across a market with a few extra credits, you’d cook him a real meal, leagues better than the shitty ration packs you normally partook in. 

And then, there was the first time he kissed you.

You were strolling through a bazaar before a job when you stopped at a produce stand, excitedly picking up a fuzzy white peach from the box.

“I haven’t eaten one of these since I was a teenager,” you say, bringing up it to your nose and sniffing, “They smell amazing. We should get some later.”

Much to your chagrin, the job went south that day. You were so frustrated and angry that you’d completely forgotten about it, caked in mud and grime demanding to go straight back to the Razor Crest.

Holed up in your bunk and fresh out the shower, you were clad in only a long sleeve shirt and underwear when you heard him knock. When you opened the door, you were surprised to see  the fiercest hunter in the parsec standing before you with a plate of peaches from the market, sliced neatly into little wedges.  

Mando sat with you on your bed as he watched you eat; you told him about how the fruit used to grow on trees in your family’s orchard in the summer. Though you acted like you were sick of them, you always ate it when you were upset. You smiled at the memory of your adolescence, silently cutting up the fruit into wedges and eating them outside during dawn, right after your first break up with some boy.

You were so caught up in the memory that you nearly jumped when Mando leaned in and took your chin in his right hand. His finger traced over the side of your lips, and your heart raced in your chest. 

“Sorry, it’s just,” he uttered, “It was going to drip on your chin.”

You would’ve thought he’d lit your body on fire. Your core ached and you suddenly couldn’t breathe. When he began to pull back, it felt like instinct to grab his wrist and keep his hand near your face. You leaned into his touch, pressing a chaste kiss to his thumb. 

You began to crawl across your bunk to him when he stopped you, “Wait.”

Mando stood, and closed the door and shut the lights off. Darkness enveloped you both, and you called out to him, “Din?” His voice cut through the inky dark, “Can you see anything?”

You hear him shuffle, as he stands in front of you, “I dunno, can I?”

“Y/N,” he urged, impatient.

“No, Din. I can’t see.”

And then you hear the air hiss, and metal clanging to the floor. Realization hit like a meteor crash.

He took it off.

You panic immediately.

“Din, wait! What are you doi-”

You shut up the instant his hands cup your face and his lips are on yours.

And it felt delightful, better than any kiss you’d ever had. Your eyes flutter shut as you deepen the kiss. Your arms go to wrap around his neck, and you pull him even closer, elated at the way his soft hair feels in between your fingers. You were sure that he could taste the sweet, tangy peach on your tongue. When he pulls away for air, your face feels flushed with heat and you could feel your swollen lips.

You’re in a daze, “You kissed me.”

He laughs and you hear it. His real voice. No distortion. No modulator. 

“I did.”

He does sound like an angel.

“Do it again.”

--

When it all broke apart, it wasn’t like the steady, dawdling way you fell in love. The break was quick and it stung worse than any migraine. 

“What do you think?”

You walked around the cockpit, tracing your fingers over the controls. “Why? You thinking of an upgrade?” You shoot Mando a smile. He doesn’t seem amused, “It’s nice, I guess. Smaller, though. We already have a tough time fitting together in the Razor Crest.”

You’d been on Nevarro for a few days, having finally finished your last job. Instead of going back to the Crest, however, Mando took you to a shipyard and aboard an empty cruiser. The Slipstream’s windows were big and were much cleaner, but space was still an issue even if you and Din didn’t carry much.

You turn to him expecting a response, but he only says, “Let’s go.”

“Wait, Mando,” you reach for his shoulder, “What is this about? I don’t understand. Why are we here?”

He doesn’t stop to answer, “I said, let’s go.”

You let out a huff as you followed him out of the cockpit. Ever since you landed, Mando’s behavior had flipped like a switch. Your friendly talks had been reduced to one-sided exchanges. He’d been ignoring you, cold like the beskar he donned on his back. 

“Mando!”

He kept walking down the loading ramp. His terrible attitude had made your blood simmer for a while, and now it was all boiling over. 

You stomp forwards, stopping at the entrance to the hull and shout. 

“Din, stop!”

And he does, but he doesn’t turn around.

You’re fuming, “What is your problem? You’ve been in a shitty mood ever since we got here and frankly I-” You’re interrupted by something flying towards you, instinct having you catch in your hands. It’s a small silver device. Code sets, for what could only be the ship you’re currently standing on.

The dots begin to chaotically connect in your head, “What the hell is this?”

“It’s the -”

“No, Din. I know what this fucking thing is,” You’re seething with panic and rage as you hold up the silver box, “I mean, what are you doing?”

He only stares up at you, the mask emotionless and frigid. The reality of the situation was crashing into you like waves; you were begging to any god that this was just a fucked up nightmare. Tears were stinging in your eyes, threatening to pool and pour over. 

You hated how your voice cracked, “Answer me!”

“I’m leaving you, Y/N.”

Fuck. Hearing him say it out loud made your gut wrench. 

You made an audible sob; you couldn’t control it. Shuffling to the bottom of the ramp, you’re desperate to try and connect to him, bring him back to you. The questions spill from your lips.

