#twig stars decorations

[flowerandblood]

The Evening Star (1/2)

[ Hades • Aemond x Persephone • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, kidnaping, sexual tension, obsession, incest, toxic relation ]

[ description: When the god of the underworld comes out of his caves once a year to admire his beloved constellation, he accidentally meets his niece, whom he has never seen before. Moved by sudden lust and desire, he kidnaps her, despite her despair and his brother's anger. Angst, sexual tension, dark and obsessive Aemond. ] Part 2: The Moonlight Ray

The Evening Star & The Moonlight Ray Persephone Moodboard

*English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy!*

My others works: Masterlist

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He never understood his brother, hurling his lightning bolts from the heavens at defenceless people in a rage − he did not understand his volatility, he did not understand his irrepressible desire, his unlimited emotionality.

He did not understand how he could desire and feel so many things at once, having his sister-wife haunt and take other goddesses, nymphs, or even human women, begetting bastards on earth and in the heavens.

He did not understand him, for he was emptiness, abyss, coldness, the opposite of his impulsiveness, his eternal volatility − he was like stone, like white marble, soul as well as body.

The only desire he had ever known in his life was the desire for power, and for this his brother deprived him of one eye before casting him into a dark abyss where not even the light of the stars could reach.

Although he was a god, his brother's blow could not be undone and he was forever disfigured, the dark hole in his face filled with a precious stone, sapphire, shining with a disturbing blue light.

Accustomed to the darkness of Hades, he could no longer bear the intense light of the sun and rarely appeared on Olympus itself; he would wander through his dark caverns in his long, black matted robe and gaze at the river Styx, at its pale light and the contorted terrified faces of the souls who swam in it.

When word reached him that his brother had mated with their other sister, the goddess of the field crops, and that she had bore him a daughter, he was neither surprised nor interested − he did not come to celebrate her birth on Olympus or congratulate his brother.

His brother had often suggested to him that he should take a wife, that he should not be alone in the darkness of the underworld.

He, however, felt no such need.

Even his sister, known as the Goddess of Love and Desire, was unable to seduce him.

She touched his naked body with her soft lips and hands, but he felt nothing but embarrassment.

He left Hades only once a year, when his favourite constellation emerged in the sky − He would then stroll through the old, dense forest looking up at the stars, breathing in the fresh air, listening to the rustle of the leaves.

When this time of year came, when he left his caves and looked up, he felt contentment at the sight of the twinkling dots in the sky, the pleasant night breeze enveloping his cold body.

He strolled slowly and aimlessly, looking upwards, all around him only the quiet rustling of his robes and the sound of dew-wet grass lingering beneath his feet.

He froze as he heard someone's footsteps break a twig not far from him, he knew he was not alone and he was furious.

He thought that whoever this mortal was, he would flow right down his river of the dead.

He tilted his head to the side and saw a pale figure illuminated only by shy starlight, her body pressed against the trunk of a tree as if she wanted to take refuge in it, her face expressing helpless anxiety.

Her eyes were big, warm and as dark as his robe, her hair long, partly loose, partly decorated with rich braids encircling her head, small blue flowers woven into her hair.

Her full, moist, fleshy lips were parted slightly in an accelerated breath, her breasts which he could see perfectly through the thin, transparent material of her robe were rising and falling restlessly, her skin glistening like moonlight.

He stared at her, unable to move or make a sound, unsure if he had ever seen a being so infinitely beautiful in his life, luminous as the stars above his head.

He swallowed loudly when he saw that she had taken a step back to retreat, to escape.

"Is it the beautiful Evening Star herself who has left the sky to enchant me with her company?" He asked lowly, impassively, his voice though assured and direct trembled, betraying his desperation.

She stopped in mid-motion and looked at him again, surprised and embarrassed at the same time by his words − it seemed to him that he saw perfectly well how her cheeks flushed, giving her skin a rose tint.

She pressed her lips together watching him carefully, lifting her chin slightly as if probing him closely from afar, assessing whether he was a threat to her, whether he would hurt her.

He was unable to take his eyes off her.

"I will tell you who I am only if you tell me who you are." She whispered in a trembling, gentle tone.

A smirk appeared on his face at the thought that maybe she was a nymph who had ventured too far from her friends, and that she was at his mercy now.

He hummed under his breath and moved ahead, putting his hands behind his back, looking under his feet, moving unhurriedly towards her.

"They call me many names." He said with mischievous amusement, throwing her a piercing, disturbing look from which she shuddered all over, taking a step back again.

"My river, though water is a life-giving gift, brings death." He whispered once he was a few steps away from her, wanting her to solve the riddle herself, to exert herself.

She swallowed loudly, her eyes widening suddenly, as if she had just realised something.

"− uncle −" She whispered, and he froze, stopping in mid-step; for the first time in the thousands of years he had walked the world he felt his own heart pounding hard.

He looked at her in disbelief, and it was only at close that he saw that she did indeed have something of his brother and sister in her, though it was her she resembled more − he felt himself grow even paler than usual, his hands clenched into fists behind his back.

She, however, seemed not frightened about who he was, her face took on an expression full of contentment and warmth. She moved closer to him and now it was he who took a step back feeling a strange heat in his lower abdomen, his manhood throbbed suddenly as he caught a glimpse of the outline of her soft breasts.

"My mother told me a lot about you. About the sun hurting your eye." She said softly, and he swallowed loudly seeing that she was staring at his scar, at the stone placed where his eye once was.

He thought he was like Hephaestus, hideous, disfigured, and that she would never desire him.

He felt his jaw clench tightly, his body tense, hard as granite when she tentatively placed her soft hand on his shoulder, he felt the warmth of her flesh through the thin material of his robe.

He didn't know what was happening to his body, he felt tickling and tension in his lower abdomen, a strenuous need for some kind of relief that he didn't understand.

"Stay with me to watch the sunrise. Don't sink into darkness yet." She whispered as if in worry − he couldn't tear his eyes from her face, from her warm gaze.

He was unable to comprehend how any living being could be so beautiful.

"No." He said coldly, and then grasped her in his arms, his hands clenching on her soft, hot flesh like steel tongs.

For a moment she couldn't make a sound, terrified and shocked − she didn't scream when he threw her over his shoulder and headed towards his underworld, cold, dark, damp.

It was only when she realised what he was doing that she began to struggle and cry, calling loudly for help from her mother and father, begging him not to do it, to let her go, that she would not tell anyone about it.

He, however, decided to follow his brother's advice and take a wife.

The marriage required the oaths from both of them, but this did not prevent him from acknowledging her as his wife even though she refused to speak the words.

Even though he had given her his most beautiful chamber, on whose ceiling precious minerals shimmered like stars, in which streams of water hummed, in which she could lie on a great, soft bed, she did not want to see him.

He was not his brother.

He had no intention of taking her against her will.

It was enough for him that he could look at her every day.

Only him.

He bestowed new gifts on her every day, but she still cried.

He gave her a beautiful long gown of dark, translucent material embroidered with stones in which the warm light of the sun was encased after she said she longed to see it, but she didn't even look at it.

The blue flowers in her hair withered as did the warmth in her eyes − she was slowly becoming as pale as he was and was constantly shivering from the cold.

She would not let him embrace or touch her; she covered herself with the thick furs he had given her and turned away from him.

Occasionally something would awaken in her − she would then run up to him when he visited her and beg him to let her leave to see her mother.

"I promise you that I will come back and that I will be your wife. Please, let me see the sunshine and the fresh grass one last time." She begged, touching tenderly his cold cheek with her fingers, almost as if she loved him, and he almost gave in to her every time.

"I can't, Persephone." He replied coolly, feeling some kind of pain seeing the despair on her face, hearing her helpless sobbs again, her small hands clenched on his robe, her cheek hugged to his chest.

"My name is Kora." She mumbled with difficulty, as if enraged. He hummed at her words, lifting slowly his large, cold hand, taking unruly strands of her hair from her face, all red from crying.

"Persephone, this name, is my gift to you. For my sweet wife." He whispered, and she trembled, struggling to breathe, shaking all over.

"− please −" She babbled as he embraced her uncertainly and stroked her hair, relishing its soft texture, letting her draw on this substitute of comfort.

He walked with her through the interiors of Hades, wanting to show her that besides death, there was also beauty in the underworld − underground streams and lakes with crystal clear water, his three-headed, beloved Cerberus, who in his presence turned from a monstrous beast into a gentle, docile animal.

Sometimes it seemed to him that a smile adorned her face for a moment, but then the sadness came over her again − she shuddered with cold and fear hearing the wailing of souls floating in the Styx, she glanced nervously in that direction, swallowing loudly.

"Are they suffering a lot? Can they be helped?" She whispered, and he hummed under his breath, walking beside her with his arms folded behind his back.

"They are paying for what they have done in their lifetime. Their merits and transgressions have been weighed by Temida, who has issued a judgment on them. There is nothing I can do." He admitted with a glance at her, and she lowered her gaze, looking down at her hands.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked her at last, and she lifted her large, frightened eyes to him, her lips parted but no sound came from her throat. He pressed his lips together, feeling a sting in his chest.

He asked her if she was afraid of him after he had kidnapped her and held her against her will.

What did he expect?

The wrath of his brother and sister was quickly getting to him − her mother distraught at her disappearance had fallen into a state of utter agony, people were being starved to death by the land's failure to yield crops, there were more souls flowing in the Styx than he had ever seen in his centuries-long life.

He felt a kind of satisfaction when his brother descended into the underworld for the first time since time immemorial; he hated to think about dying and passing, and could not grasp the meaning of such a short life, knowing only the meaning of infinity himself.

He came out to meet him sitting proudly on his black marble throne, thousands of skulls at his feet.

For the first time he looked down on his brother, a gigantic cave all around them, Styx surrounding them on all sides except a small bridge.

"Brother. I warn you for the last time. If you don't give me my daughter..."

"Then what? I should take a wife at last – those are your words, aren't they?" He asked with a sneer, sitting stretched out comfortably in his seat.

"I want to see her." He demanded, and his lips tightened at his words. "Or I'll take her away from you myself and you'll never see her again."

"I poured water from my river into the honey she drank. Like any soul who has already bound herself to the underworld, she will not leave Hades without my permission." He said calmly, and his brother's face flushed red, his angry low voice echoing around him so that the ground shook around them.

"I WANT TO SEE HER!"

He hummed under his breath and nodded to his servant to bring her in.

His wife came out of her chamber a moment later − when she saw her father she immediately beamed, ran to him and threw herself into his arms.

He looked at them coolly, feeling his heart pounding fast, his stomach twisting with rage.

"My sweet daughter. Did he hurt you?" He asked as if the welfare of any woman mattered to him, as if he hadn't raped an endless number of innocent girls, forgetting them quickly because they were dying in what seemed to him to be just the blink of an eye.

He swallowed loudly when his Persephone shook her head, tightening her lips, lowering her head.

"He's good to me." She whispered and he felt a squeeze in his heart, a pain he had never known before.

His brother looked at him accusingly, trying to contain his aggressive, abrupt nature.

"People are suffering hunger because of you. Her mother has gone mad with despair, the flowers are not blooming, the grains are not yielding. Let them be together at least a few months of the year and I will recognise your marriage in the eyes of Olympus." He suggested, and he furrowed his brow.

"No." He hissed coldly, his gaze icy, piercing, furious, his hand clenched into a fist. "She is my wife. A wife's place is with her husband."

His brother moved in fury, wanting to lash out at him, the ground shook around them again, but his daughter's hand stopped him.

"Let us speak alone, father." She said softly; his brother backed away, panting heavily, his jaw clenched tight.

He hummed under his breath when he saw his wife move towards him, climbing the black, cold stone steps to finally stand before him − his brother snorted and turned, walking away, furious.

He looked up at his Persephone massaging his chin, delighted to see the outline of her body shapes beneath her thin white robe.

He shuddered and swallowed loudly, shocked as she sat on his lap, his manhood throbbed suddenly feeling her body so close, her fresh scent like a cool morning breeze.

"− husband −" She whispered with a soft click of her pink tongue, her hips innocently rubbing against his hardness, his body shivered at the sound of that word.

She had never called him that before.

She touched his cheek with her soft fingertips so gently, tenderly, slow strokes of her hips teasing him so innocently, that he parted his lips, breathing with increasing difficulty, his palms tightening on his cold stone armrests.

He could feel his length pulsing and swelling with every motion she made, he didn't understand what was happening to him.

He didn't stop her when she reached up to tie of his matte black robe, he drew in a loud breath and closed his eyelids when her delicate hand tentatively touched what was underneath.

"I am yours. I will give myself to you of my own free will." She whispered in a sweet, warm, trembling voice, her gaze misty, her lips full, swollen, red from emotion.

A quiet, low groan broke from his throat as he felt her hand direct the fat head of his manhood between her thighs with a gentle movement, he could see through the translucent material as she slowly began to sink him into her body.

He tilted his head back with quiet moan, licking his lower lip, feeling her hot, fleshy insides squeeze him wonderfully from all sides − she was surprisingly moist and warm, her core throbbing with arousal.

He felt her put her hands on his shoulders, lowering herself onto him with a loud, sweet gasp, her plump lips parted wide.

His hands involuntarily gripped her hips as she began to move, rising and falling against his length so painfully slowly that he had to close his eyelids shut, panting louder and louder along with her.

"– gods –" He exhaled with difficulty as she accelerated, the loud, sticky slaps of flesh against flesh echoing through the dark cavern, his manhood throbbing and twitching inside her, all hard and swollen with pleasure.

Involuntarily, his cold fingers clenched on the hot skin of her hips − he rooted his manhood into her tight, moist insides with his desperate, pathetic thrusts, her sticky moisture dripping down her thighs.

"– for our marriage to be valid you must fill me with yourself, my husband –" She whispered, pressing her forehead against his, droplets of sweat glistening on her body like little diamonds, her sweet moans of pleasure, her slick walls sucking him inside made him loose his temper.

He gasped weakly at her words, he had never felt a woman's insides before, had never desired anyone before her.

He felt like his manhood was going to explode with desire and lust, his thrusts became faster and more brutal, her soft breasts bouncing in front of his face − he lifted his hand and squeezed it tentatively, a soft mewl of delight erupted from her throat.

"– Persephone –" He breathed out pleadingly, imploringly, and then she kissed him, her hot, swollen, moist lips clinging to his, cold, dead, the tips of their tongues licking each other.

"– please –" She mewled although he didn't know what she was actually asking him, and then he heard her cry loudly, as if surprised, her hot insides clenching against him greedily, her tongue deep in his throat.

He felt with each thrust of his hips that he was getting closer and closer to something he'd never experienced before in his life.

Fulfilment.

The wave of heat and pleasure, his seed that spilled inside her surprised him so much that his voice stuck in his throat, and then again and again a low, helpless groan broke from his mouth − both of them were panting as they looked at each other with their lips open wide, his hands clenched painfully tight on her hips.

"I'm yours." She whispered softly, sweetly − he was looking at her feeling only peace, only love. "I am only yours, so please, let me see her."

He felt the heat in his heart replaced by coldness, his brow furrowed in a sense of anger, of pain, of betrayal.

"No." He hissed, wanting to lift her up, but she shook her head, cupping his face in her warm, soft hands.

"I will never truly be your wife if you won't trust me. If I don't come back to you of my own free will." She said helplessly, pain, fear and suffering in her eyes again, his lips tightened into a thin line at her words.

"Nine months with my mother so I can enjoy the sun, and then three here, just with you, every night, every day, I swear." She whispered tenderly pressing her face against his cheek, her scent overpowering and stupefying him, her warm insides still pleasantly enveloping his already soft manhood.

