#Blue white color drop in anchor

[mjolnirswriststrap]

Silver Bullet

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader, Helmut Zemo x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,670 Masterlist

Summary: The best night of the year, Halloween, turns into a night you just want to forget. PART 1/4.

Warnings: werewolves, cheating, backstabbing best friend, Zemo is a whore, truly.

Red cloaks filled the crowd. This years Halloween parade theme being Dracula. Rob Zombie blared through speakers anchored to lampposts. You and your friends all wore matching costumes, collectively going as the wives of Dracula. It was a good excuse to wear the hottest outfits you could find. Most people paled their skin with white face paint, and molded little pieces of wax to their teeth.

Not you, you wore basically nothing for your costume. Each friend had a different color of fabric, that was loosely draped and cinched around your body. The best way to describe it would be a Greek toga, instead of linen it’s sheer silk, leaving nothing to the imagination. You all wore the same gold collar, a dragon etched on the front; curtesy of the blue bride, Miranda’s, 3D printer.

You didn’t plan on staying, you all agreed to be a part of the parade, once that was over, you were all headed to Zemo’s annual Halloween masquerade. You don’t think he particularly liked having hundreds of people flooding his property every year. But having the biggest house in town was a blessing and a curse. He hosted most festivities for your rather large population of teens and young adults.

You had a fascination with the bachelor. He inherited the mansion, land and money from his grandfather, skipping over his father completely. His family was prominent in the community, both of his parents having a chair at city hall. They volunteered at the food bank and donated to every shelter. Any sane person would think they deserved the money in a way. So why Zemo?

You made it to the party late, everyone leaving the house for the back yard. Zemo had the trees lighted and a dance floor built, always prepared for a celebration. Your friends ditched you as soon as you all got drinks, saying they were going to find their boyfriends. Leaving you to explore the surrounding woods alone.

You nearly drop your red solo cup when you see Zemo pressing Miranda against a tree, practically swallowing each others faces. Tears of betrayal sting your cheeks. She knew you had a crush on him, and she has a boyfriend anyways. You stalk away in anger, losing the trail but not caring. You found a tree far enough from the party that no one would hear your sobs.

You downed the cup filled halfway with vodka, a drop of orange juice for flavor. It dried your tears quickly, leaving your whole body warm. “Stupid.” You say, standing up and brushing the leaves off your dress. “Stupid for liking Zemo.”. You agreed whole heartedly with that. “Stupid for thinking Miranda was my friend.” That’s what hurt the most.

In the midst of your self hate you failed to notice a looming figure. “You’re not stupid.” You jolt, throwing the plastic cup in the direction of the stranger. “Sorry, you scared me.” You giggle, when you see it’s just a guy from the party wearing a phantom of the opera mask.

“It’s okay.” He reaches down and picks up the liter. “Gotta keep our forests clean.” He waves the red in the air. You give him a dry laugh. Men are scary and being alone in the woods with a stranger was causing every alarm in your brain to siren. But the vodka numbed your sense of fear.

“I should get going.” You say, turning and trying to step around the tree. Before you could, the stranger steps closer. “Should you?” He says deeply. He’s close enough now that you can see his piercing blue eyes behind the mask. They render you speechless, the way the moonlight shone off them, put you in a trance. You shake your head, too focused to verbally answer him.

“See, you’re not so stupid after all.” He teases. You have no reaction. His words didn’t fill you with pride or embarrassment. Your veins filled with the distinct warmth of feeling safe. You don’t know where it came from, your body was irrationally reacting to him. You should be shaking with fear and trying to get back to the party, not calmly standing here waiting for something to happen.

It felt like you were locked inside a body that wasn’t yours. It was being controlled by some outside force. You let him reach for you, never flinching away. Your body produced goosebumps where his fingertips grazed your skin. “You’re so beautiful. I’d hate to ruin that.” You nod your head, not even thinking of a single way he could ruin your beauty. Your mind was blank, you couldn’t even say thank you.

“Promise me you won’t resist, once it happens.” You knew nothing of what he spoke, but again you feel your neck bow to him, nodding in agreement. The masked man looks up at the moon, reveling in its fullness. “Are you prepared for no return?” You agree with a nod, now you know you were fully possessed by something. His words should send you running, but a small voice in the back of your head says you would never.

He steps closer again, grabbing fistfuls of your gown, cinched at your waist. “You have to say it. Say I have permission.” His voice was desperate and darker than before. You try to find the words but the influence he had on you was slowly fading, the way he started pressing you against the tree brought you back to your senses. He holds your hips in place as he nuzzles his face into your neck, taking a long deep breath.

The stubble on his chin tickled you and you had to remind yourself yet again that this is a masked stranger in the woods. Even though your senses were coming back, the way his hands lit a fire inside of you was enough to make you not care. That fire pooled lower and lower the closer he got to you. He smelled like a mix of musk and pine. You couldn’t tell if it was him or the trees surrounding you. But it made your mouth water, filling you with a want to taste his skin, just to be sure.

He raises his hand to cradle your cheek, “Please.”. He caught your eyes again, boring into them with an assured look. He focuses on your lips “Just say the words.”.

“I give you permission.” You say them without thinking of the consequences. He sealed your fate by closing the gap between your faces. Pressing his lips to yours. You moved your lips in sync with his, using your free will to wrap your arms around his neck. Before it could go any further the man disappeared. You felt him pull away, when your eyes opened to see why, he was already gone. You searched the surrounding woods with your eyes, there was no sign of him.

You grab your head, wondering if you drunkenly hallucinated. The moisture on your mouth and in your underwear was foolproof evidence that it really just happened. But you still began to question its validity.

You hear a twig snap somewhere near you, in hopes that it was the magnetic stranger you followed it, rounding an old fallen tree you spot a black dog. It was rather large in stature, must be a purebred if it’s that big. You knew an expensive dog wouldn’t be wandering the woods collarless. And you couldn’t remember if Zemo ever mentioned having any pets.

You stepped closer, never fearing animals. You loved dogs, you had a few of your own at your parents house. “Here boy.” You kneel down, reaching out your hand. It finally gives you its attention. Immediately showing his sharp canines, snarling loudly. “Oop.” You stand up and slowly back away, knowing the signs of an agitated dog.

When your view of it is blocked by the tree you turn around and sprint away. Not wanting to receive a rabies shot on Halloween night. You see the lighted trees nearing. That’s when you heard it, rhythmic thumbing coming from behind you. When you turn around you let out a scream, the dog is already pouncing on you, knocking you to the ground. You tray to scramble away. You see people’s feet running towards your screams.

The dog latches its mouth onto your leg, when you try to rip it away it only sinks its teeth deeper. You see Zemo come to your aid with a pool cleaner net, swinging it at the dog. “Get away.” He shouts, he ends up cracking the dog on top of his head with the plastic pole. It yelped, causing your leg to fall out of his mouth. He ran for cover, disappearing into the woods. Zemo drops to his knees beside you, shedding his jacket to wrap it around your bleeding leg.

“Are you okay?” Your eyes full with tears, embarrassment was an understatement. You didn’t want to face Zemo or Miranda. You didn’t want to see all the party goers pity filled faces either. You stood up, sucking a breath between your teeth at the pain. You limped past everyone giving eachother confused glances. Ignoring Zemo and Miranda’s fake concern.

You called your dad, sitting on the curb infront of the house. He rushed you to urgent care, spending the rest of the night with you in the waiting room. You were fine in the morning, a shot and a round of antibiotics set you on your way to recovering. You took ibuprofen for the pain. You called off of work for the rest of the week, needing to stay off your feet.

When you returned the next Monday, your boss told you there was a new bus boy. You waited tables all day before you finally saw him. Clocking in and disappearing to wash dishes. He was cute, dark brown hair and light stubble. He didn’t introduce himself to you or Mary, the other waitress, odd. But you had a feeling the little diner would grow on him eventually.

[courtforshort15]

Intricacies of Identity

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem Reader

Word Count: 8,800

Summary: While at a wedding, you run into your ex-girlfriend, surprising both yourself, as you haven’t seen her in years, and Matt, who has no idea you don’t identify as straight. It brings up memories and feelings you haven’t thought of in a while, and while some sort of closure is nice, it still throws you for a loop.

Warnings: None really. 

Masterlist

Written for this request

A dress the color of faded blue catches your eye, and the world comes to a sudden standstill. 

You had known she was going to be here, but it doesn't stop the way your body freezes when you see her walk up to an old acquaintance of yours from college, greeting him with a loud exclamation of joy as her wiry arms wrap around him. It's like every molecule of your being comes to a sharp and abrupt halt, including the thumping of your heart and the smooth in and out of the air that feeds your lungs.

Matt's in the bathroom when she walks into the large white tent, and you're incredibly grateful he's not around to feel you stiffen, to feel how your skin seems to shrivel up as it tightens and locks you into the panic rushing through you. You can practically feel the blood draining in your face, each drop sinking down like an anchor being dropped to the ocean floor, hands rapidly losing heat and beginning to shake. 

The woman who has completely thrown you off your axis looks in your general direction, and with a quiet gasp, you turn back around in your seat and face forward, eyes landing on the wedding arch Austin and Hannah are about to get married under. A tangle of flowers and vines drift down from the arch, a lovely combination of blues and whites, but you hardly notice the colors, too focused on doing whatever you need to temporarily avoid any sort of confrontation.

He most likely can pick up the way your heart speeds back up and starts pounding ridiculously hard in your chest, can probably hear your lungs constricting, and you imagine him scrubbing his hands as quickly as possible, already rushing to your side so that he can begin soothing the anxiety that he knows has popped up out of nowhere. 

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm the hands that are still shaking in your lap, but it's not until a larger, calloused hand settles on top of yours that you begin to settle down.

Your eyes finally snap away from the arch and turn to Matt's face that has suddenly appeared next to you. His body is turned towards yours, an obvious look of concern written over his features, and an instant wave of a soothing balm begins to wash slowly down your body, immediately putting out the flame that has seared your skin and pulled up memories from long ago.

"Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine," you answer, turning a hand over to slide your fingers through his, and he doesn't hesitate to hold your hand tightly in his. You're thankful that he knows you well enough to know what you need at the moment, so completely tuned into the bends and curves and twists of the person that you are. He lifts your joined hands so that he can press a soft kiss to your knuckles, head tilted and warm, blank eyes landing on the side of your face from behind deep, red lenses.

The man beside you may be the Devil, a creature meant to scare and beat back those who would do others harm, a scathing, piercing form that never fails to inspire a certain level of fear within those who dare to cross him. But here, he is the water of a gentle stream; comforting, calming, and soothing as it laps gently at the scent of anxiety that clings to your skin.

"Are you sure?" he asks, lowering your hands so that they settle in his lap. "Your heart rate skyrocketed a few minutes ago. What happened?"

"I…nothing. It's fine."

He gives you a look that tells you he knows you're lying, his eyebrows raised and a light frown settling on the lips that had pressed against yours so sweetly just ten minutes before when you'd asked a friend to take a picture of the two of you all dressed up for the occasion. 

"Sweetheart…what–"

But he's cut off as the groomsmen start walking down the aisle, passing your row of seating, a small sea of black that eventually stops just to the right side of the arch you'd been blankly staring at. A soft melody plays in your ears, the sounds of a quiet piano and harp drifting by, and you're surprised to realize the music must have started while you were busy panicking inside your own racing head.

With a shake of your head, trying to turn your attention to Matt even as the groom takes his turn down the aisle with his mother on his arm, you squeeze his hand, absolutely aware he's not going to let the conversation end there and that he'll just pick it up later. He tends to hold on to things like that, always needing to know if you're alright and if something is bothering you, and there's no way he's going to let this go, not when your heartbeat went haywire and then stuttered again when you'd lied about it to his face. 

You know that Matt understands that sometimes a person deserves to lie, deserves the right to deflect and protect, deserves the right to choose when and how they decide to tell their story, and to whom. But even while he has long since acknowledged that, long since acknowledged that people don't always owe him an explanation on why they choose to keep certain pieces of information away, you know there's not a single cell of his that will keep him from getting the truth from you about what had made you upset.

He may not have pushed too hard had a similar lie come from Foggy or Karen, but when it comes to you, there's no way it'll slide. He is so completely in tune with you, so completely in tune with your body, and the sense of vulnerability that comes with it has always been matched and soothed by his strength. 

"Can we talk about it later?" you ask quietly, leaning in to brush your shoulder against his, seeking a layer of quick comfort only he can provide. He must know what you're doing because he leans into you in return, helping close the gap as best he can in the seats that are spaced a few inches apart.

"Of course," he whispers. He turns his head to brush soft lips to your temple, temporarily settled by the fact you'll be willing to share it later. With a loud sigh, you turn your head back to the wedding arch, and do your best not to focus on the fact that the woman who had absolutely shattered your heart all those years ago was sitting just a few rows behind you.

*********

"The ceremony was beautiful," you say into Hannah's ear as you hug her, arms giving her a quick squeeze before releasing and taking a step back. "And you look amazing."