“Why? What did I even do? What’s wrong?” You bring your hands up, cupping the sides of his helmet. You whisper through your cries, “Din, please.”

You know. You feel it in your bones. You know he feels it too. 

He gently holds your wrists, “We can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t we talk about this?” You plead, “I know something’s wrong, you gotta let me in.”

“Y/N, please don’t make this harder than it already is,” he chides, pulling your hands away from his helmet. Your heart feels like it’s in freefall when he turns around to continue walking.

You try to scramble forward to pull him back but to your horror, you’re met with the barrel of a blaster. The noise that roars through your ears sounds like shattering glass. You gape at him, a mixture of shock and disbelief contorting your features. The figure that stood before you was unrecognizable. Because it wasn’t Din, the soft lover who kissed you in the dark and traced words of Mando’a into your sternum. It wasn’t even Mando, the old snarky friend who joked at how bad of a shot you were and who laughs like a complete idiot when he had one too many sips.

It was the Mandalorian, the ruthless and deadly warrior poised and ready to fire you away.

--

You wake up smelling peaches and blaster smoke.

Shifting to sit up against the wall behind you, you groan at the dull ache in your head and heart. Mando is here with you at the foot of the bed; you’ve memorized the way the bunk feels with or without him. 

“Why are the lights off?” You ask.

“I didn’t know if you were going to wake up with a headache or not.”

Of fucking course. It drives you insane how considerate he is sometimes.

You suddenly become more alert as you remember, “Aayn’vida, where is she? Is she safe?”

He quells your anxiety immediately, “She’s safe. I took her to her family.”

“And Khan?”

“Cold.”

You feel him shove pills and a bottle of water into your hands. You took them, and as you both waited for the pain in your head to subside, he told you what happened in Jaemai. As it turns out, Aayn’vida’s mother was a doctor for many years, and she was kind enough to check on you and care for your wounds. Khan’s goon nicked your right side; no major organs were hit, but your skin was likely scarred since it was basically singed off. There was another thing, however. Mando had asked her about the constant migraines,  “She said that they can happen because of stress or trauma.”

You laughed bitterly, “Well, we both know I have plenty of that.”

Silence blankets you two again. Even in the dark, you can tell when the Mandalorian is uneasy. You wait for him to confess.

“If I’d known this would’ve happened, I would’ve never asked you to come with me,” he lets out a tired sigh, “I’m sorry.”

You roll your eyes. Why is he so fucking nice?

“We’ve been through worse,” you say, a familiar feeling fluttering through your chest, 

“Besides, this just means I’ve rightfully earned my 80%”

[profoundnet]

PROFOUND MEMBER MASTERPOST FOR SEPTEMBER 2020!

Featuring Destiel/Gen works by @friendofcarlotta, @nickelkeep, @castielslostwings, @haybibiboi, youfoundmykeys, @goldenraeofsun, @aishitara, @vaudelin, @one-more-offbeat-anthem, @shealynn88, Feathers7501, @sketching-fox, @mittensmorgul, @andimeantittosting, sapphirecobalt, shadowkat83, @maleyah-givemetomorrow, Endellion, ArielAquarial, @allmystars-i, @darcydelaney!

Join us on Discord!

Masterpost below the cut.

FriendofCarlotta - @friendofcarlotta - FriendofCarlotta

The Heroes’ Journey (E, 36k)

When you perform a spell to defeat God himself, there’s bound to be side effects — such as every version of Team Free Will getting zapped to an alternate universe. The former residents of the Endverse find themselves in an underground bunker full of the kinds of food they haven’t seen in years and clothes that magically fit them. As Dean adjusts to life in a world where Croatoan never got out of control, he faces some tough questions: Can he forgive Sam for saying yes to Lucifer? And is his relationship with Cas really beyond saving? The residents of the bunker, meanwhile, wake up as employees of HunterCorp, whose CEO is one John Winchester. Being around people Dean lost years ago is no picnic, and it’s changing the dynamic of his relationship with Cas in ways he never expected. But is the change meant to last, or will they fall back into old patterns when they return to their own universe?

Tags: Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Slow Dancing, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Recovery From Drug Addiction

Home (G, 2.2k)

This is the story of a car, and the boy who loves it so fiercely, it becomes a home. As the boy grows into a man, his car is the one constant in his life. Until, one day, he meets an angel, and "home" takes on a new meaning.

Tags: Canon Compliant, POV Impala, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Fluff, Kid Fic, Castiel and Dean Winchester Are Great Dads

~

nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep

Huckleberry, Cherry, or Lime (E, 5.7k)

Two men. Two Identical injuries. For Dean and Cas, is that where the similarities start or end?

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Smut and Humor, No Angst, Minor Injuries, Stitches, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort

Text Me in the Morning (T, 2.7k)

"Just blowing off steam?" Sam glared at Dean. "So, you haven't been honest with him, or you haven't been honest with yourself?" "Excuse me?" Dean set his mug on the table and crossed his arms, staring at Sam. "It means that you're in love with Cas, and won't admit it. Figures my brother is a coward."