He swallowed loudly at her words, his palms digging firmly into the soft skin of her thighs.

"You're lying. You will never come back to me." He hissed and groaned low when he felt her hips begin to move up and down again with a loud click of her wetness and his spend, his manhood pulsed involuntarily with pleasure, betraying him.

"I'll come back. I promise I'll come back."

As much as she wanted him to lead her away, he didn't want to watch her disappear beyond the borders of Hades never to return.

He didn't want to watch her run merrily towards the light, thanking the gods for his weakness and naivety, for how every woman in history had been able to exploit a man's desires.

He did not want her to see his expression, his suffering and all the other feelings he did not want to feel.

The day after she left, he went to her chamber and lay in her bedding, sinking his nose into her scent.

He found, with regret and pain, that with each passing month her scent grew fainter and fainter, her silhouette in his mind becoming more and more blurred, as if he had never really met her.

He touched himself thinking about her, experiencing both wonderful and painful fulfilment with the knowledge that he would never feel her again.

He preferred to explain to himself that it was just a dream.

That he had never met her.

He knew she would not return.

She would not return to her captor, to the man who had kept her in a dark underworld for months, deaf to her pleas and sobs, a man who was crippled, who was cold, frightening and empty.

Despite this, despite knowing it, when the day came he could think of nothing else − he watched as the sand shifted in the great hourglass constructed of bone and glass as he lay in his chamber, drinking wine, feeling like a demented madman, listening for her footsteps amidst the groans of the dead.

She did not come.

He stared at the empty hourglass, which turned and the sand began to shift again, counting down the time of the new day; he wondered how he could have been so naïve to wait.

For the first time in ages he felt an embarrassing, burning wetness under his eyelids − proof that he really loved her.

He shuddered when he heard the quiet rustling of robes − he glanced sideways and saw her standing in the doorway of his dark chamber, in her hair beautiful small yellow flowers, her face bright and warm.

She wore the gown he had given her, black, decorated with sun rays stones.

"My mother kept me. She couldn't let me go." She whispered, and he felt his throat tighten, his body freeze, unable to make a sound or make any movement.

He breathed hard, looking at her with wide eyes, his lower lip and hands trembling involuntarily as she approached him slowly, as her hands untied the bindings of his robe with a light, easy motion, revealing what was underneath, how much he wanted her, how much he waited for her.

"I have been counting down the days when I will see your face again." She whispered, running her fingers over his scarred cheek, sitting on top of him, gently taking his hard length in her palm, lowering herself onto the fat head of his cock as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He wanted to tell her that he didn't believe her, but instead a surprised, throaty groan of pleasure burst from his mouth − he tilted his head back, panting loudly, his hips involuntarily beginning to root his manhood into her fleshy, moist insides, her hands clenched on his shoulders.

"– fuck –" He gasped out looking at her with his lips parted, synchronising his thrusts with the rhythm of her body − he swallowed loudly as she slid the material of her robe off her shoulders, exposing her soft, plump breasts to him.

"– touch me, husband –" She cooed, and he lifted himself, immediately pressed his lips to her breast, sucking on it greedily, licking and teasing her nipple with his tongue, all hard with desire.

She sank her fingers into his long white hair and pressed his face against her chest, rising and falling on top of him with a loud click of her moisture, moaning so sweetly and loudly that he felt like his manhood was about to explode.

"– were you touching yourself? – did you touch yourself when you weren't with your husband? –" He hissed out in a trembling voice between flicks of his tongue, she kissed his hair in an attempt to soften his question and her answer.

"– forgive me, husband – forgive me, I've missed you so terribly –" She mumbled helplessly as he ran his fingers down her hips, twisting with her so that she fell on her back.

He gripped her thighs in his hands, looking down at her − her face all red with exertion, her hair scattered in disarray around her head, her body all bare before him, hot, beautiful, his.

"– I think I should remind you to who this body belongs to –" He growled, ending his sentence with a deep, brutal thrust, a loud, surprised moan escaping from her throat.

"– you are mine –"

Thrust.

"– mine –"

Thrust.

"– mine –"

Thrust.

"– repeat –"

"– I – I'm yours – I'm yours, forgive me, uncle –" She mumbled out with difficulty and drew in the air loudly as he spread her thighs shamelessly in front of him, looking down at the place where their bodies joined, her entrance clenching against him steadily, leaking with her wetness.

"– I forgive you, sweet wife –" He gasped, recognising this act of grace as an expression of his love and gratitude that she had not betrayed him, that she had returned, that he held her in his arms again.

"– I'll fill you with my seed and it'll be just as it should be –" He exhaled as he watched the perverse sight of their bodies slamming against each other with a loud slaps, his thrusts deep and sure, each time opening her wide on his thick, swollen cock.

He couldn't believe that she had come back to him, that he could smell her wonderful, floral scent again, that she was allowing him to possess her of her own free will.

Her fingers grasped his hand and sank it between her thighs − he felt her direct him to the small bud between her soft folds, she moaned when he touched her there.

"– here, husband – please –" She mewled and moaned loudly, throwing her head back as he began to rub her there, simultaneously caressing her inside and out, her core beginning to pulse greedily against him.

"– gods – stop clenching –" He exhaled with difficulty, rooting into her with quick, brutal thrusts of his hips, stretching her fleshy walls apart with the sticky click of her moisture.

He felt that if he went on like this he would simply come inside her, when he wanted to torment her, to prolong the moment of this immense pleasure and encounter after so many months.

"– I can't – I can't –" She sobbed loudly and he saw her fulfilment in all its glory, her hot, soft flesh went through convulsions, greedily sucking him inside, her lips parted wide in pleasure, her gaze misty and warm.

He cursed loudly, coming inside her so painfully hard that he clenched his eyes shut, panting loudly, rooting into her for a moment longer, the relief and delight that surged through his body was indescribable.

He looked at her beautiful face, her hands on either side of her head, her expression nothing but fulfilment and peace, her breathing uneven and ragged, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.

She looked up at him after a moment and smiled sleepily, raising her hand slowly − her soft fingertips ran over his scarred cheek and he closed his eyes, feeling pleasant, hot squeeze in his heart.

"What is my wife's name?" He asked in a whisper, kissing her warm, small hand, smelling of fresh grass and flowers. He heard her sigh sweetly at his question, her fingers sliding lower, running over his cold lips.

"Persephone."

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Aemond Taglist

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[fairy-verse]

Do the firstborns play any instruments or find themselves fond of any human creations?

Ink (despite seeming to hold a not-so-secret grudge) absolutely loves human creations, though he is especially fond of utensils, such as forks and spoons. He also really likes intricate belts, especially those that have other things hanging from them that go clink, clink, clink when the humans walk about. He’s stolen many, many things from the Big Folk, and he’s hung many of them up in various trees as decorations. They’re an omen of bad luck for any Big Folk that enter his forest, because they’re a sign that that certain area is often frequented by Ink himself, and that is no good thing for them.

He likes to play wooden instruments that make deep, sometimes rumbling noises, though it is the flute he excels at, and its sound is the first thing the Big Folk will hear – if they take care to listen – when Spring finally begins its arrival. It will echo through the hills, past the trees, and over the mountains as it causes the ice to melt and break, and the snow to turn into flowing water as the grass so green begins to stand up to greet the warming sun.

Nightmare doesn’t play any instruments and isn’t too fond of human creations… until the pipe organ is invented. He only needed to hear it once to find it wonderful to listen to, and he’d have a copy made straight away; once he learned how it was constructed. It was built in a naturally formed cavern beneath his Underground nest, and there he sometimes likes to go and play it, making the very earth around him tremble with awed shudders. He tends to lose himself in the moment and has been known to miss hours and hours until someone comes to remind him that he needs to return to his duties.

He is also enchanted by the discovery of the astrolabe and the compass, and he just might have had some of his fairies steal them for him. He also has a human-sized book with illustrations depicting the inside of a giant castle, and the words describing it are attention-grabbing to be sure.

Dream plays the harp and the effect it has on other fairies and Big Folk alike is strikingly clear; it’s enthralling. You’ll hear no other sound like it ever again, less it is from him. Unless you’re a fairy you might just run the risk of losing your mind once you’ve heard it, as its effect has a way of glazing your eyes with a golden glow for as long as it plays, and you’ll see the world in a near heavenly light that makes everything just look so… enchanting. It’s not strange that any Big Folk who experiences this will feel grief-stricken once the music stops and the effect goes away. Everything just looks so… dull and dark after that, and those who’re unable to cope with it go mad from the search of finding it again.

He doesn’t know too much about human creations since he doesn’t travel near the borders these days, but a few years back he’d seen a human with a very intricate chest in his hands that held some warped silver coins, a scroll, and some gunpowder in a small purse. He only knows this because he snatched the chest – with some help – whilst the man wasn’t looking. He still has it hidden within a hollow hole in his willow tree.

Error might despise humans and pretend to hate everything they do and make, but he can’t deny it to himself that he likes their wooden and woollen creations, especially those he sees around the time of the winter solstice. Shapes of stars and circles made from twigs and strings are strangely appealing, dried orange slices and wheat goats decorated with red ribbons make him tilt his head in fascination. The only Big Folk creation he’s sought out and stolen was a deep blue glass sphere with a hollow room inside of it. The reason for this theft was solely because he witnessed one of the strange Big Folk traditions where they all held one of these spheres in their hands as they walked in a line, singing softly about light wishes and hopes of peaceful times to come. He found it all oddly… beautiful, especially since their singing seemed to make the glass spheres glow a pretty dark blue. He’ll never admit (not even to himself) that he’s fond of this tradition, but the Big Folk did notice that the winter winds calmed significantly after this specific day.

He does not play any instruments, but his singing is the sound of the freezing ice expanding and thickening on the lakes on cold days, and that is a particularly special kind of instrument, so, in a way, Error himself is an instrument of music; the one of winter itself, you could say.

[ms0milk]

𝟐 | 𝐈𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"Magic can manifest a million ways, but from forever til today the only way you ever pictured proper magic was flowing from sweaty palms and jagged fingers."

no cw the Terrible Roadtrip™ pt 1/2, bkg is a huge asshole, i can't promise you won't fall in love with kirishima, you have to put your faith in me for this fic, pls trust me. 3.1k

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Kirishima Eijiro has always been kind to you. A wave, a nod, a sharp smile, he never ignored you in the castle when you happened upon each other, but thinking about it, you’ve never actually spoken. There was never a need and the prince always maintains the perfect amount of hurry to keep his companions from acknowledging staff.

Kirishima likes to dance with the girls who work in the kitchen so they’re too giddy to lecture him about stealing snacks. He likes to sleep in, and for some reason he likes training with his violent prince. Kirishima gets bruises but not cuts and you think it’s probably because of his magic. He sometimes cries while feeding the birds. Now Kirishima crouches so close to you that your shoulders touch and his warmth feels so familiar.

“Like this,” you correct. You stop him from placing another log on the fire before he knocks over the entire structure. Across from you, Sero huddles closer in the chill of evening while Denki investigates the kettle hung on irons to check if hot water is ready. Mina rummages for mugs. Camp tonight is tucked in the clearing of a felled maple tree much to the prince’s dismay, as it’s too dark to read by the sunset under foliage. So he busies himself untacking horses and with anger taken out on leaves, twigs, and the general inanimate.

Early in the morning, just an hour into the journey, a pink finger poked out of the carriage window ahead of you and beckoned you closer. The pink finger was of course attached to the pink girl, who rested her head on her arm while you rode beside her. “I don’t think you know who I am,” she cooed and you were quick to apologize to the nobles; they must be noble if they were guests of the prince; and if you had been on solid ground you would have taken a knee.

“My Lady, please forgive my behavior this morning.”

His Highness scoffed and you didn’t dare look his way.

Mina, Denki, and Sero. Kirishima introduced the travelers to you from his spot beside the prince, who took up at least a quarter of the small space with his spreading and growling and kicking of friends.

From what you could see on horseback, the inside of the carriage was just as delicately beautiful as the outside. Silver stars held the royal blue quilting in place and a little chandelier twinkled in the very center of the ceiling. White silk draped above them. Bench cushions trimmed with silver tassels and decorative knots, and when you dared to lean closer you could see the wallpaper wasn’t all quilt– there were rows and rows of flat ribbon with embroidered shells, and figures depicting some sort of scene across the trim.

“Get your bigass head outta here!”

It was your turn to be snapped at by the prince and it startled you backwards a bit in your saddle. His showy red eyes trained on yours for a second before he shut them tight and leaned back in a cross-armed huff, “Already got four fucking twats suffocating me, I don’t need more hot breath'n my ears.”

“Apologies, Highness,” you spoke this line clearly in lieu of, once again, formal introductions. But you couldn’t be fazed. It counted as the second time he looked at you, twice in a day, and that was more than the last fifteen years combined.

A sneeze from Denki ignited the prince’s fury in full and soon the carriage was a ring match. Sparing a glance to Shinsou, who chuckled at Denki’s misfortune on horseback through the window opposite yours, you slowed to let the travelers sort out their frustration alone. As you fell back, the silver of the window framed Mina’s pretty pink smile.

Mina is very nice. Across from yours and Kirishima’s little fire now, she hoists a red tin cup above her head and mouths, “Tea?”

“Please. Thank you, M’lady.”

She beams every time you call her that. This time she shouts through the clearing to the prince and all of the horses, “Hear that Kats? I’m a Lady.”

“You’re a fuckin' menace is what you are.”

These were strange nobles– friends, even. To be speaking with the prince so casually. What was Sero doing in soldier’s gear earlier?

Before departing, you and your travelers were instructed to change into the riding clothes provided to you. “No gambeson,” droned Aizawa when you tried to avoid removing your red Aldera uniform. “Your measurements were sent to our royal tailor, I promise these travel clothes are much more comfortable for riding.”

So now your dragontooth brooch, pinned rebelliously to your collar, is all you’re allowed to remind you of home. It clicks softly against the silver details of your lifeless white blouse. You feel sick riding another queen’s horse, and wearing another queen’s colors is almost all you can handle. On solid ground beside warm Kirishima, you’re sore and thankful to be finished traveling for the day.

By the time the sun began to set, the prince had a sparkling fist swung out the window and his companions let out yelps of pain from the receiving end of his anger, “I’m sick’a breathing your stinkass air!”

Mina and Sero, both carried under one of Kirishima’s strong arms, melted from the carriage doors with much moaning and many grumbles. Denki tripped on the single step again, directly into Shinsou’s back and the two of them hit the ground. Only the prince seemed to have any amount of energy left and took to immediately examining the grounds Aizawa chose for camp.

“No bitchin,” Master Aizawa grumbled before bundling himself up in the driver’s seat of the carriage in a thick woolen blanket. The blunt interaction was all you would get from him tonight.

These woods gnarl with the same vines and fruit that wrap up your Aldera castle so safely, which meant Jeanist’s halberd made quick work of the familiar trees when it came time for you to chop firewood. Kirishima loved watching this part most, as you instructed and explained the basic nature of maple and the best angles to hit it. “The axehead here,” you tossed your halberd higher into your grip to point at the blade, “isn’t at all made for this. But the carriage ax is too heavy for me.” You were quick to nurse your finger between your lips after forgetting just how sharp your mentor keeps his tools and Kirishima jumped at the opportunity to take over.

Jeanist takes you camping sometimes. He calls it playing favorites when other soldiers ask, but rarely do you do anything with Jeanist besides train, camping included. Splitting wood was day one. You can recognize nuts and leaves, hunt creature and beast by bow, dagger, and lance. A fire was the simplest thing you could think to do tonight and it has Kirishima drawn in with sparkling eyes, begging you to teach him how to lean the sticks to one another or shave kindling from bark.

