#Green Round Emerald stone

[fazalkhan2914]

Takatgemssr - Emerald Green NYC TAKAT takes great delight in offering its customers amazing stones and jewels, exquisite craftsmanship, and first-rate customer service. Their works are shaped with the utmost care, quality, and attention to detail, fusing cutting-edge technology with traditional design principles. https://www.takatgemssr.com/emerald.html

[luveline]

Hello! Would it be alright to request something where prince!steve and his Princess attend their first formal event together?

tysm for requesting ♡ prince steve au

"Don't spill anything," Steve advises under his breath. "Your corset is alabaster." 

"I know. I feel like breathing the wrong way is gonna crack it like papier mache." 

He snorts, adjusting your hand on his arm to the correct position where you stand around a corner from the grand staircase. You wince as rich laughter bounces off the marble steps, the sound wrought with a feeling akin to hounds snapping at your heels. 

"Your nails look nice," Steve says. 

He's already complimented your face, your hair, and your dress. There's not much left to praise, but he finds something anyhow, and a flush of pleasure warms your skin. "Thank you," you say, looking down at your painted nails, a shimmering mother of pearl lacquer coating each one. The cost rivals a month's groceries. "They had so many colours… we started with red, but I thought it looked silly on me. My hands are weird." 

"Your hands are perfect." His eyes shine with sincerity, lips pulled into an amused smile that feels like a well-aimed bop to the chest. "I can get you more. Nail lacquer, I mean. There's a small Sri Lankan boutique by Cordelian House, they have all that intricate cosmetic stuff. It's where Munson gets his kohl sticks." He smiles at you reassuringly. "I'm trying to distract you. It's not working, is it?" 

"I'm going to mess up. Your mom– the queen–" 

"You can call her my mom. That's what she is." Steve nods his understanding of the things you've said without saying them. "She'll be disappointed if you mess up. But I won't be. I'm proud of you for even putting on the dress. I'd be proud of you if you didn't." 

You lick your lips, cherry balm sticky on the tip of your tongue. "Thank you, Steve." 

He says things like this with little regard for how forward it is. Not that subtlety is required. While antiquated in some aspects, the contemporary royal society is loudly lustful. You and Steve could be intimate together now weeks before the wedding and nobody would bat an eye, but you suspect that he's just as unprepared for that as you are, no matter how gently he covers your hand with his. 

There's a short sound like a bird call. Steve straightens his back, his thumb drawing a half circle across your fingers. "Ready?" he asks. 

You nod. You don't really have a choice. 

They announce you together, Prince Steven and his Soul Marked Y/N. It sounds ridiculous to hear his name after weeks of Please, call me Steve, or anything else but Steven. Doubly so to hear you announced as his and not yourself. A simple 'Miss' would have sufficed. Braced for a night of similar small agonies, you hold tight to Steve's arm and begin your descent down the grand staircase and into the foyer. The palace is a structure of white stone that shines silver in some lights, impossible walls of selenite and gauzy silks. The steps are more solid, a plain marble that clicks under the soles of your short heels. 

"Don't let me fall," you say under your breath, the hush of the crowd nearly occluding your voice completely. 

"Never." You can hear his polite smile. "Don't panic." 

You can't not panic, sweat at your naked collar, pearls like beads of ice bobbing with each step you take. The second you reach the floor you deflate with an exhale, your back clicking at the sudden decompression. There's a brief round of applause at your arrival before the cheery music begins anew, the dancing begins again, and the many faces that surround you blur into jewels and elegant clothes, fabrics coloured manilla white, snailshell purple, emerald green, a rainbow of satins swirling this way and that as girls are pushed into spins to the right of the foyer under the ballroom chandelier. 

"You'll dance with me, yeah?" Steve asks tentatively. 

You meet his eyes, all their soft brown gazing at you like you're worth his worry. His lashes twitch as his gaze darts swiftly down and up again. 

"Do I have something?" you ask, lifting your chin. 

"Lipstick. I can fix it?" He brings his hand to your lips before you've answered, using the trimmed nail of his pinky finger to wipe at your lip. You turn still as a porcelain statue, a shiver rushing down your chest at the warmth of his touch.

"You'll dance with me?" he asks again, his knuckle brushing your chin as he drops his hand. 

"Of course I'll dance with you, Steve. We're expected to." 

He throws a glance at the people around you and steps closer. "I want to dance with you because you want to dance. We don't have to do anything. Not this ball, not the dance. Not the wedding." He sighs. "You have choices." 

"No. I don't." Because there glows your wrist. Threads of translucency like spider web and downy feather combined, a sorry hue of blue. 

"Yes, you do," he whispers. "You want to leave? We'll leave right now. I just want you to be happy, and with me." 

You think about it. The weight of hundreds of eyes on your shoulders and the restriction of your corset is making you nauseous. If you left, that sickness would go. But Steve wouldn't get to dance with you.

"I don't want to leave," you say, not sure if you're lying or not. You'd quite like to have his hands on your hips again. And sometimes before the dip he breathes in your ear, says something soft, like Keep going, you got it. 

"No?" he asks, relieved. 

"No. Let's dance. We need the practice…" You offer your hand. He takes it, the smudge of lipstick on his pinky finger like a heart. "I'm sorry. I want to dance." 

"What are you sorry for?" he asks, leaning down to kiss the highest point of your cheek. "Let's dance. If you mess up, I'll mess up worse. I promise. I'll chicken dance in front of everybody." 

