#top eleven free coins

[mogai-sunflowers]

willevermuseth!

willevermuseth-

a gender related to being a muse of evermore and wonderlands, the words 'harmony', 'harmonia', 'melody', 'melodia', 'lullaby', 'lyric', 'musechild', 'melodychild', 'harmonychild', 'everharmony', 'evermelody', 'everlyric', 'everlullaby', 'lullabychild', 'lullamore', 'lyrimore', 'serenade', 'evermore', 'ever', 'evermuse', 'musemore', 'harmonymore', 'melodymore', 'willow', 'everwillow', 'willowmore', 'willowchild', 'wonderwillow', 'lullawillow', 'wondermore', and 'wonderland', being a sweet muse singing sweetly beneath a willow in a wonderland of evermore, being a willow muse and a wisteria muse, being a muse whose spirit inhabits a wise willow, willow wonderlands filled with the sweet songs of a muse, wonderlands of evermore and sweet music, being a sweet evermore muse in a flowing gown of willow and rainbow wonderland flowers, being a muse named lyric, being a muse named melody/melodia, being a muse named harmony/Harmonia, a mystical and wise willow who is the mystical door to the land of evermore, being a wonderland muse who sings sweetly as she guards the willow who is the gate between our land, and the land of evermore, and in general, the combined fantasy concepts of evermore, wonderlands, being a muse, harmony and melody, lullabies, willows, and the sweetly enchanting music of the muse

[Image ID: A flag with eleven equally-thick puffy horizontal stripes. From top to bottom, the colors are pastel purple, hot magenta, pastel purple, pastel indigo, bright cyan, pastel mint green, pastel red-orange, pink, purple, medium turquoise, and purple. In the center of the flag, there is a hot pink treble clef icon. End ID.]

term and flag by me :3 tagging @radiomogai !

this is being coined because of a personal interest- it's obviously extreeeeeeemely specific and niche so I don't really expect anyone else to relate to it, but if you do then it is free to use <333

[galaxicalshoist]

I: Aradia Megido

♈︎ ♉︎ ♊︎ ♋︎ ♌︎ ♍︎ ♎︎ ♏︎ ♐︎ ♑︎ ♒︎ ♓︎

Rustgraveyardic / Rustgravic

[Flag is composed of eleven stripes. The odd stripes (first, third, fifth, seventh, ninth, eleventh) are of the same width, and are thicker than the even stripes (second, fourth, sixth, eighth, tenth, which are also the same width). The stripes fade from black at the top, to grey in the middle, and dark red the color of dried blood at the bottom. In the center of the flag is the symbol of a gravestone, similar to the one on the graveyardic flag. It is in dark grey; the Homestuck symbol for Aries is in the center of it, in blood red.]

Variation of graveyardic associated with Aries (the western zodiac), apathy, archaeology, being cryptic, breaking / broken things, fatalism, feeling hollow, ghosts, the apocalypse, the voices of the dead, and/or the track Rust Maid.

Term coined and flag designed by me (free to use)

[manonblaqkbeak]

Scaling in the Moonlight

Hello everyone!!! Long time no see!!! It's been eleven months!!!!! since I last wrote anything. I hated the fact that I missed last years rowaelin month and was determined to write something for this years rowaelin month (and a special thank you to @goddess-aelin for her lovely note saying she missed my work <3)

And thanks to the lovely people that run rowaelin month!!! you are all amazing!!! @rowaelinscourt

Apologies in advance if my writing and grammar and characterisation is a little rusty, like I said, it's been eleven months since I last wrote anything and I'm slowly getting through my ToG re-read (which has really opened my eyes to how traumatised Aelin is as a person/character).

Words: 800+. CW: none, I don't think.

Day 18- Aelin and Rowan's hawk form.

It was two AM and Aelin was out, wondering the dark city streets of Orynth, looking for the right building.

Instead of using the castle's obstacle course like most sane people would, Aelin decided that she needed to do this the way she was trained too—by scaling the side of buildings, using every muscle in her body to pull herself up to reach the top of the building, to run across the rooftops to get closer to her target.

She needed the reminder that she could—and that she hadn't lost her edge.

Although, she was sure she had lost it. She did still train, from magic to weapons to hand-to-hand combat, she did whichever she was in the mood for with what free time she had, but as Queen and mother to five children, she had no need to scale buildings and jump from rooftop to rooftop.

So she had decided, as she ate her dinner with her family, she was going to relive her past life; if only for a couple of hours.

Aelin walked through one more street before she found a good starting point—a shoe store that she did frequent with Rowan and their children. It was two storeys tall and she knew that no one occupied the apartment above the shop so no one would see her.

Hopefully no one would hear her either.

Stretching before climbing, Aelin told herself that it would be fine. She had given birth to five children, all without pain relieving herbs, she could—would—scale this building with ease.

Finding her footing was easy enough, so Aelin started her trek—and thankfully didn't fall off, although she did slid time a few times and had to grit her teeth to stop her cursing from echoing around town.

The burning in her muscles took her back to how she used to be, how she used to be able to demand any contract and fat coin purse she desired.

She didn't miss that life, not at all, but it was part of who she was and she was not ashamed of it.

Taking one last gulping breath, Aelin hoisted herself over the roofs ledge and let the accomplishment rush through her.

So determined she was in proving herself that she could still do this, she hadn't been aware that she had a follower.

A follower that now clicked his beak at her.

Aelin's head snapped upwards, taking in her mate's large hawk-form as he perched on the chimney.

“You were asleep when I left,” was all Aelin could think of to say.

Rowan clicked his beak again, as if to say And now I'm awake.

“Clearly,” Aelin said, “how'd I go from your end?”

She waited for him to shift back but he didn't. He wasn't mad at her, she knew that much, but she didn't want anyone to see her talking to her mate like this—it felt too intimate to be like this in public, but after two decades together, Aelin could converse with Rowan in his hawk form as easily as she could talk to him in his Fae form.

Rowan didn't say anything but flew to the building next to her. He clicked his beak. You can climb well enough, let's see how you can jump.

Aelin moved to the ledge, looking down to the ground, if she didn't make it, she wouldn't die, but she'd probably be bruised all over.

She looked at Rowan, who was waiting patiently. “Will you nurse me back to health if I fall?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at her husband, who rolled his eyes.

“That better be a yes,” she said and moved back to take a running jump.

Gods, if she fell, she'd never get over the embarrassment.

Aelin ran and jumped—and just made it. She hit her chin hard enough that when she made it over the ledge of the building, she laid down and stared at the open night sky.

A flash of light brighter than the moon came and went, and then there was Rowan, taking her in.

“Fireheart,” he said, his voice deep and concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Aelin said, her chin sore but she would live. She eyed her mate up and down, however, and said, “But I would still appreciate being nursed back to health—especially if you take your shirt off.”

Rowan rolled his eyes again, but obliged her, his shirt coming off in one easy movement that had her contemplate making a sixth baby.

“Where does it hurt, milady?” her king-consort asked, his rough fingers moving across her collarbone.

“Here,” she said, pointing to her chin, and soon she was better, especially as she chased Rowan around in his hawk form, easily jumping from roof to roof as the hours went by.

[anutbunny]

[GOD]DESS FLAG

[IMAGE ID: The first image depicts a flag with eleven equally sized horizontal stripes. In order from top to middle, the colors are dark hot pink, darker hot pink, darker hot pink, lighter dark purple, dark purple, and even darker purple. It mirrors. The second image is the same flag, but with a blue and purple color scheme instead of pink. /ID END.]

Color association: Pink for femininity, blue for masculinity, purple for power/royalty.

— A goddess or god is somebody who is otherkin, nonhuman, alterhuman, and/or therian who's identity is associated with, related to, or is a god or goddess. Depending on how connected one is to this identity, this may or may not include spiritual powers, being born with a gift (such as prophetic visions), or a deity form.

— A goddess or god's identity may or may not be related to a specific deity, for example Hecate or Hades.

— A goddess or god's identity may or may not be related to religion.

Pronouns associated with being a god/goddess are:

thou/thee/thyself

god/gods OR god/gods/goddess

deity/deitys/deityself

that/that thing/thisself

it/its/itself

seraph/seraphs/seraphself

div/divine/divineself

+ OTHERS

FREE TO USE

Coined by: Helga

[eldorr]

Voiviole

Main flag (left) || Striped flag (right)

A term for when one’s identity deeply connects to the void, space, and the color purple to the point they’re inseparable from one another. This may manifest as presenting with black and purple clothing, wearing clothes with space patterns, space-inspired makeup, etc. It affects what colors you buy things in, and your gender presentation.

This may affect or be in itself one’s gender, alterhumanity, orientation, etc. Could be considered a vesil/vesility term, however was coined to fit my own experiences alone from vesil terms since so far I haven’t really seen any combo vesil terms of multiple things.

.

This term was originally posted July 28th, 2022.

If anyone wants to make a vesil-type flag for this feel free to do so, since the star symbol used in these flags are the same, I just don’t have any way of editing the vesil symbol in itself to match the color scheme in these flags so… yeah.

Based on the words Void and Violet.

[ID] Two flags, the left flag is completely black minus the symbol in the middle. The symbol in the middle includes a dark purple skinny four point star, a thick black six point star, and between every point on the black star there's three spikes, the first spike in the front is purple and the two spikes in the back are a lighter purple-pink. The stripes flag has eleven equal horizontal stripes. The colors in order from top to bottom are: black, purple daffodil, black, dark orchid, black, vivid violet, black, dark orchid, black, purple daffodil, black. [/End ID]

[ID] A DNI (do not interact) banner with a very faded galaxy background. On the left of the banner there’s a flag as with a rounded side, the circle inside it showing an image of a cone tornado at the end of a road, the flag being the (General) Neurodivergent flag. The rest of the image is filled with white text that reads: “DNI (Do Not Interact). Against Good Faith Self Identification Or “Contradictory” Identities, Transmed, Sysmed, Group Arospec under Acespec, Anti-Educated Self-Dx, Call Mspec identities “Bispec”, Anti-Alterhuman, Anti-Otherkin, Anti-Chronosian, Against the term Transandromisia (or similar terms), Anti Aldernic, Anti-Altersex, Pro-Contact harmful paras, TransID,  Anti-Anti, Proship, “Consang”, Anti-SFW Agere, Demonize Cluster B disorders, Anti-BLM, Anti-ACAB” [/End ID]

[harrison-abbott]

To Bail From Home

My mother had died. She was 93 when it happened so that was quite a fine age. My sisters, all three of them, invited me up north for the funeral. I had moved down south a long, long time ago, and had spent little time with my sisters, or mother, ever since then. Honestly, I was sad that my parent had passed; but can admit that a large part of the reason why I moved and stayed south was not to be near them.

What about the father? I have no recollection of him … and thus grew up with a perfectly feminine environment. I was a mistake child and my mother bore me at the age of 39. My father perished in a car crash when I was two. The trio of sisters were in the car with him when it happened and it would go on to explain why they were horrible and sadistic for the rest of their days. Not that you can sum up three people in two words; but you are free to make observations as well.