Tags: Canon Compliant, Established Castiel/Dean, Secret Relationship, Long-Suffering Sam, Sam is a Little Shit, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean, Misunderstandings, Texting, Castiel and Dean Need to Use Their Words

~

castielslostwings - @castielslostwings - Castielslostwings

After the End (E, 27k)

In 2014, Dean Winchester led a raid on the asylum in Detroit where a Sam-wearing-Lucifer was waiting for him. Everyone knows what happened next: the Chitaquan soldiers who accompanied Dean died horribly at the hands of Lucifer’s minions while Lucifer murdered Dean in the garden below and warned the Dean from days past that no matter what he tried, he would always end up there. There were no survivors. Or were there? This story picks up where “The End” leaves off, from Castiel’s perspective from inside the asylum, a twist of fate, and conditional divine intervention no one saw coming. It details what happens after Lucifer dies, Dean lives, and the world doesn’t actually stop turning. A canon-compliant “fix-it” fic for the Endverse and a Dean and Cas who deserved better. Or: "The End" was not the End. This is the story of what came after.

Tags: Endverse fix-it, Happy endverse, temp MCD (dean's canon death in the rose garden), low-angst, canon-compliant (I swear, this is a happy fix-it), explicit sex, s15 tie-ins.

Wait For It (E, 44k)

With Chuck out of the picture and Jack stepping up as the New God, Team Free Will suddenly has to face the most difficult mission they've ever tackled: moving on. Change is tough, that's a given. What's not new? Dean's coping mechanisms being the absolute worst. Problem is, this time, his stubborn refusal to leave the past where it belongs lands him in hot water that's so deep, even Castiel may not be able to pull him out in time. An epic post-canon love story about a hunter who can't seem to look forward and an ex-angel who is done looking back.

Tags: Post-canon, Alternate ending to Season 15, illustrated, getting together, love confessions, hurt/comfort, kidnapped Dean, BAMF Castiel, explicit sex, very happy ending. Accompanied by art by @ladyrandombox.

~

lovemuppet - @haybibiboi - lovemuppet

“How Do You Like Them Apples?”: A Co-Pearenting Fic. (T, 1.4k)

based on a prompt by Cryptomoon: "Neighboring long time orchard owners, Dean of Winchester Family Apples and Cas of Eden Farms have been bitter rivals their whole lives. Eden Farms grows pears and Dean thinks that's absolutely stupid because it's Eden, they should grow apples. But that's beside the point. They've hated each other since they could walk. Now they each have taken over their family's farms and do their best to civilly ignore one another. Until! Some trees on the edge of their properties spontaneously cross breed and they are forced to figure out what to do with these co-parented Pearapples. Applepears?"

Tags: Enemies to lovers, au where pears and apples are the same genus, affronts to god and science, jokes? about homicide.

“The Only Rest You’ll See For Hours” (G, 441 words)

Prompt by saltnhalo: 30 minute speed writing based on knightiesart sky doodles. (I used the two desert looking ones)

Tags: post series band aid, no one dies, everything's fine

~

youfoundmykeys - reafre

grip (SFW)

“You’re the one who gripped me tight, and brought me back to light...” art by reafre date: 18-23 September, 2020 tools: pencil, watercolour, pearl watercolour on paper.  

Tags: video, hands, soft, anniversary

~

goldenraeofsun - @goldenraeofsun - goldenraeofsun

Ridin’ the Quarantine Out (E, 8.5k)

“Like I said,” Dean says, chuckling, “no one’s ever died from blue balls. So you can't go out there and break quarantine to bang some rando.” Cas doesn’t find this funny in the slightest. “No human has died,” he clarifies. “What the hell are you talking about?” Dean narrows his eyes. “If you think some weird fact about guinea pigs is gonna sway-” “I’m an incubus,” Cas interrupts. “I will literally die if I don’t feed.”

Tags: They were quarantined, incubus!cas, virgin!cas, first time, top!cas, bottom!dean, dom sub undertones, mentions of COVID-19, mutual pining

~

aishitara - @aishitara - aishitara

K-I-S-S-I-N-G (M, 3.9k)

Sam’s been breathing down his neck about every little thing lately. He eats too much bacon. Drinks too much beer. Drives too fast. Avoids Cas like his life depends on it. Dean huffs out a breath. Sam hasn’t actually called him on /that/ part, but if the conversation they’d had a few days ago about… that time Castiel was dead was anything to go by, he was certain his brother was going to corner him any second now and point out how Dean had been doing such a good job of hiding from him and Cas. He wasn’t… he wasn’t hiding, okay? He just… happened to be anywhere at all in the bunker that Cas wasn’t. Not on purpose. Just. Because. Of reasons.

Tags: Fluff, a wee touch of the angst, Sam Ships It, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Sort Of, Feelings, Dean just doesn't want to talk about it ok

~

vaudelin - @vaudelin - vaudelin

a world well done (M, 54k)

After five years of being overlooked for the job title of his dreams, Dean has grown accustomed to his fair share of disappointment. But the guy who got the position, a nepotistic hire named Castiel Novak, is really pushing the boundaries of his patience. Too bad the guy’s a dud, but the legacy project has survived worse. Castiel can be as antisocial as he wants and hide out in his office all he likes; Dean will just batten down the hatches and ensure his team weathers the storm coming their way.