Hannah smiles brightly, red lips sharp and bold against the white of her wedding dress, blonde hair shining in the fairy lights that hang from the trees scattered throughout the reception area. "Thank you so much. I'm so glad you could make it."

"Of course," you respond with a matching grin. "I wouldn't miss it." Brief memories of laughter and tears, stupid jokes and late night study sessions, sift through your head as you stare at the woman who had been by your side since your sophomore year of college.

 "And are you doing okay? With Taylor being here?"

Your eyes widen a fraction of an inch before you school your features. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Matt's head tilt towards you in curiosity, having no doubt noticed the swift uptick in your heartbeat before you force it to even out. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," you tell her with a simple shrug, and the words are honest enough, you suppose.  "Why wouldn't I be?"

Hannah shakes her head, and you both know her question had been a justified one. She'd been the one to hold your hand through the grieving process of losing someone you loved, had been the person to pull you up from the bathroom floor on numerous occasions or pry cold beer bottles away from your chapped lips on nights when you were desperate to forget the heartache.

"I just wanted to double check. I wasn't sure if there was still some bad blood between you."

"It's been years since we all graduated. Everything's fine, don't worry."

The smile on her mouth is soft and lovely as she leans in a little closer. "I know. I just didn't think she'd come, to be honest," she tells you quietly, voice lowering to a whisper. You're absolutely positive Matt is hanging on to every word, if only for a chance to figure out what had riled you up so quickly and savagely. "It felt weird inviting our entire group of friends and not her, but Austin has kept in touch with her and he wanted to send the invite. We sort of thought she wouldn't come since she still lives on the west coast, but it seems she really wanted to be here."

You reach your hand out to settle on her arm, mouth lifted up at the corners. "You don't have to explain yourself, Hannah. It's your wedding. You're allowed to invite whoever you wish."

"I know that, but I just wanted to tell you."

Rolling your eyes fondly, you pull her back in for a quick hug that she quickly returns. "I appreciate it. Now go, mingle with the rest of your guests. You must have 100 more people to say hello to." 

Hannah sends you an appreciative smile. "Just about, yeah. Thanks again for coming. It means a lot." 

She turns away and is immediately swept up by another guest, grin wide and happy as she's pulled in for yet another hug. Austin trails behind her after sending you a similar smile, and it's not long before they're pulled into the crowd, voices loudly congratulating them. 

You turn your head to search for Matt only to find him just a few feet away, talking to another friend of yours, someone he'd already been introduced to at your small birthday get-together earlier this year. Matt's hand twitches at his side, beckoning you without words to join them, and there's nowhere else you'd rather be than next to him.

All it takes is a gentle hand on his upper arm before Matt is pulling you in and wrapping an arm around your waist. Even without his senses, Matt would recognize your touch anywhere, so you're not surprised that he's curled around you instantly without a single word. 

You've never quite managed to figure out who is the moth and who is the flame, always pulled to each other so readily and intimately, an act that is as natural and vital as breathing. 

With a grin, you give Adam a small wave, and he chuckles lightly from where he stands just three feet in front of you, no doubt amused at the way Matt's pulled you into him without a single break in the conversation. The sounds of their voices are a steady hum in your ear, words forming sentences about random things you don't really care about at the moment. You participate here and there, honestly glad to see Adam, but Matt must sense that you've somewhat drifted out of your head because he simply holds you to him, fingers trailing up and down your back, accepting some of your weight as you lean into him. 

Adam doesn't seem to take it personally that you're not feeling very talkative if the small, sympathetic smile he gives you is anything to go by. He's no doubt caught glimpses of Taylor greeting other friends from college throughout the evening. His eyes meet yours several times, as if checking to see if you're alright, and flashes soar through your head of him dragging you to class and forcing you to be social in the days, weeks, and months that followed the heartbreak. 

Matt takes on the bulk of the conversation for the pair of you, carefully navigating through it in a way that allows you to participate when you want while also making it possible for you to simply stay by his side, and you've never been more grateful for a man who knows you better than the back of his own hand.

"I'm going to go to the restroom," you speak up during a brief lull in their discussion, and both faces swing towards yours. "I'll be right back."

Matt's attention focuses on you, his arm tightening around you before it releases. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," you say with a quick smile, and he matches it briefly, no doubt aware that you're being completely truthful this time. "Just gotta go."

With a light kiss to his cheek, you pull yourself away and make your way to the bathroom, weaving and dipping through the crowd of finely-dressed wedding guests, downing your glass of wine and placing it on a tray of other empty glasses before you turn the corner and open the door to the women’s restroom. You’re not the only one in there, scattered women’s voices talking as they fix their make-up, but you keep to yourself with a vague, disinterested smile.

When you’re done, you wash your hands, take a quick glance in the mirror to confirm you still look presentable, and pull open the door to leave. Before you can take three steps out of the bathroom, your legs come to a screeching halt when you barely keep yourself from crashing into the one person you had been avoiding all night.

Desperate to not let one single inch of her brush against you, you stumble to your left, barely catching yourself from falling to the ground, hand reaching out to hold on to the wall for support. Startled, she also steps widely around you, as if the same thoughts are running through her head. For a second you just stare at her, eyes wide and heart racing, your stance tense even as you raise your chin in some sort of act of indifference.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a rush of movement on the far side of the crowd, a man dressed in a nice black suit making his way towards you with his cane tapping out in front of him, a familiar head of dark hair you’ve run your fingers through too many times to count. You turn your attention more fully to him, completely aware that he’s likely picked up on the way your heartbeat has sped up exponentially for the third time tonight. For a split second you’re more than willing to have him sweep you away, nothing but a soft “come on, sweetheart” on his lips as he grasps your hand tenderly in his, leading you gently around the crowd of people and back into his arms. 

But this, you think, is a conversation that is a long time coming, so even in the anxiety that’s currently lodging itself in your throat, you shake your head sharply. To any other person, the motion might be easily ignored, or at best seem random and confusing, but Matt is not like other men, he could never even try to be, and the motion causes him to slow to a stop. He’s frowning, as if the shaking of your head is in sharp juxtaposition with the racing of your heart, and it only takes a second before he’s moving again, steps slower and more hesitant this time.

“I’m fine, Matt,” you finally whisper under your breath, willing yourself to calm down, physically at least, if only to put him at ease. He tilts his head, as if to ask if you’re sure, and your lips can’t help but quirk at the corners, his sole attention on you somehow managing to force the tension to bleed away more than anything else ever could, trusting that no true harm would ever come to your with the Devil at your back. He’s still frowning lightly, so you repeat the phrase with an added “I promise,” at the end, and it’s enough for him to slowly turn back around and make his way back to Adam and the other men who have suddenly joined in on the chatter. 

No matter the distance, no matter the voices in his ear and the replies he gives to those who look at him expectantly to continue the conversation he’s drawn back into, you know that his attention is still one hundred percent on you. The whole interaction lasts maybe a few seconds at most, and when you turn your head back to Taylor, she’s still there, head tilted in confusion. 

“What did you just say?” she asks, eyes briefly glancing to the side to see where your gaze had shifted to after you’d nearly crashed into each other. 

You shake your head quickly. “Nothing. Just…mumbled something to myself.”

“But–”

“It’s nice to see you, Taylor,” you interrupt her swiftly, trying to draw her attention away from the fact that you’d just whispered something to a man who stood yards away from you. It must work, because her focus moves back to you, and it seems the subject of what you might have said fades from her mind.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” she replies after a second, and you can’t help but notice the way her face actually looks genuine once the shock of almost literally running into you wears off. “It’s been a long time.”

“Almost ten years.”

“I…yeah. Since college.”

“When you left for Los Angeles and never looked back,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. Taylor winces, and though it’s a completely accurate statement, you decide that you have no interest in laying into her, knowing it’ll never take back the hurt she had inflicted all those years ago, and so you uncross your arms with a quiet sigh. What had happened so long ago had left a mark, sure, but you had gotten through it, and you would never have met Matt had things turned out differently. 

“Sorry, we don’t have to go there. How have you been?”

“Good,” she responds, and she seems to be completely honest, though the one word is hardly enough to go by. “You?”

“Good,” you repeat just as vaguely, shoulders shrugging. “You still in LA?” The conversation is extremely halting, which is really all you want from this encounter, having already decided that now that you were here in front of her, there was really nothing you wanted to say. Long gone were the days you’d spent crying over her, crying over the way she had moved to the other side of the country without you, and you weren’t necessarily eager to spend much time talking to her.

You were glad to know she was doing well, honestly. You wanted nothing but the best for her, because even while she had left you behind in the dust like some sort of abandoned toy, she was still an overall kind person who deserved happiness. Despite this, despite the anger and sharp sense of rejection that had disappeared years ago, a phantom sting echoed in your skin before it rapidly faded away out of sight. 

“A few times. I went to San Francisco a few years ago. San Diego a few years before that. Not to LA, though.” The smile she gives you is a little sad, and you can’t help but mirror it. 

“Yeah, like a half hour outside of the city. Did you ever end up going out that way? I know how much you had…wanted to see California,” Taylor trails off somewhat uncomfortably, as if realizing last second that seeing California had been less about the state and more about going with her.

“It’s beautiful out there,” she tells you in an attempt to continue the slightly awkward conversation. “Busy, lots to do. You know how I feel about the beach.”

Your mouth twists into another smile, one that feels a little more relaxed and open. “I had to literally drag you back from Florida that one summer before senior year.” She laughs at the reminder, clearly remembering the summer in question, the one where you had fried under the sun so badly that you had peeled for what felt like weeks and spent a fortune on aloe vera. “I’m not surprised you’ve never left Los Angeles.”

“It’s definitely home,” Taylor responds, hands quickly landing on her hips before they settle once more at her sides in a stance that seems more open. Somewhere behind you, a loud laugh soars above the large crowd, and it pulls your attention away for a fraction of a second. It helps you from being drawn into another memory of the exciting plans you'd had for moving to California once upon a time. The distraction is a welcome one, even if it doesn't last long.

She continues, oblivious to the thought that had crossed through you. “I honestly can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

The smile that settles on your lips is bittersweet, even while your happiness for her is sincere. “I’m really glad, Taylor. Truly, I know things didn’t end well, but I’m glad you followed your dream and made it work for you.”

She looks at the ground for a moment, eyes downcast and borderline sad, but she eventually brings her eyes back to yours. “I’m glad I did, too. But that doesn’t mean I did things the right away.”

“It is what it is, I guess,” you respond with another vague shrug of your shoulders, another memory rolling through you of a heartache so sharp it had felt like you couldn’t breath at the time. Years had healed the wound, each piece that had shattered carefully glued back together cautiously, as if you were afraid it would break again. But overtime the glass had strengthened through blood, sweat and tears, and now, standing in front of her, you are relieved to know there was nothing she could say or do that would take that peace away from you.  

You blow out a sigh. “Anyway, I should get going. It looks like they’re getting ready to set dinner out.”

“Yeah, I…yeah,” she says quietly, rolling her shoulders and quickly glancing out towards the venue that’s swarming with people under strands of faint lighting. “Have a good rest of your night.”

You give her just a whisper of a smile, a sense of exhaustion fleetingly rushing through you, but out of the corner of your eye, Matt’s head tilts in your direction, having no doubt caught on to the fact that the conversation was over, and it feels like you come back to life with a flash of light that only Matt can ever provide. With a smile that feels more genuine, you turn on your feet and begin making your way towards him.

Taylor calls out your name again, and you barely hear it, but something in the urgency catches your ear, and so reluctantly you turn back around. She’s playing with her hands, twisting her fingers and palms anxiously, eyes wide with a flicker of slight panic before she reigns it back in.

“Yes?”

She shuffles her feet, quiet for a moment, eyes now darting above and around you, as if she’s suddenly too nervous to meet your eyes. She opens her mouth and closes it a few times, appearing to have trouble forming what she needs to say, and a look of helplessness settles across her face. 

Your eyes continue to roam over her, giving her plenty of time to say something, to give you a reason as to why she had called after you, but she doesn’t. With a shrug, you decide it isn’t going anywhere, so you give her a quick wave and move to walk away again.

Taylor clears her throat loudly. “I realized shortly after I left that I had perhaps been a little too…harsh,” she says as you turn to leave, but the words cause you to stop and whirl back towards her, eyes wide and disbelieving that she had decided to bring it up, even though you had decided just a few minutes earlier to let it go. Her eye contact doesn’t waver now, expression moving into something that's somewhat guarded, as if she already knows how you're going to react. 

A laugh that could only be described as bitter leaves your lips, and you cringe at the way it sounds. This was the part of the conversation you had been both dreading and anticipating, eager to move forward and put things behind you as you’ve been doing for the past decade, but something about the way she trivializes by merely calling it harsh grates at you.

“A little too…? Taylor, you told me you wanted a new life and to not be tied down by me. Told me you didn’t want to coddle me in a new city while you went after your dream.”

Her mouth drops open in protest. “I don’t remember saying it exactly like that–”

Taylor looks increasingly uncomfortable as she sighs and drops her shoulders, and you can’t help but think that she regrets bringing it up. You regret her bringing it up, wishing she had simply let you leave and end the conversation there. “I tried to apologize, tried calling and texting, but nothing ever went through.”