[toulousewayne]

🌿🍃Toxic Lover: Pt: II

Nightwing X male!reader with a former team who had become Poison Ivy like meta-human.

Summary:Your a former Titan teammate, you and Dick have unresolved feelings and you become infected with the same toxins and chemicals that turned Poison Ivy into a meta-human.

————-

“They Can Bury Us Deep, But We Always Grow.”

Batman sat perched on the rooftops of Gotham. It was a rainy night, much preferred these nights. Most of the crime was kept to the shadows it made it easier for him.

“Batman,we’ve got a problem,”Oracle’s voice filled his coms. “Fill me in.” He jumped off the building and glided north of his location.

——

A man walks outside of the Stacked Deck Bar, and takes a puff from his cigarette. He walks into the alleyway and takes a swig of his flask.

He rounds the corner to see a shadow figure standing before him.

“It’s the freakin’ bat,” he takes out his pistol but it’s knocked out of his grips my a WingDing. The next thing he knows he’s thrown against a nearby dumpster.

“You murderer.” Nightwing snarled at the man before his feet. He kicked him in the stomach, then picked him up and flung him to the other side of the alley.

“L-look I’m sorry about you friend—it’s wasn’t personal.” He’s met with a powerful shock to the gut.

“AHHH-pplease.”

“That’s enough, honey,”A thin cloud of pink and gold mist surrounded the two men, Y/n emerged be held by tree branches pink petals. “It’s good to see you,Nolan wasn’t it. however, the last time we meet you killed me along with your friends.” Y/n grinned. He sported a new pale green skin tone now, his normal (E/C) eyes were a deep emerald. Leaves and vines woven together to map pants and some wrapped around his forearms and torso.

He lowered himself and walked over to Nightwing placing a hand on his emblem. “You know I should really thing you, you allowed me to be a better version of myself,”

“You’re welcome-“Nightwing kicked him in the gut again.

Y/n crossed his arms across his chest. “Though I could have done without the new color. No matter it’s time you answer my questions.” He waved his hand and Nightwing backed away from the goon. Y/n crouched down and blow from his palm, more of the same pink dust engulfed him squared in the face and almost immediately his grimace morphed into a blank stare.

“Now what I want to know two things. What is the name of the scientist that gave you the order to kill me, and last where is Poison Ivy?”

———

The Batmobile came to a screeching haunt behind several police cruisers. He leaped out and walked past the small crowd held back by officers.

A officer lifted a yellow tape and he entered the crime scene. Gordon stood a foot away from two white sheets, Spoiler and Red Robin stood at the bodies scanning them before joining Batman and the Commissioner.

“They two of the best people on the force,” Gordon puffed after taking a drag from his Pipe.

“Any leads?” Batman turned to the two heroes. Red Robin hand him a zip lock bag with several deep green leaves.

“Posion Ivy, she’s been quiet.” Spoiler folded her arms.

Batman walked past them and removed the sheets to observe the bodies. It’s definitely something Ivy could have done but Batman isn’t so sure. He knows that’s she’s been MIA for months.

He rises his head and looks straight ahead. “Gotham Cemetery.” He mumbles. He stands up and walks towards it.

“Is he himself?” Gordon turns to the two who shrug.

—

Batman enters the cemetery and walks past the stone statues. He moves like a black phantom through out the grounds until he stops in front of what was supposed to be a fresh grave. Red Robin and Spoiler approach and stop themselves.

“What happened?” She questions. Vines and purple flowers grown from the grave and have consumed it. The casket is in the heart of the greenery and is split open. And no body inside.

Batman turned to the two, before worry took over his masked features. “Has anyone spoke to Nightwing tonight?”

“Not since the afternoon, he said he was patrolling the East End tonight.” Red Robin replied.

“You think Y/n did this?” Spoiler looked back at the grave and back to Batman who was practically running towards the entrance.

“Alfred I need to find Nightwing he’s not answering his com links.” The Batmobile came to a roaring stop at the cemetery gates and Batman hopped inside before racing down the street.

“I’m afraid I haven’t been able to locate him Sir. His tracker when down two hours ago.” He sighed.

Batman gripped the steering wheel.”Any last know location.”

“Allow me to check,”Alfred typed a few keys before giving him the last location,”Robinson Park Sir, the Botanical Gardens.” The Batmobile raced and roar onto Pioneer Bridge towards the other part of the city.

——

One man stumbles and falls down a few stairs and coughs. As he runs down a hallway into a warehouse.

“Please have Mercy!” He cries as he ducks behind a crate.

“Mercy,I’ll show you mercy.” A voice boomed in the dark room. The man cowered in fear before he flew back from his hiding spot and was carried up fifty feet in the air. He was wrapped in an oversized vine and was being constrained.

Y/n moved into his view ontop of an another vine and smirked. He had his arm resting on his knee and leaned forward towards the man’s face.

“So sad isn’t it. We take for granted the gifts Mother Nature can offer us,” he plucks a maroon flower from his vine that looks between a cross of a tulip and rose. He twirled the flower and looked back at the man. Before smirking.

“So tell me Wilson, where can I find the scientist?” Before the man could reply Y/n blow on the flower and black particles landed on his face. He started to cough and scream in pain.