Tags: AU - Modern Setting, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings & Miscommunications, Slow Build

~

one_more_offbeat_anthem - @one-more-offbeat-anthem - one_more_offbeat_anthem

Roll With It, Baby (T, 13k)

August 1987. Indianapolis, Indiana. The Pan-American Games are back again, and professional roller skaters Castiel Milton and Dean Winchester are supposed to be teammates--and friends. Over their six years on the US team, they’ve done their best to get along, but with Cas as a roller figure skater and Dean as a roller hockey player, they sometimes miss the mark. But something’s different this year, at their second Pan-American Games. Maybe it’s the sultry end-of-summer heat over the main stadium at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. Maybe it’s the competition. Maybe it’s Rick Astley's recent hit single "Never Gonna Give You Up." Whatever it is, the next two weeks are going to change things…potentially forever.

Tags: 1980s, the mixtape, professional roller skating, friends to lovers, mutual pining, first kiss, mild homophobia

~

shealynn88 - @shealynn88 - shealynn88

The Light Will Guide You Home (E, 4.6k)

Dean is visiting his long-distance friend for the first time. He knows what he wants, but does Cas feel the same? Dean laughs. “Cas, is that you? Can I…?” He reaches out for a hug, then draws back in embarrassment. The human-like form throws him off, but he knows it’s impolite to initiate physical contact with a Luminate, he’s studied the culture for over a decade.

Tags: consentacles, sci-fi AU, alien!Cas, human!Dean

~

Feathers7501 - Feathers7501

Dreams of Blue (G, 1.1k)

Dean is leading his best life... or is he?

Tags: memory wipe

~

sketching-fox - @sketching-fox

Along My Restless Palms (NSFW)

Comission done for Kat, the first of my bidders on @ficfacers 2020! Her request was to illustrate this specifc scene (where Dean dreams about Castiel in the Highlands - YES, they are wearing kilts) in the Fic Along My Restless Palms!

Tags: highlands, kilts

Caring for the wings (SFW)

Comission for Jennifer, one of winner bidders on @ficfacers 2020! Her request was the fluffiest thing ever: Chibi versions of Dean and Castiel, and Dean taking care of Cas´s wings, with the feathers all fluffy, like those little dogs after a bath and air drier on the Pet Shop.

Tags: chibi art, wings

~

mittensmorgul - @mittensmorgul - MittenWraith

Happy Resurrection Day (T, 3.7k)

The world didn't end, and Dean and Cas finally get to choose each other. It only took twelve years and a little road trip back to where it all started.

Tags: post canon, road trips, getting together, first kiss, anniversary

~

andimeantittosting - @andimeantittosting - andimeantittosting

A Gentleman’s Inheritance (M, 11k)

For the Supernatural Regency Bang. Castiel Shurley has always done his duty by his family. When his father dies, Castiel inherits not only the title of Viscount, but also deep debts. At his aristocratic mother's behest, he agrees to court Miss Celeste "Charlie" Middleton—a wealthy heiress, but the daughter of cits. Though they are not in love—and though he secretly has feelings for her cousin, the charming Dean Winchester—Castiel and Charlie soon agree to wed. But Castiel's life is upended by the arrival of his scandalous Aunt Amara, who reveals that he is not the son of Charles and Naomi, but illegitimate, taken from his unwed mother to serve as Charles’s heir. When she carries out her threat to reveal the truth to the world, Castiel loses his title, his home, and his place in the world. Feeling honour-bound to break off his engagement, he finds himself invited to stay instead, as a member of Dean and Charlie's unconventional household, and learns the meaning of freedom.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Disinherited Castiel, Forced Adoption

~

sapphirecobalt - sapphirecobalt

The Bee Knocker Story (M, 7.2k)

Dean recalls the infamous bee knocker that started it all. Or, the one where Cas is upset and Dean goes to great lengths to cheer him up.

Tags: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic fluff, emotional hurt comfort, Artist Dean, gardens and gardening

~

shadowkat83 - Shadowkat83

Sober (G, 605 words)

Dean leans against a tree trying to come to terms with what he is seeing and feeling. How did everything end up like this? Lyrics Sober by Bad Wolves

Tags: Endverse, Songfic, angst, implied relationships

~

Maleyah (Katherine_Kat) - @maleyah-givemetomorrow - Maleyah

Hot Wings Cas (SFW)

Yoga teacher Castiel for my fic Hot Wings and Magic Hands

Tags: yoga teacher cas, idiots in love, wing tattoos

Take A Breath (SFW)

Time for a breath and a break. The ending they deserve with Sam, Gabe, Charlie and Jody in the background (if you squint)

Tags: the end of the road, married, breathe boys, cuddles

Aceriee-art’s DTIYS (SFW)

Art for Aceriee-art's DTIYS challenge

Tags: dtiys, aceriee-art, sassy Dean, blatant use of emojis

Thank You Cas Kisses (SFW)

Cas blowing kisses at the viewer, cause thank you

Tags: thank you, cas blows a kiss, tiny bee

~

Endellion - Endellion

You Make Me Want to Stay (G, 1.5k)

A teenage Dean meets a boy named Castiel at one of the many high schools he goes to and this time when his dad says it's time to move on, he doesn't want to. 