“Yes, you did. I know because those words were in my head on repeat for months, for years.”

“I blocked your number.”

“Ah,” she says, looking over your shoulder, once again reluctant to meet your eyes. The look on her face transforms into something that looks like shame, cheeks beginning to flood red, mouth still parted, frown deep and almost painful to look at. “I guess that’s fair.”

“I get what you needed, Taylor,” you reply quietly, anger draining and being replaced with simple frustration. “You wanted to see if you could do it on your own. You deserved to try, deserved the chance to see where you fit in the world, and you wanted to do it on your own terms. I get that now. It took me a long time to understand, but I eventually got there. But I’ll just never understand why you needed to be so mean about it, or why you felt the need to just…cut and run without any further conversation and force me out of your life so quickly.”

"I just…I just needed a clean break," she responds lamely, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

"A clean break." You can't help how incredulous you sound. "That's a bullshit excuse and you know it."

"I–"

"I probably would have let you go," you tell her, eyes slightly narrowed on her, and she continues to shift uncomfortably, nervously. "It would have sucked no matter what, but at least you would have given me the dignity of a discussion instead of just a flat it's over."

Taylor winces. "Yeah…you're right." She blows out a loud breath, eyes eventually drifting back to your face. "I eventually understood the damage I had done."

"Good for you."

She flinches, but the movement is almost unperceivable. Almost. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that…I'm sorry."

Your eyes close as the words wash over you, settling underneath your skin. Clearing your throat, you tilt your head back in some sort of bravado you don't really have. "Thank you."

"I mean it," she whispers, the wind seemingly leaving her sails to float lifelessly beside her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You can't help the way your body relaxes, and it's almost like you had waited a decade to hear the words, even though you had long since decided you didn't need them. It had been enough that you'd mended your shattered heart, building a subtle wall around yourself to avoid the same thing happening again. 

It had been enough that you'd managed most past something that had threatened to permanently break you at the young age of 22.

"Thank you, Taylor," you repeat quietly, sincerely. "I–thank you. It means a lot."

Her smile is hesitant, and you find yourself sticking around for just a few more minutes, as if to fully end this chapter of your life, though you'd sworn to yourself it had ended years ago. 

“It seems it all worked out, though,” she tells you softly, eyes sincere even as they continue to hold her apology front and center as she looks at you. “You’re here with someone, right?”

You can’t help the small smile that ghosts across your lips as you think of Matt, the beautiful, wonderful, generous man who holds you while you sleep every night, desperate to keep you as close as possible. The man who would gladly rake himself across scalding coals to keep you safe and happy, even if it left him with nothing but scraps of charred flesh hanging from a frame that has always carried way too heavy of a burden. 

Taylor, despite a near decade of never being in your presence, somehow accurately reads the look on your face, and a matching smile spreads across her mouth, too. “He’s the one,” she says softly, expression sweet though somehow sad. 

“Yeah,” you reply, knowing full well that he’s been listening in on the entire conversation, unable to keep the words back, words that he must know are fully intended for him rather than the woman standing six feet in front of you. “Yeah, he’s the one.”

And this time, when Taylor finally walks away, you feel nothing but tension draining from you, knowing it’ll only be a matter of seconds before Matt is once again next to you, calloused fingers wrapped around yours as he pulls you towards him, soft lips pressed to the cool skin of your cheek, and whispers of his love ghosting across your face.

*********

He holds your hand in his the whole ride home, his grip strong and steady, everything you’ve needed since the moment your eyes fell on Taylor’s form as she found her seat before the ceremony began. But even while his hand is firm in its comfort, he still holds it delicately, as if it’s made of glass, somehow knowing you need both his strength and gentleness. You’ll never get over the dichotomy that is Matthew Murdock, never get over the way he manages to be all the things you need at once, even while they sometimes contradict each other.

The ride isn’t entirely silent, not with him humming along to the song playing on the radio, voice smooth and on pitch. He’s a man who music flows through seamlessly, his ear a perfect web that collects rhythms and timbres and the shifting of notes for every song he hears, whether it’s a Beethoven symphony or the improvised pots and pans drum set constructed by a four year old down the street. You know he has long since discovered the way the quiet intonations comfort you, something about the way they calm your heartbeat and even out your breathing, and the sounds have become a steady reminder that he is there with you, that he is prepared to take on everything and anything should you need him to. 

And so he hums, and where it once was a habit or something he did subconsciously, it is now something he does intentionally, if only to provide you with a sense of comfort that you aren’t always aware you need. He hums while he makes breakfast, he hums when he’s running his fingers delicately over files after dinner, he hums while he washes the blood and grime from his body at 2am, completely aware when you’re awake and waiting for him to once again pull you against him to sleep. And he hums now, form pressed to you as tightly as he can in the taxi, lips occasionally brushing against your forehead, and all is right in the world for the thirty minutes it takes to get home. 

Matt pays the taxi driver while you wait on the curb, the warm air of spring brushing and settling on your skin, eyes trailing over the quiet street that has long since gone to bed. Matt’s fingers trail across the cash in his hand, gliding over the braille identifiers you had pressed into each bill to help him determine the increment, and it’s not long before the car is driving off, leaving the pair of you to yourselves. With a smile, he reaches for your hand, thumb tracing over your knuckles, and allows you to pull him gently behind you as you make your way into the building.

“Are you going out tonight?” you ask quietly as you slip off your shoes absentmindedly in the entryway of the apartment. He gives you a brief look of amusement before he sweeps down to grab them, a well-versed habit of his, always feigning annoyance at the way you tend to leave your shoes all over the place. You grin at him sheepishly, hanging your jacket on the coat rack and reaching for his as he shoulders it off. 

“I…don’t know yet,” he tells you as he places both your shoes and his in the correct space, which is really only a few feet down from where you’d shucked them off. “I’m undecided.”

Your brow furrows as you pause your journey to the bedroom. “On what?”

He straightens and shrugs his shoulders, the lights streaming in from the windows playing across his face in blues and pinks. The billboard outside isn’t as frustrating to you as what it might be to others, not with the way the colors play across his skin, a kaleidoscope that compliments the dips and edges and scars on his body. 

“It depends on you, sweetheart.”

Eyes widening, you watch as Matt makes his way towards you. “On me? Why? What’s wrong?”

Lips part as a soft sigh leaves his mouth, and his hand reaches out to cup your cheek. His thumb against your cheekbone is rough and calloused, though his touch never fails to be the most gentle thing you’ve experienced in your life. “Something was off with you tonight. I thought that we might…talk about it.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you tell him, and the words are honest enough. But he still frowns, no doubt having heard the way your breath caught for just a split second.

“It seemed like a big deal,” he says almost cautiously. His eyes, a beautiful hazel lit up by the lights that continue to dance behind you, drift over your face blindly. “And it scared me, to have your heartbeat speed up that quickly and suddenly. I wasn’t sure what was going on.”

Nuzzling your head further into his hand, you take a step forward, the heat of him seeping into your skin the closer you get. Matt echoes the movement, and it’s only a second before he is pressed against you, the hand on your cheek sliding into your hair and gently pushing your head onto his shoulder as his other arm wraps around your waist. With a sigh, you relax into him, and it’s as if the tension and anxiety drains out of you.

“I’m sure you heard my conversation with her,” you whisper, memory immediately pulling up images of Taylor. It’s like a brief montage of photos playing in your head, memories of the youthful blonde girl she had been in college compared side by side with the woman who had stared at you in remorse, echoes of an apology that had been too little, too late.

“I did,” he confirms gently. 

“Then you already know what was going on.” You pull yourself away from him, drifting into the bedroom as you begin messing with your dress, bending your arms this way and that to pull down the zipper, struggling for a split second before his hands are pulling it down for you. He pushes the straps down your arms, and you can’t help but exhale lightly in something that somehow resembles both relief and pleasure as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. His lips on you, no matter how faint or fleeting, never fail to both raise you up and draw you back down.

“Hearing a quick conversation isn’t the same as knowing what happened,” he counters as he takes a step back and starts unbuttoning his shirt. “And it still doesn’t cover how you…or what...I don’t know. I don’t know how to ask about–”

You take pity on him, because you see him struggling to articulate it in a way he hopes doesn’t upset you, because he doesn’t seem to know how to bring it up. “I’m…not straight, Matt.”

“Okay.”

“I’m bisexual.”

Matt nods, and doesn't miss a single beat as he sends you a look that seems to be some sort of smirk, though somehow he still manages a certain level of somberness. “I sort of figured that out from the conversation.”

For whatever reason, sitting like this on the bed had become a habit when having important conversations like this, ones that required complete attention and intimacy. You have always liked seeing his face open and honest and directly in front of you like this, and though Matt may not be able to see you, there’s nothing in the way of his hand should he wish to reach out and trace the expression on your face.

Snorting, you toss your dress into the dirty laundry hamper located in the corner, and Matt’s shirt follows shortly after. You pull out a pair of sleep shorts and pair it with one of Matt’s old t-shirts, settling on the bed as he moves around the bedroom, removing his belt and slacks. Dressed in nothing but boxers, Matt crawls onto the bed, crossing his legs as he sits in front of you, immediately running his hands over your knees in a motion that's meant to be calming.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, and though the words are soft, they’re no less true. The phantom pain that had sifted through your skin earlier had long since faded, eased away by the gentle touch and presence of the love of your life.

“Are you okay?” he asks you, head tilting to the side, the way he always does when his attention is focused one hundred percent on you. Dark hair falls slightly out of place at the motion, and you can’t help but reach up and push it back off of his forehead. He sends you a small smile, head lifting to brush his lips against the sensitive skin of your wrist, and with a smile of your own, you grab one of his hands and place them in his lap, intertwining your fingers.

“And that woman? Who was she?”

“Taylor,” you say after a moment, voice softly filling the dark room. “She was my girlfriend in college.”

You pause, eyes flitting over his face, taking in the expression that is made of complete patience, as if he knows without a doubt that you’re going to respond honestly, even if it takes a moment for you to gather your thoughts. He’s a man who is used to a sense of rushing; rushing through case after case, rushing from his day job to the one he performs as people begin settling into bed, rushing through alleyways and over rooftops to ensure the safety of those who need help. But with you he is soft and calm and patient, especially during moments like this, and you can’t help but think that perhaps there’s a part of you that helps him slow down and let go of the anxiety and fear, too. 

Matt hmms under his breath, hands tightening on yours for just a moment before he releases. “And I take it, based on the conversation, that it didn’t end well.”

With a laugh that bursts out much louder than you had anticipated, you shake your head. “Uh, no. Ended pretty poorly, actually. Nothing fun comes from a person you love just up and leaving.”

Matt grimaces, and though you hadn’t meant it to be intentional, you can tell the comment hits him in a way that isn’t exactly pleasant. Memories of your conversations about Elektra pour into your head, and you wince as you lace your fingers with his other hand and squeeze in apology. His mouth twists back into a small smile, all traces of sadness seemingly gone.

You look down at your lap for a second. "I think it was just a case of our lives going separate ways. She was moving out to Los Angeles to pursue a career in film editing and she…didn't want me to go with her."

“I know how that goes,” is all he says, and you leave it there, because you know that he does know, intimately and savagely, carrying a mark that, like yours, had taken years to heal and fade away, even while a small scar would always remain. “What happened?”

"Ah," he says, squeezing your hands slightly. "I can imagine that was hurtful."

You nod and take a deep breath. "I told Taylor earlier that I understand now what she meant, that she just wanted to find her own place in the world. I guess I just don't get why it needed to be done so…cruelly. I had known she was planning on going, but one day she told me she was leaving by herself, and the next day she was–she was gone."

Matt makes a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat, a sad look crossing over his face, blank eyes downcast. "I understand the feeling."

"I know you do," you say quietly, heart twinging at the thought of him being in a similar state of pain as you had been. "What a pair we are."

He laughs lightly. "I guess everyone needs one truly awful ending to a relationship in their life."

"I'd be more than willing to go back in time and suffer through it again as long as it would eventually lead me to you every time."

His smile, though small, is still blinding in the way it manages to settle and soothe every single bit of uncertainty and anxiety you'd felt through the evening. "You realize how cheesy that sounds, right?"

You gasp in mock indignation and take a swat at his knee. “That’s rude. Here I am pouring my heart out and–”

“I said it was cheesy, not that I didn’t agree,” he says with a smirk that is every bit as fond as it is teasing. “You know I feel the same way.”

"I sure hope so," you respond with a grin. "I love you and…and I don't know what I'd do without you in my life. What happened with Taylor was awful, and I can't imagine what it would be like if you walked away."

"I'm not going to."

There's not a single part of you that doesn't believe him. 

You clear your throat as he raises your intertwined hands and kisses the back of yours, subtly telling you that he knows and trusts that you won't ever walk away, that you won't ever give up on him, either. You're two pieces of the same picture, always meant to find each other and complete the image. 