“He’s meeting the Boss I don’t know who but he’s meeting him Chinatown. PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!” He screamed in terror before a massive coughing fit and his limbs go limp.

Y/n lowers himself down and allows the vines to drop the body with a loud crack. Nightwing stood a few feet from where the man landed. He stare at him for a while before Y/n came into his view.

“Where are we going?” Y/n placed a kiss to his cheek. Y/n took his leave with Dick in tow.

“To make one more stop.”

——

Batman crashed through the same skyline Nightwing had to find the place abandoned. He took a look around with a flashlight.

He came to a makeshift bed and found the same leaves Red Robin gave him.

He turned on his scanner and turned the leave over. “Alfred identify and breakdown these leaves basic components.”

“Right away Sir. These two leaves have the same trace amount of pheromones. The scanners indicate they are of a stronger concentration. The combination is similar to the lab where Nightwing and is team were a few nights ago.”

Batman turned and looked at the ground. He found a WingDing and a remnant of a sleep dart. The same Nightwing gauntlet. “Nightwing must of found Y/n and tried to stop him.”

Alfred hummed, “Do you think he killed Master Richard.”

Batman kneeled down a traced his finger to find them covered in a green dust. “Unlikely, what happened to him he still cares for Dick.” He stood up and grappled out of the greenhouse. He glides down to the street and gets back into the Batmobile.

“The attack on Y/n in the lab must of caused a biological shock and rewrite his DNA the same way it did Ivy. But what I can figure out is what’s motivate?” He began to drive before another call rang.

“It’s Ms Gordon I’ll patch her through.” Soon the ringing stopped and Barbara’s voice filled the car.

“Batman we found two bodies.”

“Where?”

“One at the Stacked Deck an hour ago Red Hood is on the scene with Bullock. And another at a warehouse at Dixon Docks,Batgirl is there with Robin now.”

“My word, Sir my analysis is completed. There is another drug mixed in that was scanned at the fire. It’s a drug called Tomgenalixe. It’s a substance used in modern day Hallucinogens and can be used to create mind altering effects.”

“Mind Control.” Batman and Oracle reply.

“So Y/n isn’t just killing people for fun, he’s been controlled too.” Oracle took a deep sigh.

Batman gripped the steering wheel.”We need to find them. Alfred can you track Y/n’s pheromones?”

Alfred typed at the Batcomputer. “Sir his tracking is leading to the Diamond District.”

Batman raced back towards the highway. “Oracle take the components of the drugs and chemicals and synthesize and antitoxin. Have someone bring it to me. Alfred, have Red Robin and Spoiler meet me at my location.”

“Working on it, I’ll have Red Hood and Batgirl pick up the antioxins as soon as it ready.” Oracle signed off.

“Sir, when you arrive what will you do?”

Batman didn’t answer as thunder crashed across the night sky.

“I’m going to save them.”

———-

“Where’s my cut?” The scientist hissed at the man in a chair turned away from him.

The man chuckled. “Your cut, you were supposed to bring me a new drug. You burned your research. I can’t get any of that funding back, and now Lex Luthor has questions about fire you caused.” The man stood before as Black Man rises from his seat and the scientist cowers.

“I’m—“ SMACK

“You little runt, you work for me and you’ll get paid when the fuck I say so.” He snarled. He grabbed a wad of cash from his pocket and threw it at him.

“Now get back and figure out the poison, you still have the plant woman in holding?”

“Yes, she’s secure downstairs.” He took the cash. But before he could leave he was kicked square in the jaw and crumbled to the floor.

Black Mask turns to see Nightwing giving his a death stare. “What brings you here?”

The doors burst open with three of his goons with green glowing eyes and Y/n strolling behind them.

“I’m here for a little payback.” Y/n smirked. He outstretched his arm and vines bursts from the floor and tied up Black Mask.

“You crazy bitch I’ll kill you.” Y/n yawned. “Boys take care of him,” he turned to the scientist. “I think you have someone who doesn’t belong to you, don’t worry I’ll kill you when this over just like I did you henchmen.”

“Boss!” The large man who had did most of the damage to Y/n emerged through another door. Nightwing sprang into action and brutal fought him. It didn’t take long before he hit the ground hard.

Y/n crossed the room and stood over the dazed man.

“Remember it’s nothing personal.” Y/n dropped seeds into his gapped open mouth and vines and flower rapidly grew from his mouth and stomach.

“That’s sick.” Black Mask gagged before getting punch by Nightwing.

Y/n nodded and then two armed guards took Black Mask away. The other waiting for them and Nightwing grabbed the Scientist.

“Let’s go.” He barked. Y/n and the other guard followed him. The arrived in a basement that was like a huge underground bunker.

They ventured until the came to a catwalk and bellow was a cell in center with Ivy unconscious.

“Well it seems you’ve severed your purpose.” Y/n turned to the man that uttered the order to kill him and before he could grab him a Batarang nearly took his hand off.

Batman leaped down and glared at the group.”That’s enough, you’ve taken to many lives tonight I won’t let you take more Y/n. This isn’t you.”

Y/n pursed his lips and brief a chuckle. “What do you know about Y/n?” Batman eyed down below and saw Ivy talking almost as a puppet.

“Ivy, you’ve been controlling him from the start.”

Ivy/Y/n chuckled. “I can’t take all the credit you seen when they turned Y/n into this new and improved version of himself. We form a connection, and the more his powers grew—“

“The greater your control became.” Batman finished. Ivy chuckled in her cell.