Tags: implied/referenced homophobia, AU no hunting, AU highschool

Brutus (G, 216 words)

Sam and Cas and a dog. Dean can't resist Cas' puppy dog eyes.

Tags: fluffy, cute

~

ArielAquarial - ArielAquarial

The Right Kind of Motivation (E, 2k)

Alone in the house for the first time in months, Dean is having trouble finding the motivation to clean. Castiel decides it’s time to bring out the big guns, and Dean is more than willing to play along. Can be read as a standalone.

Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic, Alternate Universe, Dick Pics, Masturbation

~

allmystars - @allmystars-i - allmystars

Brownies and Blowjobs (E, 2.3k)

"It’s fucking 2020, I should be able to watch Netflix nude while making brownies without you getting preachy about it." Dean wants Castiel's attention, but he doesn't know how to ask for it, so he bakes brownies... completely naked.

Tags: Blowjobs, Handjobs, Friends With Benefits, Smut, Naked Baking, Porn Without Plot

~

darcydelaney - @darcydelaney - DarcyDelaney

Bookworm (T, 2.1k)

Cas asks Dean to spend the day reading with him at a brewery. It's not Dean's ideal date at first, but it doesn't stop him from falling in love with Cas all over again.

Tags: Brewery, Date Night, Fluff

[javistg]

Through the Senses

Chapter 3. Smell.

The third instalment of TTS is here! To read the previous chapters you can go HERE or to AO3 or FF.net.

This one’s from Katniss’s POV.

Hope you enjoy ❤️

  The electric fence, covered in early morning dew, loomed on the horizon. 

 Keeping to the narrow alleys of the Seam, Katniss reached the empty Meadow. The smell of freshly cut grass tickled her nose. 

She quickened her step. The place would be crawling with Peacekeepers soon -- and not the usual lazy kind. 

 The officers patrolling the streets today had been sent directly from the Capitol to oversee the reaping. They wore spotless uniforms and walked in a straight line. 

 Young and arrogant, they always kept their eyes peeled for any irregularities. The thought of catching some poor sucker trying to break the law drew them in, but the prospect of showing up the local authorities --and gaining some glory-- was what truly drove them on their quest.

 Luckily for Katniss --who spent her days breaking the law— their loud, coordinated footsteps, paired with the stench of bleach they left behind, were hard to ignore.

 Stealthily, she walked over to the loose spot in the fence and, hiding behind a clump of brushes, flattened out on her belly and slid underneath.

 After retrieving her bow and sheath of arrows, she moved deeper into the woods. There, hidden by the thick line of trees encircling District 12, she breathed easy again. 

 Wrapped in the scent of pine needles and wet dirt she knew so well, Katniss made her way to the rock ledge where Gale was waiting for her. 

 Breakfast was good that morning. Fresh bakery bread; goat’s cheese packed in fragrant basil leaves; sweet blackberries, tart and juicy, that tasted like summer dreams. 

 The sun was high in the sky when the hunting partners walked back to the district. Their satchels were full; their hearts heavy. A good haul didn’t matter as much when the reaping was just a few hours away. 

 Eager to get rid of their goods, Katniss and Gale stopped by the Hob first. 

 The sweet smell of ripe strawberries followed the hunters. Stubborn and thick, it hung in the air as they traded their fish for bread and salt. 

 After visiting Sae, Katniss wrapped her arms over her hunting bag and stepped out into the bright day. Keeping her eyes to the ground, she hoped the visiting Peacekeepers wouldn’t notice the unmistakable fragrance trailing behind on her way to the mayor’s house.  

 By the time she got home, a warm bath awaited her. 

 After scrubbing off the dirt and sweat from the woods, Katniss washed her hair. Clean and refreshed, she rested her neck on the lip of the tub, stretched out her legs, and closed her eyes. 

 As the water cooled down around her, she took a deep, long breath. 

 The anise shrub Mrs. Everdeen had planted on the windowsill was in full bloom. The soft, cotton-like blossoms released their heady scent into the muggy air, sending memories of hearty winter stews and rainy afternoons back into Katniss’s mind. 

 Soon she’d have to dry off and get ready to go to the square, but for a few blissful seconds, her world was at peace. 

 Prim hadn’t taken any tesserae. Their pantry was full. 

 Somewhere deep, in that place in her soul where she tried not to dwell, Katniss hoped her father would approve.

XXXXX

The cave was still dark when Katniss opened her eyes. 

 Pushing her hood away from her face, she stretched out her neck and greedily filled her lungs with cold, early morning air.

 Outside, a fierce storm raged on, pelting the rocks of the cave, and filling the small space with the rhythmic patter of droplets hitting wet earth. 

 The scent of damp tree bark and green moss that filtered through the rocks reminded her of her woods, but the strong arms holding her tethered her to reality. These weren’t the woods surrounding District 12. Her life in the Seam was miles away. 

 Trying not to disturb her district partner, Katniss gingerly flipped over on her side. It was a tight fit inside the sleeping bag, but she didn’t mind. Having Peeta there, keeping guard right next to her, beat being alone, any time. 

 “You OK?” he asked, lifting his arm to accommodate her movements. 