I believe they were angry that I wasn’t in the vehicle with them when the mini bus driver got complacent and smashed into the top corner of the car. Or perhaps they wished they hadn’t been killed in that instant, either: because they had to live with the memory.

And mother, after it occurred. She’d always been an emotional hurricane anyway and with the husband dead it horrified her irrevocably. Moreover, she told the daughters, on several occasions, “It should’ve been you that got taken in that crash! You vermin! You worthless rats!" I remember her saying this line at drunken tempo on sickeningly hot or icily cold nights, way into my adolescence.

With me, her favourite line was, “You’re the worst natural disaster I’ve ever seen, Gumbo.”

Gumbo was my nickname. My real name was/is Gary but they all called me Gumbo. My eldest sister Emma coined it … and I can’t recall where it came from; but it glued in from there.

So, yes – I could go on about the period from eleven years to eighteen years in that household with those four women. All sisters were far older than me, by the way; the next one up being five years my age. But, I don’t feel the need to moan. It was just a mass of intense bullying with lines that would be tricky to invent in big TV shows where all the characters get by by being mean.

I couldn’t not go to mother’s funeral. So I took the train up north, crossing the borders, as the climate got colder and hillier. Super cold, also, as this was in January.

It was odd going back to the homeland and even stranger heading back to the boyhood neighbourhood on the east side of the city. Mother had never moved away from the big house where she raised us; and I had to reimburse that fact: that she brought me up. Not an angel, was she. But – I knew I was a good man myself and some of this was down to the fact that she essentially made me.

There was the small, half-pretty church near the house with the depressed spent priest. And my sisters were all there already with their husbands.

They smiled and waved when they saw me and I felt this huge sense of despair when I saw them, because I didn’t think they’d be in any way glad I was there … Because all train ride up there I’d feared that they would still be mucked off with me that I had left them, oh … thirty years ago thereabouts. And hadn’t turned up to Christmas invitations or come to their birthday parties, etc.

But they were genuine.

They had kids, too. Nephews and nieces – who I barely knew.

And I realised that I hardly knew any of my siblings now. None of their descriptions, now, were particularly remarkable. Each of them overweight, and their husbands too; they worked in dull jobs with average incomes; they had no artistic streak and weren’t quite intrigued in artsy matters.

^ But, see? Here was me being judgemental again when I wasn’t familiar with them. And as we stood there making tiny talk in the windy graveyard waiting for my mother’s coffin to be brought in a big black car, I cursed myself with shame, for being so unforgiving across all these decades … Maybe you take words and insults and sibling stuff far more harshly when you’re young? And especially if you were the smallest of the children then it was far worse for you?

(I wasn’t the smallest physically for that long, though. When I was around fifteen I was around young-man size in terms of physical build, which I’d inherited from ghostly Pop. And there was one time when Emma slapped me – again – over some trivial blah blah argument in the kitchen. Emma hit me like that countless times across childhood, out of habit, often without thinking, and I was forever flinching or ducking her. But, when I was 15 I was the same size of her. So I just walloped her back. Which sent the room silent and left this red new imprint on the rest of her whitened face.)

Mother’s coffin arrived.

As I say – the wind was strong and intense and it blew the leaves all around the kirkyard in a movie’s browns and copper reds. Her coffin was lifted out of the back of the car and we followed it into the church … and I remembered when my old cat passed away back when I was little, at the old house. He was kinda my cat because I was closest too him and a lot of that, or so I liked to feel, was due to us being the two lone males in the household.

He was sick for a long time and then he didn’t wake up or move one morning so we buried him in the back garden under the birch tree and I cried the entire time and all the lady sisters and Mum were there and for once they didn’t make fun of me for crying and they didn’t say anything or intervene and only let me weep.

This was what I thought about when I went into the church’s airy interior and it began to make my eyes vinegary and I knew that now wasn’t the right time for tears. Not yet. I couldn’t cry in front of my sisters like I did back then … even though they weren’t going to mock me for it. I simply couldn’t do it.

[township-cheats-no-human-w0]

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[cricketplays]

Cricket how to play, Cricket rules and terms

Cricket is a popular sport that is played by two teams of eleven players each on a large, oval-shaped field. The main objective of the game is to score more runs than the opposing team by hitting the ball with a bat and running between two sets of wooden sticks called wickets. The team that is batting tries to score as many runs as possible, while the team that is fielding tries to prevent them by bowling the ball and getting the batsmen out in various ways. Here are some basic steps to play cricket: - Acquire equipment. You will need a cricket bat, a cricket ball, six stumps, four bails, and a cricket uniform. The bat is a wooden stick with a flat side and a bulged side. The ball is made of leather and has a seam in the middle. The stumps are three vertical sticks that are hammered into the ground at each end of the pitch (the rectangular area where the batsmen and bowlers play). The bails are two small wooden pieces that rest on top of the stumps. The uniform consists of long pants, a shirt, and shoes. You may also need protective gear such as gloves, pads, a helmet, and a chest guard if you are playing with a hard ball. - Learn about the cricket field. The cricket field is divided into two halves by a pitch, which is 22 yards long and 10 feet wide. The pitch has three lines marked on it: the bowling crease, the popping crease, and the return crease. The bowling crease is where the bowler delivers the ball from. The popping crease is where the batsman stands to hit the ball. The return crease is where the bowler has to return after delivering the ball. There are two wickets on each end of the pitch, each consisting of three stumps and two bails. The area around the pitch is called the infield, and the area beyond it is called the outfield. - Mark creases. Creases are lines drawn on the pitch to indicate different boundaries for the batsmen and bowlers. The most important creases are: - The popping crease is drawn parallel to the bowling crease and four feet in front of it. The batsman has to keep some part of his bat or body behind this line when playing a shot or running between the wickets. If he crosses this line without grounding his bat or body, he can be run out by the fielding team. - The bowling crease is drawn at right angles to the popping crease and passes through the middle stump at each end of the pitch. The bowler has to keep his back foot behind this line when delivering the ball. If he oversteps this line, it is called a no-ball and the batting team gets an extra run and a free hit. - The return crease, which is drawn at right angles to the bowling crease and extends from it on both sides of the pitch. The bowler has to keep his front foot inside this line when delivering the ball. If he crosses this line, it is also called a no-ball. - Form teams and toss a coin. Each team should have eleven players, one of whom will be the captain. The captain of each team will toss a coin before the start of the match to decide who will bat first and who will field first. The team that wins the toss can choose to bat or field first, depending on their strategy and preference. - Start batting and bowling. The team that bats first will send two batsmen to occupy each end of the pitch. One of them will face the bowler, while the other will wait at the non-striker’s end. The team that fields first will send one bowler to bowl six balls (called an over) from one end of the pitch, while ten other fielders will spread out on the field to catch or stop the ball. - Score runs. A run is the basic unit of scoring in cricket. A run is scored when a batsman hits the ball with his bat and runs to the other end of the pitch, crossing his partner on the way. The batsmen can run as many times as they want until the fielders return the ball to the wicket. If the ball reaches the boundary (the edge of the field), four runs are automatically scored. If the ball crosses the boundary without touching the ground, six runs are scored. The team with the most runs at the end of the match wins. - Get out. A batsman can get out in several ways, which means he has to leave the field and be replaced by another batsman from his team. The most common ways to get out are: - Bowled: The bowler bowls the ball and it hits the stumps, dislodging the bails. - Caught: The batsman hits the ball in the air and a fielder catches it before it touches the ground. - Leg before wicket (LBW): The bowler bowls the ball and it hits the batsman’s leg or body before it hits the bat, and the umpire decides that it would have hit the stumps if not for the batsman’s interference. - Run out: The batsman attempts to run to the other end of the pitch, but a fielder throws or carries the ball to the wicket and breaks it before the batsman reaches it. - Stumped: The batsman steps out of his crease to hit the ball, but misses it and the wicket-keeper catches it and breaks the wicket before the batsman returns to his crease. - Hit wicket: The batsman accidentally hits his own stumps with his bat or body while playing a shot or taking a run. - Obstructing the field: The batsman deliberately interferes with a fielder’s attempt to catch or throw the ball. - Handled the ball: The batsman deliberately touches the ball with his hand without the consent of the fielding team. - Timed out: The new batsman fails to take his position on the field within three minutes of the previous batsman’s dismissal. - End an innings. An innings is a period of play where one team bats and tries to score runs, while the other team fields and tries to get them out. Innings can end in one of four ways: - All out: All ten batsmen of the batting team are dismissed (the eleventh player is not out because he has no partner to bat with). - Declared: The captain of the batting team decides to end their innings voluntarily, usually to set a target for - Switch sides. After an innings is over, the teams switch roles. The team that was batting becomes the fielding team, and the team that was fielding becomes the batting team. The second innings begins with a new pair of batsmen and a new bowler. The second innings follows the same rules and procedures as the first innings. - End the match. A match can end in one of three ways: - Win: One team scores more runs than the other team in their respective innings and wins the match. - Tie: Both teams score the same number of runs in their respective innings and the match is tied. - Draw: The match runs out of time before both teams complete their respective innings and the match is drawn. - The duration and format of a match can vary depending on the type of cricket being played. There are three main types of cricket matches: - Test cricket: This is the longest and most traditional form of cricket, where each team gets two innings and the match can last up to five days. Test cricket is considered the highest level of cricket and is played only by 12 countries that have been granted Test status by the International Cricket Council (ICC). - One Day International (ODI) cricket: This is a shorter form of cricket, where each team gets one innings of 50 overs (300 balls) and the match can last up to eight hours. ODI cricket is played by 20 countries that have been granted ODI status by the ICC. ODI cricket also features major tournaments such as the Cricket World Cup and the Champions Trophy. - Twenty20 (T20) cricket: This is the shortest and most popular form of cricket, where each team gets one innings of 20 overs (120 balls) and the match can last up to three hours. T20 cricket is played by all 106 members of the ICC and has spawned various domestic leagues such as the Indian Premier League (IPL) and the Big Bash League (BBL). T20 cricket also features major tournaments such as the ICC T20 World Cup and the ICC T20 World Cup Qualifier - These are some basic steps to play cricket. I hope you found them helpful and interesting. If you want to learn more about cricket, you can ask me more questions or check out some of these sources: - 1 How to Play Cricket: 14 Steps (with Pictures) - wikiHow 2 How to Play Cricket: A Guide for Beginners - HowTheyPlay 3 How to Play Cricket: Guide for Beginners | Cricket-Player.com 4 How to Understand the Basic Rules of Cricket: 13 Steps - WikiHow Read the full article

[mogai-sunflowers]

gendermoonchild system!

gendermoonchild system-

PT: gendermoonchild system- End PT.

a gender system of genders related to being a moonchild/a child of the moon! genders in this system can follow the following format-

a gender related to (x) and being a moonchild, being a moonchild with (x) qualities, being a moonchild of (x), and both moonchild and (x) aesthetics!

the suffix for genders in this system is -lunia!