“Y/n, won't it go out?”

Your name brings you back. You place a hand over the Champion’s before you’re completely aware of your surroundings, to keep him from fiddling with anything else, “I promise it won’t. Look.” And point to the white hot hollow just below the tent of flames. Embers are what’ll keep your campsite warm all night, not a raging fire on big logs. It’s a simmering sense of pride you feel that if you were good for nothing else, you could at least start a fire in a rainstorm.

Aizawa is long-asleep on the driver’s bench. The carriage twinkles at the very edge of the clearing, you imagine to keep it safe from flames or potential explosive fury in conversation around the campfire. You smile behind the hot mug that Mina hands you at the thought of arriving in Takoba on a single singed platform– all that would be left of the fairy carriage after the prince’s companions antagonized him a few words too far.

“For you,” Shinsou murmurs while he winds his way around the campfire with bedrolls for each traveler. He drops yours beside your seat and overcome with– something– laziness? His master’s contagious exhaustion?– tosses one over the fire to the prince who is approaching camp, having given up on his mission for readable light.

You’re one step closer to that singed carriage, you think, when the prince catches the bedding in a fist and drops it where he stops at the farthest point from all of you in the circle. His broad chest vibrates inside furs.

“Keep it down.”

This is a very obvious assertion to everyone but you, that it’s time for the prince to go to bed. The sun just set, you bewilder and then he does in fact kick open his roll beside the fire and settle down with his back turned. Other than yourself and Shinsou, the company lets up a knowing chorus of, 'G’night Bakugou's that catch you by surprise. You look to Kirishima for confirmation and when he’s too busy poking at your fire to notice, you lower your face into the steam coming off your mug.

“Is that your magic?”

When you cast your eyes up to see which company member has taken to immediately disrupting the prince’s peace, Mina is the one watching you. You’re supposed to be checking the carriage for wear and reinforcing the perimeter before tucking in for the night, and you suppose it was only a matter of time before someone noticed you slacking in your duties. You breathe the steam in from your tea slowly, so it doesn't burn you, but enough that it warms your motivation to move away from the fire. Kirishima is looking at you now too, when you pull your dark Takoban cloak around your shoulders and dust off your knees.

“Y/n?”

“Stay,” you smile at him, “Eat, be warm. I have to check in with Master Aizawa.”

Shinsou peers up at you from his seat between Denki and Sero. Mina clears her throat, “But you didn’t answer the question.”

Did you miss something? You glance between the faces of your sitting company to try and sort out the pieces of their conversation, but she’s looking only at you.

“Are you a flame mage?”

“What?”

Then Sero laughs. He laughs like he doesn’t mean to and covers his mouth, which ignites the purple blush across Mina’s face. “I–I didn’t–! Was that weird? You guys are thinking it too, c’mon–”

“I don’t say everything I think, Mina.”

“Spare me, yes you do!”

The prince, laying deadly still and very much not asleep, grunts. The Champion leans back to look up at you as you stand above the group, still a few steps behind in their conversation. He offers you up your mug again as an invitation to sit, “They’re just curious is all.”

“I don’t do magic,” you murmur, only to him. You take your cup from his hand but before he lets go, he tugs downwards to pull you back to his side. The fire is hot but not so big that you can’t sit exceptionally close to it.

“So no to fire magic?” Mina pipes up again, “What do you do?”

“I don’t, M'lady.”

“Don’t…do anything?”

“I do plenty,” you chuckle, “but I can’t do magic.”

A growl sounds off from the prince who’s dragged himself up to sitting in the single blink of an eye. He seems less irritated with the lack of sleep he’s getting and more by your apparent lack of magical aptitude. Like it’s a personal slight.

“What’s the point of you then?”

You don’t dare eye contact when he speaks, but you’ve heard this kind of intimidation from his mother. Kirishima is looking, and he points sharp in his prince’s direction to clip short whatever might come next.

You rally, “I swear I’m no less competent than any fighting mage.”

But Prince Bakugou is no longer interested in you, and only barks when Mina throws an acorn cap at the back of his head. Kirishima nudges you a bit when you try to dip into your mug again.

“Have you ever tried?”

“Tried what?”

“Magic.”

What used to be your smile twists into confusion, but the Champion presses on, “You’d be surprised how many people think they can’t do any magic at all, when really their gift is just specific! Like, uh— the man who works proofing ovens in the kitchens at home only has one fireproof hand,” The redhead has himself chuckling along with the rest of his friends but presses a flat, gentle hand into your back to keep you safe from his enthusiasm, “You can imagine the day he found out his other half wasn’t so flame retardant.”

The prince looks like he’s winding up to yell at you all again over his delicate sleep schedule so Denki is quick to butt in with, “Why not try now?”

Today is a lot to take in. Promises, apologies, a lesson in campfires, but you aren’t going to add mage training to the list. You balance the mug under gentle fingertips, “I don’t need magic to do my job.”

“That’s badass.”

“But Y/n, what if you have some crazy world-ending power?!”

You look to Shinsou for a bit of level-headed support but he turns away to let you simmer in the attention alone, smiling.

“Or what if you can, like, bring back the dead? Or heal the sick! How many sick people have you touched recently?”

“Or dead people?”

Mina and Denki try to bounce as many ideas off each other as they can fit into the next few seconds before the prince blasts their heads off and you feel like a real afterthought in all. But the questions subside, the prince doesn’t blow, and now you’re expected to answer. Even the Champion at your side is looking at you with those soft red eyes of his. You dip your lips back into your mug for a warm sip before responding, “I wouldn’t know.”

Kirishima’s the only one who really understands what you mean and tries to change the subject but Mina scrambles across the small clearing and gets a hold of you before he can speak. She’s gentle when she takes one of your hands and stretches it out towards the fire.

“When I use magic, I relax my arms like this,” she wiggles her fingers, “and it just oozes outta me.”

“Literally,” Sero chuckles. Mina shakes you back into focus before you can ask him what he means.

“What if you relax real good– here hold your hand just like this– and then boom! You blow up the whole campsite. Your magic could be really powerful like that.” She has your arm outstretched, the one not holding tea, and she’s miming going limp with her own hand. You give in. She’s a royal guest, and you’re in no position to deny her. Your eyes flutter closed.

You used to try this as a kid, willing your own magical gift to manifest in your bedroom after Jeanist called for curfew. It feels the same now as it always has, not that you’re concentrating as hard as you used to at eight years old. It feels like nothing. Magic can manifest a million ways, but from forever til today the only way you ever pictured proper magic was flowing from sweaty palms and jagged fingers. You curl a little closer to your knees but commit, and flex your fingers the way you’ve seen beautiful magic made before.

“Try to picture something pretty.” You’re not sure who says it, and gods you feel silly, but you comply and focus on the warmth that tingles your fingers from the fire in front of you. For some reason, the first thing you imagine is velvet.

Immediately your hand is so hot you have to open your eyes to keep from snatching it back to your chest.

It’s the light that you see in your dreams in that little cup your fingers made. It’s the stars that fall from the sky in corners of the castle at night. White, purple, orange, and blue. It’s the same as the prince’s beautiful magic, in your own outstretched fingers for a single fleeting, flickering moment. Your heart is in your head. Your eyes wide and trembling. It’s just a second of pure bright light before the spark bounces off your palm hot enough to make your eyes water, and dies as quickly as it is beautiful into the campfire.

Beats of excitement tap your chest as you look to the group, but the prince’s eyes are the first ones you see and he looks altogether too happy with himself for you not to realize. Bakugou shakes the rest of the sparks from his fingers and doesn’t fight the smirk spread across his lips, though, the very second you meet his gaze he bristles. The group around you shifts uncomfortably. What’s he supposed to do with those big eyes of yours, huh?

“Don’t be an ass Bakugou, we’re just having fun.”

“s’not my fault she’s gullible.”

Kirishima’s warmth isn’t enough to keep you at the campfire. The horses started snorting at the fireworks and so you nestle your cup in the dirt around the fire to regain your focus, “Apologies, Highness. I’m acting unprofessionally.”

“Y/n don’t–” Mina tries to salvage your company but you smile,

“I got comfortable before even feeding the horses.”

And you do mean it. You’re standing now and you make sure to nod to every member of the company before you back into the dark of the far camp, “Good night everyone. Thank you very much for the tea.” It’s okay. You’ll set up your bedroll near the carriage in the dark so that the crackling fire doesn’t keep you from hearing footsteps. Yes, you’ll sleep alone like you’re used to, with the familiar smells of horses and finally get some rest.

“Good night Y/n,” Mina whispers. Denki throws a disapproving acorn cap across the fire at Bakugou’s bare shoulder. He ignores it and takes a sip from his mug. Sero throws another.

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(tumblr keeps deleting the end of my fics, including my reader tags! I didn't re-tag the lovelies above because I'm sure they're getting sick of the notifications as I try to fix it. tags will be back to normal next ch! if you've signed up for the tag list, have no fear, I think I've figured it out)

[t-tomuras]

❆ ─── • 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬

Pairing: Akaza x F!reader

Wordcount: 5.3k

Warnings: Biting, dubcon, fingering, creampie, reader is slapped (not by akaza), canon typical violence mentioned.

Notes: For @/katsukikitten. Reupload

He hates this district, bears a heavy disdain for it for a multitude of reasons that he could never actually explain. 

Though Douma makes it easy, keeps Akaza from infuriating himself while failing to find a reason for the unexplainable loathing he feels for the Red Light District. The blond upper rank frequenting the area was reason enough, delighting in the painted women offered and marketed like merchandise to be had all while continuously goading Akaza to join him and partake. 

“Perhaps you wouldn’t be so angry if you had a woman! They’re quite nutritious, they’re my favorite. Are you one to play with your food? I’m not usually but oh, how they scream in both delight and terror just makes every cell in—“ the sickening crack and squelch of Douma’s crushed skull at Akaza’s hand is a sweet sound. It brings a twisted grin to his lips, bearing his naturally elongated canines with prominent veins bulging in his throat and forehead to spell his fury if his acts of aggression weren’t enough. 

“So rude Lord Akaza, but you’ve proven my point,” the second ranked moon purrs as he rebuilds the head the lower ranked demon desires to demolish again and then some. “But, even you can’t defy the master, try to have fun while you’re searching for the lily.” 

He’s gone in an instant but the agitation he’d caused still lingers in every muscle of Akaza’s body as he leaps through the trees in search of the fabled plant their creator covetes. 

He searches the wilderness first, hoping to be correct in his assumption that if it was to be found it would be in nature. So he scours, for days on end from the moment the sun sinks below the horizon until he begins to rise again. 

Akaza absolutely abhors the idea of having to enter the district and search within homes in case some silly mortal found the lily and brought it inside for decoration but he has to be thorough. The master he serves is always watching and he’s sure to earn scorn if even a stone is left unturned. 

With clenched fists he descends the hilltop that overlooks the glittering district, warm lighting casting its glow and muting the look of the moon and stars in the night. Sneering as he keeps a slow pace as if to delay the inevitable. 

Until he rounds a thick tree trunk and something collides with his thick frame though it only mentally jars him, unmoving as he comes to a halt. Reflexively grabbing onto the arm of whatever rammed into him, your arm unfortunately for you. 

You’re wrenching and twisting in his grasp almost instantly, kicking out in your tattered yukata like an animal caught in a trap. Clawing at his arm but it does no lasting damage, your sharpened nails cleaving open the skin of his forearm in angry lines of weeping crimson only to heal as quickly as they’re torn. 

He grows agitated with you quickly squeezing your arm tightly enough that you yelp but there’s no sickening snap of bone like mere twigs preceding the sound before he forcefully releases you. You stumble but remain on your feet well enough, hindering geta’s long since abandoned in your hurried escape from the house you were sold to. 

Akaza can tell by the look of you, by the painted face and ornately decorated yukata no matter how disheveled your state that you’re a runaway product. 

And by the sound of distant yelling accompanied by several sets of trampling feet on the loose gravel and dirt, you’re one they want back. 

You look at him like a feral cat, an animal cornered instead of cowering before the dangerous creature that he was. He’d be impressed with your fighting spirit if you weren’t already shoving at his solid body again, claws raking down his face in a way that should phase him but doesn’t. 

He grabs you by the wrist when he’s had enough of your antics, lips snarled to bare his fangs like you weren’t already doing the same when you wrench at the hand that grips you again. Thrashing wildly in his hold, further ruining the already tousled updo until your hair falls loose and into your face. 

“Let go, let go of me,” you finally speak, voice sweetly contrasting your aggressive display despite the gravel and growl you try to imbue the command with, “let go I said!”

You become insistent as you can hear the likely familiar voices near. Closing in on your location and you should’ve been far away from here by now if it weren’t for this man in your way. 

It’s too late by the time you whip your head to head butt Akaza, giving him clear view of the pure expression of desperation in your eyes before you make contact with him. It does little more physically but rattle your own skull, but the look of you strikes a cord in him that the upper rank demon couldn’t begin to understand. 

Nor the time to attempt when the group of men trailed by a woman that shoves to the front when they call your name. 

Akaza is gone in an instant, pushing you away from him again but this time you collapse to the dirt in your daze as he finds his perch on a nearby treelimb. The older woman closes in on you in the next moment, grabbing at your hair and flicking her wrist to twist the locks in her grasp. You toss your head back, connecting with the bridge of her nose and delighting in the shrill shriek she emits while she stumbles backwards. You scramble to your feet but it’s fruitless, circled by the men the moment the madam of your house screamed her curse with your name. 

Their hands grasp tightly at your upper arms, holding you firmly while you thrash for freedom until you’re too exhausted to continue to fight. Stilling but still tense in their hold as the woman stomps to stand in front of you. 

Your head is hung, forcing her to take it because the woman simply needs to see the look on your face when she seals your fate. 

“Your debt is doubled now, darling, I hope this was—“ her haggard voice stumbled over when you force spit from your lips violently in a final act of defiance. 

A resounding slap echoes in the small clearing, loud in the quiet night where not even crickets chirp, “wretched wench, it’s tripled now. I hope this was worth it. Get her out of my sight, take her back and have the children scrub her until her skin is raw for all I care!” 

Your fight returns enough to jerk and dig your heels into the ground, if not to at least make your captors’ job difficult until the very end. 

“I’ll kill you next time, I swear it hag, count your days!” You scream, the throbbing sting of your cheek only steeping your rage, “all of you! I’ll remember your faces, none of you are safe!” 

And as you look up into the sky, hoping to get even a glimpse of the moon's comfort that you trained on in your trek up the hill, you see him in the tree. Golden irises glinting in the pitch darkness like a creature in whispered tales that speak of bad omens. 

“None of you,” you growl with an unwavering gaze, a tremendous aura of malicious intent that makes his eyes widen minutely before he can no longer see you over the slope of the hill. 

He chuckles, dry and humorless, as he lets his back rest against the trunk of the tree. You were impressive to say the least, tenacious for a defenseless human. 

Your words echo in his mind, replaying your threat before a wry smile finds his lips without him knowing.

He’ll remember your face too. 

Every passing night he spends in this territory festers his disdain for it. Akaza will never understand why Daki and Gyuutaro willingly choose to remain in a cesspool similar to this one. Weak willed men pathetically buying women instead of earning their favor, he can’t stomach the entire exchange. Maintaining a distance even though his fingers dance with the desire to pulverize the vermin he sees them as into the dirt, knuckles singing with each roll and clench of his fists. He itches for a fight that’ll make his spirit scream, fill him to the brim with excitement by a worthy opponent he’s yet to find once again. 