 “Mm-hmm. Just needed to change position,” Katniss mumbled, drowsily resting her head on his shoulder and her hand over his chest.

 Peeta’s arms wrapped around her. 

 He smelled of sweat, dirt, ointment, and… rust? 

 Probably the dried blood on his bandages, Katniss thought.  

 It wasn’t the most enticing aroma —some might have even found it nauseating— but, to her, it was better than the most expensive Capitol perfume. 

 She was so relieved to have him there, alive and kicking and resting in her arms instead of dead by the river bed, that she rubbed her nose against his t-shirt and smiled.

 “Hey, that tickles,” Peeta chuckled.

 “Sorry,” she said around a yawn.

 Lifting his free hand, Peeta began brushing the loose strands of hair on her forehead, gently stroking them back into her messy braid. “Not a problem.” His voice was a soothing caress when he asked, “D’you want me to tell you a story to help you sleep?”

 A story? 

 The world outside was falling apart. 

 The star-crossed lovers of District 12 were still trapped in an arena with a crazed career hot on their trail, but as she lay there —comforted by the steady warmth of Peeta’s body beside her— none of that seemed to matter much. 

 Maybe a bedtime story is just what I need. “Tell me about those cakes you make,” Katniss asked, “the pretty ones.” 

 Still stroking her hair, Peeta told her about the bits of chalk he collected when he was little, and of the funny animals he liked to draw on the sidewalk. “Then, when I was eight,” he whispered as her breathing evened out, “my father asked me to make those same caricatures on a birthday cake. I’ve been in charge of frosting ever since.”

 Peeta’s soft words blended with the gentle melody of water dancing around them, and before long, Katniss drifted off. 

XXXXX

Wrapped in her mother’s old shawl, Katniss rocked back and forth. Back and forth.

A few feet away, a fire danced in the hearth. 

The smoke of burning hickory and eucalyptus leaves floated through the house, infusing the empty rooms with its soothing aroma.

Dull, Katniss stared at the flames and rocked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

Morning broke.  

Sae bustled about in the kitchen, humming softly to herself until the smell of scrambled eggs and toast filled the room. 

“Come on, girl, breakfast’s ready,” Sae called out.

Too tired to do anything but comply, Katniss dragged her feet over to the table, sat down, and slowly cleaned her plate. 

Days went by.

The rocking chair by the fireplace swayed back and forth. Back and forth.

Sae cooked and scrubbed the house clean. Traces of lemon peel and soap lingered in the air late into the night.

Lost in a world of pain and shadows, Katniss buried her nose in her mother’s shawl and, numbing her senses with the smell of mothballs and lavender that still clung to the soft fabric, rocked in her chair. 

Back and forth. Back and forth.

“Spring is in the air today,” Sae said one morning. “You ought to get out. Go hunting.”

The idea seemed absurd, but a few hours later, Katniss left her chair and walked down to the study.  

Wrapped in the musky smell of her father’s hunting jacket, she fell asleep on the couch.

The next morning, Peeta came back. 

Shaken, Katniss shut the door behind her and ran up the stairs and into her room. 

The scent was very faint, but it still laced the air. 

A white rose —shriveled and fragile, but holding on to that unnatural perfection cultivated in Snow’s greenhouse— stood among the dried flowers in a vase.

Grabbing the vase, Katniss stumbled back to the kitchen and threw its contents into the embers. 

The flowers flared up. A burst of blue flame enveloped the rose and devoured it. 

Fire beats roses again, she thought, smashing the vase on the hardwood floor.

Back in her bathroom, Katniss peeled off her clothes and stepped into the shower. 

Chamomile scented bubbles danced around her, washing away the weeks of dirt and neglect.

Later, as she untangled her hair, rubbing pomegranate infused oil to the damaged strands, she began to wonder about the world outside her door. 

Haymitch was probably at home —drinking himself into oblivion.

Peeta was back. 

Where was everyone else?

XXXXX

Restored after a good night’s sleep, Katniss stretched her arms and legs until they reached the edges of the bed. With a contented sigh, she relaxed onto the mattress and turned to the empty space next to her. 

The sheets were rumpled but cold. Peeta had woken up early. 

Frowning, Katniss flipped over, buried her nose in his pillow, and took a deep breath.

Nutmeg, vanilla, orange peel, and something else —deep and enticing that she identified as exclusively Peeta’s— tickled her nose and soothed her worries.

Smiling again, she pushed the covers away and got up. 

After brushing her teeth and getting ready for the day, Katniss threw the windows open.  

The smell of sweet lemons and ripe cherries greeted her, making her heart jump in joy. The trees in her orchard were in full bloom. Summer had begun. 

Humming a happy tune, Katniss walked down the stairs. 

As she neared the kitchen, her nose picked up hints of cinnamon, melted butter, and bacon sizzling in the skillet. 

Her stomach grumbled in anticipation. Sunday Brunches with Peeta were something she looked forward to all week. 

“Morning!” she said, slipping into the kitchen.

Peeta turned away from the stove. His eyes lit up at the sight of her. “Morning! Did you have a good night?”

“Yup.” Katniss walked over to the counter and reached the teapot. It was already full. “How about you? You woke up early.”