“He makes a fine successor, does need some weeding but no matter he’ll do fine to kill you.” Y/n caused two large vines to sprout beside Batman who leaped down and landed on his feet. He cartwheel out the way of a shock from Nightwing.

“I know you can hear me, don’t make me have to put down.” Nightwing smirked,”Come and try.” He lunged at Batman and the two attacked and blocked each others moves.

Red Robin and Spoiler crashed the room and took out the guard and Spoiler went after Y/n to jumped onto a moving vine.

“Y/n snap out of it you’re still in there.” She pleaded. Y/n formed another overgrown plant to seat her away like fly. He caused a giant Venus Flytrap to sprout and it held him in place.

“This will be your tomb.” He laughed wickedly.

——

Black Mask stood ontop of the building with rifles at his head.

“Jump.” One order. He moved his leg out to jump before he heard gunfire and the sounds of punches. He nervously turned to see Red Hood and Batgirl.

“I’m saved—“ he was lassoed by Batgirl who tied him to a pipe. Before following Red Hood into the building.

“Hell let me Go!”

—-

Nightwing kicked Batman in the chest sending him stumbling.

Red Robin back flipped out the way of a vine nearly crushing him.

“Give up.” Ivy hissed.

Red Hood and Batgirl arrived. Batgirl grabbed a vine and began to run up it to Y/n and Red Hood leaped down and fired a few rounds at Nightwing which distracted him long enough for Batman to land a punch.

He stagger and when to fight him some more giving Red Hood the chance to fire a dart the hit Nightwing in the neck. He growled before he slowly turned and fell into Batman’s arms going limp.

Batgirl managed to get a clear shot and injected Y/n with large dose. He felt tired fell onto the catwalk, Red Robin check on him before injecting an orange liquid into Y/n arm.

“This will break the connection to Ivy.”

Ivy screamed in pain like a part of her had been stabbed. “You’re going to Arkham.” Batman stood before her and she was about to shout before green mist filled her cell and she collapsed.

“Hey Oracle whip up something for her too.” Batgirl chimed in.

Batman grinned and turned to Nightwing and sighed.

———-

Y/n felt like everything that happened was a fever dream. Killing them men that assaulted him, rising from the dead like an uprooted carrot and his finale fight with the Batfamily.

He sat up with an instant migraine. He rubbed his temples from the bright lights and turned to the side to see a shadow.

“Where am I?” His voice was hoarse and scratchy.

“You’re in Arkham.” Batman sighed and came into the light of the cell.

Y/n took in his surroundings and it was in a cell in Arkham. He was also in hospital gown with a collar around his neck.

“So I’m in jail?” He raised a brow the Dark Knight. Batman took a stance at the foot of the bed.

“Not exactly, what do you remember?” His voice was full of concern and worry. Not the same voice typical of Batman.

Y/n rubbed his temples for a brief movement. “I remember the taxi driver…I vaguely remember two officers and then everything went black. Did I hurt them?”

“They’re dead. Poison Ivy took control over your mind after you transition into a meta-human.”

Y/n felt all the air suck of his lungs. “You’re here because I know you’ll be under careful observation,” he lifted his gaze to the ceiling and Y/n followed. Vents were overhead them.

“This cell is constantly being pumped with an antitoxin that helps with the more advanced powers. It won’t rid them completely but you’ll be in control.” He walked closer to the doors.

“You should be in for a few more days, once that finished I’ll come get you myself. Gordon has already dropped any charges and no one knows Y/n L/N was the new Poison Ivy.”

“Did I hurt him?”

“I don’t know what your—“

“Damnit yes you do. I know I didn’t just kill two people. I hope I can..live with that. But did I hurt him?” Tears formed in the young man’s eyes and streamed down his face.

“No.” Batman whispered.

“Oh.” He wiped his face. “Can I see him?”

“I can’t allow that, you didn’t hurt him but Ivy used your feelings for him to make into your mind-controlled bodyguard. You killed people Y/n…He’s still recovering in the cave. Y/n it may be best to give it time.” Batman exited the cell where Gordon was waiting and the two walked away into the Asylum.

Everything began to flash before Y/n and he flopped back on the uncomfortable cot. Before sleep took him back and he dozed off.

[buckets-and-trees]

Chosen, Part 1: Arrival

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Word Count: 3.4k Summary: After surviving three rounds of interviews, you have been invited for a full-day to tour and interview at the estate and headquarters that belong to the Winged Heritage Foundation.

SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting

CHAPTER Content Warnings: none

Notes: I started writing this story with the intention for it to be a long one-shot, but after it shot past 18k, I realized I would need to break it up into installments, so ... expect sort of a slow burn for the plot? Installments will be posted on Mondays and Thursdays.

Shout outs to @stargazingfangirl18, @witchywithwhiskey, @biteofcherry, and @vonalyn for helping me get my ideas sorted out for this trip!

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You scroll through the note in your phone with questions to ask during a final interview as the car pulls off the interstate and starts down a country highway lined with trees.

At least you hope this is the final interview.

You had applied for a basic administrative assistant position with the Winged Heritage Foundation, but after your first interview you had been called by a recruitment officer and asked if you would consider a different position with the organization, one that hadn’t been posted publicly.