[Image ID: A flag with eleven generally equally-thick horizontal stripes. They are all wavy/puffy, but in a slightly uneven manner. From top to bottom, the colors are a gradient from light grey into deep grey back into light grey. The top stripe is outlined on the bottom in grey, and the bottom stripe is similar but along the top edge. The top and bottom stripe have a series of crescent moons and a full moon across the whole stripe. End ID.]

this is quite a self-indulgent gender system, but feel free to coin within it and please tag me if you do! a genderskychild and gendersongchild will be coming soon as well!

this beautiful flag was made by @a-quilted-milky-way !

tagging @radiomogai​​ @revenant-coining​​ @noxwithoutstars​​ @decayedgender​​ @scytheral​​ @lovesse​​ @heaveness​​ @dreamythism​​ @flandrizzine​​ @delusielle​​ @bpdette​​

[robotlearnstolove]

2023-02-13

Paid in Coin

Annoyed, Ellen picked up the receipt, folded it in half and put it into her back pocket alongside her notepad. Then, she pushed the pile of coins toward the edge of the table, letting them trickle into her open palm. It took three handfuls to get all the money into her apron pocket. As she walked away, she was all too aware of the weight of the money she was carrying and of the fact that all of it amounted to less than ten dollars. It was a shame too. They had seemed really nice.

Despite her inner feelings, she maintained a pleasant, even jovial face as she crossed the restaurant. She smiled at any guests whose eyes caught hers. She checked the rest of her tables and made mental notes about what they needed. Table sixteen looked like they would need another round of coffee soon. The three people at table five looked like they would be leaving soon. Table fourteen was ready to be cleared.

By the time she made it behind the bar, she might have even forgotten about the stupid cash payment if the coins weren’t still literally weighing down on the back of her neck. Her apron pocket was sagging weirdly. She couldn’t keep carrying this money around for the rest of her shift. Hastily, she looked around the bar for something that could contain it.

After ten seconds, she settled on a clean high ball glass. As she noisly dumped fistfuls of coins into the glass, she felt fairly certain that there was a better way to do this. She did not, however have time to sit and figure that out. Once all the money was in the glass, it was more than three-quarters full. She pulled the paper and pen from her back pocket and scribbled a quick note that read, “Ellen’s moneys” and wedged it into the glass, on top of the money so that it was clearly readable.

Feeling free from the weight, she spent the next ten minutes flying around the dining room. She delivered hot plates of food to tables six, nine and eleven. She did a full round of waters and coffees. She took payment from three guests, all of which had the decency to pay by card. She moved with efficiency. She was in her element.

Before Ellen knew it, it was ten and most of the tables were clear, wiped and reset for lunch. The morning rush was officially over.

“Goin’ on break,” she said quietly to Jess, who was polishing cutlery in the servery. “Watch the door, please.”

Jess didn’t say anything but gave a familiar grunt that she knew meant acknowledgement. Poor guy had only just started his shift. Knowing him, he’d probably gotten out of bed less than an hour ago too.

[in-my-feels-probably]

INEFFABLE - Kaz Brekker

Chapter Eleven

If you would like to read this on Wattpad, it’s on there as well, my @ is in_my_feels_probably and there’s a few visuals and better descriptions and stuff on there. otherwise, enjoy, let me know what you think, and you can check out my masterlist for updates and more. don’t forget to read the prologue, it’s important to the story!

INEFFABLE – Kaz Brekker

ineffable (adj.) too great to be expressed in words, utterly indescribable; too sacred to speak of. 

Chapter Eleven

It was early that morning, and the Crows had stopped the carriage. Elham had quickly changed back into her regular clothes, glad to be out of the dress. The Crows piled out and moved to stand behind the trunk Alina was stowed away in. They stood ready to defend themselves, Jesper with his hand on his pistol.

Elham put her hand on top of Jesper’s, reholstering his pistol. “Saints Jesper, we didn’t go through all that trouble just for you to shoot her.” “Relax, love, it’s just a precaution. Besides, I don’t think a bullet is going to do much damage against the literal sun.”

Noises came from inside the trunk, and the lid popped open, Alina slowly emerging. She cautiously climbed out and jumped down in front of the Crows, holding her hands up in surrender.

“We don’t want any trouble.”

Alina’s voice was shaky. “Neither do I, so I’ll just be on my way.”

Kaz swiftly drew up his cane, blocking her from getting away on his side. Jesper stepped forward hesitantly. “Clearly, you want out of East Ravka. We can help you. We have a secure route through the Fold.”

Inej was gripping Elham’s hand tightly, and Elham was almost having to hold Inej up to keep her from collapsing. She knew this must have been a lot for a believer. Hell, it was a lot for her too.

Alina glanced at them warily, and Inej nodded at her, Elham offering a reassuring smile.

“I prefer to travel alone.”

Elham quipped up. “Baghra wouldn’t want you to. She told me about you. You’re safe with us, I promise. He’s not going to get you, not while I’m still standing.”

Elham knew her attempt was futile, but it was worth a shot. Alina’s face contorted with hesitation, like she wanted to trust her, but she knew she couldn’t.

“No, I can’t. Like I said, I prefer travelling alone.”

Jesper raised a hand towards her, signalling he meant no harm. “Don’t be rash. You stick with us, and everybody gets what they want.”

“I’m not being anyone’s captive ever again. So step aside, and let me pass.”

Elham almost felt guilty. She remembered the fear she felt escaping the Little Palace, and she knew there was nothing she could say or do to ease Alina. She looked to Kaz, who still hadn’t moved his cane, blocking Alina in.

Kaz relented. “I’m afraid we can’t let that happen.”

Jesper put his hand back on his pistol, and Alina’s eyes caught it. She moved her hands together, and Elham quickly dropped Inej’s hand, raising hers. She sparked a flame, ready to defend the Crows, when she was blinded by a searing light.

Inej had blocked it, and Elham had turned away before she got the full force of it, so she recovered quickly enough to see Jesper and Kaz ducked away, groaning, and Inej’s hands raised in surrender.

Elham had two options. Raise her hands and fight, cornerining Alina, or, she could let her go. She could get her kruge, ensure the safety of the Crow Club and Inej’s indenture, or, she could betray Kaz, and end up indentured to Heleen at the Menagerie.

But when she saw Alina’s hands raised in defense, the look in her eye matching a scared and defenseless animal, she dropped her hands to her side, stepping back towards Inej.

She’d accepted her fate the second she offered herself up in Inej’s place, and she knew she’d do anything to ensure the safety and security of the Crows, her family. There was no point in capturing Alina, not when she had been in the exact same position all those years ago.

Alina was scanning her eyes between Inej and Elham, slowly lowering her hands when Inej had slightly bowed her head to her. She looked at Elham, who just gave her a quick nod. Alina nodded her head back in thanks, and dashed around the side of the carriage and away from the Crows.

Jesper and Kaz had recovered now, slightly rubbing at their eyes, looking around. Elham sighed. She was in for it, and she knew it.

---

The Crows had trudged into one of the bars in the city, and were all seated around a table, silent. Jesper was scouting, and Inej had come in and taken a seat next to Elham, who had already downed a shot or two, and was still eyeing Kaz’s drink.

“There’s no horses missing at the stable, so…”

Kaz was slumped in his seat, gripping his cane. “So? What? Are you two going to tell me how the target got away?”

At that question, Elham had seemed to sober up a bit, now sitting up straighter.

Inej tilted her head, taking a deep breath. “I let her go.”

“You let her go? Elham, what were you doing during all of this? Fiddling with your thumbs?”

Elham stared Kaz down. “Well first, I was making sure my retinas were still intact. When I finally recovered, I sparked a flame, but then I realized the Sun Summoner would do us no good if I burnt her to a crisp...and I also realized Inej was right. So I surrendered, and she ran.”

Kaz leaned closer, and his tone was menacing, one of the worst he had ever used to speak to her.

“You both were hired to do a job.”

Elham scoffed. “Oh, is that right? I’m an employee, now? Not the one person who’s made sure your ass didn’t end up dumped in the harbour every night for the past few years? Got it.”

She slumped in her chair, turning away from him, missing how his face fell. Inej cut Kaz off before he could speak.

“The job was to pick up a fake for an easy million kruge. We found a living Saint who can summon the sun.”

Kaz pulled a coin from his pocket, twirling it between his gloved fingers. “A good magician is a good con artist. The trick is to make it look real.”

He opened his palms to reveal the coin was missing. Elham, slightly more intoxicated than she needed to be, almost laughed, muttering. “That was a good one, Kaz, you should do parties.”

Inej ignored her. “This is different. You saw her summon with your own eyes.”

“The best illusions are the most convincing. That’s the game.”

“You can hide behind your cynicism, but I believe she’s the real thing.”

Kaz turned to Elham, who was watching him with glazed eyes. “Do you?”

She took a breath, and nodded. “I do.”

He turned back to Inej, his words bitter. “I don’t see you falling to your knees to worship every Heartrender or Squaller we meet.”

Elham had heard enough. “Saints, Kaz, that’s enough. Don’t mock and belittle her faith just because you have none.”

He scoffed. “And you do?”

She hesitated. “I didn’t. Maybe I do now, I don’t know what I believe in, I’ve never found any comfort in the Saints, but I trust Inej.”

Inej was unrelenting. “This is different. Her power is a miracle. I won’t betray my faith.”

“Pious as that may be, we cannot work effectively as a crew if you’re making decisions based on religious zeal!”

Inej was seething. “Is that a threat to return me to Heleen?”

Kaz didn’t waver, leaning in, voice desperate.

“Either we get the target, or Heleen gets the Crow Club and Pekka gets whatever’s left. And if we do somehow manage to make it back, but empty handed, I’ll get to keep what’s mine, and you’ll be safe. But what does it matter if she gets my Valkyrie?”

Elham stilled in her chair, and Kaz’s eyes widened as he realized what he said. Inej’s face contorted in confusion.

“Wait. Why would Heleen get the Crow Club? Or Elham? What’s going on?”

Kaz’s jaw was clenched as he glanced at Elham, who was already staring, eyes glassy, tears threatening to spill over. He abruptly stood from the table, grabbing his cane and scampering off.

“Kaz! What did you do?”

She turned to Elham who was sunk in her seat, not meeting her gaze. “What did you do?”

Elham quickly wiped under her eyes, clearing her throat. “I, uh...something pretty stupid, I guess. But it was worth it.”

Inej gripped Elham’s hand. “Come on, you’ll have to do better than that. Please tell me.”

Elham hesitated, but finally gave in. “Well. We needed you for the heist, and Kaz knew he couldn’t pay off your indenture, which is what it would have taken for Heleen to release you. So...he gave her the deed to the Crow Club.”

Inej’s eyes widened, panicked. Elham quickly recountered.