"Anyway…that's what happened with Taylor," you tell him with a sigh. "Classic case of one person just wanting to start a whole new life. She's really the only woman I've dated, for an extended period of time, I guess. I've mostly dated men, but she was just…special, maybe? I'm not sure how to describe the way she pulled me in. There was just something about her."

Matt's quiet as he observes you, breathing deeply and eyes sifting blankly across the room. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

You shrug, shoulders heaving up and sliding back down. "I wasn't really sure where to start. I feel like it's something that comes up earlier on in a relationship, and the longer I went without saying anything, the more anxious I got about having waited so long," you tell him quietly, thumb lightly tracing over one of his knuckles. His hand tightens around yours in a quick squeeze, resting them on one of his knees. 

"Were you nervous I'd judge you or something?"

You shake your head, the movement causing a stray curl to slide over your shoulder, and he quickly takes the opportunity to let go of your hand and push it gently behind your ear. "Not really, no. I was just anxious in general. People aren't always kind."

Matt frowns, lips pulling down at the corners as he tilts his head just slightly to the side in curiosity. "How so?"

"I think…I think sometimes people make a big show about being LGBTQIA allies or whatever, but sometimes they feel or react differently when it's someone they actually know," you say head tilting down and letting your eyes rest on his thigh before you bring it back up. "Like, it's okay for people to be gay as long as your child is straight, you know? It's weird. Not everyone is like that, obviously, but still. It happens."

"Has anyone ever said anything to you?"

You blow out a loud breath. "Directly? Or indirectly?"

"Both."

He doesn't seem surprised that you take a moment to respond, no doubt having already found the answer in your temporary silence. "Yeah," you tell him quietly after a moment. "A few times."

"What did they say?"

Sighing, you take one of your hands out of his, reaching up to rub at your eyes, trying to avoid the discomfort at the topic. Not discomfort at Matt knowing, but rather just having to rehash a few things. 

"I've had friends make comments about how they just know I'll end up with a man in the end, as if being bisexual was just a phase," you tell him with a wince, one that Matt tries to settle by raising a hand and gently cupping your cheek and rubbing your cheekbone, rough fingers making your skin tingle as it always does when he touches you. "I had another girlfriend a few years after Taylor, but the relationship didn't last long. She didn't want her friends to know I was bi because they were afraid her friends would judge her for being with a woman who wasn't a gold star lesbian."

His mouth tilts in confusion. "What does that mean?"

"It's a woman who has never been with a man," you answer simply. "There's a huge stigma against women who have slept with someone of the opposite sex before they come out and claim to only be attracted to other women, as if it's shameful to need time to understand their feelings, as if it's shameful to need time to feel secure in coming out.”

Matt makes a soft sound of sympathy in the back of his throat, but doesn’t say anything, so you continue. “There's an even bigger stigma against bisexuals because they think it makes us greedy, or because we must be sexually promiscuous because we like it both ways. And some people think we're like...incapable of monogamy because we just have so many options to choose from." 

He frowns. "That doesn't seem fair."

Your laugh is not a happy one, because yes, it's not fair. "I also told a man I was seeing once," you tell him, biting your lower lip. "He was excited because it meant we could have a threesome with this girl he worked with."

"Jesus."

"Yeah," you agree quietly, a grimace twitching on your lips. "I ended the relationship quickly after that, and he got pissed because he thought I should have been more open to the idea."

Matt's frown grows more solemn by the second, and you're not exactly shocked when he gives up on holding your hand for comfort and just decides to pull you completely into his lap. You have no choice but to sigh and settle into him, no choice but to accept his need to hold you. And even if you did have a choice, you'd choose this every time, needing his touch, too, like someone abandoned in the desert needs water. 

It only takes a second for you to shift into the typical position you sit in when he holds you like this, head resting on his shoulder, both your legs relaxed and laying across one thigh, hand running up and down his chest in a pattern that both soothes him and you.

Your voice is soft when it continues, chin slightly tilted up so that your lips are close enough to almost brush his jaw.  "So like…I didn't say anything because I wasn't necessarily ashamed or because I thought you would judge me," you tell him honestly, fingers tracing a scar that had nearly taken him from you long before you even had the chance to meet. "I just wasn't sure how to say something. I've talked about it with other partners or friends in the past and it just feels like people either weren't as open as they say they are, or they think they'll get something out of it. I'm sorry, Matt."

He shakes his head, the movement eventually settling as he rests chin on the crown of your head. His arms tighten around you. "I understand why you didn't. It's hard talking about things that have hurt you. I get it."

Your smile is brief but sad. "Yeah, I guess you would," you respond, recalling the vast conversations you've had over the months you've been together. Conversations about Stick and Elektra and what they had done, how they had abused his trust and made him feel weak for his desire to just be loved and cherished, how he'd felt about not deserving to have someone he belonged with and who would fight for him. 

"And I promise there is nothing about you that I could ever not love."

"Not even the part of me that always leaves my cups and coffee mugs all over the apartment because I forget about putting them in the sink? It drives you crazy."

Matt’s voice sounds like he’s cracked a grin. "It does drive me crazy, but it also reminds me that you want to be here with me every day, that you feel safe and loved here, and so I can't say I'm actually all that frustrated."

You’re positive your smile matches his. "I'm going to remember that next time you bitch and moan about me leaving a coffee mug on your dresser."

"I'll deny ever having said this, just so you know," he replies with a quick laugh. "But seriously…I know you, and I love you, every piece. I'd never want you to feel like you can't talk to me about anything, and I'd never want to make you feel judged or uncomfortable.” He pauses, his voice shifting into something that sounds a little more hesitant. “You know that…right?"

"Of course I do, Matt," you whisper, trying to sooth the display of vulnerability that’s slipped into his tone. "And I hope you know I feel the same way."

"Of course I do," he echoes, hand reaching to trace fingers down your cheek before they gently grasp your jaw, holding you still while he leans over to kiss you, soft lips pressing into yours. 

"Thank you," you whisper against his mouth when he pulls away a split second later.

A hand winds itself in your hair and gently pulls your head back so that you’re looking up at him, and your own hand reaches up to trace his cheekbone. "For what, sweetheart?"

"For just…everything," you murmur, your eyes trailing over his face, quietly observing the way his dark hair falls slightly over his forehead, red lips that have done nothing but bring you joy and a sense of calm since the moment you met him, whether it be from words or a kiss. "You never judge. You just always listen. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. You don’t ever need to ask,” he tells you, lips finding yours again. You sigh into it, running a hand up into his hair and raking your fingernails into his scalp. He smiles against you, and you’re helpless to do anything but respond. “Lay down with me?”

Nodding, you pull yourself away, and he helps shift you off of his lap, reaching behind you to pull down the sheets of the bed. You take the hint, helping him pull them down, unsurprised when he hops off of the bed and begins turning off the lights in the apartment. By the time he rejoins, you’re underneath the silk, glancing up at him as he plugs his phone in. 

Matt’s face suddenly twists into a wicked smirk, eyes glinting with humor in the limited lighting, and you already know exactly what he’s about to say. You groan, because the man is a sassy little shit who sometimes finds great joy in ruining the moment.

“So, quick question…what–”

“If you’re about to jokingly ask what my thoughts are on a threesome, I’ll tell Frank you’ve finally agreed to it.”

“...noted.”

[thatgirlstrawberry]

The almost Kiss - BLURB

I’m which you and Spencer almost kiss

Warnings: fluff, an almost kiss, getting Interrupted, reader likes swimming, lmk if I missed anything!

Spence Reid x fem!reader

Spencer had always known that he liked you. The moment he met you, he saw something that he hadn’t seen in anyone else. Ever. His attraction only grew when you and him got closer. Soft touches after hard cases or hard life events. He hadn’t realized how touched starved he actually was until you came around.

One day, Rossi was breaking in the new pool he had put in his backyard with a pool party. You showed up in a purple bathing not even knowing that it was Spencer’s favorite color. He didn’t come prepared to get in the pool because he wasn’t big on swimming. He still wanted to go though because that would mean he would get to see you. Morgan was grilling hotdogs and burgers while you and García floated around on animals inflatables sipping margaritas.

It was a sight to see. You looked absolutely beautiful in the sun, sunglasses perched on your nose. Emily and JJ were talking by the edge and the kids of everyone played on the more shallow end of the pool.

Soon, food was done and Rossi whistled. “Okay, I just got this outdoor furniture…” He looked around at the white cushions. “Let’s eat inside, shall we?” Everyone laughed and walked inside but you were still swimming back and forth on the water that now glowed purple with the lights underneath.

Spencer pretended that he was looking for something he might have dropped around the lawn chair he had been sitting in. You broke the surface of the water and called out to him. You swam over to the edge of the pool, pulling yourself up so your arms rested on the concrete. “Do you know how to swim, Spencer?”

He chuckled nervously. “Uh— yeah… it’s just that I’m probably not as good as you. Y-you’re like a fish.” He smiled. You giggled and had an idea pop into your head.

“Why don’t you get in? The water feels nice.” He shook his head nervously. “Oh… well then, help me out?” You held up you wet hand and looked up at him through your lashes. As soon as his hand was anchored in yours, you pulled with all your might and he came tumbling in. When he came back up he was surprised but them smiled and tried to grab ahold of you who was laughing loudly.

After you both calmed down, Spencer chuckled. “The other reason I didn’t want to get in was that I look like a wet rat when I swim.”

You inched closer to him. “I think you’re a very cute wet rat.” Your voice was soft, the only noise to be heard after were the crickets in the night.

“You’re really pretty.” He suddenly blurted, cheeks turning a bright shade of red thy even you could see in the dark. Your bodies felt like magnets.

You both stalked forward slowly, your arms slowly wrapping around his neck, resting on his shoulders. He placed his hand on your cheek, lips becoming impossibly close. He looked up from your lips and met your eyes. You could swear that your lips touched slightly but you pulled back just a little. Spencer leaned in again so so slowly, creating a pit of desperation in your stomach.

Before you lips could touch, a voice broke the two of you away from each other. You unwrapped yourself from him and he clears his throat, pushing his hair out of his face.

Morgan glanced between them. “What’s going on?” He asked.

You spoke quick. “I was drowning. I’m not drowning anymore.”

You and Spencer smiled at each other before getting out of the pool, walking past a very confused Morgan

————————————-

Ohhhh yeah blurb time babes!

I love this one it’s so cuteeee and I know the gif is amber heard but just pretend it’s your beautiful self ❤️

Love you babes! Send request for blurbs, one-shots and more!

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[graylinesspam]

Beach episode with the 501st?🙃🙃

The trees were so densely packed there was no way they could get a gunship through them. Looking up you could only barely glimpse the yellow sky through the gaps between the branches.

The trees were green, but a bright burning yellow green that consumed everything in sight. Wet and glossed over in the moisture rolling in with the wind. The smell of salt brine in the air.

The leaves shuddered and shook their wet burden onto anyone within range. Like a hound shaking it's self dry.

The water dripped down their backs and chafed uncomfortably in the fabric of their clothes.

They must make it to the shore, in the line where the trees break, it was the only place they could escape the green maze. The smell of brine and the sound of birds their guide out of it.

The relief that befell them when the forest finally broke was palpable. White armor spilling out of the line of it like whites out of an egg.

That might make Ahsoka the yolk. She drops to her knees in the silty loose sand and rolls dramatically down the incline, dark sediment sticking to the moisture on her skin and shading it bizarrely in the bright sunlight.

Soldiers chuckle at her antics but more of them follow her example, sliding awkwardly down the loose ground on their heels, hands held back to steady themselves.

She sits up at the line of the water and peels her feet from her boots, shucks the skirt she wore over her leggings and practically drags herself into the water by her hands.

The water is cool. At least cooler that the air. Even thick with moisture it is boiling hot on this planet. The water congregated in the large salty pools however, were a relieving temperature.

It was dark in color, partially purple from the loose microscopic algae floating through it. The water a dark over oxygenated blue without the debris.

Vere, an older brother, stepped into the water beside her. The water rushes past his legs, running up the sand before falling back away, leaving little purple dots across the plastoid.

He heaves a sigh as he tugs his weapon from it's holster and holds it in his hands, bends at the knees and sits down in the water. His weapon kept as dry as he can manage.

Less responsible vod chuck their blasters onto the sand and start pealing away their armor too until only the bottom half remains. Their black shirts looking tight in contrast to their bulky armor. They wade into the hallows sighing in relief.

Their excitement quickly turns into playfulness as they begin to pelt each other with hand fulls of water. stray splashes flying around and spraying anyone unfortunate enough to be near them.

Ahsoka reclines in the cool water, letting herself drift slowly back and forth with the rhythm of the waves. Stretching out her sore muscles and feeling each curling caress of the cool liquid as it crested over her body and slid along her skin. Softer than silk.

Vere is vigilant as all scouts are. The sounds of the water, of shouting and merriment might reduce their ability to heat a threat coming but there isn't much that could hide from his trained eyes.

He scans their surroundings while Ahsoka's hand curls around his ankle, anchoring herself so that she wouldn't drift too far.