You still don’t know what the position is you’re being considered for, but after two more interviews, you had been notified that you were a finalist and invited to a full-day interview and tour of the Foundation’s headquarters – an estate outside of the city. They had even arranged for a professional car service to pick you up and take you there. The offices in the city, where your previous three interviews had taken place, evidently handles most of the business operations for the Foundation, and the estate is where the more focused work takes place.

You are naturally a bit nervous for a fourth - and full day - interview, but you feel you like your nerves are at a healthy level - present but not paralyzing, a small buzz that will keep you focused.

The car slows as it approaches a break in the trees, and your driver signals to turn. As you round the corner, your breath catches in your throat. A wrought-iron gate stretches across a wide driveway, its intricate scrollwork spelling out "Winged Heritage" in elegant script. The gate swings open silently as your car approaches, as if by magic.

The driveway stretches before you, a winding ribbon of pale gravel cutting through a verdant landscape that takes your breath away. Ancient oaks and maples line the drive, their branches reaching across to form a dappled canopy overhead. Bright morning sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground.

As you travel deeper into the estate, meticulously manicured gardens unfold on either side. Vibrant flower beds burst with color - deep purple irises, sunny yellow daffodils, and blood-red roses. The gardens give way to rolling lawns of emerald green, dotted with sculpted topiaries in fantastical shapes.

As the car rounds another bend, a shimmering pond comes into view. Its surface is like polished glass, reflecting the azure sky and fluffy white clouds above. A family of swans glide gracefully across the water, their long necks arched in elegant curves. At the far end of the pond, a delicate bridge of white marble spans the narrowest point, its railings gilded with gold.

The driveway begins to climb a gentle slope, and as you crest the hill, your jaw drops at the sight before you. A magnificent mansion rises from the landscape, its pale stone walls glowing warmly in the morning sunlight. The architecture is a stunning blend of classical elegance, with graceful arches and intricate stonework that seems to ripple and dance as you approach.

The central facade is a masterpiece of symmetry, with wide steps leading up to a grand entrance flanked by towering columns. Ivy climbs the walls in artful patterns, as if guided by an invisible hand to accentuate the building's most beautiful features.

The car follows the curve of the driveway as it sweeps up to the grand entrance before coming to a stop. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself for what lies ahead. The driver opens your door, and you step out onto the gravel, the crunch beneath your feet grounding you in the moment.

A figure emerges from the ornate double doors at the top of the steps, and your heart skips a beat as you recognize her instantly. Natasha Romanoff, the Chief Recruitment Officer, descends the stairs with astonishing grace. Her vibrant red hair catches the sunlight, creating a halo effect that seems almost otherworldly. She's dressed in a sleek black pantsuit that exudes both professionalism and an air of mystery. As your eyes meet hers, you're struck by the intensity of her gaze - piercing green eyes that seem to look right through you.

As she draws closer, you notice a subtle smile playing at the corners of her mouth, a mix of confidence and what you suspect to be mischief. Over the course of your brief interactions up to this point, she had been nothing but professional, but you could feel some alluring pull or energy that seemed to run deep beneath the surface of her controlled demeanor. She had been present in your second interview, conducted the third with one of her associates, and had been the one to schedule you for this.

"Welcome," Natasha says, her voice smooth as silk. "We're so pleased you could join us today." She extends her hand, and you shake it, noting the firmness of her grip.

"Thank you for having me," you reply, proud that your voice doesn't betray your nerves. "The estate is absolutely breathtaking."

Natasha's smile widens slightly. "It is, isn't it? We find that beauty inspires greatness. But come, let's not linger in the driveway. We have a full day and much to show you."

She gestures towards the entrance, and you fall into step beside her as you ascend the stone steps. The massive doors swing open silently, revealing a grand foyer that takes your breath away. The ceiling soars overhead, at least three stories, adorned with an intricate fresco depicting a beautiful sky, birds in flight, and towering trees, bringing the beauty of the grounds into this entry.

Natasha guides you through a doorway off to the side of the foyer, leading you into a small sitting room. The space is elegantly decorated with plush couches, rich mahogany furniture, and intricate paintings on the walls.

"Please, have a seat," Natasha gestures towards one of the couches as she takes a seat in an armchair across from you. You sink into the soft cushions, trying to take in everything at once - the opulence of the room, Natasha's presence, and her piercing gaze.

"First things first,” Natasha says, a professional smile on her face, “the nature of what goes on here is very sensitive and so I'll need you to sign this NDA before we continue." She hands you a stack of paperwork and a pen.

You quickly skim through the document before signing it, feeling slightly uneasy about signing something so quickly without fully understanding what the day ahead of you will entail. But your curiosity outweighs your hesitation and when Natasha takes back the signed document, she slides it into a briefcase by her side.

"Now that's out of the way," she says smoothly, "let me tell you more about our foundation."

She proceeds to give you an overview of the Winged Heritage Foundation – an overview of its history, mission, and values. It's all very intriguing and impressive - but although what she shares is engaging, outside of supporting initiatives identified as important to its founder and possibly something to do preservation of history or historical places and artifacts, you still feel you don’t have any clearer of an idea of what the Foundation’s actual purpose is. But since you have an entire day here, you don’t press the point now, assuming some part of the day will be dedicated to diving deeper into the work they do.

"But enough about us," Natasha says with another enigmatic smile. "Let's talk about what brought you here today."