“I didn’t let him do it! I could never let him give up something like that, it’s too big a risk. But I knew we had to free you, and I swore to myself that once we got you out of there, I wouldn’t let you go back.”

“Saints, El, what did you do?”

The tears were falling now. “Before I joined the Dregs, I off and on worked for a small place down by the harbour. I was desperate, and the owner hired me on a nightly basis. I wasn’t indentured, I did it all out of my own free will, I was lucky enough to at least have that. So, I guess you can say I have experience.”

Realization hit Inej, and she leaned her forehead against Elham’s. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t.”

A sob caught in Elham’s throat. “I did. I couldn’t let you go back there, and I couldn’t let Kaz give up something he worked so hard for. So, if we don’t make it back, Heleen gets the Crow Club. If we do, and we’re empty handed...she gets me. I’ll be her little fawn.”

“Saints, Elham, why did you let me let Alina go, why would you do all that for me? I could never ask it of you.”

Elham let out a chuckle, but there was no humour in it.

“You would never have to. I would do it again a thousand times over for you, for you and for him. But Saint’s Inej, I’m scared. I don’t want to go back to that.”

Inej’s voice was determined now, as she pulled Elham into a hug. “You won’t, ok? I promise. She’s not going to take either of us.”

It was Inej’s turn to let out a watery chuckle, her hold on Elham tightening.

“You’re crazy if you think Kaz is going to let you go, you know that right? I think he’d tear down the Barrel brick by brick before he let his Valkyrie go.”

Elham hummed into Inej’s shoulder, before pulling back, wiping under her eyes.

“I hope that’s true.”

“Of course it is.”

Elham scanned the room, spotting Kaz and Jesper.

“Will you go settle our tab? I’ll go see what the plan from here is.”

Inej nodded and stood heading for the bar as Elham headed to take a seat next to Jesper.

---

A/N - hi everyone! i should have a new chapter up soon, but we're getting really close to some of the stuff i've been really excited about writing in. also, the google doc i have for this book is literally 75 pages? like huh? it's well over 20-25K words, like what? and wattpad says it takes over 2 hours to read, that's crazy, y'all are dedicated for those of you reading it all in one go. anyways, let me know what you thought, feel free to reach out, and thanks for the support?

[lokis-army-77]

If you please

Chapter Seventeen

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2800

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Bucky being sad

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Masterlist

Early one morning I woke up and got ready for the day. Bucky wasn’t awake yet so I walked to the kitchen table, grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, then wrote him a note that said I was going out for a while and that I would be back later. After picking up some of the money we had stored in a giant jar on the floor, I headed to the door and down the stairs, out into the busy Romanian morning.

Cars and people bustled down the streets every which way. I walked a few blocks away before arriving at an old book store. I had been thinking for a while that maybe if Bucky read something that he used to love, then maybe that would help some memories resurface.

Stepping through the threshold, I was hit with the comforting smell of old books and what seemed to be a vanilla candle. In the corner, right next to the door, is the cashier, a small, hunched old woman who, every time I come in here, is sleeping. She jostles a bit at the sound of the bell when the door shuts but doesn't wake.

I continue on into the shelves of books, looking for anything Bucky might like. Even though it was a Romanian book store, there were many English selections of classic books. I scoured the shelves for a while before coming to a stop at one of his favorites, ‘The Hobbit’. I gently took it off the top shelf and fingered through the old, yellowing pages. Dust from the top of the book fell to the floor as I did so. Closing it, I started to scan for something else for me to read, this time making sure it was one of the very long ones, considering I had read the short four hundred page one about three times already. There was a small paperback copy of Victor Hugo’s ‘Les Miserables’ sitting on the second shelf from the floor. I grabbed it and sat it on top of the other book in my arms and headed for the front.

The old woman was still napping away when I placed my small stack onto the counter. I forwent ringing the service bell and just reached over to give a strong tap on her shoulder. Having been here before, I knew she wouldn’t wake up to the sound of it. She swatted my hand away and I tapped her a second time a little more harshly, she woke up that time, muttering in Romanian that she was awake. I greeted her with a soft hello before placing the coins for the books into her boney, outstretched hand. She thanked me then I was on my way back to the apartment.

I took a small detour through the open market stalls a block or two away from the apartment. I take my time looking through the small amount of fresh fruit that was offered so early in the year. I move along, not finding anything of interest. I make my way through the crowd of people to continue my original journey back home.

It was close to eleven by now and when I opened the door and stepped into the apartment, my nose was filled with the smell of something burning. Quickly I shut the door and run down the tiny hallway and into the main room. Bucky was standing over a smoking pan on the stove, while right next to it was a pot, almost boiling over.

“Buck what in the world are you doing?” I ask as I move towards him to turn the eyes off.

“I was trying to make breakfast for lunch. It was supposed to be an ‘I’m sorry I scared you and brought back bad memories’ meal since I never told you I was sorry, but I burnt the eggs and bacon.” He tells me before he leans over to the trash can and dumps the charred food in.

I moved around to stand next to him and placed my right hand on his firm metal bicep. “Thank you, I really appreciate the sentiment.” I smiled up at him then looked down at what was in the now slowly bubbling pot with chopped potatoes. “Look,” I pointed out, “the potatoes are fine.” Bucky followed my outstretched finger and gave a small nod.

“Go sit down, I'll make something with these.” He directed. I looked at him skeptically as I slowly backed away.

“Are you sure you don’t want my help?”

“Yes, sit.”

And so I did. I went directly to my bed where I had thrown the books, took up mine, and then started to read. It was hard to concentrate though since I looked up from the pages every two seconds to make sure Bucky wasn’t going to burn the whole building down again, but he seemed to be doing fine. He had ended up frying the chopped potatoes in butter with a bunch of random seasonings.

Several minutes later he had finished and was scooping the food onto two separate plates. He picked the plates up and made his way around the island and to the loveseat in front of it. Sitting down he placed his plate on the arm of the furniture and then called me over. I picked myself up off the mattress and plopped myself down beside him and took my plate from his hands.

“Thank you,” I mumbled as I took the fork into my hand and started eating. Surprisingly the food was actually good. I turned my eyes to him, he was staring at me, probably waiting for my thoughts on the food. I nodded my head as I chewed as a sign that it was good. He smiled softly and proceeded to eat his.

“That was really good, Buck. Next time when you cook though, stick to one thing at a time, don’t try to cook it all at once.” I said once I had finished.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Um,” he paused a second. “Where did you go this morning?”

“Oh, I actually went to get you something that might help with your memory.” I stood up after placing the dirty plate on the counter behind me and shuffled over to the bag that held Bucky’s book. I gently took it out and held it close. Making my way back to where he was sitting, I held the book out to him. “Here you go.”

He reached out and took it from me, a small smile ghosted his lips. “The Hobbit, I love this book, thank you.”

“See you’re already remembering.”

“Yeah, I think I remember wanting you to read it and you made me read something else.” He shut his eyes tight, trying to remember. “It was Pride and Prejudice wasn’t it?”

I gave him a giant toothy grin at that. “It was,” I almost shouted. I leaned down to give him a hug, excited he remembered something that was so long ago. “We started reading them the week we got engaged.” I backed away a bit.

“Oh yeah-” He looked to his hands and then to my hand. “Do you- do you still have the ring?”

“Of course I do.” I lifted my hands to the chain that always stayed hidden beneath my shirt. There was a small delicate clank as the ring and locket tapped against each other. I brought the chain over my head and then grabbed one of Bucky’s hands, placing the necklace down gently. I watched as he brought the small treasures closer to his face. He studied them quietly.

“Why don’t you ever wear the ring around your finger?” he asked, I heard a little bit of concern come through.

“I didn’t want to lose it. I kept it hidden for a long time, then when everything happened in January I had a feeling that I should keep it on at all times. With all the fighting that took place, I thought it best to wear it around my neck so I wouldn't fall off.” I explained. I eyed him as he fiddled with the clasp, he was taking the ring off.

He rose to his feet silently before grabbing my left hand to place the ring securely where it was meant to be. “Can you wear it like this from now on?” I looked into his eyes, they were soft. I nodded in response as he stepped a little closer to me.

I could feel my heart start to quicken when he started to lean down, coming to eye level with me. I could feel his cool hand snake up to the back of my neck and pull me forward slightly. I closed my eyes, I could feel the warmth of his breath, we were so close. I leaned myself in more and before I knew it I felt his rough but soft lips graze the corner of my mouth. They were warm and just like I remembered, familiar. I moved my hands to the sides of his face to keep him from moving away. His hands came softly atop mine and pulled them away and down between, but he never let go of them. I felt him move back a tiny bit before I opened my eyes with a small huff. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him, how much I missed the feeling of him. I wanted to feel him kiss me, really kiss me.

He whispered my name softly as one of his hands came up to move a strand of my hair away from my face and then brought the hand back to cradle mine. “I want to take this slow.”

“But-” I started but he cut me off.

“Let me find myself before I come back to you,” The broken sound of his voice hit my ears so softly I probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it if my hearing were normal.

“Okay, Bucky I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.” He pulled me into a tight hug at that.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

It is now mid-July and Bucky has been steadily remembering more and more. The process has gone faster than I thought it would, but that’s probably because he isn’t alone and trying to figure things out. I’ve noticed that the longer we are here in Romania, the less paranoid he is about being found, although it still eats at the back of both our minds constantly.

Bucky has started to smile more, he’s started to get closer to me, mentality and physically. Something changed after that afternoon he slipped the ring back onto my finger. Sometimes, while we are sitting at home he will slip his hand into mine and leave it there for a while, or he’ll somehow just gravitate to my side like a magnet. I never push him further than he is comfortable with, knowing he is still trying to find his missing pieces.

He works hard, exhaustingly so, to be able to remember. To be the Bucky he once was. Sometimes when he gets frustrated, I have to remind him that he will never be one hundred percent how he was in 1943, but I love him all the same, I’ll stay beside him.

And that's how we came to this precise moment. Bucky was laid out on the floor staring at the ceiling when I walked out of the bathroom from taking my nightly shower.

“What’s the matter?” I questioned as I rang my hair out with the towel. He didn’t say anything, just turned his head to face away from me. “Hey, come on, you can tell me.” I encouraged as I sat down on the edge of my mattress.

“It’s nothing, really.”

“Oh it isn’t nothing, I can see it all over your face. Something is bothering you so tell me what’s up.”

“I don’t know. I’m just so tired. My head is hurting from all the things I’m trying to remember.” He huffed out gruffly. I gave him a sympathetic look before poking him in the side. He turned his body to the side to look at me.

“You do know it’s okay to take a break? You shouldn’t expect yourself to remember every little thing.”

“I know, it's just. There are these glimpses from the past but I can never place them. It’s frustrating.” He says as his hand comes up to softly play with my fingers near his head.