It's only a temporary relief from the fray. And the salt licks at their wounds with a hot tongue despite the actually temperature of the water. But it is a luxury none the less. One they intend to take full advantage of while they have the chance.

It is that urgency to make all they can of this reprieve that leads to Ahsoka herself, disturbed from her floating meditation, sitting up in the shallows and shouting.

"HEY, quit trying to drown your brother."

[godzillatalks]

The door opens with a hiss, but Rodimus doesn't even have to look up to see who it was— militaristically quiet and carefully measured pedesteps from a mech far lighter than him already giving away exactly who entered the room.

"Fancy seeing you again, scout." Rodimus snorts, finally dragging his optics away from the actually unimportant data pad to watch Bumblebee stride over to the desk in the middle of the room. The yellow bot doesn't turn to look at Rodimus, grumbling quietly as he sets down the reports he'd brought in onto Optimus' desk.

"Why're you here, fire hazard? I thought you were supposed to be causing troubles elsewhere. As in, not on Cybertron. At all." Bumblebee glares at Rodimus out of the corners of sharply narrowed optics. The Prime just grins at him, sharp teeth shimmering in the synthetic light.

"Oh, maybe it's 'cause my dad kept me around for a reason," Rodimus drawls, voice cutting through the air like an arrow aimed straight at Bumblebee's composure; something he struggled to keep together in the first place. He grits his dentae together, swiveling on the heel of his pede to respond to the fiery colored bot, but Rodimus continues before Bee can get the words out.

"Y'know, cause he actually needs me?" Rodimus' head tilts oh so slightly, tone lilted and taunting as he tapped right at the center of his chest, where his half of the Matrix resided, with a sharp digit.

Bumblebee doesn't let himself think before he lunges with a right hook.

It connects harshly with Rodimus' chin and he drops the data pad he had been holding, the fragile thing crashing to the floor, screen shattering into chunky shards that skittered across the floor alongside Rodimus, sent skidding backward from the sheer force behind Bumblebee's punch.

His inner temperature rises, heat raging from the core of his spark and outward through every line of energon in his frame. Fire flashes from the chrome piping winding around his arms and legs, cerulean optics shifting to a dark and angry, storming blue.

"Oh, because he needs you?" The scout sneers, his own optics flaring near white with anger. "The kid who wasn't even around during the war, who let his own father die—"

Bumblebee is cut off when Rodimus charges at him with a roar of rage, sharp digits extended and ready to tear, flames pouring from the pipes on his arms as if he could drown the other bot in flames, even if now they were just for show.

He could, in a sense.

Bumblebee barely rolls out of the way, feeling the heat of the flames score nasty (but superficial) burns into his paint job as he ducked under the anger-fueled lunge. He aims a fist as he moves, sending it hard into Rodimus' side.

Rodimus' plating burns. Bumblebee recoils in pain at the same time Rodimus does from the punch. He shouldn't have been surprised.

Rodimus, of course, immediately takes advantage of the slight hesitation, wrapping clawed servos around Bumblebee's throat and slamming him into the floor. Plating sizzles on contact between them, the sheer temperature of Rodimus' frame enough to make paint bubble. His servos burn indents into Bumblebee's throat cabling.

Bumblebee doesn't even scream. He can't. Primus damn, it hurts. But he'll keep fighting.

His servos twist around Rodimus' forearm, pushing through the pain to toss the larger bot off of himself with a well anchored and executed jerk of his arms to the side.

Rodimus is sent rolling, sliding to a stop with his claws dug into the floor. Bumblebee heaves himself onto his front, one servo tentatively pressing at his now fried throat. (Voicebox fine. Just hurts.)

They're just about to jump at each other again, optics shimmering with a long burning fire of jealousy and hatred for the other, when the door slides open.

Optimus squints at the two mechs on the floor of his office.

"What in Primus' name..?" He mumbles, glancing to Rodimus and then to Bumblebee.

Immediately, they point at each other.

"It was his fault." In unison, they speak, Bumblebee's voice laced with pained static and Rodimus' dripping with layers of venom.

Optimus pinches his nasal ridge and sighs.

[elileram]

Pirate!Schlatt x Siren!Reader

Hello Hello! This is not really a request someone has asked, but I saw someone want to see someone write this :3

So I have took it upon myself to write it for them <3

✰*☾ A Boat swiftly swept the waters, the light willow it was made of, darkened by the sweeping waves of the seas, beautiful patterns of shells, stars and such carved into the large boat.

"Hurry up and Drop the anchors!"

A Harsh and rough voice growled, the man had a large built body, a face full of facial hair, swept back dark brown hair, different sorts of jewelry on his ears, arms, legs and fingers. He went by the name of Schlatt, or as the members on the boat knew him as Captain Schlatt.

The Sun set a magical swirl of colors on the water, as the moon began to rise, a thick fog set around the boat, the waters were calm, almost unnoticeable.

Schlatt, was the only person on the boat awake, looking at the beautiful, dark blue crystal clear waters, watching as fish swam by.

A large slam was heard hitting the side of the boat, Schlatt being caught off guard, he quickly grabbed a dagger he had in his belt, running to where he had heard the crash.

He looked down quickly to see where the crash had come from. As Schlatt looked down to see where he heard the crash from he saw a small dent in the wooden boat, he looked confused, whatever it was it was big, not big enough to be a whale, but not small enough to be your average fish.

As he went back to his original position, he remained a tad bit cautious, another crash was heard, this time in front of him, he jumped up and quickly looked next to the boat, as he looked into the waters, he saw a Woman!

He gasped quickly dropping into the Crystal clear, yet salty sea. Quickly grabbing the Woman and bringing her onto the boat, as he set her down he looked at her shocked. "no way.." He spoke quietly, in both Shock and awe. The Woman laying before him was no ordinary woman, but a siren, a beautiful one at that, the tail reached 5 feet, her scales were shiny and stunning.

As the Siren slowly began to Regain her consciousness, she gasped looking at the Pirate Captain before her, her soft fluffy, and silky (H/c) hair, was long, reaching down to the starting of her tail. Her wide (E/c) Eyes looked at him for a moment, seaweed covered her tail, after a moment she quickly jumped off the boat back into the waters, before she swam away, she took one last glance at Schlatt.

"Holy cow.."

Schlatt said speechlessly, not believing what he had just found.

Days had gone by, the rest of the crew thought Schlatt had gone crazy once he started talking about a Siren!

"Aren't those things urban legends?" One crew member would say

"Well I didn't hear anything crash into the boat last night"

and responses and such like that.

As days and days went by, as they sailed away, Schlatt was wondering if he had caught a sea sickness of sorts to make him think that happened, that he saw a Siren.

Another peaceful night had come, the boat was anchored down, Schlatt was back at the front of the boat, looking at the moon, that was waxing. soft fluffy pure white clouds covered the moon, a soft light hitting the boat and sea as the darkness of the night surrounded the soft lights.

Schlatt heard something under him, he quickly looked down, it.. was the Siren he saw all those days ago?! He gasped, he was about to say something before she shushed him, she reached out her arm holding a Angels wing Shell, it was stunning, Schlatt softly took it from her, looking at the amazing, yet rare Shell that he held in his hands, he looked down at the Siren.

"If you have one- what may your name be?" he spoke softly, she fluttered her eyes at him, before speaking, with her soft voice, "Y/n" as she spoke her sharp, canine teeth were able to be seen. They were a beautiful pearl white color.

Her Eyes fluttered once more before quickly swimming off.

"y/n..." Schlatt said, blush covering his face, he looked at her in awe and amazement as he watched her swim off quickly back down to the deep blues.

A/N : WOW I was not expecting to have as much fun as I did when writing this! :D

if this gets like some attention and if its requested I will DEF do a part 2 to this :3

Until next time Byyyeeee!! ^^

Pirate!Schlatt x Siren!Reader pt.2

[bradshawsbaby]

Can you write 11 for Rhett and Honey Bee?

PS Loveeee your writing!! 💛

Thank you so much! 😘 “Freshly baked bread” seemed like a good prompt for a slow Saturday morning!

It was one of those Saturday mornings that filled you with an inexplicable sense of hope and joy, the bright Wyoming sun spilling in through every window of your cozy little home and a warm breeze chasing away any lingering hints of the cold winter you’d just made it through.

Rhett had woken up early, before the sun had even fully risen, when the sky was still painted with violets and dark blues and the tiniest hint of magenta.

“Where’re you goin’?” you mumbled sleepily, your eyes still closed as you reached for him, anchored by the feel of his warm skin beneath your fingertips.

“I’ll be back soon, honeybee,” he whispered in return, his voice still gruff from sleep. He bent down to drop a kiss onto your forehead. “Just got to go check on a few things in the barn and the east pasture.”

“This early?” you grumbled, your eyes still closed as you burrowed deeper under the covers.

Rhett chuckled at that, rubbing your back with one large, calloused palm. He bent down again to whisper low in your ear, “Figured I’d get everything out of the way now so that I could spend the rest of my Saturday with my two favorite girls.” His voice, husky and deep, felt like melted butter.

Butterflies danced in your stomach and you couldn’t help but grin like a schoolgirl. “Well alright then, cowboy,” you teased, turning your head towards him in search of a proper kiss, which he gave you. “Make sure to give Ruthie a kiss before you go. But try not to wake her. I still want to sleep for a while,” you laughed.

Your husband chuckled at that, rising from the bed. “Will do, honeybee.”

When you did actually wake a couple hours later, the sky outside your window was a cornflower blue, a couple white puffy clouds floating by lazily. You couldn’t help but smile at what a perfect Saturday it was already shaping up to be—and you hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet.

Slipping out from beneath your cozy blankets, you reached for your robe and draped it over the silky nightgown you’d worn to bed last night, the one that Rhett always loved to run his fingers over until he fell asleep. You padded out of your bedroom on quiet, bare feet and made your way to your daughter’s nursery, where you found her awake and beaming at you from her crib.

“Good morning, my little sunshine girl,” you cooed, stepping over to the crib and carefully lifting Ruthie into your arms. At eight months old, your daughter already had a headful of riotous curls, the same color as her daddy’s, his big blue eyes, and a few tiny teeth to boot, which she always managed to show off with her big smiles.

Ruthie babbled brightly, immediately reaching for your face and touching your cheeks in greeting. Your heart swelled with love for her and you peppered her face with kisses, which made her laugh, the sound warming you from the inside out.

“What do you say we go downstairs and get some breakfast ready for Daddy?” you asked, smoothing her hair back gently.

At the mention of Rhett, Ruthie’s smile grew even wider and she wiggled happily in your arms.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you laughed, resting your daughter on your hip as you carried her downstairs to the kitchen.

After settling Ruthie in her high chair with her favorite stuffed cow, you set about opening all the windows to let in the fresh spring air and then went to the record player to choose some music to enjoy while you cooked. You ended up selecting a record of John Denver’s greatest hits, his smooth, calm voice filling the house.

“Good thing Mama started making this dough yesterday, huh, Ruthie?” you asked with a wink, glancing over at your daughter as you removed the cloth from the dough you’d left to rise overnight. Sourdough bread always did take a lot of work, but it was worth it.

You hummed along to Annie’s Song as you shaped the dough with expert hands, kneading it and molding it until it had transformed into a perfect loaf. You then covered it with the cloth once more, leaving it to rise for another thirty minutes while you preheated the oven.

When Ruthie started to get a little fussy, you stopped to feed her and fill her little belly, then went back to preparing fresh eggs and sausages for you and Rhett, the kitchen filling with a tantalizing aroma that made your mouth water.

As Sunshine On My Shoulders started playing, you pulled your sourdough towards you and slashed the top of it before popping it into the oven to begin baking.

“If I had a song that I could sing for you,” you crooned softly, lifting your daughter into your arms. “I’d sing a song to make you feel this way.”

Unbeknownst to you, Rhett had returned home through the mud room at the back of the house, kicking off his work boots and moving towards the kitchen on surprisingly quiet feet. He stood leaning against the opening between the kitchen and the small dining room, arms crossed over his chest and a smile on his face as he watched his wife and daughter dancing around the kitchen together, the smell of breakfast and warm bread floating across his senses.

He couldn’t think of a time he had ever been so happy.

“Smells good in here,” he finally said, hating to break the magic of the moment that was happening before him.

“Rhett!” you gasped out in surprise, laughing as you put one hand over your heart.

“Heya, honeybee,” he grinned, walking over to you and kissing you softly in greeting before lifting Ruthie out of your arms and kissing her forehead. He then walked over to the counter, where you’d already begun laying out all the food you’d prepared. “Look at all this. Did you make this, Ruthie girl?” he asked, wiggling your daughter’s leg affectionately.

“Sure, give her all the credit,” you teased, smirking as you shook your head. “What am I, chopped liver?”

“Oh, was it Mama who did it?” Rhett winked, kissing the crown of your daughter’s head as he stepped back over to you. “Smells so damn good, honeybee,” he murmured, kissing you again.

“Language,” you warned with a smile, accepting his kiss eagerly.