He wants to be done with this location, the sooner the better. 

With too many bodies walking the streets even so late into the night, Akaza sticks to hopping between rooftops, light on his feet but the ceramic tiles crack under his weight when the honeyed moans of the pleasure houses he leaps from grate his nerves. 

Maybe just a few meager mortals will appease the bubbling rage, the death of a few drunkards and sad sacks will give him some reprieve. 

Akaza comes to a sudden halt atop one of the rooftops he’d lept to, crouching low in his catlike stance, ever ready to pounce on his prey. The moon is full and at his back in this position, bathing his body in the gentle rays and casting dark shadows over his facial features. 

But you’d recognize that bestial golden glow of his peculiar irises anywhere, gripping tightly at the threshold of your window with snarled teeth. Oozing a malicious aura that Akaza instantly takes notice of but pays little mind to, you’re only a woman. 

Until a hairpin sings through the air and clips the cartilage of his ear, tearing the shell that heals in an instant. He blinks once, twice, the warm trickle of his blood oozing from an already sealed injury shines in the moon's light and Akaza watches as a sadistic smile spreads on your lips. 

He’d think you a demon yourself if he wasn’t already aware of the contrary. But, still, you’ve irked him with your attempt of whatever you thought you were going to accomplish with a meager attack like that. On top of his already foul mood being in the pleasure district in the first place. 

The man is gone in the blink of an eye, seemingly disappearing in a flash and only leaving the ruined ceramic of the roof in his wake before you’re nose to nose with him again. 

Your hand raises, nails sharpened for quick defenses should you not be able to reach the blade always strapped to your thigh, only for it to be taken in his grasp. He looks between your face and the poised claw shape you make with the appendage like you intended to run him through with it. As if you had the strength to do any damage to him. 

You wrench and jerk in his hold, attempting to throw him off of his balance while crouched in the window frame. The action is almost amusing to him, watching you struggle so fruitlessly with him until you surprise him once again; hopping up to let your feet brace on the wall just beneath Akaza. 

Grabbing him with your other arm while you use his hold on you to wrench him forwards as you kick backwards. You both fall with a deft thud onto the tatami, annoyed growl rumbling in Akaza’s chest as he moves to stand up. Inked fingers curling into a fist on the floor to lift himself up when your thighs wrap around his waist. 

Nails raking angry lines down his back while you claw wildly, attempting to topple him to the side by throwing your weight up into his and slightly to the side. Each action is pathetic in nature to him, meager human strength doing little but he’ll blame it on the surprise of each movement as well as his reluctance to harm you. 

Your claws are sharp enough to cleave open fresh wounds, flaying his skin but you don’t see how quickly they heal. Infuriated by the fact Akaza is hardly reacting to you at all save for the snarl on his face that shows elongated canines. Successfully, you turn your bodies, moving the both of you to where he’s pinned beneath you, straddling him now. 

Finally, you manage to wrap your fingers around the hilt of your blade, drawing it quickly from its secured place on your upper thigh. Small and easy to conceal but deadly sharp for you to defend yourself in your forced profession. Quickly, in the blink of an eye, as sudden as his rage bubbles at your audacity, you sink it into the usually tender flesh of his throat. The steel faces resistance at first but your reflexes have grown keen in your upbringing, free hand clasping over the first that tightly holds the hilt to sink the point into his throat. Putting as much force as you can muster and all of your weight into the thrust with a feral growl. 

You can feel the warmth of his blood spill from the wound, smiling at revenge exacted as you sit back in his lap, resting against his pelvis. But the satisfaction is short-lived as you feel his hands wrap around your ribs instead of clutching at the inflicted injury in a vain attempt to keep his blood from spilling free. 

The contact makes you gasp, ribs a sensitive part of yourself for more reasons than just the delicate organs the bone cage protects. 

Akaza finds your attempts laughable, filling the air with a mocking sound when you look down in borderline terror. Though it’s quickly replaced with unadulterated fury when you see the wound no longer weep around the still lodged weapon. 

Your lip curls, body going rigid in his hold before Akaza flips the positions again, pinning you beneath him; but, you refuse to relinquish your flippant hold on the upper hand. Your legs lock around his waist once more, hooking your ankles even despite the pain that radiates through your body when he slams you back into the flooring. The presence of his weight is painful on your hips and pelvis and you’re sure to have bruises come morning, should you survive that long. 

But you’re adamant about not going alone, reaching for the hilt to dislodge it and try again. Akaza growls at the attempt, reaching for your wrist to pin it, head rearing back to, at the very least, knock you unconscious with a headbutt when you elbow him away. 

Your writhing grows irritating, brushing against him more than either of you realize in the moment. Continuing to thrash in the hopes of throwing him off balance once again so you can reach for the blade but Akaza has had enough of this entire exchange. 

His free hand comes to wrap around your throat, pressing his thumb and forefinger into the column of your throat to restrict airflow but what he doesn’t account for is the fucking noise you’d make. 

A breathy gasp that you could mistake for something pleasured instead of pained or a mix of the two. It throws him off, sends warmth through his body and jars him as his cock stirs. 

Akaza dislodges from you quickly then, prying your thighs from him easily with expressed strength and tossing you away from him in a hurry. His chest heaves, veins protruding all over his skin and he emits another growl when you seem like you’ll recover quickly. 

You shake your head to clear your vision, propping yourself up on your arm to look at him at your window in time to see him pull your blade from his throat. You can see the flesh mend unnaturally, holding your breath at the sight but you won’t have to for long before he disappears out of your window though not before snapping your knife in two with his bare fist.

Once he’s gone from your sight you draw breaths more easily, muscles beginning to ache with the crash of your adrenaline, almost feeling in real time all of the bruises forming on your body. With a steadying breath, you move to a sitting position as you lean against your bedroom wall in momentary disbelief over what’s transpired. 

The look of the man you’d seen was certainly peculiar in nature with his golden glowing eyes and the glimpses of the criminal bands on his skin in the milky illumination of the moon because you’ve heard stories of creatures like him. Beings who can only come out at night, that sustain themselves on the flesh and blood of humans; recalling that even when inflicted with injuries that usually prove fatal they survive.

Demons.

You’d thought them a myth, fables told to naughty children to keep them in line or frighten one another while exchanging scary stories around a warm hearth but seeing is believing. Coughing as you breathe too deeply, grasping at your throat as you rub at your bruised ribs as if to abate the soreness that comes in a dull throb, wondering minutely as you peer out of your window, why he didn’t just kill you when given the opportunity.

The rest of your week passes by quietly and uneventfully, gritting your teeth and baring the clients you must entertain as you bide your time before your next escape. You’re just thankful none of them are handsy, mostly respectful of your body autonomy while you’re left without your weapon. You still have your claws, a sharp deterrent but there’s nothing quite as assuring than brandishing cold steel with intent to maim or worse. 

But it’s all boring, monotonous as they prattle on about things you don’t care about hoping to either have you as a companion or a body to keep them warm for at least the night. You care for none of it, sighing wistfully as your eyes roam, always landing on the lunar comfort that hangs high in the sky. It’s beginning to wane, and you think of no better time to make your next escape than when it completely disappears from the sky as it’s completely shrouded in the sky by the earth's shadow.

Patiently, you bide your time, using the meager allowance the master of the house haughtily gives you out of your own damn earnings to purchase a new knife to holster at your thigh. The days drag by slowly, growing restless as the phases grow thinner and thinner until finally the final phase is reached; the new moon that spells your new beginning.

Leaving with nothing but the clothes on your back after slitting the throats of the madam and her husband as they lie peacefully in their futon. Their deaths are kinder than you would’ve liked but you’ve made good on your promise, whoever discovers them come morning will know the culprit but, by then, you will be far from this wretched prison.

With all the grace of a cat, you slip out of your window and land on your feet before breaking into a sprint. Refusing to stop until you’ve cleared the view of the district, guided by nothing but the stars that dot the sky above you. 

You’re used to the obnoxious lighting of the community that never sleeps, the darkness now  difficult to navigate in the moon's absence, staring at the ground ahead of you so you don’t lose your footing until your eyes can adjust. Trudging until none of the surroundings seem familiar but, once again, fortune has a way of taunting you (tormenting you now rather, it seems) when you collide with the only other body in the wilderness. 

Inherently, you know that it’s him, because who else would it be? Of all the predators to encounter, it had to be Akaza once again. 

And he won't let you have your way in the slightest this time around, grabbing harshly at your arm, new blade already in your hand, to keep you from launching any sort of attack regardless of how little damage it would do to him. He grabs you by the throat with the other hand, grip tight but the veins that protrude along his forearm and fist aren’t from exercising his strength but practicing his restraint. He’s furious, furious that he’d had to have been in this accursed district in the first place, seething that he’d come up empty handed in his tireless search for the elusive blue spider lily his master covets. 

Enraged that he’s encountered you, once again, when all he wants to do is put you and this area behind him and never return but he’s vexed at the part of him that stirs as he stares at your snarl.

Akaza hates the weak, thoroughly enjoys crushing those that are willingly defenseless mercilessly and with a smile on his face but women were different to him. Never desiring to hurt one and feeling a deep seated malice towards those that did. It feels instinctual for him, ingrained in his very muscle fiber regardless of his current nature, an unspoken law for himself that he’ll never break. 

But not bend. 

Your persistent defiance brings a smirk to his face, deadly calm as the harsh lines of a pinched scowl melt away and he leans in close to your face. His fingers hold fast to your jawline before you can jerk your head away from him, Akaza astute in your reactions to him by now in such a short amount of time. An enigma that both enrages and intrigues him, what led you both to this position in the first place. 

“Haven’t you learned by now,” a purr in that smooth voice of his but the smallest hint of a threat is still there as he twists your wrist until you’re forced to drop your weapon, “that won’t work on me.”

You scoff at his comment but Akaza swallows the sound, closing the minuscule gap between you with a kiss. In your moment of surprise your lips part around a gasp, inadvertently granting his tongue entrance, the wet muscle is as skilled as the rest of them. Sliding over yours and easily pulling a moan from your throat as the tension in your body slackens in his hold, letting your arms fall away from his triceps to rest at the bottom of his ribcage, beginning to reciprocate the action.

His lips are soft, the same thought he shares about you in general while he presses your body to his as he guides you backwards. Commanding and domineering but you had already assumed as much from the moment you encountered him, since the night you promised you’d kill him.

Your back hits the harsh surface of the tree bark, Akaza’s hand coming up to cage you against the surface as his head tilts to deepen the kiss. Sharp teeth pulling at your plush bottom lip, dipping lower to your throat in a burning trail of nips and swipes of his tongue, tasting the light sheen of sweat that's gathered from the summer's humid air and he salivates over the thrumming heart rate. He runs the flat of his tongue over the column of your throat, growl rumbling in his chest as he works to open the dusty pink yukata he knows your late madam forced you into.

Tugging at the fabric until it falls free, giving him full view of your breasts and the lace garments meant for your customers viewing pleasure, he’s certain. Your chest heaves for breath, brows knit as you stare at him while he admires your body, golden hues glowing in the moonlight. 

You mean to snark, to snap at him as his gaze lingers too long, your lip snarled as your hand comes to rest on the curve of his skull, fingers knotting into silky pink locks when Akaza’s head dips. Inked fingers palming your left breast as he kisses the top of your right one before wrapping his lips around the pert bud. His eyes widen at the sound of your pretty sigh, earning a groan from himself in turn as he massages and the tip of his tongue flicks over your nipple, your back arching instinctively as your head lulls back against the tree trunk.

Akaza lavishes your chest in attention, free hand wanders to palm your mound, thick digits stroking over your clothed clit that makes you buck into his touch. Both of you become so lost in the sensations and sounds of the other that you almost forget the animosity you harbor for one another. 

Almost, but not quite.

You hiss in pain when pointed canines pierce your skin, Akaza groaning at the metallic tang that explodes on his tongue, sweet to him in a way blood has never tasted before. Tongue swiping over the small punctures greedily so he doesn’t waste a drop of liquid ambrosia, eyes rolling as cheeks hollow. Growl rumbling in his throat when your nails rake over his scalp in warning, hissing at him nonsensically; still pleasured by his ministrations despite the pain. Only spurred on by the drawn out whine you emit when his fingers slip beneath the seam of your underwear to glide through your wetness; to press his fingers directly to your puffy clit, rolling his thumb in slow circles against the bundle of nerves until your breath hitches at the pleasure. 

Prolonging his intoxication with you as his index and middle finger slip into your tight heat to the last knuckle, curling them to feel you jolt while he gives his attention to your other breast. Puncturing the soft skin to get more of a taste of you, letting the wound leak for his tongue to catch the droplet when it reaches your nipple and follow its trail back to the source all while pumping his digits into you at a languid pace that has the roll of your hips falling into pace with him.

And all you’re left to do is take his treatment while you pant and mewl, dragging your nails across his back or shoulders to leave angry red lines in your wake that disappear as quickly as they’re made. Hips bucking into his skilled hand, chasing the impending high that prefaced by that telltale feeling of a coil tightening in your lower abdomen. Pawing and clawing at Akaza’s body as the mounting pleasure overwhelms you, walls clamping tightly around his fingers when his teeth sink into your sensitive flesh again, moaning unabashedly at the euphoria that washes over you in waves. He releases your nipple reluctantly and with a wet pop, drool dripping down his chin and you don’t miss the feral look in his eye, never slowing the movement of his wrist. Curling his fingers against that spongy spot that makes your body convulse and your eyes to roll back while your nails bite into his skin. 

The pitch of your moan, the heave of your bitten chest, the look of your kiss swollen lips and the hazy look in your eyes when you look at him as you ride the ebbing waves of your first climax makes his cock jump; makes him feral. 

Akaza moves with a haste, shoving his loose pants down just enough for his cock to spring free before he grasps at the soaked fabric of your panties. The stitches groan at the force until they snap and tear, slipping down your thighs in tatters as Akaza fists his cock, twisting his wrist as he gives himself a few languid pumps to spread the leaking pre down his shaft as he presses his body into your own.

But in your post ecstasy it seems like you come to your senses a bit, remember that this man was the reason you were caught the first time; that this demon is the reason you’re still not free even though you’ve effectively escaped the house you were indebted to. Brows knitting angrily as he pushes you up slightly, grasping with a bruising force at one of your thighs to hike it over his hip as he runs his cock head through your folds to coat himself in your wetness.

“No,” you hiss, attempting to imbue as much venom in your tone as your palms push into his sturdy collar bones but you fight your own body. Knees still weak and with the mushroomed tip bumping your clit with his movements you instinctively anticipate more pleasure to come, muttering noncommittally as your nails break the skin and draw blood, ‘fuck you. Fuck you, you demon.”

He only smirks at you, cocking his head to the side with a taunting expression as he aligns with your entrance. Giving teasingly shallow ruts that make you clench your jaw with anticipation until suddenly he’s buried to the hilt in you, earning a long, relieved groan from pretty lips, throbbing with each pulse of your cunt in time with your heavy beating heart but still you try to fight him; however weakly that may be now. An aura of animosity rolling off of you in equal quantity to the lust that clouds your gaze when Akaza sets a mind numbing pace. Biting deep into his shoulder with a choked growl like you’re trying not to enjoy the pleasure he provides when a pointed thrust makes your hips jerk out of sync into his pelvis. Clawing his back with a mean snarl as you attempt to fight the roll of your eyes from the tightening coil he causes once again. 