“Well, you can’t try to remember things clearly if you are exhausted. Get some rest and relax, let the memories clear themselves up instead of trying to force them.” I stilled his hand and rubbed the back of it with the one he wasn’t currently grasping. “How about I make us some tea and then we can get some rest?”

“I’d like that a lot.”

“Okay then.” I stood up and his hand slowly let go of mine.

In the kitchen, I grabbed the kettle and filled it with water, and placed it on the eye of the stove. While waiting for the water to boil I washed the dirty mugs in the sink so that way we could use them. The box of teabags was sitting off to the side of the sink, I slipped two from the box and placed them in the now clean, empty mugs. When the water was done I poured it into our cups along with a few scoops of sugar and a tiny bit of milk and then walked back over to where I was sitting earlier.

“Here you go. Be careful, it’s hot and still needs to steep for a bit.” I warned as he sat up to take the mug from my hand. I sat back down and after a minute, started to take small sips of my tea.

“Thank you. Not just for the tea, but for everything you do. I don’t know how I’d get through this if you weren't with me.” He confessed as he took a long sip.

“You don’t have to thank me, Buck-” I started but he cut me off.

“Yes, I do. I wouldn’t have gotten near as far as I have if it weren't for your help. You’re always so loving and patient with me. I don’t deserve it, especially with the things I’ve done.” His head hung low as he drew his knees up closer to him.

I frowned as I sat my mug on the floor and crawled my way across the floor to sit directly in front of him. Carefully I placed both my hands on his. “Nothing you did is your fault.”

“Yes, it is. I did awful things. They are the only thing I can remember vividly. Can’t you see that I'm a bad guy now?”

“Sweetheart you are not a bad guy, you are a victim.” I moved my hand to his face so I could have him look at me. “And yes, you did those things but none of that was under your control. Nothing you did with HYDRA was in your control.” He looked at me with tears welled up in his eyes, he grabbed my hand and pulled it down away from his face but he never let it go. “I want to help you get through this but I can’t do that if you push me away because you think you are a danger to me. I told you before that you could never hurt me, I’m tougher than I look.”

“I don’t doubt that,” He chuckled. “It’s just hard when at any second I could turn back into that thing. It scares me, it scares me so much that I could be the reason I lose you just after I got you back.” His voice sounded like he was trying hard to hold back tears.

I moved from in front of him to his left side. I wrapped my arms around him, making him lean into me. I squeezed him tight. “It’s okay to cry, don’t hold it back,” I whispered into his ear. I felt him shudder and then all of a sudden it was like the flood gates had been opened.

We sat there on the floor for what felt like hours. We had changed into a more comfortable position, where Bucky had his arms wrapped around my middle and he just wept into my shirt. I softly played with his long hair and scratched his scalp. It seemed to calm him, but he still cried. He cried until no more tears would come until all he could do was jolt with hiccups.

We fell asleep like that, huddled together on the hard floor, next to the couch.

Authors note: Hi everybody, I know this chapter is a little shorter than I have been writing but I started my third year at college and I have like three 15 page essays and a crap tone of homework. So please be patient with me with writing for a while.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila @andy-is-gay

[stygianflood]

Like the Shoreline and the Sea (Ethan x F!MC)

Summary- Ethan is asked out on a date right after Miami in Book 1. Ethan’s PoV

Genre, rating, words- Angst, teen, 2k

Open Heart fanfic tropes- birthday, office.

March Challenge Day 13 prompt Someday; April Challenge Day 9 prompt Smell of the Rain 

A/N: nor’westers-  violent thunderstorms in northern plains of India, before the onslaught of monsoon.

Title inspired by Leonard Cohen’s Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye.

‘This will improve our understanding of adiposity and sarcopenia in this population, help identify thresholds predictive of metabolic risk, and ultimately prevent or ameliorate… ’

Better prevent than ameliorate.

‘...ameliorate the long-term impacts on health and…’ 

Twenty five years should be long enough.

Hers is a singsong voice, the warm, trilling kind. Mellow sun dances on the frills of her dress. The yellow one. 

The man at her side twirls her on the empty kerb. Dips and kisses her. Her laughter is all that is pure and golden.

A child follows them, embarrassed. She bends down to kiss him, and he is furious. 

The scene shifts.

The child is on the front porch, eyes set somewhere beyond the wild bergamot bushes. 

Tear tracks on pink cheeks mingle and dry with dust from his afternoon’s exploits. Something like a steely resolve troops in his eyes.

Ethan Ramsey has been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now.

Whoever coined the term ‘nostalgia’ from the Homeric nostos and algos was speaking of anguish caused by an inability to return. But they failed to discern the inevitable tethering of reminiscence with habituality.

That is more or less the case with him. Louise Ramsey walked out on her husband, and eleven year old son some twenty five years ago right before his birthday. For a very long time now, home is not about apple crisps or kitchen gardens. 

About this time every year, a crevice in his mind he likes to call the amygdala dwells on the same days. 

Almost as a ritual. 

He is a scientist. A rationalist. And like every year, he reminds himself there is work to do.

Unless there’s a knock at the most unpleasant hour.

He never returns to the article. Never manages a come in. The distraction walks in, messy hair knotted with a pencil. Probably because she has lost another hair tie. 

He mustn’t be that aware. 

But she talks too much. 

‘Dr. Mukherjee.’ He sounds gruff. They’re supposed to be redrawing their boundaries, even if he is the only one making an effort. ‘I thought your shift ended-’

‘Two hours ago.’ Rigours of a sixteen hour shift mark her visage. Her smile is a little too conniving for his comfort. ‘I had work afterwards.’ 

She starts shuffling papers on his desk, permission be damned. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and manages an exasperated sigh. Since when have interns started walking into his office with… birthday cakes?

‘What do you think you’re- It’s not my-’

‘I heard rumours that Dr. Ramsey had to cancel a date.’ She sounds amused. He does not miss the split second glance she shoots his way before continuing. ‘On his birthday, too. Such a shame.’

He scoffs.

‘No one knows it���s my birthday.’

‘Oh, they do. They’re just too afraid to… ah, invoke the wrath of Dr. Ramsey.’

Of course, she is not one of them. She has absolutely no regard for the immutable drill he has observed for nearly four decades. And why must she, when her sole intent is to swivel the rusty axis of his life.

Ethan has never known the first shower of an Indian monsoon. It is sudden and torrential, just as it is feared and revered. It smells like summer, and mango blossoms. 

Ethan has never known one until this year.

‘I’m thirty seven, Rookie,’ He manages weakly. 

‘And I would’ve bought the candles accordingly if I knew that.’ 

The tealights she arranges look so much better, he thinks. The cake is a simple blue and white affair. Not the ones that have more icing than cake, he notes. Not the ones he disapproves of.

Happy Birthday, Dr. Terminator

‘I could’ve whipped something up without sugar,’ She rambles, suddenly starting to blush. ‘Or ordered one. But I only just came to know it’s your birthday. And there wasn’t a lot of-

‘Thank you, Apu.’ Tresses of warmth curl about his chest and the gravel of his voice.

Ethan has avoided birthday cakes for a decade now. Unless it’s Naveen’s birthday, he thinks with a pang.

In his time with Harper or his brief involvements in med-school, no one has ever convinced him to do birthdays. He checks himself. This is just an intern being kind.

But interns aren't kind to Dr. Ramsey, are they. 

She assures him the photos are not for social media. They settle on the couch, it’s his first birthday cake in over a decade. 

He is glad for an innocuous reason to look at her, laugh at jokes that in any other company would draw his scorn. She is oddly comforting. Unlike most interns who avoid his office at all costs, she moves about it as if she was meant to be here all along. 

He must have stalled birthdays worth twenty years only to spend it on a couch with her. 

The plates are disposable. It is nothing like the restaurants that come with his status, for there is an endearing simplicity about it. 

It almost feels like… home.

He steals occasional glances at her. It has been four agonisingly long days after their return from Miami. And for all his attempts to redraw their boundaries, it has been a non-return of sorts. 

Aparna drives him to distraction, flouts each and every one of his rules. Seeks him out in supply closets and muddled dreams. And every time he breaks her heart a little more, he finds himself floundering in his own squalor.

The German counterpart to the English ‘nostalgia’ is ‘sehnsucht’. Like ‘nostalgia’, it has the charm of what has been. But unlike it, it also has the enigma of what has never been. Miami will remain the swansong to an ideal that slipped through Ethan’s fingers. 

A surge of anguish ripples through him as he realises all of this is his for the asking, and he will have none of it. 

‘It wasn’t a date,’ He blurts out.

He wouldn’t tell her that if he wants her to move on. Not truly.

‘You don’t have to-’

‘She is Declan’s associate in Panacea. She suggested signing the contract with the Diagnostics Team over dinner tonight. So…  just business.’

Claudette Wilson is the most promising young face of Panacea, and Ethan needed less than a minute to know why. 

Sleek, dark hair styled at her nape played up her high cheekbones. The ruby of her pliant lips, almost risqué for a meeting such as this, always lingered a little longer on the rim of her coffee mug. Even the measured spoons of her laughter came with an all too enticing lilt.

Ethan has met the other type. Vacuous and synthetic. But the steely glint in her eyes came with a weighty intelligence. An unfaltering wit. And when a perfectly manicured hand brushed the contours of his cuff, he knew it was never meant to be just business. 

She was irresistible. And so was he.

That afternoon, the bitterness in his mouth had nothing to do with coffee. He learnt he would refuse Claudette even if her pay checks did not come from Panacea.

Aparna falls silent, almost as if discerning in his words everything he left unsaid.

They have run out of jokes and topics for a harmless chat. He is getting terribly comfortable with her again, he realises alarmed. And she is fidgeting with the ring on her finger.

She’s nervous too. He knows. He could define every twitch and turn of those fingers. 

Somewhere in their conversation they have edged so close that her knee juts into his thigh. The couch is surprisingly small for two people. Minutes pass, and despite himself, he does not want her to leave. 

His fingers rest on her flustered hands, it’s a deep-rooted reflex. Looking down, she weaves his hand in both of her own. Even as the adrenaline surging in his blood incites him to flee, the delirious part of him emerges stronger and more naive.

He thinks she is leaning in. Soaking up the mayhem in his eyes. The slight movement causes wisps of errant hair to slip from the messy bun. There’s new growth around her brows, a faded scar on her forehead. But it’s her eyes that still hold sway over him. 

They stroked him with a strange, silent awe on a balcony on the shores of the Atlantic.

She is nothing like interns that hover around him year after year. Sucking up for recommendations. Sometimes more. She can devour him, and just as easily cast him aside without batting an eye. 

And yet she is here. Snuggled in his office while her friends call it a night with cheap beer and rowdy escapades. 

But she is different tonight. The quiver in her eyes tentative, even wary.

His hand rises of its own accord, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Inadvertently, it brushes her face, lingers a little longer against her cheek.

She caressed his face as the ocean crashed around him. It was like falling from the top of a precipice. Tumbling into the amorphous, a terrifying weightlessness. He waited.