“Sorry,” Rhett mumbled. “Smells so dang good,” he amended with a chuckle.

You giggled, stroking Ruthie’s back as you gazed up at your husband. “Sourdough bread should be ready soon. Why don’t you take Ruthie to see the horses and I’ll finish setting everything up?”

Rhett shook his head, smiling at you as he lowered Ruthie back down into her high chair. “You already did all this, honeybee. Let me help you finish setting up.”

“Rhett, no! You already—”

“No arguing now, Mrs. Abbott,” he teased, swatting your butt playfully as he stepped up beside you. He began rolling up his sleeves. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

Twenty minutes later, you and Rhett had the table all set, the food simmering deliciously and a pot of coffee freshly brewed. The finishing touch was the golden brown loaf of sourdough bread that now sat at the center of the table, beside a stick of fresh butter Cecilia had just given you the day before.

“Mmm,” Rhett sighed in pleasure as soon as he took one bite. He looked over at you with a wink. “Best sourdough I’ve ever had.”

Yep, as far as Saturdays went, this one was pretty perfect.

Spring OTP Prompts 🥖

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Childe's beta form, the one with the eyepatch- good food for thought (it’s here if you don’t know what it looks like) i think it could be what he looks like after overusing Foul Legacy, to the point he involuntarily shifts between forms if he's not focusing. you find out one night after several days of not seeing him- apparently Fatui work has been keeping him busy, which you understand completely! but it still hurts being lonely, coming home to a cold, empty house and knowing it won't change when you wake up. still though, you try your best to keep your head up and look forward to the next time you see your beloved Ajax. you're doing a bit of tidying up after work one night, sweeping away some dust when there's a few knocks on the door and you glance up, confused. no one in Liyue is out this late, much less anyone going door-to-door, and tentatively you set your broom aside and approach. your hand grazes the doorknob, and suddenly the knocks sound again, sharp and frantic this time. with a quick inhale you fling open the door and come face-to-face with Childe's Foul Legacy form, hunched over and terrified. Childe scrambles inside and you run to follow, finding him curled in a corner and holding his head in his claws, letting out choked whines. you kneel beside him, prying his hands away from his hair and holding them in your own as you ask what's wrong, eyes flooded with concern. Foul Legacy whimpers, pushing his head into your shoulder, talons desperately digging into your skin as he allows the transformation to slowly fall and collapses into your arms. when he leans away, your hands fly to your mouth, because one of his eyes is as normal as ever while the other has turned ice blue, the sclera pitch black and the skin surrounding it stained dark purple and cracking. the tips of his normally vibrant hair have faded to white, the same color as that little streak you always adored, and you slowly raise your hand and graze your fingers over the corrupted side of his face. Childe leans into your touch, the sudden weight of his head making your hand drop momentarily as tears begin dripping down your lover's cheeks, quickly giving way to full-blown sobs. he apologizes over and over again for being away for so long, as he was afraid you would fear and despise his tainted self, the Abyss slowly taking over his body. silently you pull Childe close, allowing him to bury his face into the crook of your neck and weep, hands clinging to the back of your shirt, afraid to let you go in case you're simply an illusion or a dream. eventually he calms enough so you can lead him to the couch, laying him down and draping a soft blanket overtop of him. Childe grasps your hand desperately, mismatched eyes pleading "don't go", and you settle next to him, an anchor to reality in his haze of nightmares. the next morning you wake to Foul Legacy sleeping beside you, and quietly you steal away to find fabric and sewing supplies to make an eyepatch.

[peppermintquartz]

Original writing

--

There was always a flag flown from the top of the lighthouse.

Red flags had been used in the past to tell captains out in deep water that the harbor was open, that ships could dock safely. Black flags meant that the harbor was closed - perhaps it was already full, and there were ships docked for repairs.

And if there was a long white and blue pennant streaming with the red and black, it meant that the harbor was under attack and all available shipcrew were to answer the call of the house of Alwyth.

It had been at least three hundred years since all three colors had flown from the lighthouse.

More than five hundred years ago, the people of the islands east of Aleis chose their side: the one house in all the lands to offer their ports. Over the next few generations, the Alwyths crafted free trading agreements, requesting just a docking fee and a flat tax per ship per year.

And once Liria staked her claim on Halimgor, the first thing she did was to secure the support of the six captains who led the Harbor Court.

"You are certain they aren't going to stab me the moment I set foot in it?" Zerrul asked Liria over breakfast on the second morning of their voyage.

"I have sent word ahead that the Crimson Compass is allowed to dock, and that Captain Zerrul wishes to speak with his fellow captains." The duchess poured a cup of hot tea into Zerrul's wide-bottomed mug. "Whether they stab you is not up to me."

Between them, first mate Deel chuckled and took a slice of salted meat and tucked it into a bun. "I would think all of them would try to stab you," he said. "You did monopolize all of Izdahl's waterways. All that gilt, flowing right into the coffers of the Compass."

Zerrul waved that consideration aside. "I'm willing to negotiate a partial share of the canals. But I want the Compass back in Port Halim. The winds are changing, and I don't like where they're blowing."

"So long as they don't blow me away from thee, captain," said Deel fondly. He stood and pressed a gentle kiss to his captain's tattooed cheek, before bowing politely to Liria. "Duty calls. The men will slack without a stern voice and a quick hand keeping them on task."

After Deel left the cabin, Liria cocked her head and stared at Zerrul. "He's a beauty," she remarked. "How did you land him?"

"He insisted on serving on my ship," said Zerrul. His lips twitched, as if hiding a tender smile. "And he wanted to share my bed, too, after two seasons out running the black tides and coming so close to death as to shake hands with it."

"Your wife knows?"

"She likes him even better than I do." Zerrul snorted. "They get on famously when I'm ashore, going out and about like they're cheating on me. But she's a smart on, Sikka. Says it was better that I had a man who can keep me warm on board than for me to visit the whores or other port rats whenever I drop anchor, and he'll watch me when she's not able to do so. Two of them, Creation help me, keeping me from doing what I want."

The grumble was so affectionate and loving that Liria could not help feeling a little jealous. The captain was confident, powerful and attractive, certainly, but not handsome the way her brother or Deel was. Yet he could find two persons in his life who loved him enough to share their lives with him.

Perhaps she had not guarded her expression well enough. Zerrul's smile became genuine and kind.

"You are still young, your grace, and you have just won your seat, with much struggle," he said. "Time will lead you to what you're meant to find."

[p1nkcanoe]

la belle fleur sauvage

[ rain x cumulus fluff ]

summary: cumulus presents a gift to rain and reminds him of just how beautiful he is.

warnings: suggestive at end, waist beads, body worship

word count: 693

INSPIRED BY THIS TWITTER POST

masterlist

“You look beautiful. Do you like them?” 

Rain nods. There’s a lack of words that gather on his tongue. He watches through his own reflection as Cumulus ties the last knot between a string of glass beads wrapped loosely around his waist. They glimmer as they roll and shift over the flat of his abdomen, finding their resting place along the tops of his hips. There's a warmth blooming in his tummy that tingles and flutters when Cumulus reaches around and adjusts the beads, her fingertips brushing over cool skin in fleeting touches, and he likes it. It’s a feeling he only feels with her. It’s the color of yellow daffodils and feels like a perfect spring morning. He thinks that if he were to open his mouth it would taste like raw honey. He catches on violet eyes fleetingly through the mirror before he finds his own. She whispers praises into the air that only he can hear and worships his skin with teeth and tongue. He’s pink to his ears with blush.

His shoulders are up high by his ears, his arms bent at the elbow and hovering near the top of his chest so as to not interfere with her work or disrupt her focus. In truth, he isn't quite sure what to do with himself. She’s gentle, worships his body like it’s art, and he stands there, a muse. She forms tight circles around him, making minor adjustments to the beads and making sure they sit perfectly in their lowest point just under his belly button. It tickles and he’s instantaneously covered head to toe in gooseflesh. 

“I knew they’d look gorgeous on you,” she compliments and rounds her way to his back to test the knot one last time. Her delicate fingers on the small of his back send a shiver up his spine and Cumulus giggles, followed by a mumbled apology and a press of her lips to the center of his back. Rain’s eyes flutter closed. “Couldn’t get the image out of my head until I finished them.” Small hands surround him on either side of his waist, just above where the ghoulette positioned her beads, and his tummy explodes in a flurry of warmth and golden admiration when she presses her palms to the center of his chest and anchors their bodies together. Her chest, his back. He lets her hold him with the embrace of a lover, bonded throughout their second opportunity at life. Slowly, and with a little coaxing, Rain drops his shoulders back into place and holds onto her hands like she’ll slip away and the feeling will dissipate. 

The ghoulette shifts against his back and lays her head against the side of his bicep. Her skin is soft, flawless. Her snow white hair falls over her right side and she sighs, puffing it out of her face. 

“My pretty Rainbow. Look at yourself– look how beautiful you are.” 

Rain opens his eyes but just barely enough to watch the way that Cumulus worships his skin and body, slowly, with her palms. He follows her lead, his hands glued to the back of hers by his fingers. They explore his stomach, the ridges of his ribs, the flare of his gills, and each fold, stretch, and press of his skin causes the string of blue glass beads around his waist to shine and shift under warm lamp light. Over and over and over again he gets caught in violet eyes. It turns him pink. 

His breath catches in his throat when she drops her hand and traces over the string, a million shades of blue, from hip to hip and lets her fingernails catch between the beads. It’s quiet for a long while as Rain loses himself to the flutter in his tummy. Cumulus looks at him like he’s the most gorgeous thing she’s ever seen. It makes him weak. 

“Rainbow, will you allow me to show you exactly how beautiful you are?” 

Rain nods. His heart is in his throat. His eyes flutter closed again when the ghoulette places her lips against his skin and drops down gracefully to her knees. 

[jinxstrology]

Halazia, or How to Find Your Voice Again (Pop Culture Witchcraft)

pop culture craft no1 - ateez, "halazia"

This post will include various correspondences and associations, which you can use in spellwork or simply in everyday life to help center your energy around being heard, asserting your opinion, fighting against restrictions on your creativity, and finding your voice among the masses.

Animals: birds, specifically bluebirds or any avian with blue coloring

Colors: all shades of blue, muted yellows and greens, grey, black, white

Crystals: turquoise, clear quartz, garnet

Best days for spellwork: Thursday, Saturday

Deities: Al Menat (Arabian goddess of fate, fortune, time & destiny), Kuebiko (Shinto scarecrow kami who rules over folk wisdom, knowledge & agriculture)

Drink: A Rose is a Rose is a Rosé Punch (for one)

2 oz rosé wine

1 oz elderflower liqueur

1/4 tsp rose water

Add ice and top it off with club soda

Flower: buttercup

Futhark Runes: Ansuz, Laguz

Keywords: expression, misunderstandings

Magickal ingredients: pumpkin, rose

Meditation: I drink deeply from the cup of my life, both the bitter waters and the sweet.

Numbers: 3, 4, 8, 12, 22, 30

Oil blend:

10 drops sandalwood

7 drops juniper

5 drops bergamot

3 drops chamomile

Planets: Jupiter, Saturn

Playlist:

Halazia // Ateez

Heaven // Taemin

Lunatic // Xdinary Heroes

Sour // The Rose

Virus // Victon

Recipe: Pumpkin Corn Bread

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup medium grind yellow cornmeal

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 tsp baking soda

2 large eggs

1 cup buttermilk

1 cup canned unsweetened pumpkin puree

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled, plus 1 tablespoon butter for the skillet

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F (approx. 205 C). Place a 9-inch cast-iron skillet in the oven to warm. In a large bowl, whisk together flour, cornmeal, baking powder, salt, and baking soda. Add eggs, buttermilk, pumpkin puree, and 3 tablespoons melted butter. Gently combine ingredients. Carefully remove skillet from oven and add remaining butter to coat. Pour batter into skillet and return it to the oven. Bake 25-35 minutes. Let cool before serving.

Symbols: anchor, any communication device, blue feathers, book, horn instruments, lock, mask

Tarot cards: The Moon (reversed), Queen of Cups, The Empress, 8 of Swords

Tarot spread: Break the Wall Spread

When you want to shake off what no longer makes you happy, but are scared to do so. The best time to do this spread is the beginning of a new month or year.

Starting from the bottom, draw nine cards and place them in a straight vertical line going up, one after the other until you reach the ninth card. It will look like a tall tower.

Card 1 (bottom): What freedom/independence do you seek, and in what way?

Card 2: What/who restricts you from having this?

Card 3: Is now the right time, or should you wait?

Card 4: What is the first step to freedom/independence?

Card 5: What will be the immediate effects of attaining freedom/independence on yourself/others?

Card 6: What objections/obstacles to be overcome will be put in your path in the early days?

Card 7: What must be sacrificed to attain freedom/independence?

Card 8: What will be the longer-term positive effects of the new freedom/independence?

Card 9 (top): Where will you be in the future if you follow this path?

I hope that you found this information useful! Requests are now open for these kinds of posts -- you can request a song, a band, a movie, a character, a show -- anything you can think of!