She pulls out your resume from her briefcase and goes over your experience and qualifications with sharp attention to detail. She asks probing questions that make you feel like she's reading between the lines of your professional achievements.

"Impressive," she comments once she's finished going over your resume. "Your professional and personal character references also speak very highly of you."

Your brow furrows slightly. “Sorry,” you interject, “I don’t remember giving personal references?”

“No, you did not. But we do a lot of work on our end to vet candidates at this point for positions like this. Surely you understand.”

You nod slowly and train your face back into a smile. At least whatever homework they seem to have done on you came back with a positive result.

She leans forward slightly, and you can feel the intensity of her gaze. "We need someone who's truly suited for the responsibilities, but personnel fit is also incredibly important to us.”

“Of course,” you respond. “And what responsibilities exactly would you be looking for me to fulfill?”

Natasha presses her lips together and seems to scrutinize your face more closely. “You’re being considered for two opportunities. Until later in the day when I’ve made a determination on which I’ll recommend you for, I won’t be disclosing that information to you.”

“Oh,” you’re a little surprised at her directness, but you suppose her reason for withholding the information is logical.

“As the Chief Recruitment Officer, I’m very good at what I do, so I’ll know your future with us by the end of the day.”

Natasha rises from her chair with fluid grace. "Shall we begin the tour?" she asks, extending her hand to help you up. You take it, noting the surprising strength in her grip. “I'm eager to show you the wonders of our estate."

She seems to hold your hand longer than necessary, or maybe it’s just your nerves, maybe you looked unsteady standing up and she was only ensuring you were okay.

As you follow her out of the sitting room, you're once again struck by the grandeur of the foyer. Natasha notices your gaze lingering on the fresco above. "That was commissioned by our founder," she explains. "It's said to depict the view from the highest peak of a mountain range that no longer exists."

She leads you down a long corridor, its walls lined with portraits of distinguished-looking individuals. "Our benefactors and notable members throughout the years," Natasha explains. "Each one has contributed significantly to our mission."

The corridor opens into a vast library that takes your breath away. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves stretch as far as the eye can see, filled with leather-bound tomes. The air is heavy with the scent of old books and polished wood. Sunlight streams through tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room. The library is a bibliophile's dream, with rolling ladders affixed to the shelves, gorgeous wooden tables for spreading out books for research, and cozy reading nooks tucked into alcoves.

As you walk between the towering shelves, you notice that some of the books look ancient, their spines cracked and faded with age, some even appear to be bound in unfamiliar materials. Others appear to be in pristine condition, despite clearly being very old.

"Our collection is quite extensive," Natasha says, running her fingers along the spines of nearby books. "We have texts dating back centuries, some of which are the only surviving copies in the world."

"How do you preserve them so well?" you ask, unable to hide your fascination.

Natasha's lips curl into a mysterious smile. "We have our ways. Mostly it’s all down to our librarian Jarvis.”

She leads you through a set of double wooden doors at the other side of the library. Once you exit, Natasha leads you through a series of grand hallways, each more breathtaking than the last. The walls are adorned with tapestries and paintings that seem to come alive as you pass, their subjects' eyes following your movement. You could swear you see a figure in one portrait shift slightly, but when you look back, it's perfectly still.

"This wing houses our main offices and research facilities," Natasha explains as you walk. "We have state-of-the-art equipment for analyzing artifacts and documents, as well as a world-class conservation lab."

You pass by rooms filled with people working diligently at computers, their screens displaying what look like ancient texts and complex diagrams. In one room, you glimpse a team carefully examining what appears to be an old manuscript under specialized lighting.

As you continue down the hallway, you notice a door that seems different from the others. It's made of dark, heavy wood and adorned with intricate carvings. Unlike the other doors which are open or have glass panels, this one is firmly shut.

Natasha catches you looking at it. "That area is off-limits, I'm afraid. Some of our more... sensitive projects require absolute secrecy."

You nod but can't help feeling a prickle of curiosity. What could be behind that door that requires such concealment?

Natasha guides you to an elevator at the end of the hall. As you step inside, you notice there are more floors than you would have expected from the outside view of the mansion.

"We have quite extensive facilities underground," Natasha explains as she presses a button for one of the lower levels. "It allows us to maintain the historical integrity of the mansion's exterior while having all the modern amenities we need for our work."

The elevator descends smoothly, and when the doors open, you find yourself in a sleek, modern space that contrasts sharply with the ornate decor above. The walls are a pristine white, and the floors are polished concrete. The lighting is bright but not harsh, giving the space a clean, almost clinical feel.

Natasha leads you down a corridor lined with glass-walled rooms. In one, you see people in lab coats hunched over microscopes. In another, a group is gathered around a large touch screen, manipulating 3D models of what look like ancient artifacts.

"This is our primary research facility," Natasha says, leading you down a wide corridor. "We have some of the most advanced technology in the world at our disposal here."

As you walk, you pass by rooms with glass walls, allowing you to see inside. In one, you spot what looks like a holographic projection of a complex molecule rotating in mid-air. In another, a team of scientists in white lab coats huddle around a table, examining something you can't quite make out.

You pause for a moment, trying to take it all in. The contrast between the classical architecture upstairs and this futuristic facility is striking. "This is incredible," you say, unable to keep the awe from your voice. "I had no idea the Foundation had such advanced capabilities."