‘It’s getting late.’

She smells like the hospital, muted shades of honeysuckle, and like herself. 

The cool breeze hummed a steady rhyme against the tumble of her midnight blue dress. Bits of the moon bounced off the dark curtain of her hair, plunging into her eyes. Ethan had never seen such fathomless eyes.

‘I should go.’ She leans into his palm, eyes fluttering close. 

‘You should.’ 

And then she caught him. It was the hollow of her neck. It was soft. Like the rest of her. 

Neither of them move today, silently imploring the other to charge. Or retreat. The battle drum in his chest is a dull ache. Throbbing and inconsolable.

The ridges of her collarbone bore traces of his ruin. Traces she covered every morning and stripped every night, like the rites of a godless liturgy.

His free hand is still laced in hers, the other drawing her face nearer. 

Her lips are inches from his own as he draws a languid finger across them. Her warm breath spills on his lips, warring and mingling with his own ragged ones. 

Her mouth was stained with wine. Numbing and inciting. He was battered, and bruised. Marooned at her side. And she was warm. So warm.

His hand traced the pummelling of her heart, kneading the softness of her chest. Her tongue jousted with his own as the ocean lapped at its shore. Tireless and persevering.

She was wild. Like her Gangetic nor’westers on a sultry afternoon. He was bewitched. She was doing something good to him.

Suddenly the air around them is ripped by the sound of his phone. 

It’s his father.

The two of them recoil to their own spaces, Ethan horrified that he let himself stray so far yet again. Silencing the still erring device, he faces Aparna bracing for another apology.

‘I know.’ 

Her smile is placid, all traces of vulnerability gone. He is vaguely aware of the gentle pressure on the hand still clasped in her own.

‘Happy Birthday, Ethan. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 

She is gone before he can marshal his thoughts.

Ethan flops back into the couch, shivering and alone. The incandescent glow from the solitary lamp drenches the office in a soft, ethereal haze. She might not have been here at all but for the little things she scatters around him every time she forays into his life.

Today she leaves with him a caesura. It thwarts the cadence of a life he has been putting together since Miami.

After a minute, or perhaps a staggering nightmare, when he rises to pack the rest of the cake, he sees it. 

She must have forgotten her hair tie was in her pocket after all. 

It stares up at him from the floor, the silken, mute witness of his transgression. He gingerly picks it up, and turns it in his hand as though it houses some ancient sorcery. 

Laying it on his desk, he considers texting her. But scarcely does he scroll down to her name when he stops himself. And pockets it. 

Somewhere in the Atlantic, waves still crash upon the rocks, moistening, but never quite lingering. 

The waves are relentless. Someday, the rocks crumble into fine sand.

Thank you for reading this! Let me know if you’d want to be added or removed.

[lara635kookie]

Ranking the best The 39 Clues books(First season because the other ones just aren't canon in my mind).

SPOILER ALERT!

If you're a Clue Hunter and is reading this post, when you finish it reblog it and do your ranking of The First Season books(please I need to know I'm not alone on this fandom)(Please someone tell me I didn't get to this fandom too late). Also this is only my opinion. If you think different feel free to share your thoughts(respectly). So let's go:

My Personal Favorites:

10-Beyond The Grave(Book Four written by Jude Watson):

Honestly this book is overall good and I really wanted to go Egypt but that's only in this place because Ian and Natalie don't show up in person, they're only mentioned by Amy and Dan sometimes. It may seem like a stupid reason but Ian and Natalie were the biggest enemies of Amy and Dan, arch-enemies since the two understand themselves by person and their appearances have always been so iconic, the chases, the talks, the fights, the teasing so the fact they weren't in this book just didn't feel right. The Cahills and the Kabras have a lot of chemistry, both as enemies and as much something more(if you get me, lovers cough cough), and the Kabras have been sorely missed in this book(at least by me).

9-The Emperor's Code(Book Eight written by Gordon Korman):

I don't know compared to the other ones, this one just look kinda forgettable. Maybe because Amy and Dan spend a good part of this book apart. But of course the story has its good moments which are when Dan gives an autograph for a girl (D. Cahill is priceless), when Dan tells the Wizards that he is a Madrigal (as we say in Brazil: Iconic, Memorable and Timeless) (Dan was very amazing in this book, if you disagree, disagree in silence) and when Amy saves Ian(aka Love of her life) from falling off Mount Everest.

8-The Viper's Nest(Book Seven written by Peter Lerangis):

I love that one but the other ones are just better. I like the ending with Isabel(and everyone) thinking that the Clue was Diamond and It wasn't. I also like the scenes with Kurt because I wanted Ian to meet him and Kurt make Ian jealous of Amy(don't judge my dreams). Another thing that I really like is the history. I really like studying history and I learnt so much about Shaka Zulu. And was also with that book that I realized that Isabel had arrived to stay and that she would be the Main Villain in the end somehow. Maybe That's another reason why I don't like much The Emperor's Code:Isabel didn't show up and I thought she would appear in all the other books after In Too Deep. Natalie on Storm Warning said that Isabel didn't trust Ian and her to handle the Hunt without Isabel anymore since Russia so that just doesn't make sense. Maybe she didn't appearead to give Cora Wizard the spotlight but anyway let's continue.

7-The Black Circle(Book Five written by Patrick Carman):

I love this one so much. Probably because in this book we see that Ian is also in love with Amy. On Book three he seemed to like her but then he and Natalie let Amy, Dan and Alistair locked on the cave and we only see Amy Side of this story. Her sadness. But we didn't know if Ian was sorry, if he regreted his actions. And when they come back on this book we see Ian still likes Amy and the fandom goes crazy. I mean even if you are a Jamy/Carian shipper or shipps another shipp you probably shipped Amyan before because they were the only promising couple on the series(at least on series one). Back to the book I Love The Holts defeating the Kabras and Amy and Dan doing an Alliance with Hamilton(Dan envying Hamilton for driving a Kamaz will be Forever iconic). Also this book was when I realized Irina wasn't bad. I didn't like her in the other books and I didn't notice much of her but everything changed on this book and I started to love her. * sad sigh * Moving on!

6-The Maze of Bones(Book One written by Rick Riordan):

Uncle Rick(we call him like that on Brazil, in portuguese is Tio Rick) did a really great job on this one. For a series that has several authors writing, the beginning is very important and it is a great responsibility for the first author because those who will write later have to understand what you wanted to convey in the beginning to make a coherent continuation. Rick Riordan did it flawlessly. We can identify ourselves in the characters and we get really connected to the plot, the history, the riddles about Benjamin Franklin and after finishing the book we wanna know more about what happens next. So Rick Riordan absolutely slayed this introduction and no one can tell me otherwise.

5-One False Note(Book Two written by Gordon Korman):

This book is just unforgivable. I love this with all my soul. Probably because It talks about Mozart and his history and I really love arts. Also because the writing of this book is so satisfactory and so well done. I mean I really thought Fidelio Racco was a real person. What I also love about that book is the fact that every character get to shine. Amy and Dan are the Main characters but the appearences of all the other characters are really remarkable so yeah That's it. Deserves this spot on the Top 5 for sure.

4-In Too Deep(Book Six written by Jude Watson):

Going now to the four horsemen of the apocalypse from the best books of The 39 Clues. In Too Deep It's just something so perfect It's inexplicable. Something I don't like much about In Too Deep is that when Isabel was fighting to Irina and Ian and Natalie were watching Natalie was like:Irina is going to get Shoot on the head, That's gonna be so good. Like she wanted Isabel to do this, like she would be disappointed if she didn't, like she was used to seeing this type of thing. Then, In Storm Warning she was soft like:Not blood. It's so repulsive(several authors series problem but the series is good anyway). About that book I love the start, I love the middle, I love the apex and If It wasn't for Irina's death in the end this would probably be even higher than already is. Why Irina, Jude? Also:Why Pony? Why Erasmus? Why McIntyre? Why Alistair? Why Lester? Why Natalie? Why Evan? Why everyone? Why not Jake or Cara? Back to the story Jude Watson is Just a genius for transforming a dream(or a nightmare) in Isabel Kabra and adding her to the book. I don't wanna cry today so I'm just going for the next one.

3-The Sword Thief(Book Three written by Peter Lerangis):

If this book was a part The Plastics of Mean Girls, The Sword Thief would be Karen Smith of The 39 Clues, because let's face it:Amy and Dan were really dumb of accepting an alliance with Alistair and the Kabras. Principally with the Kabras. I mean they already were kinda used to temporary alliances with Alistair but not Ian and Natalie but they should have expected that It would have been bad on the end. I mean yes they needed Ian's coin to open the cave to find the clue but they look so surprised when Ian and Natalie leaves them on the cave and they shouldn't because that was obvious that they were going to betray them in the final. So they should have accepted the alliance but being more distant to the Kabras and preparing themselves in case they try something(which was obvious they would). But at the same time, I'm glad they didn't because AMYAN IS JUST MY ENTIRE LIFE(And even a little bit of Danatalie this book is Just a masterpiece). Just like In Too Deep, I love everything about that book, except the end. And I am a Kpop fan(not the cringe obssessed type) and I really like to study about North and South Korea and their history but South Korea's caves just left me depressed. I'm gonna cry so let's change the subject.

2-Storm Warning(Book Nine written by Linda Sue Park):

I love everything about this book. Literally everything. The start, the middle, the apex and the end. I love this book mainly because Natalie got the spotlight that she deserved. I don't know why I like Natalie so much since the start. Maybe because when I started Reading the books I was eleven, just like her. And Maybe because she was pretty, rich, savage and sassy wich I always wanted to be. But there is something more that I don't know how to explain that is really relatable about Natalie even with my reality being too different from hers and this book was the confirmation I needed that Natalie would be my favorite character Forever. I Also like it because it happened on Bahamas and Jamaica(two places I really want to go in the future) and It got a lot of revelations and twists in the end(wich I love more than everything on a book). If Storm Warning was a person and slapped my face I would probably say:Thanks, Could you do that again?

1-Into The Gauntlet(Book Ten written by Margaret Peterson Haddix):

I usually don't like the endings of books because I'm sad that it's over and as all the other books were good I usually demand a lot from the endings, even more than the beginnings (for me the final impression is the one that stays, not the first). I generally like the endings but I've never looked at a ending book and said: This one overcomes all the other books. I normally like more the start or the middle books. But man Into The Gauntlet caught me off guard. DoD is already a trash ending, comparing to Into The Gauntlet, DoD(fanfiction-forced-canon) seems even worse(if That's even possible). Everything about that book It's just top-notch, high quality, god tier, flawlessly perfect. Stan Haddix. We believe in Into The Gauntlet Supremacy.

It's going to have a part 2. Bye.

[what-big-teeth]

Heal (Male Fae ; Fic Raffle)

And done! @serenitydusk requested a story with the female reader being a witch who encounters a male fae. Like I said before, my muse grabbed hold to her wonderful ideas and refused to let go until there was story that incorporated those elements (all 11 eleven pages worth). So I hope you all enjoy this fic!

tw: blood ; injury ; attempted break in Female Reader (POV) x Male Monster The forest is alive in more ways than one.