Peeta turned his attention back to the skillet with the bacon. “I woke up at seven. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I figured I could start my day.”

With a soft hum, Katniss poured herself a cup of tea. “Want some?” 

“Yeah, I’m almost done here.” 

While Peeta cracked two eggs onto a waiting pan, Katniss poured two teacups and carried them back to the table where she sat down. 

Resting her elbows on the countertop, she watched him work. 

He looked good. He had recovered some of the weight he’d lost during the war, and the yard work he did every day had given his pale skin a healthy golden glow.

“Got any plans for today?” she asked as the earthy smell of the freshly brewed tea hung around her.

 Peeta began to plate the bacon and eggs. “Not really, but it’s a nice day out. We should do something.”

 “How would you like to go for a swim?” 

Peeta turned around; eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really? Where?” 

“I know a place.” Katniss reached out and took the plate he was offering. French toast with cinnamon, maple syrup, fried eggs, roasted apples, bacon. The smell alone was enough to make her mouth water. 

Peeta sat down. “Is it far from here?”

“It’s a bit of a walk -- we’ll need to take some food for later -- but I think it’s worth it.” Dipping a bit of bread in the egg, she added, “You should bring your watercolors.”

Looking up from his food, Peeta smiled at her. A soft, warm smile that spoke of the trust between them, the joy he found in the small moments they shared. 

Blushing, Katniss nodded to his plate. “Eat up, your food’s getting cold.” 

They ate the rest of their breakfast in silence, stealing shy glances over their food while Katniss made a mental list of everything she wanted to show him on the way to her father’s lake. 

[ventrue-rosary]

character dnd class aesthetics

I'm bored and saw this tag game saved so thought I'd do it for my half-elf blood hunter Amaranthe Darcelle

Rules: bold what definitely applies, italicise what sometimes applies

Amaranthe

𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙰𝙽 »   toothy grins, stories around the campfire, clothes covered in pet hair, hot temper, old jeans, heartbeat in head, potatoes and steak, beaded jewellery, bruises like galaxies, mementos, backpack stuffed full, craigslist furniture, spontaneous road trips, air ripped from lungs

𝙱𝙰𝚁𝙳 »   homemade bread, white lies, easily excited, trying on hats, band geek, pep talks, no impulse control, sunsets, vintage fashion, long showers, selfies, following dreams, rosy cheeks, song mash-ups, pink lemonade with tequila, loves easily, animated storyteller, full of comebacks

𝙲𝙻𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙲  »   list of wishes, biting their tongue, band-aids and neosporin, shoulder to cry on, morning sun, necklaces, trial and error, homemade quilts, formal clothing, astrology fan, messages in bottles, pleated braids, speaking up for friends, feathers, motivational quotes, vivid dreams

𝙳𝚁𝚄𝙸𝙳   »   bird watching, shy kid, wind chimes, trying to whistle, summer camp, apple orchards, lost in their head, glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, hoodies, thrift shopping, saving worms off the sidewalk, pig latin, bare feet, thunderstorms, numb fingers, braided hair, naming potted plants

𝙵𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝙴𝚁   »   goosebumps, leather jackets, adventure, chewing nails, cares deeply but can’t show it, bronze locks, no sleep, taste of iron, netflix binges, never forgets, combat boots, stories behind scars, table for one, official soundtracks, sore calves, trusts themselves the most

𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙺   »   always trying to be better, wanderlust, meditation, sweat pants, old photographs, yoga, sleeping in hammocks, nostalgia, minimalist design, a breath of fresh air, baby animals, volunteering, perfectionist, doesn’t care about fashion, healthy snacks, noticing the little things

𝙿𝙰𝙻𝙰𝙳𝙸𝙽   »   school uniforms, thick jackets, sleeping with the windows open, logical advice, scrapbooking, compasses, i fight for my friends, sculpture gardens, cold morning air, big soul, likes routine, secret romantic, last to get jokes, sunflowers, practical presents, misty weather

𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁   »   herbal tea, smell of rain, blinking away tears, camping trips, collecting bones, swiss army knives, first impressions, anxious thoughts, bobby pins, burnt marshmallows, too competitive, clothes lines, messenger bags, holding grudges, gets along better with animals than people

𝚁𝙾𝙶𝚄𝙴   »   flirtatious sarcasm, candid photos, lost phone chargers, adrenaline rush, picking dirt out from beneath their nails, social chameleon, clashing clothes, self-deprecating jokes, claw machines, sits in chairs wrong, smudged eyeliner, has too many sunglasses, eats nothing or everything

𝚂𝙾𝚁𝙲𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚁   » infectious laugh, family trees, shivers down their spine, lipstick and roses, mood swings, clumsy, believing in destiny, high expectations, sleeping in darkness, collection of nail polish, passionate, good grades but never studies, poetry books, blowing kisses, not knowing their own strength

𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺   »   knowing everyone’s secrets, backpack covered in pins, envy, being in walmart late at night, earl grey, selective memory, conspiracy theories and cryptids, key smashing, need to know basis, can’t cook, shadows/bags under eyes, experimental art, flickering bulbs, black clothing all year long