But each reaction, whether fueled by aggression or ecstasy, fills Akaza with an odd sensation, a steady buzz separate completely to his mounting release but it fuels the fire. Similar to the one he felt while facing Kyoujuro but different enough to make his jaw clench when you squeeze around his cock with a throaty moan from your second release. Trembling slightly as you grip tightly at his shoulders while you ride the waves of the orgasm he prolongs with slow rolls of his hips. 

Deep and deliberate to feel the clamp of your velvet walls, gripping tightly at your hips to grind your clit into his pelvis so you’ll throw your head back with another throaty moan. Your cunt convulsing violently, keeping him in a vice grip until he chokes on his own groan, following you over the edge into rapture. Painting your pussy in a shade of pearly white even if it’ll surely be another thing he’s done to earn your ire. 

His muscles trembling from the force of his orgasm, the rut of his hips jerky until they slow to a stop all together; on the brink of threatening to overstimulate you both before he withdraws his softening cock. 

Positioning you on unsteady legs but his hands don’t move from your hips, his breathing coming evenly before your own. You groan at the tenderness he shows, carefully pulling your yukata back into place to make you decent. Hiding away the bites he’d left to your skin before you start to push his hands away from you. 

Finally shoving at him but the solid mass of his body hardly budges at the force. Disengaging from you willingly when he seems satisfied with his work and putting away his softening cock. 

He can see the fight return to your eyes despite still coasting on your post euphoric bliss by the furrow of your brows. Attempting to imbue a venomous bite into your voice, “I meant what I said to you before..”

You move slowly but Akaza is no fool, already leaping into the trees and out of your sight before you’ve even begun the arch of your attack, even if it were only your mere claws. Following the rustling leaves of the tree branches overhead as he decides to take his leave. 

“I will kill you! You’re the only one left!” A woman of your word, yelling into the pitch black night but you know he can still hear you. Whether he believes you or not. 

Because you also remember the whispers between the women of the house, mentions of an organization that handles creatures of the night like him without prejudice. It’ll be good to learn the name of the man you’ve resolved to kill.

[goforth-ladymidnight]

Ch. 8

@praetorqueenreyna @thrumbolt @taymartiart @northern-star-polaris (Would anyone else like to be added to the tag list? Or removed? Let me know!)

Pairing: Tamlin x Lucien

Word Count. 4.1k

Summary: Lucien meets someone from Tamlin's past, and the tree decorating party begins

Note: Content warning - mild homophobia

Read now on AO3, or keep reading below the cut:

--

Even though it was the middle of December, there were still plenty of Christmas trees to choose from, at least in this particular lot. The owners had chosen the ideal location; it was across the street from an outdoor ice skating rink, where tinny but jolly Christmas music was playing through loudspeakers. On a crisp winter morning like this one, with fresh snow and nowhere important to be, it was the sort of place where couples and families could spend hours skating and drinking coffee and hot chocolate, and then sample anything from muffins to pretzels to sandwiches from the nearby food vendors before taking home a fresh Christmas tree as a souvenir.

Lucien hadn’t been able to convince Tamlin to try skating—yet—but as soon as they were done shopping, he had his eye on a hot coffee and a fresh grilled cheese.

But first, the tree.

There was one he kept circling back to, a large, rounded Illyrian Pine with the perfect point on top. It wasn’t the biggest tree on the lot, but he liked it just the same. To check it, he rubbed a pine bough between his fingers. The needles were fragrant and spicy, and the twigs supple.

“What do you think of this one?” he asked Tamlin, who was looking over a smaller tree on the next row.

Tamlin glanced up, and then up again, and he frowned. “I don’t know. It’s kind of big…” He nodded to Lucien’s convertible. “How do you expect us to get it home?”

Home. The word sent a little thrill through him, even though nothing was official between them. Yet. Lucien smiled. “I was thinking of having it delivered,” he remarked, then asked the tree lot attendant hovering nearby. “You do deliver, don’t you?”

“For a price, but yes,” the attendant agreed in an Illyrian accent. “And only at the end of the day.”

“That’s okay,” Lucien said. “We have some more shopping to do anyway.”

Tamlin stopped circling the tree to look up in surprise. “We do?” he asked.

“Sure we do,” Lucien said as the attendant took the tag off the tree and left to go get the paperwork. “I still have to buy you a gift.”

Tamlin gave him a shy smile. “You don’t have to get me anything. You’re already buying a tree…”

“Saying that only makes me want to buy you something more,” Lucien teased in a sing-song voice. “‘Tis the season to be spend-y. What do you say?”

“I’ll be damned,” a deep voice said behind them.

Lucien turned in time to see Tamlin’s expression change from mild curiosity to something like fear.

“What…? Arth-hnn—!” was all Tamlin said before someone pulled him into a headlock.

Lucien fell back a step, startled. “Whoa. Hey,” he told the stranger with some reproach.

To his surprise, the stranger grinned at him, and Lucien gawked as he realized he recognized the man. It was Tamlin, but with blue eyes and short hair and a stockier build.

“Relax. It’s just my kid brother,” the man said, keeping his beefy arm around Tamlin’s neck.

Tamlin for his part, was red in the face, and grimacing as he tapped his brother’s arm to no avail.

Lucien winced. “You can let him go now,” he said firmly.

“Yeah, sure. Okay,” the man agreed lightly, but ruffled Tamlin’s hair first before letting him go.

Tamlin wheezed as he fell back and massaged his throat. “Shit,” he rasped.

Lucien reached out and patted his back in a soothing way. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Tamlin took a deep breath and nodded.

“Sorry to sneak up on you like that,” the man said, though his smile made it seem like he wasn’t sorry at all. “I just noticed you across the street, and I thought…” He paused and gestured between the two of them. “How exactly do you two know each other?”

To spare Tamlin’s voice—among other things—Lucien answered for him. “We were roommates back in college,” he said evenly. “You do the math.”

“Ah. Roommates,” the man said with an exaggerated wink. “Got it.”

Lucien didn’t even pretend to smile. If he didn’t like this guy before, he liked him even less now.

Tamlin cleared his throat and smoothed back his hair. “Lu, this is my older brother Arthur.” He coughed again. “Arthur, this is Lucien.”

Lucien reluctantly shook Arthur’s outstretched hand. “Hey,” was all he could muster in greeting.

“Hey,” Arthur said back. “Just so you know, my dad calls me Arthur. My friends call me Wart.”

Lucien dropped his hand and mustered a tight smile. “Just your friends?”

“Ha. Funny,” Arthur said wryly, then turned his attention to Tamlin. “Hey, so… Sorry, again, for the sneak attack,” he said with a shameless grin. “But once I knew it was you, I just couldn’t help myself. Just like old times. Right, Tampon?” he asked, then playfully punched his brother’s arm.

Lucien frowned as Tamlin rubbed his arm and looked away. “Excuse me? Tampon?”

“It was stupid kid stuff,” Tamlin cut in, blushing.

“You know how kids are,” Arthur said playfully, then asked Lucien, “You got brothers?”

“Yeah,” Lucien said slowly.

“Yeah, so you get it,” Arthur began, ignoring Lucien’s glare. “So, our mom was really into classic literature, and we ended up with a Peter Pan, a King Arthur, and a Tam Lin in the same family. The jokes just write themselves. Don’t they, Tampon?” he said with another ‘friendly’ punch in the arm.

Tamlin winced and hugged his arm, and kept his gaze averted. “I guess,” he said quietly.

Lucien frowned. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Arthur,” he lied politely, “but Tamlin and I have plans, so…”

Arthur’s easy grin faded. “Don’t you want to meet the wife and kids?” he asked Tamlin.

Tamlin straightened up and stared at him. “You’re married?”

“Yeah. Maybe if you called once in a while, you’d know that.”

Tamlin’s jaw tightened as he slowly shook his head. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not? Did you break your fingers, or—Wait. Wait one goddamn second.” Arthur slowly wagged his finger. “Is this because of the funeral?”

Tamlin’s face flushed, and Lucien thought he could see tears in his eyes. “Partly.”

Arthur scoffed, then held up his hand in Lucien’s direction. “Excuse us for a second,” he said with a strained, cold smile, then turned his frown on Tamlin. “You’re the one who insisted on playing that stupid song when you know damn well that’s not what she wanted,” he hissed.

“You mean that’s not what Dad wanted,” Tamlin hissed back. “It was Mom’s favorite song. I was just trying to do something nice—”

“By making her funeral all about yourself,” Arthur sneered. “Real nice.”

“I wasn’t…” Tamlin’s throat bobbed, and as he looked away, Lucien decided to intervene.

“Hey,” he told Arthur coolly. “It’s not showing off if he was playing for her. Maybe you should back off on the guilt trip, huh?”

“Maybe you should mind your own business.”

“Leave him alone, Arthur,” Tamlin said sternly, then sniffed. “How did you find me, anyway?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Arthur scoffed. “I wasn’t looking. It’s not my fault you happened to show up where I take my kids ice skating every year.”

Tamlin’s eyes widened, then he glanced across the street, as if searching for them.

“Mom used to take us ice skating,” he said softly. Lucien’s heart went out to him.

“Yeah,” Arthur muttered. “Some of us still like to honor her memory by upholding her family traditions. Imagine that.”

Tamlin looked like he was on the verge of tears. Each of his brother’s blows was lower than the last. This wasn’t as bad as when he admitted he had been raped by the dean, but it was damn close.

Lucien bristled on his behalf. “Hey. Maybe he’s making his own traditions,” he told Arthur coolly.

Arthur scoffed. “Like what? Picking out a tree with his little boyfriend?” he said with a sneer.

Lucien knew he meant it as an insult, but before he could think of a safe retort, Tamlin spoke up.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, then nodded firmly. “Like picking out a tree with my boyfriend.”

Lucien’s heart grew three sizes in an instant.

“You know Dad would whip your ass for joking around like that,” Arthur warned.

“Dad’s not here,” Tamlin said coldly, “and I’m not joking.” His voice only quivered a little bit. Lucien had never felt so proud in his entire life.

Arthur snorted, then looked between the two of them with a skeptical sneer. Jerking his thumb at Lucien, he asked, “Him? Your boyfriend? Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Tamlin said more confidently, crossing his arms. “We are serious. What of it?”

Lucien smirked at Arthur, almost too proud to speak.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as his gaze flicked between the two of them. “This is a prank,” he said with a vague, disbelieving smile.

“Oh, no,” Lucien said lightly. “This is no prank.”

He took advantage of Arthur’s stunned silence to reach out and lay his hand on Tamlin’s bicep. Giving it a reassuring squeeze, he carefully stepped behind him to wrap his other arm around Tamlin’s shoulders. It was a much gentler version of the same headlock Arthur had used.

Resting his chin on Tamlin’s shoulder, he remarked, “I know it may be difficult to comprehend, but some men actually enjoy wrestling other men.” He smiled and patted Tamlin’s chest. “And then cuddling afterwards.”

He couldn’t see the look on Tamlin’s face, but the look on Arthur’s face was priceless: It was halfway between disgust and incredulity.

“Ha,” Arthur said weakly, then blinked hard as he looked away. “Oh my god…”

While he was distracted, Lucien took a moment to whisper in Tamlin’s ear, “You okay?”

Tamlin reached up and covered Lucien’s hand with his own. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “Thanks.”

Lucien gave him a gentle squeeze in answer, then realized that Arthur was staring at them.

“Hey.” Arthur jerked his thumb across the street. “You know there are kids present, right?”

As far as Lucien could tell, the only one paying them any mind was Arthur.

“Relax,” Lucien said, mimicking his earlier tone. “We’re hugging, not demonstrating. You should try it sometime.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Arthur spread his hands wide and took a step back. “Hey. I’m straight as an arrow. Thanks.”

Lucien narrowly resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That wasn’t what he meant—at all—but it gave him the chance to annoy Arthur further. “Your loss,” he said, then lightly kissed Tamlin’s shoulder.

Arthur made a noise of disgust.

Before anyone could speak again, the tree lot attendant returned with a clipboard. “Can I help you?” he asked Arthur.

Arthur shook his head and waved dismissively in their direction. “I don’t need any. But they do.”

That was—unfortunately—true, because Lucien had to fill out the paperwork to have their tree delivered later that afternoon. So, it was with some reluctance that he released his hold on Tamlin to accept the proffered clipboard.

As he quickly filled out the necessary information, Arthur took advantage of his distraction to take Tamlin aside.

“I can’t believe you’re okay with this.”

Tamlin shrugged off his brother’s hand on his shoulder. “I’d say I can’t believe you, either, but I’d be lying. You’re just like Dad.”

“Hey.” Arthur pointed at him. “Dad did the best he could to straighten us out after Mom died. She let us get away with a lot of shit, you know?” He shook his head in disgust. “I don’t even know what I’m going to tell Dad about you and Red over there—”

Lucien looked up and glared, but Tamlin said what he was already thinking.

“So, don’t. It’s none of his business. Lu and I are dating. Get over it.”

Arthur scoffed, then crossed his arms. “Wow. I guess Pete wasn’t wrong when he decided to call you Tampon, Tampon.”

Lucien growled in the back of his throat, but the only one who heard him was the poor tree lot attendant, who looked like he would prefer to be anywhere else.

“Knock it off, Arthur,” Tamlin said coldly. “You hated your nickname as much as I hated mine. Pete was an ass, but now you’re just being a dick.”

Lucien bit his lips to smother his laugh. When he looked up again, Arthur was staring at Tamlin. Hard.

“Yeah, well, at least I know what to do with mine,” Arthur said coolly. “And it doesn’t involve shoving it up another man’s shithole for fun.”

Lucien clicked the pen closed and handed the clipboard back. “We’re done,” he told the attendant loudly. “We’re done,” he repeated, stepping closer to touch Tamlin’s arm. “Come on, Tam.”

Tamlin, however, stayed where he was.

Arthur chuckled rudely. “Aren’t you going to listen to your little boyfriend?” he said mockingly. “Or maybe you’re going to try to put me in my place like a real man.” He assumed a wrestler’s stance. “Huh? Huh? What’s it gonna be, Tampon?”

Tamlin’s face was flushed, and his jaw was tight as he stared his older brother down. “Goodbye, Arthur,” was all he said before he took Lucien’s arm and led him away.

Arthur snorted, but did not try to follow. “Wow. That’s it?” he called after them. “Seriously?”

Lucien would have gladly turned around and told him off, but instead he looked to Tamlin for guidance.

Tamlin closed his eyes and whispered under his breath, in rapid succession, “Let it go. Let it go. Let it go.”

Lucien gently squeezed his arm. “You did great,” he murmured. “I’ve never been so turned on in my entire life.”

Tamlin breathed a laugh, then swallowed hard, looking pale. “I think—I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“Wait until we get to the car,” Lucien urged. Luckily they had snagged a parking spot right next to the Christmas tree lot, so he didn’t have to call someone else for help in case Tamlin actually did faint.

When Tamlin was safely lowered into the passenger seat and holding his head between his knees, Lucien dared a look back to where Arthur had been standing. There was no sign of him.

“Is he gone?” Tamlin asked weakly.

“Yeah,” Lucien muttered, looking around. “And good riddance.”

Tamlin only sighed in answer, and ran a hand over his hair.

Lucien knelt in front of Tamlin and said gently, “I’m really proud of you, you know.”

“For what?” Tamlin looked up and slowly rubbed the back of his neck. “Not fainting?”

Lucien let out an incredulous laugh. “For standing up to that absolute asshole,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re amazing. I have an amazing boyfriend.”

Some of the color returned to Tamlin’s cheeks as he smiled shyly. “You heard that, huh?”

“Are you kidding? How could I miss it?”