The verdant green of the trees and underbrush is near blinding. The shade of the rich soil almost appears jet black. And the scent of the fresh blooms is short of addictive; almost mouthwatering.

All signs of the Fae.

You’ve known this fact ever since you moved to the outskirts of your picaresque, rural town. The power ebbing and flowing from the surrounding land told you as much. You haven’t pinpoint the exact source, and you’re fine with not knowing.

Some stones are better left unturned.

You know the land you live on is not your own. So you leave offerings near the thickening edge of the forest, where the old trail has been reclaimed by nature. Today, you offer a small jar of honey, freshly gathered from a nearby hive; untouched, chilled milk in a glass bottle; and healing salves neatly packed and tied in dense cloth. The latter is always gone when you return to give more offerings the next day. 

Since you’ve begun paying your respects, in return, your decrepit cottage has slowly  recovered from the damage caused by time and the elements. The musty scent covered up by the herbal bundles hanging from the ceiling has turned naturally sweet. The molded cracks and leaks in the walls and roof no longer exist. And most importantly, your meager foraging has grown bountiful, leaving you with an excess of ingredients to use. Most of it for your famed healing salves and ointments. You can’t help but smile knowing your work is just as popular among the Good Neighbors as it is among the townsfolk.

Which is why today, you’re able to head into town to answer a house call.

You tuck away another container of pain-relieving ointment then slide the top of your leather satchel in place. After a final glimpse at your cold hearth and sun-filled workshop, you set off.

The main path into town leads eastward, past two, towering rows of conifers. Their citrus, piney scent engulfs you with every step. 

By the time you reach the town’s entrance, the sun is almost high in the sky. The townsfolk are up and about with many greeting you cordially. You do the same, but keep pace towards your destination. A few fallen leaves and pine needles cling to your light cloak; you know the fabric is suffused with the forest’s scent. Your patient won’t mind, but her caretaker may be offended.

Once your feet carry you down a narrow, cobbled street and to a bold, blue door, you lift your hand and give the barrier three solid knocks. There isn’t enough time to pluck away every needle and dust off every leaf before the door wrenches opens.

Roderick regards you with a critical eye, as if the piercing stare will send you scuttling back to your cottage. You stand your ground instead, and give him a pleasant, practiced smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Tate. I’m here for Mrs. Hale‘s weekly house call.”

You quickly learned to never call Edith anything but Mrs. Hale in his presence. The first time you did, your affront nearly left you without the gold coin and tip she promised you. So you adapted and now tread carefully, letting Roderick hear what he’d prefer. But great god and goddess if he didn’t make your attempts at pleasantries difficult.

Roderick hums low then steps away from the threshold. You swiftly enter in case he decides to change his mind.

“Mother is near the hearth. She insisted on preparing some tea,” he says, voice tightening. “‘For our guest’”, she said. 

Roderick can barely think of you as such thanks to how you’ve proclaimed yourself a witch. You hope, with time, he’ll slowly come around. Just as many of the other townsfolk have.

You thank him and follow him the short distance to the kitchen. Edith sits at their small dining table, her wizened, deep brown hands clutching the steaming mug before her. Her wide nose flares as she inhales the vapors as the fresh scent of peppermint prickles your nose. One of your favorites.

“Roddy, is that the healer?” Her dark, rheumy eyes squint in your direction and her wrinkled face lifts with a smile. “It’s so good to see you, my dear.”

“Likewise, ma’am.”

As much as you wish to greet her properly with a hug or a pat to the back of her hand, you ignore the urge. Roderick could easily kick you out for not treating his mother-in-law with the “proper respect”. Instead, you remove your satchel and take the empty seat across from her.

“Roddy,” she says, “be a dear and pour our guest some tea, will you?”

You glance at Roderick; he looks as if he’s swallowed a bitter draught. But he does as his mother-in-law asks then stands at the kitchen entrance, like a sentinel. No matter. You’re here for Edith and her alone.

As you both chat about summer’s approach and her change in hairstyle, you examine her hands. You carefully bend each finger, checking her expression for any signs of pain. None. You then move on to her wrists and see her twinge at the slight movement.

“It’s better than it was before,” she says.

“That’s good, but I’d still like you to keep using the compress and herbal infusion. Warm the infusion and apply it three times a day, as before.”

“Yes, yes. Roddy will help me, won’t you dear?”

As you place some lengths of cotton wool and dried herbs for the infusion on the table, the crinkle of Roderick’s lips and nose lessens.

“Of course, Mother. You only need to ask.”

Edith smiles beatifically before her mouth falls open.

“Oh, you haven’t finished your tea.” 

With the way Roderick’s nostrils flare, you know you’ve overstayed your welcome.

“What I managed to have was delicious,” you say, patting the back of her free hand. “I should get going.”

“Won’t you stay for dinner? Roddy can walk you back to your cottage afterwards.”

His gritted jaw says otherwise. You kindly decline Edith’s invitation and gather your satchel. 

Roderick leads you to the front door, holding it open as you pass through. A harsh jingling from his person draws your attention.

“Here,” he says, thrusting a leather pouch your way. “Your coin.”

You carefully take it from his tense, outstretched hand.

“Thank—”

The door slams shut.

“...you.”

The bustle from the town’s main square drifts through the air. With a sigh, you turn back the way you came. There are a few items you need to purchase before returning home.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like many times before, your offering of healing salves has vanished from where you’ve left it. But surprisingly, so has the fresh honey and milk. That hasn’t happened before. Believing this to be a good sign, you smile and walk back in the direction of your cottage.

You arrive just as the sun has nearly vanished beneath the horizon, before the more natural denizens of the forest have fully awakened. You slide the wooden security bar in front of the door and light your hearth, as you do every night. Your mouth stretches open in a wide yawn, but you ignore the temptation to bathe and curl up in your bed. There are some herbs that need to be hung for drying and your recent tincture needs to be strained. So first—

You hear a knock at the door.

Your brows knit together; you’re not expecting any company. The townsfolk know better than to venture into the forest so close to nighttime.One knock becomes two. Then three, four, five. Silence. You only hear the chirping and buzzing of the usual nocturnal insects. The tight grip on your cloak loosens. Perhaps the person has—

A dull “thwack” sounds against the door. It’s followed by a creaking wrench and a deep grunt of effort. Then again and again. You know the sounds intimately. You’ve passed by men from the town felling trees for firewood in the fall.

The person outside is breaking in. 

You nearly lose your footing backing away from the source of the sound. Your gaze darts around your workshop. The knives you own aren’t meant for injuring or self-defense. They pale in comparison to a sharpened axe. 

The axe bites into the door with more force. The wood groans. Splinters. The blade hits true again. You see a hint of it through the door. Your stomach roils.

But you manage to swallow your scream. You refuse to give the intruder any pleasure from the palpable fear gripping your chest. Even as your lungs struggle to draw in air, you whip around and grab one of your paring knives. You aim it towards the door and brace yourself for what’s to come next.

There’s a pained yell, mingled with a sharp curse. A growl then an animalistic scream, aimed away from your door. Grunts and groans, which you recognize as signs of struggling. They’re cut off by a weighty ‘thud’ and a lighter one that swiftly follows. The sounds of the forest are muted and you stand unharmed in one piece. But how?

With slow careful steps, you edge towards the damaged door. You place your paring knife on the floor and slide the security bar away, swiftly picking up your knife once the plank is secured.

The would-be intruder lays on the ground in a crumpled heap, their face pressed into the grass. An arrow pierces their flesh just beneath their shoulder, its fletching of hawk feathers ruffling in the night’s breeze. You can’t help but wince; for the shot to have fractured bone, the strength behind such an attack had to be enormous.

Looking up, you see the source of that strength.

Your savior stands half a stone’s throw away, cloaked in shadows. What little light remains from the sinking sun acts as a backlight, revealing his silhouette. You’re able to see the outline of their quiver and longbow. They’re of humanoid shape, but something about his head makes you uncertain.It’s then you realize the odd shapes framing his head are large, curled horns. And see the glowing, green pinpoints staring at you. Not human. But fae.

Neither of you move from where you stand. Part of you wants to, however, not wishing to incur the wrath of this Kindly Neighbor. But you’re frozen where you stand. Perhaps by his power.

“You are unharmed?”

The masculine voice would be soothing if not for the rasping edges surrounding it. He sounds injured, but you have no way of confirming your suspicions. You swallow against the nervous lump in your throat.

“Yes, I am. I…appreciate your aid and concern.”

The fae scoffs.

“Your thanks is misplaced,” he says. “I’m merely reinforcing the laws of the forest established by its ruler. Nothing more.”

A groan interrupts your thoughts on how to continue the conversation. The bulky, would-be intruder shifts his head against the ground, turning their tanned face away from the dirt. You’re able to make out his features thanks to your lit hearth, and find them familiar.Roderick isn’t the only one in town who is wary of you. But he is the most forward with his actions and words. The man lying near your home is one of his friends.

You stifle the curse building behind your tongue. The fae have never condoned vulgarity and you don’t wish to make things worse in this delicate situation.

“You should return indoors,” the fae says suddenly. “And find a way to deafen your hearing.”

A sharp chill rushes down your spine.

“May I ask why?”

You think you hear his grip clench tighter around his bow.

“This man’s actions have assured his death.”

Your stomach plummets as your mouth opens before you’re able to stop it.

“Please don’t!”

The unnatural silence amplifies the pounding in your head. The fae hisses, his body shifting in a stilted manner as he hunches forward to guard his middle. So he is injured.

“And why should I show him mercy?” he rasps out.

“This man has family and friends,” you say. “If they came to search for him, they could disrupt the peace of the town and the forest in general. I don’t wish for any innocents to accidentally bring the forest’s wrath onto their heads because of him.”

Because not even you, who many of the townsfolk believe to be powerful, wish to incur the wrath of the forest itself.

The fae says nothing in return and you fear he’ll deny your request. After a strong heartbeat, you speak again.

“Please do this and I’ll tend to your wounds until you fully heal.”

Your sense of logic catches up to you and decries your words as dangerous. You know what the Kindly Ones do for anyone must be repaid in kind by their own terms. But you don’t take them back. Because avoiding any harm befalling the townsfolk is better than having it seep into the town or fall upon it like sudden deluge. This thought alone keeps your gaze stalwart as the night settles around you.

“Done.”

The weight of your agreement settles beneath your skin and latches onto your bones. It’s a warning; if you don’t uphold your end of the bargain, the oath will find another way. One that’s more grievous.

The fae stalks over to the fallen man. His ram skull mask and long, inky, black hair coming into view. He slowly hefts Roderick’s friend up onto his feet with a claw-tipped hand. If it weren’t for the bloodied slash interrupting the pale white skin of his torso, you believe he could do so without effort. Surprisingly, Roderick’s friend groans then startles, crying out as he agitates his injury. 