Natasha's lips curl into a satisfied smile. "We pride ourselves on being at the cutting edge of research and technology. It's essential for some of our work. We’re also one of the few science labs in the world that still is granted an affiliation with the nation of Wakanda."

As you continue down the corridor, you notice a few doors that aren't made of glass like the others. These are solid metal, with keycard readers and what look like biometric scanners next to them.

"What's behind those doors?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you.

Natasha's expression doesn't change, but you sense a slight shift in her demeanor. "Those are our most sensitive research areas. Access is strictly limited to senior researchers and leadership."

As if orchestrated for this precise moment, the doors slide open, and two men emerge, engaged in a heated discussion. Or, rather, one of them is heated, and the other is shooting back casual, sarcastic comments.

Natasha clears her throat, “Gentlemen.”

They both stop.

“We have company,” she says, gesturing to you.

The two men turn to face you, and your jaw nearly drops as you instantly recognize them. Standing before you are none other than Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, two of the most famous figures in the world and certainly at the Foundation.

Tony Stark, looking every bit the billionaire genius he's known to be, is dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that probably costs more than your current yearly salary. His goatee is perfectly trimmed, and his hair is styled with just the right amount of casual messiness. There's a faint blue glow visible beneath his shirt - the arc reactor that's become his trademark.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Tony says, his eyes sparkling with curiosity and mischief. He steps forward, extending his hand. "Tony Stark. But you probably knew that already."

As you shake his hand, you can't help but feel a bit starstruck. Tony Stark's grip is brief but firm and confident, his smile charming yet slightly calculating as he sizes you up.

"And this strapping specimen of American values is Steve Rogers," Tony adds, gesturing to the man beside him.

Steve, standing tall and broad-shouldered, offers you a warm smile that seems to light up the room. He's dressed more casually than Tony in khakis and a fitted blue shirt that barely contains his muscular frame. His handshake is strong but gentle, and his blue eyes radiate sincerity.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Steve says, his voice deep and reassuring. "I hope you're enjoying your tour of our facilities."

You manage to find your voice, introducing yourself. “The tour has been nothing but fascinating and impressive so far,” you affirm.

Tony's eyes gleam with interest. "Oh, you’re the one they’ve been wooing, eh? I was sent no less than five reminders this morning that I was to be on my best behavior,” he discloses with a wink.

Natasha rolls her eyes, and you have the suspicion Steve only barely restrains himself from doing so.

"Anyway, welcome to the Foundation," Tony says.

"Stark is supposed to be one of our most valuable researchers," Natasha explains.

"Eh, that’s why you send Steve down to get me back in line when I’m pursuing tangential projects."

This time Steve does roll his eyes.

You can't help but chuckle at the banter between Tony and Steve. Their dynamic is exactly as you'd imagined from what you've seen in the media - Tony's quick wit and sarcasm playing off Steve's more serious demeanor.

"So, what do you think of our little operation so far?" Tony asks, gesturing broadly at the surrounding facility. "Pretty impressive, right?"

Before you can answer, Natasha interjects smoothly. "I'm sure our guest is finding everything quite fascinating, but we should continue the tour. I'm sure you both have important work to get back to."

Tony raises an eyebrow at Natasha, a silent exchange seeming to pass between them. "Right, right. Important work. Can't keep the world waiting, can we?" He turns back to you with a grin. "It was a pleasure meeting you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you around."

“You’ll at the very least be seeing me,” Steve says. “I believe I’m scheduled to join you for lunch.”

“And I’m not invited?” Tony protests, but he sports an unrepentant grin rather than any genuine offense.

Steve puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder to steer him away, “You’re not the Executive Director of the Foundation, so, no.”

Tony shrugs out of his grip, “And remind me why that is?”

“‘All administrative, no science,’ as you aptly put it so many times when you remind me why you don’t want to listen to what I say.”

“Right,” Tony replies, but does fall into step with Steve heading down the corridor.

As they leave, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and bewilderment. Meeting two such prominent figures so casually during your interview process only adds to the surreal nature of this experience.

Natasha gently touches your elbow and guides you away from the metal doors and continues down the corridor. "My apologies for that interruption," she says, though her tone suggests she's not entirely displeased. "Mr. Stark has a tendency to... make an impression."

You nod, still processing the encounter. "It's no problem at all. I'm just surprised to see them here. I knew they were involved with the Foundation, but I didn't realize they were so hands-on."

Natasha's lips curl into a knowing smile. "The Winged Heritage Foundation values the direct involvement of all its key members. You'll find that everyone here, regardless of their public status or their position in our organization, contributes actively to our mission.”

She leads you through more state-of-the-art laboratories and research facilities, each more impressive than the last, before returning to the elevator to bring you surface-level again.

As the elevator ascends, you find your mind racing with questions. The encounter with Stark and Rogers, the glimpses of cutting-edge technology, and the air of mystery surrounding certain areas of the facility have only heightened your curiosity about the true nature of the Winged Heritage Foundation is, showing you so much, but not truly illuminating any answers.  

NEXT PART: LUNCH

Welcome to the Winged Heritage Foundation, lovelies. This is only the beginning... Where will this day take you? And what is going on here?

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[astroismypassion]

Astrology observations 🌌🌌

Credit goes to my Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

🌌 Virgo MC can’t really get away with “bad decisions”. For example, if they don’t eat well, overindulge, they are more likely to get backlash or criticism from people.