Tamlin chuckled and slowly rubbed his neck. “I don’t know. Everything’s kind of a blur, so…”

Lucien was seized with a sudden thought. “Maybe this will help,” he said, then took Tamlin’s face between his hands and kissed him.

When they parted, Tamlin’s eyes were so wide the whites were showing.

Lucien slowly licked his lips, tasting Tamlin’s kiss. “Did that help?” he asked slowly.

Tamlin blinked and let out an amazed chuckle. “I don’t know,” he said softly, then slowly grinned. “Maybe we should try again.”

Lucien matched his grin, then leaned in and kissed him fiercely.

* * *

The penthouse doorbell had a pleasant, musical quality as it chimed promptly at seven o’clock.

Tamlin stayed by the tree, unraveling a package of white string lights while Lucien went to the door.

“Hey,” Jurian told Lucien in greeting. “I have a, uh… poinsettia. For you. Here.”

“Oh… Thanks,” Lucien said politely, accepting the potted holiday plant. “We were just getting started, so come on in. Make yourself at home,” he added, closing the door behind him.

Jurian whistled as he stepped inside and looked around. “Nice place you’ve got,” he remarked, shrugging off his coat. “I bet you can see every…” He stopped and stared at Tamlin. “What in God’s Name are you wearing.”

Tamlin gave him a shy smile and shrugged. It made the tiny bells jingle on his reindeer antlers. “Lu’s idea,” he explained, then nodded at the gift bags lined up on the couch. “There’s a Santa hat for you in there somewhere.”

Jurian smiled tightly and draped his long coat over the arm of the couch. “No, thanks,” he said politely. “I don’t do dress-up.”

Vassa came out of the bathroom then, rubbing lotion on her hands. She was wearing a striped elfin stocking cap with a bright green jagged brim and a bell on the tail. When she caught sight of Jurian, she grinned. “Oh, Juri!” she exclaimed, then jingled as she trotted forward to greet him.

Jurian startled as he looked her over, but managed nothing more than a: ‘Oh, hey… you,’ before she threw her arms around his neck and made him fall back a step.

Tamlin exchanged an embarrassed smile with Lucien as they glanced away from Vassa’s enthusiastic, and rather amorous, greeting.

“Cider?” Lucien asked politely, already turning for the kitchen.

“Yes, please,” Tamlin said desperately.

There was a faint smudge of lipstick on Jurian’s mouth when Vassa finally lowered herself down from tiptoe. She smiled as she rubbed at it with her thumb, then fondly tweaked his chin, murmuring some kind of sweet-nothing in Scythian, no doubt.

Jurian’s answering smile was surprisingly genuine, though. “Yeah. Me, too,” he murmured fondly, then cleared his throat when he noticed Tamlin looking. “So,” he said loudly to no one in particular. “What’s first?”

Vassa answered by pulling the Santa hat out from its bag. “Here. You wear this,” she declared happily.

Jurian stared at it with a wincing smile, then reluctantly accepted it. “All right. Sure.”

“It was that or an ugly sweater,” Tamlin called out.

Jurian tried to straighten the fluffy brim as Vassa smoothed back his hair. “How ugly?” he asked as Lucien walked out of the kitchen.

As he looked over Lucien’s candy cane-striped sweater with a Christmas tree in the center, he let out a simple, understanding: “Oh.”

Lucien paused, his hands full with mugs of steaming cider. “You like it?” he asked with a smirk. “Tam’s idea.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything,” Jurian muttered, then turned pink as Vassa tickled his nose with the fluffy end of his hat.

Tamlin chuckled as Lucien drew near. “I didn’t think you’d actually go for it,” he remarked, and draped the unraveled lights over his shoulder to accept the proffered mug. “We could have been matching reindeer.”

Lucien smirked. “I don’t know about that. You make a very handsome Rudolph,” he said, reaching up to straighten the headband. His fingers trailed down Tamlin’s hair as he sang softly under his breath, “Won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?” He was still smirking as he raised his eyebrows in a meaningful way and took a slow sip of cider.

Tamlin felt his face turn as red as Rudolph’s nose, especially when he noticed Jurian watching them.

“So,” Tamlin said loudly. “Jurian. How’s the weather out there, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Jurian said with a shrug. “It was getting pretty foggy when I last checked. Rudolph.”

Tamlin blushed again.

Lucien chuckled and set his mug down on the coffee table. “Okay. We’ve got lights, ribbons, and ornaments. Who wants what?”

“Ooh! Ribbons for me,” Vassa said eagerly, and rushed forward to claim the first roll of golden, sparkling, wired ribbon.

“I’ll help Tam with the lights,” Jurian offered, much to Tamlin’s surprise.

“Oh. Okay,” Lucien said, hiding his disappointment well. “I’ll unbox the ornaments, then.”

As Jurian picked up a box of string lights to examine it, he remarked, “Say, Lu—” which earned him a raised eyebrow, “—could I get a mug of, uh, whatever that stuff is, from the kitchen?”

“Oh… Yeah, of course,” Lucien said slowly, then asked Vassa, “Would you like something?”

She nodded, already unspooling yards of ribbon. “The same as Juri.”

When Lucien had gone, Jurian stepped closer to Tamlin.

“So…” he began in a low voice, pretending to examine the box of lights. “I couldn’t help but notice that your friend back there is getting a little flirty with you…”

Tamlin’s eyebrows shot up.

“Are you comfortable with that?” Jurian looked at him sidelong. “I mean, do you want me to tell him to back off? Because I can.”

Tamlin breathed a shy laugh. “No, it’s okay. You don’t have to do that…”

“I mean it. I know he’s your friend, but if you’re not comfortable, I’ll tell him.”

Tamlin searched Jurian’s expression for a glimmer of disapproval, a hint of disgust, or a sign of disdain… Unlike his brother’s contemptuous sneer that morning, there was nothing in Jurian’s eyes but genuine concern.

Tamlin sighed. “I appreciate you looking out for me, but it’s fine,” he insisted, lifting his mug for a warm, cinnamon-y sip. “We… have an understanding.”

Jurian cocked an eyebrow. “An understanding? About what?”

Tamlin licked his lips and considered his answer carefully. He and Lucien had discussed it after their confrontation with Arthur, and they had both agreed that Tamlin didn’t have to come out to anyone else unless he felt safe enough to do so.

Tamlin took a deep breath as he came to a decision. “We’re… going out. Actually.”

“Going out?” Jurian repeated, straightening up. “Really.”

“Who is going out?” Vassa repeated in her strong accent. She paused her unspooling, then looked between the two of them. “You are leaving? So soon?” she asked, sounding disappointed.

Tamlin chuckled shyly and rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to explain. Jurian was his friend, but Vassa was almost a stranger. And their mark, besides. This was getting complicated.

Thankfully, Jurian stepped in. He said something in Scythian, then translated, “In Prythian, to go out means to date. Tamlin and Lucien are dating now.” As Vassa gasped, he turned to Tamlin. “Is that right?”

Tamlin lowered his hand to cradle his mug. His hands were almost shaking. “Yeah…” He swallowed. “Is that… okay?”

Jurian gave him a kind half-smile. “Of course it’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Tamlin’s throat was too tight with emotion to answer, so he just smiled.

Lucien walked back into the living room carrying two more steaming mugs. “Here we are…” He paused and looked between them. “What did I miss?”

Vassa clapped her hands. “You and Tam-leen,” she declared happily. “You are going now, yes?”

Lucien’s brow furrowed. “Going…?” He trailed off, then met Tamlin’s gaze with sudden understanding. “Oh, you told them?”

“It sort of… came out,” Tamlin said shyly, almost weak with relief.

Lucien smirked, but not unkindly. “Was it easier the second time?”

Tamlin blushed and dropped his gaze. “A little bit, yeah,” he said, smiling shyly as his antlers jingled.

Lucien’s eyes sparkled as he met his gaze. “Well, I’m sorry I missed it.”

“You can be there for the next one.”

Lucien chuckled, then stepped closer to brush a kiss against Tamlin’s cheek. “At least now I can kiss you whenever I feel like it,” he teased, then turned to give Vassa and Jurian their mugs of cider.

Tamlin touched the warm spot on his cheek. It seemed like a dream. But the best kind of dream. The kind he never wanted to wake from.

As Vassa accepted her drink, she thanked Lucien in Scythian, or at least that’s what it sounded like to Tamlin’s untrained ears. After Jurian accepted his mug, Vassa slipped her free hand around Jurian’s waist. “We are going, too, yes?” she asked him with a smile.

Tamlin and Jurian exchanged brief, but concerned, glances.

Are you going to end it with her? Tamlin had asked him that morning.

I don’t know yet, was Jurian’s answer.

The crease between Jurian’s brow softened as he smiled at her. “We are going together. Da,” he agreed by clinking his mug against hers, then said something else in Scythian before brushing a kiss against her forehead. She beamed.

Not wanting to spoil their little moment, Tamlin waited for Lucien to step closer. “What did he say to her?” he asked Lucien softly.

Lucien looked thoughtful as he smiled. “I think he said: ‘As long as you wish, my Princess’. That’s kind of sweet, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tamlin murmured as he watched Jurian slide his arm around her shoulders before taking a sip from his mug.

“He really cares for her, doesn’t he?”

Jurian noticed Tamlin watching, then gave him a soft, understanding nod.

Tamlin smiled. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “He really does.”

[fakebloood]

4t2  HelStudio Jacquemus Living Decor Set

15 items: ceiling deco twigs, oil candle in two versions, hanging lantern in two sizes (used repository technique), big pinecone, ornament, metal sphere, ornament box, christmas gifts, tree pot, panetone, star cookies, boots and money deer All files compressed, collection file included WARNING! Highpoly objects! All credits go to HelStudio (deleted)

​DOWNLOAD from SFS or Mediafire

[lesewut]

'Nature speaks in its own tongue.'

From the book series Secret Sciences - A collection of older and newer writings on alchemy, magic, Kabbalah, Rosicrucianism, Freemasonry, witches and devils Published by A . v. Linden in 1918 after the  Amstadam original edition of 1700.  16th volume:  Seraphinic  Flower-Garden,  selections from the mystical-religious writings of Jakob Böhme.

'Magia is the Book of all students.'

Mysticism should not only be interpreted as a significant phenomenon of intellectual and religious history, but as the awakening of the religious feeling concerning nature. Perhaps certain symbolic interpretations have receded into the background of our rationally calculated world, since everything that cannot be empirically proven is dismissed as a phantasm. But if the human being separates himself from his collective deep consciousness, he lacks a decisive possibility to (re-)connect with deep collective consciousness. Mysticism has the aim to deepen the soul for religion and art, a poignant love unparalleled in the world/s of appearances. Dwelling in a cosmic strive for connecting with God and the Divine Energy, without the profanity of manifestation in images, but in a astonishing cognitive emotionality. Through the art of inner liturgy it can be possible to trace the ontological search for the human’s home. The eternal questions, like fixed stars above the head of the dust born, have been no less relevant since the first question, and yet have not come closer to the truth, which is always in progress and false, when decorated as stored and captured. And don't we notice with every achievement how our collected knowledge is revised in the cosmic expanses? That we are almost forced to think outside the box and to regard regularity in chaos as an illusion? The cosmic rift is not only dividing humanity from the cosmos, it divided man from himself and thus also human beings from each other. In the centre of revelation, which is common in all mystic practices: learning and learning to know the self, in order to understand more.

’Be sober, watch, fast and pray that you may deafen earthly reason and make it dead at once, that God's Spirit may take place in you! When he appears, he soon overcomes earthly reason and looks at the will in fear with its love and sweetness, since then always a beautiful twig is born out of the tree of faith, and serves all tribulations and temptations for the very best of the children of God.’

'Man comes to know the Creator in contemplation of himself.'

[thenightling]

How to ward your home against evil

How to ward a home against Evil: Protection wards are pretty easy.

One of the oldest protection wards is hanging a pentacle (Pentagram) over your door. In medieval Germany up into the nineteenth century it was believed the pentacle over your door could ward out evil, including demons. It also protects against werewolves and vampires (which are warded off by symbols of faith).

If you're not comfortable with a star within a circle over your door because you have neighbors who think it's Satanic, a free-floating pentacle (a five pointed star on its own) may work.

Salt sprinkled across the threshold will also keep out unwanted spirits and demons. I sometimes add a little garlic powder to give it an extra oomph. I sprinkle it across the threefold and window frames while repeating "Let none with ill-intent pass this way. So mote it be." I do this at night and while the moon is waxing. It's always worked well for me.

But be warned, if you invite an entity in, this will break the ward and you will have to do it all over again so be careful of who or what you invite in after you do the salt warding.

Sprinkle blessed water over the threshold too. If you don't know how to make blessed water there are plenty of easy instructions out there. It's not hard. And there are many kinds of blessed water as well.

Iron horseshoe hung over the door will protect against malicious Earth bound nature spirits. i.e. dark fae / sidhe, goblins, imps, etc. Anything iron works really but iron horse shoes are considered especially lucky.

A Jack-o-lantern (even an artificial one, or a Jack-o-lantern shaped nightlight) also helps. This one might sound silly but Jack-o-lanterns were originally protection wards against uninvited, malevolent, wandering spirits. They were not just Halloween decorations.

Supernatural entities tend to respect old beliefs and understand a dis-invitation when they see one. The earliest Jack-o-lanterns were carved out of turnips but Irish immigrants to America found that pumpkins worked just as well (if not better). I used to keep a large wooden Jack-o-lantern on my doorstep all year long for protection and luck. It made for a wonderful conversation piece when someone came over in late March and saw it. "Is that... a Jack-o-lantern?" "Why, yes. Yes, it is."

Wild roses will also ward against vampires. Sprinkled poppy seeds and a rope with many knots in it also works for this purpose. Roses also work against demons.

A five pointed star made of rowan twigs and bound together with red ribbon is supposed to protect against black magick.

A charm of any kind with a glass blue eye is supposed to protect against the Evil Eye and can be hung anywhere or even worn.

Lamb's blood (myoglobin from a package of lambchops will work) or sacramental wine smeared on the front door and splashed on the thresholds and windowsill are supposed to keep out demons.

I recommend using the wine instead. Easy cheat: Welch's Sparkling red grape juice was an attempt to make a non-alcoholic wine for ceremonial purposes. It's safe, clean, and you don't have to explain yourself to a rabbi or priest. An iron bell (preferably three) will ward off some spirits.

Vervain / Verbena (Flower or things scented to be like verbena) are supposed to protect against mind manipulation.

Cinnamon sticks or anything cinnamon scented (Cinnamon brooms) for luck.

Anything made of silver and iron mostly for protection, but especially if it is a symbol of faith.

Something small and gold like golden pin will ward off entities like the Dullahan (headless horsemen). For something more discrete: Anything "pumpkin spice" may ward off evil in general as most of the ingredients in pumpkin spice mixtures are seasonings once used in protection spells against malicious entities. Every autumn lots of people are drinking spice mixtures that double as seasonal protection wards, and don't even know it. (Cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, pumpkin, and ginger are all used in protection magick.)

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this as a part of my advent calendar fics, I hope you like it!

It is a Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x gn!reader imagine.

Thank you @marvelandotherfandomimagines for proofreading!

Day 16: decorating the tree

Warnings: slighty angsty but beautiful

Your Christmas tree with Bradley always had an 80s-flair to it, due to the decorations hanging from its twigs.

There were those tacky ornaments with Santa grinning and waving from a plane and some of Santa lying below a palm tree during his holidays, as well as self made paper stars that looked like a child had made them and the most colorful spheres you could imagine.