𝚆𝙸𝚉𝙰𝚁𝙳   »   piles of textbooks, cat in lap, keeping a diary, indecision, scented candles, studying alone in a café, lingering touches, museum dates, unanswered questions, taking on too much responsibility, collections, chalk dust, comfy robes, unnecessary apologies, coming home after a long day

[9thbutterfly]

thank you for indulging me <3 tell me something about imagine a forest, please? And then pick something you really want to talk about and tell me about it, too. The thing that you put on this list and thought "This is cool, I hope someone asks about this"

Imagine a Forest actually came out of a tumblr prompt! Let’s see if tumblr will allow me to put a link here. What I was going to do (but ended up never doing, because I ran out of steam just after the introduction) was have all sorts of people (but mostly queer people) run away to the forest and form their own society there - the people outside of the forest would be scared of of all the witches and elves and whatnot in the forest, but in truth, all of them were just queer people living their best lives.

Imagine a Forest.

Not any forest, riddled with hunters’ and mushroom-seekers’ paths, down by the stream or up on the hill or out among the fields, easily crossed in an hour or two.

No, imagine a Forest, of the kind that lies at the heart of most worlds worth writing books about, the  kind that is sometimes named Fangorn or Aldheorte or the Rain Wilds, and sometimes just the Forest, because there is only the one.

Imagine a vast nation of trees, as big and bigger than the kingdoms of men. A sea of green that stretches far beyond the horizon. Imagine trees, centuries old and higher and wider than the puny trees of orchards and boulevards could ever dream of being.

Imagine a Forest that is populated by more than wolf and bear and boar, by more than deer and fox and bird.

Imagine the hundred-thousand myths that are told about the Forest – of the witches that heal and curse, of the fairies full of dangers and strange gifts, of dwarfs in their underground cities, of dragons and their legendary wealth…

Imagine that people who venture into the forest are driven out by strangely-dressed, not-quite-human figures, and others are found under the eaves of the forest, killed by arrows fletched with colourful feathers, and some are never seen again dead or alive.

Imagine the markets that sometimes spring up by moonlight, where you might barter chickens for shining gemstones, and a sack of grain for wolf pelts and a bolt of cloth for a deadly poison.

Imagine children growing up knowing that if they do not obey their parents and the church, the fairies will steal them away – and yet some of them will not and can not obey, and for some of them, the fairies will come indeed, and others will wait for them many a night, and in the end venture out to find them of their own free will…

For my own choice, hm... I don’t know if Wirü Timay’a/Tell Me, Sister is *cool*, but it was the thing that got me back into rereading my stories and wanting to write again this year.

It is another Kivailo world story, and characters are all Kivailo - an ethnic minority in a country that I made up as a teenager because I, uh, needed people to do awful things to. I think I mentioned when talking about Goblins that I meant to make up a country with an awful and racist government? Most of that racism was directed against the Kivailo, and part of that was attempting to erase most of their history and culture.

Enter the Ivyleafers, an informal group trying to preserve the Kivailo language, mythology, history and many other kinds of knowledge while giving young and unemployed people something useful to do... and there is also a lot of hiking involved, a lot of visiting small remote villages, which I started daydreaming about in these travel-restricted times - and that dragged me back into the Kivailo world a few weeks ago.

I never wrote much of Wirü Timay’a, but it would have had many quotes of songs and stories in my Kivailo conlang, and much travelling, and silliness, and tragedy, and tentative steps back towards happiness and new love and a better future.

I spent that summer running wild, more than ever. I had long since explored the Taly forest, hiked up and down the Shao to the edges of Talymay, explored the New Quarter and much of Ternin town… dragging a few other kids along, who mostly weren’t too comfortable with wandering around Ternin town, or even on my own. Looking back, I know I was lucky that nothing ever happened to me…

I was only fourteen, and I couldn’t stand the thought of another nearly four years confined to Talymay – now that there was no more school to occupy my time, I longed to be out there in the hills even more. I started following the groups going out to pick plums and berries outside of town – sneaking along after them until they’d gone too far to send me back before I showed myself to them.

I got into lots of trouble that summer, and lost all my beads. Who knows how I might have ended if Nicidulai of the House Daranoi hadn’t taken me under her wing. She heard me sing some silly song while we were out picking sloes – a long song about the meaningless things we had learned at school, which my classmates had all worked together at the end of our last year. I believe I was the only one who could recite it in its entirety. I had followed Nici and her group in secret, of course, but once I’d showed myself, I always worked alongside them, and I guess the only reason my House didn’t just lock me up at home was that I always brought home a sizable harvest.

I’ve never asked her, but I think Nici was planning to test me when she started to sing herself. I didn’t speak much shinnai at that time, but by the time she’d sung the song for the second time I could remember most of the words and when she started singing it a third time – looking like she was totally absorbed in her work and singing only for herself – I started to sing along.

Fox, lord of thieves,

In his blackthorn castle

On a rocky throne he sits

Mossy cushions underneath….

She approached me later, on the way home, and asked me if I’d  ever heard of the Ivyleafers.

‘I have,’ I told her somewhat grumpily, wondering what she wanted.

Nicidulai was blunt about it. ‘Ever thought about joining?’