“Listen to me.”

An otherworldly reverberation bolster’s the fae voice. Roderick’s friend goes ramrod straight.

“You will run back home like the cur you are. You will tell the one who sent you how displeased I am. And if he should step foot in this forest, my hounds will hunt him down and rend him apart. Then come for you.”

The man screams as if facing death incarnate. And in a way, he is. The fae releases him and he runs down the path into town. The fae snorts at the sight, swaying unsteadily.

“One last thing,” he says, his gaze finding yours. “Do not remove my mask.”

He then falls over in a heap. 

The forest comes to life again moments later, as if the last few occurrences never happened. You curse freely, the reality of your situation becoming apparent. Clenching your jaw so as not to hear your teeth chatter, you rush over towards the fae. The rhythmic rise and fall of his bloodstained chest makes you sigh with relief. 

It takes a great deal of strength and energy—neither which you barely have due to the long day—to drag him inside. It’s only after securing your home again that you keep hauling him towards the rug before the hearth. Sweat beads your brow once you finish. One obstacle done. Checking over his injury reveals some stemming thanks to the clumpings of dried blood. That gives you enough time to create a makeshift bed and gather what you need. Warm water, pieces of cotton cloth, ointment and healing salve…

The blood that once stained his skin now clings to your hands. But thanks to your attentiveness, the injury is concealed beneath a generous amount of medicine and two layers of cotton cloth. Your patient shifts against the thick quilt and pillows beneath him. A good sign.

“You’ll need to remain here for a few days for the wound to heal properly.” You rub your clean forearm against your clammy brow. “Is that alright?”

“Whatever it takes to hide my moment of weakness,” he rumbles curtly. 

You resist the urge to curl your lip. He’ll be just fine. 

“Shall I leave the hearth lit for you?”

“No need. I can sleep without it.”

With an accepting hum, you place a blanket onto his brown breeches, ensuring it doesn’t touch his wound. 

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Pleasant dreams.”

A sense of wrongness almost overcomes you with him inside your home. Luckily, you’re able to stave it off. You know you’ve done the right thing. You’ve saved an innocent family from the attention of the fae. You’ve saved a guilty if foolish man from a pain worse than death. These realizations bolster you, becoming a calming mantra.As you finish straining your tincture and hanging your herbal bundles to dry, you feel as if you’re being watched. You refuse to turn and confirm this, your shoulders hunching.

“Conall,” he says.

You nearly drop the damp, clean sieve in your hand. 

“Pardon?”

“You may call me Conall. It should help make my temporary stay easier.”

He falls silent immediately after. It’s only after ensuring the green pinpoints have vanished that you heat up your bathing water, douse the hearth, and retreat to your room.You hope he heals and leaves soon; time cannot pass fast enough. But you know it won’t.

Slumber pricks at your mind and it coaxes you into unawareness.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The awkward tension between you and Conall rears its head the next day. He accepts the food, drink, and aid you provide without a word. Which you are more than satisfied with. The only thing that stirs your annoyance is his staring.

Perhaps Conall hasn’t seen a human up close going through their usual routine. Or he hasn’t been inside of a human home. Either way, you feel the vivid pinpoints that are his eyes follow you when your back is turned. The strain comes to a head two days later, when Conall’s injury has begun scaring.

“What is it?” you snap. 

If Conall is surprised by your tense words, you can’t tell due to his mask. It only serves to infuriate you more.

“You’ve stared at me as if trying to look right through me, even though I’m doing what I can to ensure your health. Yes, this is part of our original bargain. But I will not be made into some object in my own home! Why is it that you stare so much?”

Hints of frigid fear attempt to douse your building irritation. You stifle them easily, expecting a snide response.

“You are worth looking at,” he says. “Especially in my eyes.”

A new heat replaces your searing temper. One that floods your cheeks and heats your blood. Your mouth snaps shut and you swiftly finish wrapping cotton cloth around his torso. 

“Y-Your injury is nearly healed,” you say, standing up and hurrying towards your filled basin. Thrusting your hands into the chilly water does nothing to help. “You should be able to move easily now. Perhaps leave in a few more days.”

“That is good to know, healer.” You hear something akin to mirth in his tone. “Perhaps I will get to see more of that fire you have hidden before then.”

You flee moments later, as much as you’re later loathed to admit. Even worse, his words stay lodged in your thoughts even into the next day. But that isn’t the only change you notice.

Conall begins to compliment your cooking, sincerely stating how comforting it is. He even aids you while you wrap his torso with fresh cotton cloth by holding it in place. During one long day after a promised house call, you find him asleep before the lit hearth. As expected. But the bundle of vivid, wildflowers awaiting you at the table is new. 

So is the smile it brings to your lips and how you welcome it. 

Soon enough, Conall begins to ask you about your house calls. About seeing Edith weekly. About Lucas, the little boy with golden-brown skin whose illness you’re monitoring. It isn’t surprising when the talks veer into more personal territory. He asks about your favored places in the forest and in town. What sweets you prefer. How you gather the offerings you leave near the forest’s edge. 

“But how did you…”

Your voice trails off as his gaze darts away from yours. You smile and place your spoon into your cooling stew.

“I take it my healing salve is of the greatest use to you?”

Conall hums, lifting another bite of dinner underneath the pointed edge of his mask. 

“The honey and milk are not unwelcomed,” he murmurs. “Perhaps that can be said about other things as well.”

This time, his eyes meet yours. And with a small thrill, you realize the sight of them no longer frightens you. Before your bravery leaves, you reach across your table and place your hand on the back of his.

“I agree.”

Your smile falters. As much as you wish to not ruin this peaceful moment, reality nudges at your mind like always.

“You’ll be leaving soon, won’t you?”

Conall pulls his hand away. Only to gently thread his fingers through yours, being careful of his claws. But he still skims your skin with them, making your shiver.

“Yes. But I will return, if you wish to wait for me.”

The breath you take is silent, but heavy. You release it as you laugh, happiness bubbling up from inside you.

“I do. For however long it takes.”

That night, before bed, Conall calls for you. As you kneel beside his makeshift bed in your nightshirt, he lifts his hand and cups your cheek. With his other hand slowly lifting his mask, he closes the distance between you. His lips press against your skin, then trail down the side of your neck before resting at your pulse. He lingers there, then gently scrapes his sharp teeth against the area. Your self-control nearly shatters then and there as he pulls away, replacing his mask.

“When the morning comes, I will be gone.” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “But when I return, I plan to continue where I left off.”

You lift your own hand to touch the back of his. 

“Can I know one thing before you go?”

He nods. 

“Why is it you can’t remove your mask?”

His thumb stroking the warm skin of your cheek pauses stiffly before resuming.

“This...is my punishment for my recklessness,” he says. “It’s one of many shackles binding me to the Queen who rules over these lands and lands beneath the hills. As long as she holds them, I’ll never truly be free. All of my being will solely belong to her. My thoughts, my appearance, my strength, my skill. Anyone who attempts to remove those bindings will face her wrath. But no more.

“I have something precious to fight for and see again. Even if I have to challenge every member of her Hunt; even if I have to face her head on, I promise I will prevail. So that one day, you’ll find me standing before you, utterly freed.”

Hot tears slip from your eyes and he patiently wipes them away. 

“I accept your bargain,” you say. He coaxes you closer, pulling you into a warm embrace. Even with your nightshirt acting as a barrier, you commit the feeling of what skin touches yours to memory. 

Morning wakes you with a slight chill in the air. You lay on Conall’s makeshift bed a bit longer, inhaling the fading scent of him: deep and heady like the forest after a strong rain. This, too, you lock away in your heart as you stand to your feet. All that’s left to do is to wait. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Days become weeks. And weeks turn into months. Soon enough, the harvesting festival is nearly here with the townsfolk preparing for the festivities. You still make your usual house calls, some to newer patients and others to familiar ones. 

Little Lucas has long overcome his illness and is happy to play with the other children again. Edith always has a cup of herbal tea with honey ready for you, glad to talk to you about anything and everything. Roderick is nowhere to be found during these visits. But the few times you do glimpse him, he looks at you with muted fear. He may never change. 

But at least now, he knows you aren’t to be trifled with. 

That evening, after the festival, you finish creating another batch of ointment as the harvest moon illuminates the night sky. Fatigue slows your attempts at cleaning your tools, but you manage to finish the task. A series of knocks on your door startles you. Forgetfulness and drowsiness are to blame for you not securing your door.

Wary, you silently take the sharp dagger gifted to you by Edith a few weeks ago. You slowly walk towards the door and open it.

A shirtless man with vivid green pupils surrounded by black peers down at you. The scar running against the bridge of his straight, pale white nose nearly interrupts his entire face. One of the pointed tips of his ears is missing, replaced by a healing scab. But it and its twin are framed by familiar curling horns as is his head. His ragged yet long inky, black hair shifts as he sways. A wet gasp tears from your throat as he pitches forward and you break his fall.

“Conall!”

He buries his nose into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. The hot breath he releases is tempered with a soft kiss on your skin. 

“How I’ve missed this scent.”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it. You hold him close, sniffling against your tears. 

“It seems I’m injured yet again,” he mutters wryly, sounding tired.

You place a hand against your beloved Conall’s cheek as he grins, being careful of the green bruising.

“I’ll take care of you,” you say. “If you’ll let me.”

The weight of your promise settles into your bones, palpable but not unpleasant. It even sends a shiver down your spine. Or is that caused by Conall’s warm smile?

You’re not sure. But at this moment, you don’t mind not knowing. Not as you close the distance between the two of you. Before the warmth of his kiss is all you know, he whispers against your skin.

“As long as I can do the same for you.”

[mogai-sunflowers]

genderskychild system!

genderskychild system-

PT: genderskychild system- End PT.

a gender system of genders related to being a skychild/a child of the sky! genders in this system can follow the following format-

a gender related to (x) and being a skychild, being a skychild with (x) qualities, being a skychild of (x), and both skychild and (x) aesthetics!

the suffix for genders in this system is -skye!

[Image ID: A flag with eleven generally equally-thick horizontal stripes. They are all wavy/puffy, but in a slightly uneven manner. From top to bottom, the colors are a gradient from light grey into deep grey back into light grey. The top stripe is outlined on the bottom in grey, and the bottom stripe is similar but along the top edge. The top and bottom stripe have a series of clouds across the whole stripe. The central stripe is outlined on the top and bottom with white. End ID.]

this is quite a self-indulgent gender system, but feel free to coin within it and please tag me if you do! a gendersongchild will be coming soon as well!

this flag was designed by the amazing @a-quilted-milky-way

tagging @radiomogai​​​ @revenant-coining​​​ @noxwithoutstars​​​ @decayedgender​​​ @scytheral​​​ @lovesse​​​ @heaveness​​​ @dreamythism​​​ @flandrizzine​​​ @delusielle​​​ @bpdette​