When Bradley and you had moved in together Mav had given you a housewarming present that also warmed your heart, in the form of a box filled with Christmas decorations that Bradley’s parents had put up every year.

They were half buried in your boyfriend’s memories, but he had some recollections concerning some of the trinkets in the box.

Mav’s present moved you and you knew that Bradley was emotional about it too, even if he couldn’t say it.

From then on your Christmas tree was filled with ornaments from the 80s, ones that reminded Bradley of his parents and made him feel at home.

While you liked to put the ornaments oin the tree together, it was always Bradley’s honor to put up the angel you had found at the bottom of the box, it was an angel in a metal gown with metallic wings and a boyish grin painted on its face, going on the top of the tree.

The angel was something you and Bradley found slightly bizarre, but once he had held it in his hands for a few moments he remembered making it with Goose out of spare parts they had found in the garage, so of course it had to have its special place on the tree.

Bradley was always so deep in thought when you decorated the tree, but once it was done a bright smile usually adorned his face as he pulled you closer to marvel at your little source of happiness.

Bradley pulled you close to wrap his arms around your waist, his nose at your temple as he pressed a kiss to the side of your face.

“Look how great it looks,” he whispered, and you had to marvel at the fact that despite the fact that some of the ornaments were ridiculous, your tree did look beautiful.

When Maverick came by every year he was always surprised by the decorations, but what surprised him most was how much Bradley behaved like Nick, and how similar the duo showed their love to their respective partners.

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[grim-wildwood]

Fruits in Ritual

These kinds of fruits are very common in every household and grocery store, yet many rarely think of the magickal properties of these sweet gifts from nature. Herbs are aromatic and sensual, but thinking outside the box, especially with food items, is a great way to expand your understanding of the craft.

Apples

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Surround the Empress card from the tarot with apple slices (dried or fresh) and leave them on the altar for help with fertility.

Pour a libation of apple juice during your ritual to ask for the gift of insight or to seek help with life decisions.

Add apple peels to a large pot or cauldron of water with cinnamon, allspice, and/or ginger root to infuse your home with romance.

If you cut an apple in half, you will find a pentacle star in the middle. Press spell ingredients into the flesh or use it to symbolize earth on an all-natural altar.

Apple branches make gorgeous wands. Leave yours natural, or decorate it with gemstones, shells, sea glass, feathers, etc.

Burn apple blossom incense to enhance your connection to other realms.

The bitter seeds of an apple make excellent additions to mojo bags, spells, or amulets for protection.

Plant an apple tree in your yard to bless your home for prosperity.

Blackberries

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Blackberry leaves can be used in sachets and spell jars for protection and prosperity.

Blackberries are considered sacred especially to Goddess Brigid.

A blackberry bush forming a natural arch is considered a good omen and a great aid to magickal healing.

One traditional use consists of crossing the brambles to get rid of evil spirits.

The leaves of the blackberries have stomach settling and anti-inflammatory properties.

Eat blackberries or drink their juice before divination.

Blackberry bushes were also used for home protection under the assumption that any malevolent spirits would be compelled to count all the berries, and that would prevent them from entering your home.

Juniper

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Juniper has strong cleansing properties in magic. Traditionally, it was used in burial rites, in protective rituals, and to eliminate evil spirits.

The house can be smudged with smoke from burning juniper needles to cleanse the energy.

Juniper twigs are hung on the front door for protection from people with impure thoughts and from evil spirits. A properly planted juniper, with magick, care, and love, can protect the home from thieves and general bad vibes.

Juniper is widely used to remove unwanted love spells.

Juniper attracts good luck and protects against diseases. Juniper woods are burned, and their pleasant fragrance is suitable as an incense for ritual offerings during the autumn Samhain fire festival at the beginning of the Celtic year to honor the Gods and Lunar Goddess.

If you feel like your body has absorbed so many negativities and need healing, Juniper Berries can be used as an amulet to facilitate much stronger healing.

Juniper Berries can be used in love spells to draw love to your circle or eliminate undesired emotions and suitors.

There is also an opinion that magick wands and staves can be made of juniper. Juniper wands enhance the psychic abilities of the owner as well as protect them from curses and evil spirits.

Pomegranate

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Pomegranate juice can be used as a symbol for blood in a spell.

Pomegranate juice and seeds can be used in love spells as well as protection spells.

Make an ink using pomegranate leaves and vinegar and use it to write fertility, prosperity, and protection spells.

Give pomegranates as a housewarming gift to bestow the blessings of abundance and prosperity on a household.

Hang branches near or above your door to ward off evil.

Drink the juice or eat the seeds while working with the moon. Meditate and ask for guidance, knowledge, or wisdom.

Oranges

•☽────✧˖°˖⛤˖°˖✧────☾•

Valencia oranges, associated with the high midsummer season, can be placed on the Litha altar.

Dried orange peel can be included in creativity sachets. For example, try combining dry orange peel and coffee grounds to break through writer’s block.

Oranges are a sun symbol. Use them in sun magick and solar rites.

Leave dried orange peel by the bathroom sink or wherever you get ready in the morning. Oranges have an energizing effect.

Associated with abundance, oranges make the perfect addition to spells of monetary success.

Blend dried orange into ritual incense. Orange peel blends well with a variety of other scents, particularly spicy ones.

During the solar holidays, fill your chalice with orange juice to welcome the sun back at Yule, or bid him farewell on Midsummer.

Combine a few drops of orange essential oil with a natural alcohol base like vodka, put it in a spray bottle, and spritz it over the altar for a lovely energy cleansing.

For the kitchen witch, make some orange marmalade from scratch and bless it for joy.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Let me introduce you to my friends…

I dunno I felt poetic

Let me introduce you to my friends…

There’s the wind, who whispers secrets to me as I pass him uphill. He loves to chat, he sings to me and I duet. He can be cold, and pushy, and want to direct you in any way he chooses, but he loves to dance and always knows how to cheer me up.

I have other friends, the rain and water. Calm and sweet, gentle as a lullaby. They love to dream. I love to dance with the rain, jump and laugh and run into their arms. The water offers me a looking glass, and we play together in shallow pools. Sometimes they can get fierce and aggressive. The water played too rough with me once, and the rain brought the lightning to a fight. But afterwards they always apologize.

Then there’s the trees, my favourite friends. They often give me gifts, such as twigs and branches and leaves and blossoms. They are such good listeners, and they keep me safe and comforted in their embrace. I love my trees, because they are the audience for my stories. They never judge, never interrupt, and never grow too old. My trees used to carry me high into the sky, and we’d sit and gab for hours. Now I cannot fit into their branches, so we stroll together in the wood.

I also have friends in the bugs, of course. Tiny stinkbugs that love to sleep on the ceilings when it is too cold or too hot outside. They are quite silly. And the ladybirds, gentle souls who never trouble me. The spiders are interesting tenants, though… the wolf spiders seem to never get our eviction notices. But the orb weavers keep our yards decorated during the late summer and early autumn. Quite remarkable artists, they are… and of course the caterpillars and butterflies. Ridiculous people, charming but eccentric. And the snails, my precious darlings with their lovely homes. I often find them after they have moved out, and the house is empty.

The sky is a lovely friend, too. I love her watercolour set, she paints so extravagantly. And at night she brings her own friends to see me.

I adore the moon. We share a name, her and I! Her looking glass reflects the sun, another grand friend of ours. I love to see what dress the moon wears, how she has changed during the day and what she will wear tomorrow. I’ve heard she has a man, but I’ve never seen him for myself. I have seen her rabbit, though.

The stars are sweet acquaintances as well. I do not know all their names and home addresses, but I know the Dipper siblings, older and younger. We chat when we can. They have bright and winning smiles.

And lastly, I have some rather odd friends; I hope you won’t judge them too much. They are ridiculous and rude at times, but they typically mean well. They can be boisterous. More often than not they don't appreciate what they don't see or hear or understand. They like to pick on my bugs. They complain about the rain's visits. They tear down my trees and twist their arms. They spit in the wind. Some of them are good... but they don’t always notice my friends… sometimes they ridicule us. They tend to not believe in magic, so they cannot hear my friends. They are not all bad… but they make the mistake of growing up and forgetting.

Humans, they call themselves. We get along all right.

[villains4hire]

@atimelesslullaby wished for their story to be told.

A loving whisper from seemingly nowhere, "Once upon a time... leaves swaying in the wind, view going farther, farther in to the ruins: a sight of a woman laying on a stone circle, floating in the soothing waters, breathless, yet suddenly awaking in the babbling brook, that was tucked far, far away." Zelda would be forced to see again, hearing all the voice's narration somehow as her tale began.

"She had many questions after dying, most likely. But there was no time to stop and think, the hero failed, trapped away like he had been, the Princess slain but now here, years have passed since the world plunged into darkness. Go down the hallway, away from the nurturing brook, follow the star in all of its splendor around the corner, up and over through the dark and there you will find them. Ask them the questions you seek... and then you will begin again." And if Zelda did just that? Given clothes and already wearing them as a new set, blue for her birthright, something more built for someone agile, quick and deadly with a set of bandages wrapped around her head and mouth.

And there with pearly whites awaiting her in a knowing grin, eyes gentle, a great fairy leaning forward as fluttering wings kept them hovered, albeit their 'feet' merely pointed at the ends in those decorated stockings. The star they followed would take its place at the end of that bent hat of the fae. Rather than say anything, the leafy cloaked being with fluffy yet twig and leaf-laden hair merely stared, it's as if she knew... letting Zelda speak first, of what she remembered, what she lost, why was she here again? Who was the voice? So much to answer, so little time as the clock ticked.

[everystephoftheway]

camp cloudtop: chapter twenty-four

This is a biggie!!!

This can be found on ao3 as well.   

Read more is for length, not content.

Conthsen came barreling down the week faster than anyone could have imagined, and the energy from the kids was electric. Not only was it the night before the talent show, but it was sleepover night! Almost every kid as young as seven to as old as thirteen got permission to stay, only a few too nervous to sleep away from home. All of the sleeping bags were staged in the auditorium, kids and their counselors all in neat rows starting from just in front of the stage to close to the doors in the back; Vex had told Keyleth that in years past they would actually camp outside in tents, but with the looming Briarwood danger, Gilmore didn’t think that was such a good idea. To stave off the kids’ complaining and attempts at swaying his decision, he told them there had been a mosquito outbreak and they all quickly agreed to the indoor idea.

Keyleth was the master of multi-tasking that night: when she wasn’t putting final touches on wall decorations or bake sale price signs, she was playing with the kids and making sure everyone was okay. When she wasn’t doing either of those she was practicing her solo act. Piles of flowers and vines were shoved behind her feet from failed attempts at some nature magic, but by the time all the kids settled to watch a movie on a giant projector screen her entire group had beautiful flower crowns on their heads made of twigs and flowers.

“These are amazing, Keyleth.” Vax was the last recipient of her practicing, and he lifted the crown ever so gently off his head so he could admire it. 

“Thanks,” she replied with a down-tilt of her chin, a bit bashful at the compliment. “I got the idea from you the other day. I figured I could try the real thing.” 

He smiled at that and put the crown on, just in time to turn and catch Simon who jumped into his lap, snake plushie still firmly held in one hand.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Vax asked her, settling the young half-elf on top of his legs.

“Good! Other than setting up the chairs in the morning there’s not much else to do other than hope we get enough people to come.” 

Vax nodded. “I’m not worried. The whole city of Emon should be showing up after all the advertising we did.” 

Keyleth’s eyes glanced across the room at Kash where he stood against the wall, his laugh just audible over the movie as he, Vex, and Zahra talked. As if he sensed her looking, he turned and made eye contact. His smile softened, and Keyleth offered a little wave. He waved back. Vax looked down at Simon, asking him if he liked the movie.

As it got later into the night, slowly but surely the counselors got all their kids ready for bed and into their sleeping bags. When the lights turned down, Gilmore used his magic to create twinkling purple stars along the ceiling, mesmerizing everyone, including Keyleth. She craned her neck up at the beautiful imagery, wondering if she would be able to do something like that one day. She could’ve sat there and stared all night, but a tap on her shoulder caused her to jump and look away.

“Sorry, sorry.” Vax’s voice was just above a whisper, her partner low in a squat next to her sleeping bag. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“It’s okay,” she whispered back, shaking her head and turning to face him. “What’s up?”

“Do you want to go for a walk with me? I’m not quite ready to sleep.” 

Keyleth took a quick glance at their kids, and they were all sound asleep around her. She looked across the room and Kash, if not asleep, sure seemed like he was; he was laying down, facing the other wall.

“Yeah, sure.” 

Taking Vax’s offered hand, Keyleth wriggled out of her sleeping bag, and the two of them–as quietly as they could–made their way out of the auditorium to the main back doors outside. The air was sticky, the two moons partly obscured by clouds moving across the sky, but Keyleth still preferred being outside. They started at a gentle walking pace, making their way past the pool and the open field until they came across the pond. As if they could communicate telepathically, the two went straight for the dock, sitting down at the end with their legs dangling over the water.   

Once again Keyleth’s attention went up toward the stars and once again Vax’s attention went toward Keyleth. 

“You know,” he started, and this time Keyleth looked at him without jumping, “I never got to know what that was for.” 

A lithe finger pointed toward the small antler tattoo on the underside of Keyleth’s wrist. She looked down at it, remembering how Percy had asked about it on the first day, but they got interrupted before she could answer.

“Oh. Yeah…that’s for my mom. She passed away when I was little.” 

Vax’s chin tilted down, his lips pursed into a soft line as if he was disappointed in himself for bringing it up. “Yes, I remember. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking about her. When I talk about her it’s like she’s still here in a way.”

“I lost my mother when I was young too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago. It’s an unfortunate thing to have in common, but it’s nice to know we’re not alone. Someone else understands.” 

Keyleth nodded. “What was your mother’s name?” 

“Elaina. What was your mother’s name?”

“Vilya.” 

They both smiled, and as Vax leaned back against his forearms the conversation moved onto other things. They talked about their childhoods and hobbies, favorite foods and running away from home. They discussed fathers and magic, their campers and the future. Before they knew it a couple hours had passed, the clouds now fully covering the sky. Keyleth had laid back too, though she was flat on her back and Vax had turned on his side to face her, his head resting on his left hand. 

“We should probably get back,” she sighed. “We have to be awake in a few hours.” 

“Mm.” Vax nodded in agreement, and he reached his right hand forward. At first, Keyleth thought perhaps he was going to offer his hand again, help her up–and in turn, she’d help him up–but instead his fingers reached for her wrist, gently, barely caressing the brown and red ink of the antlers, sending goosebumps across her skin. 

“You’re so special, Keyleth.” The words came so naturally from his lips it was as if he didn’t even realize he was saying them. He glanced up to her eyes, her big, green eyes. “Thank you for being my partner.” 

Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest there was no way he didn’t feel it on her pulse point, even with how gently he was touching her. There was a moment of silence, Keyleth’s brain whirring a thousand miles a minute, computing, contemplating. Then, Keyleth’s hand reached forward, grabbed Vax’s shirt, and she pulled herself up to kiss him. 

There was a moment of stiffness, a millisecond, before Vax’s hand moved from her wrist to the side of her neck, sweeping her hair away from her cheek as he started to kiss back. They both took their time, the kiss slow and easy, but at the same time it felt desperate and determined, like something that should have happened long ago.

Vax was the one to pull away first, lips and cheeks red, his hand falling down to his lap. Breathing now heavy, Keyleth leaned back too, slowly letting go off his shirt, pressing it down to stretch out the wrinkles she had made. Her eyes traced every inch of his face, waiting for a reaction, a smile. Something.