[clownqueenofprom]

An Unnecessary Evil

Why are girls allowed to say girlfriend to refer to a platonic friend but boys can't say "this is my boytoy Twink male wife Jason?

another part of the Au “where everything is exactly the same but Lady Bone Demon destroys everyone with facts and logic”

“You’ve been busy.”

Appearing strong when weak was, what Macaque considered a key component when in a bad spot. His “brothers” always considered him the most cowardly among them. Usually, he would roll his eyes and snark that he was rather the most intelligent- able to keep a cool head. He’d need it.

“Tell me,” The Lady’s voice was boundlessly more undone- calm, yet accompanied by a second presence that echoed her words aloud. “What madness overcame you that you would forsake your oath?” She asked, the pitch of her tone dropped.

“When did you decide to betray me?”

The answer to that question was certainly nothing that the bone witch wanted to hear- that he had not a moment of hesitation in tossing her key to the side, not ever any intention of freeing her in the first place. What was he supposed to say? That it didn’t count because he crossed his fingers?

“Listen, Lady Bone Demo-” He started, with a casual tone and a smile laced with nonexistent nonchalance, but The Lady was in no mood to hear whatever seat-of-his-pants lie he was planning to give her.

Sharply, her eyes flickered open, a blue gleam enforcing her stony glare as the winds pushed him back. He had to cover his face, anchoring his foot down to the ground so that he wouldn’t be pushed back by the sheer force.

“Have you forgotten who I am?” Her voice was louder now, and clearer, no longer accompanied by the eerie whispering. “What I am?”

He clenched his teeth at the sound of her voice splitting into many at the last sentence, each one ringing in his six ears.

“Were my instructions, perhaps, unclear to you, Liu’er?” At the mention of his traditional name, he felt similar to a child who’s parent who just called them downstairs with their full name. A fight-or-flight instinct within him begged him to inch away into the shadows, but he knew all too well how that would end.

“Did I cause you pain during your resurrection? Or perhaps, you felt yourself above a task so unbelievably simple as freeing me from my prison tomb,” She said, staring down at him, before vanishing in a blur of blue, before reappearing in front of him, mere inches away from his face just as quickly. “In exchange for something so unbelievably meager as your soul!?”

Again, her voice seemed to contort, and this time, he really did step back, trying to get as far away from her as he could. He stumbled backwards, bumping into the chest of the lady’s puppet, who sent him a wide, unnerving smile that reminded Macaque of a young child amused at a sibling or classmate getting in trouble.

He placed his hand on Macaque’s back, shoving him forward with surprising strength. The wind was knocked out of him for a moment, but he mustered a confident smirk, looking up at the bone demon, who stood before him, arms folded behind her back.

“So…” He said, a conscious effort going into keeping his voice steady, “You want something.”

“From you? No.” The lady said tersely, eyes cooling back into her host’s deep brown ones as she turned away. “There is nothing I have to gain from the presence of someone who is unable to insert a key into a keyhole.”

With her back turned, a white circle opened up beneath Macaque, chains in her signature blue color shooting out of it to entangle his limbs, dragging him inside. “Wait!” He huffed, yanking on the bindings, trying to stay afloat. “So you’re just going to kill me because I didn’t open your stupid cage!? You dragged me all the way out here so that you could get even!?”

The puppet lunged forward, grabbing Macaque by the hair and holding him down, smile wide with giddy anticipation of Macaque’s imposing death (the strange fellow didn’t seem to like him very much). The Lady turned her head, eyes narrow.

“Even?” She echoed, before her lips quirked upwards into a smile, and her brows creased before she let out a shrill laugh.

“If I wanted vengeance, my champion, then I wouldn’t grant you a painless death such as this.” She flickered out of view again, appearing in front of him as she crouched down to meet his eyes, a cold smile decorating the soft features of the child she was possessing- an eerie contrast.

“I would shrink you,” She said, holding her fingers close together to intimate being tiny.

“And find a nice jar to leave you trapped in for a few centuries. I’ll even find a nice blanket in the color of your choice to make sure you never get to look at the face of another sentient being. With that being the alternative, ask yourself,” She leaned down. “Wouldn’t you rather die?”

His lips parted in mild horror- but only for a moment as she leaned away from him. He struggled against the puppet, thrashing about, as if that would save him. “Wait, what do you want!?” He yelled. “I can find Wukong, and his brat too!”

She stood, turning away. “Goodbye, Six-Eared Macaque.” She said coolly. “Your magic will be going towards an excellent cause. You will be much happier in your next life.”

Macaque released a grunt of distress at her retreating form. Was that supposed to reassure him or something?

“Wait!” He yelled, disliking the frantic tone. Was he really about to die? “Damn it, Baigujing, listen for once!” After that, it was silent for a moment. The pull of the chains seemed to ease on his limbs, and the thrall was no longer shoving his head into the pit of doom.

“…You may speak.” She said tiredly, probably of him and his refusal to die with dignity, and baffled with the audacity he had to use her traditional name like they were old chums. “Do be quick about it. I do not have all day to listen to your pointless excuses.”

“Why do you think I didn’t free you? Probably because you never make room for reason in all your crazy ramblings about destiny,” He sneered.

Maybe insults weren’t his best option, but in Lady Bone Demon’s actions, there was always method to her madness. Maybe he could find some way to compromise if he could just get through to her, he could at least get out of this Scott-free.

“Is that so?” She hummed, turning her head to look away. “I suppose you would feel that way. I understand why many try and fight destiny- it is oftentimes cruel. What I do not understand why they fight the only solution to that problem.”

“The only solution is destroying the world?” He snapped. His voice came out a lot less “understanding” than he intended. We’re his acting skills slipping? She chuckled.

“And I suppose you’d prefer I leave it to it’s devices?” She mused. “That I allow war, famine, and crime to endlessly continue when I have the power to stop it all?”

“So you’re a Good Samaritan now? Let me guess, taking over this city was a necessary evil?” He mocked her aristocratic manner of speaking, able to rise to his feet again, as the chains had gone limp.

“Quite correct,” The Lady said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “And you, Six-Eared Macaque? Was destroying this city to get to Sun Wukong a necessary evil?”

He stopped, eyes knitting together at the question. “How do you…”

“My servant made it a point to update me on current events worldwide upon being freed from my tomb.” She answered quickly. He couldn’t see her, but he knew she was smiling.

“Don’t tell me the cat has your tongue now, Liu’er. What happened to all your newfound self-righteousness from before?”

He grit his teeth. “So, I’m not the crème de la crème of purity and goodness.” He said, fists clenched tight enough to draw blood. “You certainly aren’t any better than me. You’re the one who brought me back to life.”

She lightly laughed, and Macaque grew angrier by the second. She was still going to kill him after this, wasn’t she? He needed to get the upper hand, but…

“You’re quite quick to blame others, I notice. I presume that is also my fault that my little host was orphaned in that attack of yours?”

Macaque’s eyes widened. What? “What…?” He repeated his thoughts aloud, no louder than a whisper, but it didn’t go unheard by The Lady.

“I wasn’t trying to…” He trailed off. “But you did.” The Lady finished for him, titling her head upwards as she sighed. ��I’ve seen selfishness and hatred far more intense than yours, Six-Eared Macaque.” The wicked amusement she had garnered earlier had faded. She turned to look at him, finally.

Her eyes seemed far too tired, and filled with far too much anger to be on the face of a little girl.

Her tone was cool as she looked above him, at the night sky. “But it will all be over soon.”

For a moment, all was quiet.

“Why’d you pick me?” He asked, after a moment. The Lady, seemingly brought back down to earth, hummed in question. “Anyone could have opened your tomb. But you went out of her way to pluck my soul out of the Diyu, specifically. Why?”

The Lady’s expression morphed into one of annoyance. “You’re only wondering this now?” She asked crossly. His expression didn’t change.

“I had decided not to tell you what I had planned to happen to you in your next life, but I suppose, if it will give you closure,” She hummed. “I can answer your last question.”

She’s really set on killing me… He thought wearily.

“There is one person who exists in this world who, with certainty, will not exist in the new one. Do you know to whom I am referring?”

“Wukong. Right,” Macaque answered. “Yes,” The Bone Lady sighed, closing her eyes. “But in the absence of the Great Sage, there will be a void that will need to be filled.” She spat the words “Great Sage” out as if a worm she’d found in an apple. (He understood finding the title obnoxious. Great Sage, Equal to Heaven? Give me a break.)

A void? Macaque thought for a moment. As in, an empty space that would need to be filled- someone to replace Wukong as the monkey king. MK? But…

Macaque’s head shot up. “You mean-!?” The Lady cut him off with a smile. “Interested now, are we?”

The next thing he knew, the chains were gone.

[mtreebeardiles]

Starting Fires, pt 9

Another one I had partially written, finally complete

Full chapter over on AO3!

"Can I drive the Aerondight?"

It wasn't what V had expected when he'd answered Johnny's ridiculously early phone call, but if the past few months had taught him anything about the rockerboy's re-acclimation to life on this side of the Blackwall, it was to just roll with things as they came. Getting him to leave the loft had been a challenge in and of itself, and while he was definitely getting better at it the onus still rested with V to get him to do anything outside the comforting walls of the Glen apartment. So if Johnny was taking the initiative, V sure as shit wasn't about to argue. 

Two cups of coffee to wake him up and the city streets were as muted as they could be at such an early hour -- that quiet time between rushes, weak sunlight filtering down through skyscrapers and megabuildings and V found himself thinking it was going to be a nice day, weather-wise. The invigorating kind, or maybe that was just the latent itch that always existed just under his skin, that burning need to move, move, move, picking up speed and forcing its way up and out and he wondered, then, if something similar had bitten Johnny in the ass this morning. Couldn’t remember a time when the other man was voluntarily awake before the clock swung into double digit hours but he'd sounded wide awake on the phone. 

A good sign, V hoped. Maybe Johnny was finally starting to take more of an active interest in the world outside the loft's floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Johnny was waiting downstairs for him when he pulled up, V eyeing him where the other man was leaning back against the wall of the apartment building, shades on, a cloud of smoke easing into the air around him as he exhaled and he seemed… relaxed. Or as relaxed as he could reasonably expect to be, at least in the eyes of those who'd know better. Johnny had always adopted a sense of languid danger, subtle tensions held in his body and a distinct "fuck off" aura that kept most people out of his personal space until he decided otherwise. But V knew how to look past it, to spot the worry areas where they tended to gather, and knew what it looked like when they weren't there. Jaw unclenched, fingers lax, shoulders held at ease, and when V stepped out of the car and walked over the glasses came off and he could see the lack of shadows under his eyes. 

He looked…good. 

And startled. 

V bit back a grin.

"You're blond."

"Your powers of observation never cease to amaze."

"Fuck you," Johnny retorted, shaking his head, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. He slung his glasses into the collar of his tank top and stepped into V's space, running his 'ganic fingers through V's freshly golden locks. "I don't think I've ever seen you with hair that wasn't green or…darker green."

"I've done blue," V pointed out. 

"For like a day, then right back to green."

"Green's the superior color."

"And blond?" 

V shrugged, smiling in spite of himself. "Sometimes I like to venture out of my comfort zone."

"You can tell me if you grabbed Kerry's dye by mistake," Johnny pointed out. "I won't judge."

"Firstly, yes you would, and secondly, fuck off, I did this on purpose." He didn't pull away, easing into this part of Johnny's little rituals. Watched as the other man's eyes tracked to the stubborn streak of white hair, felt it as his fingers gently moved along his scalp until the tips brushed against the scar. Let his gaze drop to the necklace Johnny'd been wearing for weeks now, reaching out to trace his own fingers over the familiar circle with its bullet anchored in the center. 

"Sleeping okay?"

"A little." 

"Wasn't expecting you to be up so bright and early."

"Had a good night last night." Johnny's fingers slipped away and he held his hand out instead. V handed over his key fob and followed him back to his car, sliding into the passenger seat this time while Johnny got comfortable in the driver's. 

It'd taken a while to get Johnny to admit to the nightmares. To the too real, too visceral nature of them, mixtures of muddied memories lending shape and dimension to worries and fears, twisting them into something that made sleep a thing to dread at the best of times. Past mistakes were one thing, more liable to leave Johnny grumpy than anything else. 

It was the dreams about V that hurt the most. 

"It's like I'm you and I'm not, like I'm paralyzed, watching it play out again and again and again and I can't do a fucking thing about it." Remembered agitation and V hadn't needed all the details to know what Johnny was seeing in those dreams, the imprint of those memories as indelible as the ink under his skin. Harsh neon lights lingering in shadows, carpet sticky underfoot, the creak of ancient AC's and it hadn't been any better in that room. Closed in, trapped, thoughts scattered with grief of the bone-deep, heartsick variety and it'd been hard to determine if the blood on his hands was his or Jackie's. 

Then a starburst of pain, a twisting in the gut and tightness in his throat and he'd been too enraged to feel fear even as the gun went off and everything had gone dark. 