“I…I’m sorry.” His voice was even quieter than it had been inside with the kids asleep, and Keyleth was quite positive that her heart had detached from its spot in her rib cage and was now sinking somewhere below her stomach. “The summer’s almost over and you are with Kash and I…I have my sister to look after.” 

There was a moment where Keyleth thought she was going to cry, but she was quick to swallow it down. “No, you’re right,” she said, voice ever so slightly shaking. “That was…I should be sorry. I did it and that wasn’t fair. I am with Kash and you…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” 

Keyleth stumbled to her feet, still offering Vax a hand to help him up, which he took. 

“We should get back.” 

“Yeah.” 

Vex’ahlia was not usually the best sleeper when out of her own bed, and tonight was no exception. She turned onto her stomach in her sleeping bag as Percy snored gently next to her; it was a familiar sound of the night, and she thought if she could focus on him that perhaps she’d be able to sleep, but as she turned over she spotted movement. Two bodies, both tall and lithe, scurried out the doors, the light from the hallway visible for barely a few seconds. Her eyes narrowed, she got up, careful not to wake anyone near her, and began to follow. 

It only took her getting into the hallway to see it was Vax and Keyleth, the two already walking outside toward the back of the property. Vex kept a wide berth, trailing them all the way to the pond. There was a thick bush just beside the dock, and she found a hiding spot in there, still able to see them through the leaves. It was hard to hear with the distance and the gentle lapping of the water, but after years of living on the streets with her brother, Vex had gotten incredibly good–if she did say so herself–at lip reading. 

By the time the two had started discussing leaving the dock, Vex had started to get a bit bleary eyed in her bush. Their conversation was so…sweet and wholesome, so boring. She was just about to start her way back to the main building, scurry away before they could spot her on their way back, when Keyleth pulled Vax in for a kiss. 

Her hands clapped against her mouth, just barely managing to squash the high pitched squeal that arose. Oh, this. Now this was good stuff. She leaned forward, but very quickly turned away, grossed out as Vax started to kiss back. When she heard them speak again, she turned back, reading their lips.

“I have my sister to look after.” 

Whatever excitement she had been feeling after watching this drama bomb drop quickly soured into guilt after what Vax had said. Her mind flashed to Percy, her many late nights leaving Vax alone to his own devices. Would she be able to push Percy away in loyalty to her twin? She wasn’t quite sure. The creaks of the wooden dock got her back to the present, and as Vax and Keyleth stood, Vex made her way out of the bush and back toward the building without being seen.

By the time the two of them made their way through the door, Vex was hunched over the water fountain just outside the auditorium, eyes squeezed shut as if the bright lights were offensive. 

“Oh.” She stood and gave an arched brow look at the pair, and she had to not laugh at how scared Keyleth looked. “Where are you two coming from?”

Vax sighed, didn’t answer the question, and leaned into Keyleth. “I’ll be in in a second.” 

She nodded, gave a nervous smile to Vex, and hurried inside. Vax tilted his head at his sister, the only silent communication needed, as he walked over to the water fountain.

“How much do you know?” he asked.

She folded her arms and leaned against the fountain, the water coming out as she pressed the button with her butt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Vax simply reached over and pulled a leaf from the depths of her hair. She grabbed it out of his hand. “I know enough.” 

Vax sighed heavily out of his nose as his back bumped against the wall, but despite how annoyed he was the only visible expression was one of sadness. Vex’s shoulders fell, and the water fountain shuddered as she pushed off it, the water stopping.

“Brother, you should follow your heart.” 

He picked his drooped head up, matching her usual arched eyebrow. “I’m sorry?”

“It was wrong of me to put pressure on you to keep yourself available to me all the time. Especially when I have not been doing the same. We will always have each other’s backs no matter what, but you should be able to be happy too. With whoever that might be with.” 

“Wow.” Vax’s smile had a bit of mischief behind it, though it was clear the way he looked at his sister how absolutely proud he was of her. “Thank you. Though, I don’t think it’ll matter in the end. She’s with Kash.” 

Vex scoffed. “That won’t be an issue.”

“What do you mean?”

“Vax, I’m not blind. If you choose to try, it definitely won’t be an issue.” 

He chuckled a laugh, shaking his head. “Well…we’ll see. You and Percy, though. I think you should take the leap.” 

Vex’s eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights. “What?”

“I’m not blind either. Now, come on.” He offered a hand to her, which she took without question. “We really need to sleep.” 

[zeenimf]

A Gust of Rising Wind | Snippet

Having decided to go against Eithir's orders and leave for the surface in four days, Zuna and Makino have advised her to lay low while preparing for her journey. Yet she decides to the one thing most unusual, show up for training.

Transcript and Taglist below the cut . . .

The sparring grounds lie atop a tower separated from the patchwork known as Meirladdra’s palace. The tower stands on a floating rock, attached to the main island with ropes similar to the ones used for flying, although much thicker. They sparkle silver in the sun, the island a spider’s prey.

Phei crosses the creaky wooden bridge that leads straight to the top of the tower. The sound of rustling leaves mingles with the winds roaming through the air. She hurries on, talons traversing the uneven planks and boards as if she’s walked there a thousand times.

The top of the tower features a raised circular platform made out of dark wood, sheltered from the sun by a roof with shingles as red as a dragon’s scales. Next to the tower, a few dozen wooden pillars have been erected in a rectangular field, each a metre apart and reaching as high as the tower. Two scalians are jumping around the field of pillars, their movements synchronised. With each gust they leap into the air, spreading their arms and landing on whichever pillar the wind blows them towards. Attuned to the wind, to each other, and with muscles tensed, they are intertwined in an ancient dance.

Eithir stands in the shade with crossed arms. His eyes are focussed on the pillars, following each movement with utmost precision.

“Surprised to see you,” he says, keeping his gaze firmly on the dance. “This is the last place I expected to run into you.”

 Phei rolls her eyes, her spirit blowing in the wind enough for Eithir to notice her. She pauses for a moment, unwillingness to lie juxtaposed to another feeling, a stronger, more fearful feeling.

“I thought you might like it if I showed up for once.”

Eithir’s eyes light up briefly, and only when the glow has vanished again does he turn to Phei, his face as stoic as always. Without the silver strands decorating his hair and face, the wrinkles etched into his cheeks are much more prominent.

He reaches for the rack on his right, picking out a set of two short, slightly curved swords. Where the guard and grip are made out of ordinary wood, the blade is made out of only a thin twig tightly wrapped in dark red leaves. He throws one to Phei, who catches the sword at the blade which leaves red traces on her hands. He laughs, the sound soft, caring, fleeting.

“Well then, let’s see what you’ve got.”

-x-

General Taglist:

@chazzawrites​ | @florraisons​ | @andiwriteunderthemoon​ | @ink-fireplace-coffee​ | @muddshadow​ | @henrike-does-writing-sometimes​ | @enchanted-lightning-aes​

Taglist for A Gust of Rising Wind:

@ink-fireplace-coffee | @write-the-stars-and-shadows​ | @henrike-does-writing-sometimes​ | @ladywithalamp​ | @chazzawrites​ | @writingonesdreams​ | @generalblizzarddreamer​ | @peepos-prose​ | @writing-is-a-martial-art​ | @dahliaornelas​​​ | @ofbloodandflowers​ | @magic-is-something-we-create​ | @ettawritesnstudies​ | @47crayons​ | @inkflight​ | @thelaughingstag​ | @writing-with-l​ | @immunetoliteraryanalysis​ | @strangerays​​ | @luerange​  | @snowinks​​ | @the-orangeauthor​​ | @waysofink​​ | @fablewritten​​ | @houndmouthed​​

[viskafrer]

Writeblr Pick A Card 4/15

the inciting incident

Instructions:

Take a look at the three drawings in the picture above

decide which one you feel more drawn to and go with it

Check for the corresponding text below. Each text will provide a mix of things, take what helps your story or made you have an idea and leave whatever doesn't fit

Group 1

A king is tired of his castle. At night, the king flees, taking only what he can carry, leaving his castle in the hands of three strangers. Aries is up in the moon while the other stars have fallen dark. Thinking the castle lies fully abandoned, the three strangers move in, unaware of the presence that has been left behind much against their will.

If you're stuck with this, have some options to think about:

Your character is one of the three strangers

Your character is presence left behind

Your character seeks shelter for the night in the abandoned castle, noticing the presence and promising the presence to reunite it with the king

Your character is hired by the three strangers to do something about the presence

The presence seeks out your character for help to find their "home" aka the person that left them

The castle is only visible at night once specific conditions are met, prompting rumors to make their way across the world. Your character is there to see about the rumors themselves

The king leaving has been far in the past, now where once was a castle, there is now a shop or a house and your character works/live in it, causing them to witness odd things happening until they are drawn into the history of the house/store

Group 2

Your character has always been fascinated with chemistry, magic and cooking. They just love to mix things together and have been doing it from an early age. Yes, they started with soup made from mud and twigs, progressed to cooking early, until chemistry crossed their path at school. They love books and reading. One night they play pretend again, mixing various ingredients, having fun but it doesn't stay with play pretend. They discover something, create something, and it changes their current life completely.

Or, your character has a family member who loves doing so and they play pretend together, mixing and having fun, following recipes from fairy tales and old books found at the library sell. Things happen, and everything changes for them.

Or it's about a character unknown to your protagonist. They explore a city, find a cute little antique store and bring home knick-knacks, old books, or decorative vials. The vials steam and foam at night, they glow, there is a scent lingering with them; they do something and your character gradually finds out but it really hits them when it is too late. They may try to find the shop again and start a wild goose chase to have whatever happened reversed by the store owner who's nowhere to be found and everyone your character asks about them doesn't know what store or person they mean.

Group 3

Two powerful people come together to make plans that are supposed to bring forth a solution. At the table, there are six beings involved: three men, a woman, a dalmatian, and a tucan with a tail made of snakes. They get together behind closed doors, unknown to anyone but rumors happen.

Your character might be one of the ones at the table

Your character might be the caretaker of the animals who love your character dearly and warn them or share the secret with them somehow

Your character might be the one they conspired about, having a bad gut feeling upon discovering the closed and locked doors to a room that has never been locked before

Your character might not have been involved at all with anyone of these 6 people and still somehow know about what happened; either through dreams or gossip

Your character may know because they watch the stars at night to cartograph their movements and their equipment helped your character to figure out something is going on behind these locked doors

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3a] [part 3b]

[milksakex]

  - BAAL AND NARINDER -

                                                   •   milksakex   •

It was a windy night. The dark sky stretched on in an endless black. Its silver and gold stars flickered in and out, signaling the end of their short life. A tall black cat sat, perched on the top of a church, looking down at the cult. He had red camellia flowers on both sides of his head and a white cloak with a black heart pendant on the side of his neck.

 Underneath was a black shawl with beads at the end. He had a long tail that faded into red and his paws were the same. On top of his head was the skull of some ancient creature, not much bigger than him. The cat had piercing red eyes with black slits that caught every moving thing. This cat was named Baal. 

 Baal scanned the cult, with watchful eyes, taking in the beauty. There were plenty of houses lining the right side of the cult with a large garden and barn in the back. On the left side was a medical area with red camellias growing all around it. Beside the garden were six boxes, two bigger than the others were holding seeds, and the other four held manure.

 There was a giant ivory-colored path going four ways in an X shape with a circle in the middle. It was made of bricks are sparkled in the night. In that circle stood a giant statue of a ram. It was decorated with gold blocks, wind chimes, bells, flowers, and paper slips containing prayers. Around the statue were four smaller statues mimicking the bigger one. In between, there were cushions for all to sit on. And there were a lot. 

At the end of each path though, lay one small pedestal each with different colored crowns on them. these were also decorated. The first, closest to the entrance of the cult was purple and dressed in spider silk, the next was beside the church and was yellow. Mushrooms were growing from that one. The next one beside the houses and garden was blue and had fish carings on it, and the last one next to the medical area was green, dawned in vines and flowers. 

The trees around the cult were also decorated, in a similar fashion to the ram statue. Baal sighed, grabbing the skull on his head before his eyes snapped onto a shadow. His eyes perked at the familiar noise of someone creeping about. His eyes squinted at the cult much more closely. 

Everyone was supposed to be inside their houses, fast asleep. He had checked the bushes, roofs, and inside the church. Plus the lamb was out... Apparently, Baal was wrong. With a burst, a short, dark gray, clumsy-looking, no-tailed cat, jumped out of a bush. It was busy trying to catch spiders around the cult. It wore the usual clothing but with more flair. A tight red shirt with white markings, fitted red shorts, and a white jacket with a red stripe in the middle on both the back and front.

 It had shackles on his arms and neck that were decorated with gold lines, dots, and colors of red flowers. Taking a closer look, Baal could see colored eyes on the shackles as well. They were purple, yellow, green, and blue. Ironic. The cat had two big red eyes with a hole in its forehead. 

 It would trip over pieces of stone, his feet, and even air, leading it to land roughly on his face. Baal couldn't help but choke down a chuckle at its pitiful attempt at hunting. He may have not gotten much training at a young age, but even he could’ve done better than that. The cat got up and dusted off its clothes, before picking up the net it was using. It scanned the patchy land before spotting the spider again. This time it was cleaning its mandibles nearby, completely unaware. 

The cat trotted over quietly and hid in the nearby grass. Unfortunately, like an untrained kitten, it moved too quickly and stepped on a twig. The spider quickly turned around, noticing the cat. For a second, it was quiet before all hell broke loose. The spider scurried over the cult with the cat in tow. It dodged and weaved the swinging net, before sliding over to a manure box and running between the cat's legs. The cat, however as ungraceful as it is, stumbled and fell into it. 

“FUCK!” It shouted before landing and digging its face out of the box. There was a large lump of brown on its head and face that slipped off and landed on the ground. It held its arms in an arched position and slowly turned around, wiping the poop out of its eyes and mouth. 

To think this was the man that taught him how to better coordinate his feet when fighting, made Baal shout in laughter. His quick chuckles broke the night's silence. Quickly, he covered his mouth but that did little to muffle his laughter. When Baal finished, he noticed the smaller cat glaring up at him. Its red eyes burning. 

Baal hopped down and walked over to the cat, catching the stench of the manure covering its face. Some of it was already dried on. Baal wrinkled his nose as much as he could. “You seem to be having a lot of trouble, Narinder.” Baal couldn't help but hiss out the name with disgust. After all, he was his- No. No. Not anymore. He doesn't have to call him that anymore. Narinder scoffed, glaring harder at the taller one. “Watch it, child.” It hissed back. Its ears were pointed back and its fur was lifted. “You know nothing of the pain, I deal with.” Baal smirked. “I do, you put me through it after all. Plus, I just wondering if you needed help. Maybe I could help you hunt. Properly.” At the last sentence, Baal smiled, keeping a playful demeanor.

Narinder grumbled a bit and hissed, before going silent. His fur looked like it wanted to get away from him with how high it was. “No. I don’t need your help. You betrayed me. Both of you. I don’t need help from a traitor.” Baal glared back at his old master, mulling over his words carefully, all with a smile. He knew they his m- Narinder looked like he was ready to pounce, but Baal couldn't help but chuckle at the thought. He wondered how light Narinder was now.  

Flicking his eyes back to the smaller, Baal took a deep breath, slightly bowed his head, and patted down his fur. “My apologies. I’d rather not bother a wondrous god like you with my presence in catching spiders. You very clearly have it under control.” He looked down at the smaller cat with a smug look in his eye. Just as it was about to screech his ear off, Baal- with a swift flick of his wrist, teleported away. 

                                                           • End •