Johnny shouldn't have had to see that part; bad enough he could remember them crawling their way out of that landfill, a hazy specter awakening in V's dying mind. 

He didn't need more nightmare fuel when he had plenty demons all his own to contend with. 

"So what kinda adventure awaits us today?" V asked, dragging his thoughts back to the present. He glanced sidelong at Johnny, smiling a little as the rockerboy floored the gas and sent them tearing up the street, chased by a cacophony of shouts and car horns. V didn't tell him to slow down; he didn't even flinch. Wasn't sure if it was something that had bled between them, but Johnny drove like V himself often did, brushing up against the edge of outright reckless tempered by a confidence born from years driving these streets. Speeding was one thing; actively causing accidents was another. 

V wasn't worried about his car with Johnny at the wheel. 

"Little trip down memory lane," was all the answer he got before Johnny cranked up the radio, and V smiled at the opening riff of one of Kerry's songs. Caught the flash of tension in Johnny's hand where it gripped the steering wheel and watched it ease, watched him relax and start tapping out the beat against his thigh with his free hand. 

V contemplated asking him whose memory as Johnny rolled down both their windows, letting the wind whip inside, and ultimately decided against it. 

He liked that Johnny could surprise him these days.

[dovaeh]

unfinished drabble regarding: mirmulnir & the dragon waking.

       through her spiritual connection and faith in the gods,    maesena’s dreams were always quite vivid.    the general palette and flavor of them never truly changed:    clouds of golds and pinks hazed over fields of color,    lakes shimmering in sunlight.    few words were ever exchanged and instead she found peace in what she dreamt    ——    quiet days in the sun,    contentment in her mother’s arm draped over her shoulder in the cold.    

      in the first months spent in skyrim,    that hadn’t changed in any substantial way.    her dreams seemed more anchored    (   she liked to believe it was both her father’s connection to this land and the new amulet always hung on her neck,    a parting gift from her mother    )    and grey,    somber in more ways yet more exhilarating in others.

       the last she remembered of mirmulnir,    his head reared towards the sky and his bloody,    slashed maw opened in a scream.    the words clashing between his teeth seemed disbelieving and she didn’t yet realize that the  dovahkiin  he called to was her.    suddenly from the very root of his being a spectrum of energy rushed her    ——    just as the world became dark around the edges,    just as she felt her bones grow too weak to hold her skin.    the gash in her skull and blood running down her torso seemed all too damning until the energy of the dragon’s soul rushed into her being.    it hit her skin in a hot,    almost unbearable blaze and she fell to her back,    knowing nothing but that she felt not quite so weak once it filled her.

       by the time they got her to the temple of kynareth,    she was almost to the state she’d been in before.    the soul that entered her had revitalized her enough for her to be carried back to the city without incident,    but not enough to undo what damage had been caused.    still she bled,    still she was torn.    the guards gave out when the temple doors swung open and their arms,    jelly from the fight and the fear,    dropped her to the stone.    she slept.

      and she dreamt of the sky.    the open blue twisted with white and golden pink at the edges of the horizon,    the wind tangled under her arms.     her wings.    she looked back and saw them,    stretched wide as the sky itself.    blue and gold poured into each other and mixed through the fabric of her wings,    across the muscles that lead to her back    ——    ridged and horned,    scaled.    

      like a dragon.    she remembered briefly,    somewhere in the very back of her mind,    what it felt to grasp mirmulnir by the neck;    his hard scales unforgiving and unmoving beneath her fingers,    her feet leaving the ground as he through his head to the air and dropped her onto his back.    the impenetrable strength and the blazing heat brewing inside him seemed all so familiar now that it was what she was made of.

[summer-fun-swim]

As summer wore on and the relentless sun cast shimmering rays over the local beach, my family decided to escape the steamy heat with a weekend getaway to a nearby hotel. My older brother, Dennis, and I were thrilled, not just for the break from our routine but for the chance to splish-splash in the hotel’s glistening indoor pool.

From the moment we rolled into the hotel parking lot, I felt the excitement tingling in my veins. The building rose high against the afternoon sky, its glass façade reflecting the vibrant hues of the setting sun. With my heart racing like a drum, we dropped our bags into the lobby’s plush carpeted area and exchanged hurried glances of mischief.

After checking in, we wasted no time. I quickly stripped down to my swim gear, a pair of bright blue trunks und white tank top, that contrasted sharply with my bronzed skin. Dennis, in his usual laid-back style, pulled off his casual tee and slipped into the pool area wearing his dark denim jeans and a tight black t-shirt that accentuated his well-defined physique. “You sure you want to wear those?” I asked, eyeing his choice of clothing skeptically.

“Relax, I’ll be fine,” he replied, grinning as he flicked water from his damp curls. “Just adds to the challenge!” Little did he know, his challenge knew no bounds.

As we stepped into the humid air of the indoor pool area, the scent of chlorine filled my lungs, a sharp reminder of the adventure that awaited us. The large, heated pool stretched out in front of us, its surface shimmering under the strategic placement of multicolored lights. Without a second thought, Dennis raced ahead, his jeans clinging to his thighs as they caught the light.

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” he shouted, practically diving into the deep end. I couldn’t help but laugh as I watched him surface, water cascading off his shoulders. The droplets clung to his clothes, their dark fabric becoming saturated, the denim darkening, losing its casual flair.

I followed his lead, leaping into the pool with a splash that sent droplets flying. As I surfaced, I caught a glimpse of my reflection: the water trickled down my face and body, enhancing the vibrant colors of my swim trunks and creating a striking contrast against the steel-blue of the pool.

We splashed around like we were children again, the laughter bouncing off the glass walls and mingling with the echoes of distant conversations from other hotel guests. I watched as Dennis flipped under the surface, his jeans becoming an extra layer of resistance that he embraced in his fearless attempts to race me from one end of the pool to the other. The way the wet fabric hugged his legs and torso—evidence of our lively tussles—made me appreciate the challenge of swimming against the weight of his drenched outfit.

Time slipped away unnoticed as we lost ourselves in the joy of the moment. The water enveloped us completely, making our laughter louder and the tension of everyday life dissipate like mist. However, soon enough, the playful bickering turned into a water fight, with both of us pretending to dive underwater while splashing each other mercilessly.

“Okay, okay! Truce!” Dennis laughed, his breath visible in the humid air as he leaned against the edge of the pool, slick skin shining like polished marble. “Let’s catch our breath.”

As we floated on our backs, I felt the weight of my wet clothes—my swim trunks now acting as a buoyant anchoring point against the heaviness of my drenched tank top and the sweatshirt I’d thrown on before we left the room. The cool fabric created a contrasting sensation against my skin, the wetness a constant reminder of our impromptu adventure.

When we finally decided to take a break and lean against the pool wall, I glanced over at Dennis. His dark t-shirt clung to his torso, accentuating the muscles he had worked hard for throughout the year. The dampness made the shirt glisten under the artificial lights. Faint shadows traced the contour of his collarbone, and I couldn’t help but admire how his jeans, slick and heavy, clung around his waist, emphasizing his athletic build.

“Let’s go for a swim,” he said suddenly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Ever tried to dive from the side while keeping your clothing on?”

I shook my head, and before I could protest, he jumped off, creating a sizeable wave that splashed over me. I was laughing by the time the water settled, but my heart raced as I climbed out to try myself.

With a deep breath, I ran to the edge of the pool, feeling the wet fabric of my sweatshirt dragging against my skin. The cool air hit me, chilling the damp areas while the rest of me was still warmed by the water. “Here goes nothing,” I murmured to myself.

Launching off the edge, I turned my body into a streamlined silhouette, gliding through the water with a burst of energy. But upon surfacing, the newfound weight of my clothes promised resistance unlike any I had felt before. It was both exhilarating and strange, the saturation a whole new experience in a carefree environment.

Once we’d had our fill of swimming, we decided to dry off and grab some snacks from the hotel café. Strolling through the lobby with our wet clothes clinging to our bodies, I noticed a few curious glances from hotel guests—it was a strange feeling, walking in soaked while grinning at the memories of our day.

Sitting at a cozy cafe table, laughter still bubbled between us as we wiped our faces with the napkins. My sweatshirt felt heavy, but there was a comfort to it; it had become a second skin. The way our clothes clung to us felt almost emblematic of the carefree time we’d just had. And as we sipped our drinks and reminisced about various splashes and dives, I understood that sometimes, the simplest moments were the most precious.

We finally made our way back to the room, skin still a little glistening from our escapade. The evening air was cooler now, wrapping around us like a fresh embrace. I was grateful for the memories we had created that day, for laundry could wait—but days like these, mornings lost in laughter beside a pool, would always be forever etched in our hearts.

[woundfound]

THE DRUNKEN BOAT — ARTHUR RIMBAUD

As I descended black, impassive Rivers,

I sensed that haulers were no longer guiding me:

Screaming Natives took them for their targets,

Nailed nude to colored stakes: barbaric trees.

I was indifferent to all my crews;

I carried English cottons, Flemish wheat.

When the disturbing din of haulers ceased,

The Rivers let me ramble where I willed.

Through the furious ripping of the sea's mad tides,

Last winter, deafer than an infant's mind,

I ran! And drifting, green Peninsulas

Did not know roar more gleefully unkind.

A tempest blessed my vigils on the sea.

Lighter than a cork I danced on the waves,

Those endless rollers, as they say, of graves:

Ten nights beyond a lantern's silly eye!

Sweeter than sourest apple-flesh to children,

Green water seeped into my pine-wood hull

And washed away blue wine stains, vomitings,

Scattering rudder, anchor, man's lost rule.

And then I, trembling, plunged into the Poem

Of the Sea, infused with stars, milk-white,

Devouring azure greens; where remnants, pale

And gnawed, of pensive corpses fell from light;

Where, staining suddenly the blueness, delirium,

The slow rhythms of the pulsing glow of day,

Stronger than alcohol and vaster than our lyres,

The bitter reds of love ferment the way!

I know skies splitting into light, whirled spouts

Of water, surfs, and currents: I know the night,

The dawn exalted like a flock of doves, pure wing,

And I have seen what men imagine they have seen.

I saw the low sun stained with mystic horrors,

Lighting long, curdled clouds of violet,

Like actors in a very ancient play,

Waves rolling distant thrills like lattice light!

I dreamed of green night, stirred by dazzling snows,

Of kisses rising to the sea's eyes, slowly,

The sap-like coursing of surprising currents,

And singing phosphors, flaring blue and gold!

I followed, for whole months, a surge like herds

Of insane cattle in assault on the reefs,

Unhopeful that three Marys, come on luminous feet,

Could force a muzzle on the panting seas!

Yes, I struck incredible Floridas

That mingled flowers and the eyes of panthers

In skins of men! And rainbows bridled green

Herds beneath the horizon of the seas.

I saw the ferment of enormous marshes, weirs

Where a whole Leviathan lies rotting in the weeds!

Collapse of waters within calms at sea,

And distances in cataract toward chasms!

Glaciers, silver suns, pearl waves, and skies like coals,

Hideous wrecks at the bottom of brown gulfs

Where giant serpents eaten by red bugs

Drop from twisted trees and shed a black perfume!

I should have liked to show the young those dolphins

In blue waves, those golden fish, those fish that sing.

-Foam like flowers rocked my sleepy drifting,

And, now and then, fine winds supplied me wings.

When, feeling like a martyr, I tired of poles and zones,

The sea, whose sobbing made my tossing sweet,

Raised me its dark flowers, deep and yellow whirled,

And, like a woman, I fell on my knees . . .

Peninsula, I tossed upon my shores

The quarrels and droppings of clamorous, blond-eyed birds.

I sailed until, across my rotting cords,

Drowned men, spinning backwards, fell asleep! . . .

Now I, a lost boat in the hair of coves,

Hurled by tempest into a birdless air,

I, whose drunken carcass neither Monitors

Nor Hansa ships would fish back for men's care;

Free, smoking, rigged with violet fogs,

I, who pierced the red sky like a wall

That carries exquisite mixtures for good poets,

Lichens of sun and azure mucus veils;

Who, spotted with electric crescents, ran

Like a mad plank, escorted by seahorses,

When cudgel blows of hot Julys struck down

The sea-blue skies upon wild water spouts;

I, who trembled, feeling the moan at fifty leagues

Of rutting Behemoths and thick Maelstroms, I,

Eternal weaver of blue immobilities,

I long for Europe with its ancient quays!

I saw sidereal archipelagoes! and isles

Whose delirious skies are open to the voyager:

-Is it in depthless nights you sleep your exile,

A million golden birds, O future Vigor?-

But, truly, I have wept too much! The dawns disturb.

All moons are painful, and all suns break bitterly:

Love has swollen me with drunken torpors.

Oh, that my keel might break and spend me in the sea!

Of European waters I desire

Only the black, cold puddle in a scented twilight

Where a child of sorrows squats and sets the sails

Of a boat as frail as a butterfly in May.

I can no longer, bathed in languors, O waves,

Cross the wake of cotton-bearers on long trips,

Nor ramble in a pride of flags and flares,

Nor swim beneath the horrible eyes of prison ships.