💙 Retrograde Mars people can often percieve themselves as not enough sexually desirable. They might think people don’t want to have sex with them.

💜 People with Capricorn Moon or Moon in the 10th house and other Earth Moon feel like their mental health starts get better if they just begin doing chores.

🌌 Neptune in the 4th house and Pisces IC native is that family member that can’t ever be blamed. Family members might even fear hurting this native due to how innocent they are and that they have the most unconditional love out of all family members.

💙 Gemini Suns are scared of gossip. Because they are aware of the fact that even a made-up thing can be turned into “a fact” too quickly and that people can end up taking a misconstructed thing as the whole reality.

💜 To me Virgo Venus has “minimalist” aesthetic, Taurus Venus “quiet luxury” aesthetic, Pisces Venus “coastal grand daughter” or “cottagecore” aesthetic and Capricorn Venus “preppy” or “dark academia” aesthetic.

🌌 I noticed Scorpio Moons most often only have one active social media account. Like they would use JUST Tiktok or just Tumblr, just Instagram and nothing else.

💙 Neptune in the 1st house women enjoy colouring their hair and changing colour. This is even more prominent if they also have Uranus in the 1st house.

💜 Women with Virgo Mars might have a husband that is gluten or dairy free. Also, your partner might have really nice skin if Virgo Mars is located in the 9th house or the 2nd, but if it’s in the 8th house or aspected with Pluto, he could actually struggle with keeping a healthy skin, could be prone to acne.

🌌 Musicians who have Gemini North Node or North Node in the 3rd house were discovered on Youtube or on a social media platform.

💙People with Scorpio over the 12th house or Pluto in the 12th house might help or serve ill people, such as granting the wish of critically ill people.

💜 You might buy food, food brands or meals from people who share your Moon sign. As an example: if you are Taurus Moon, you buy food items made by Taurus Sun people. If you are ans Aries Moon, you support food brands made by Aries Sun.

🌌 Leo Rising hair always stands out. Even if they are bald, have buzz cut, thin or frizzy hair. People tend to remember their hair the most.

💙 Gemini Mercury loove saying “fun fact…”. 😂

💜 Sagittarius Mars natives might really like their first time (having sex).

🌌 And also a side note, I noticed a pattern that people tend to describe their first time mostly with their Mars sign traits. If it’s Cancer Mars, they felt really comfortable and it was probably with someone they really, really liked and had a crush on for a very long time. Virgo Mars could point that it might have been a quickie or you paused and had a second round. It could also mean that you first started with a hand job, oral. Taurus Mars could also mean your first time started with a blow job (Taurus rules throat). Like 8th house sign also comes into the consideration.

💙 Taurus Moon people love having a drink with them. They love a cup or glass in hands. Such as grabing a smoothie, a cup of coffee, tea or a matcha. It just comforts them.

💜 Pisces Venus looks really good in emerald green clothing.

🌌 I noticed that one MC that is really common among celebrities that almost never (or very rarely) receives hate is Taurus MC celebrities. Real life examples would be Emma Chamberlain, Selena Gomez, Emma Stone, Margot Robbie, Eddie Redmayne, Blake Lively, Gemma Arterton etc. These people are really, really loved by the public. Also sometimes Capricorn Venus or Venus in the 10th house, but not to the same extent as Taurus MC. They can’t do wrong in the public’s eye. It’s like it’s very NOT to like them.

💙 Virgo Lilith women enjoy wearing bows and ribbons in their hair.

💜 People with Gemini Descendant or Gemini over the 7th house often talk down on their own beauty. They might have really glowing skin, but would still say “Yeah, but it’s still not *perfect* looking skin”. Or they might point out more their “beauty/appearance quirks” (uneven teeth, frizzy hair etc.) just so that people don’t end up idealizing them too much or build expectations for them.

🌌 I noticed Capricorn Moons with time love more luxurious pieces, otherwise in younger years (before Saturn Return) they quite love rather cheap stuff.

💙If you have Gemini over the 7th house people can often question the character of your spouse, committed partner. If you have Gemini over the 4th house people can question your mother's character or that of your loved ones, close friends.

💜 Men with Libra Moon often feel threatened by beautiful, conventionally attractive women. However, they also have this deep need of satisfying perfect beauty so they often pick models as their partner or women that look well-balanced, harmonious and have striking physical features, which sometimes intimidates them even more.

🌌 Pluto in the 8th house people or Scorpio over the 8th house might have regrets if they quit a sport they were really passionate about. They have more guilt than others of not sticking with it.

💙 I can’t stress enough how important is for Cancer Moons and Moon in the 4th house to stay in touch with the things they grew up with. It soothes them the best and it really benefits their emotional and mental wellbeing. If you have this placements, watch movies or series you enjoyed when growing up, build a pillow fort, listen to top hits from that time that remind of childhood/teenage nostalgia.

💜 The public and people always want Virgo MC to leak that daily routine👀 Like people are so interested in how they spend their day and what their day-to-day life looks like.

🌌 Virgo Moon (but also Gemini Moon to a certain extent) can act very stingy in their home. They would keep the lights off just so that the electricity bill will be smaller.

💙 I noticed people that are the most consistent with daily work outs tend to have Capricorn Moon or Moon in the 10th house. Because they can detach from feelings, even when they don’t feel like working out.

💜 Leo Risings often end up doing a job, profession or have a career that doesn’t really feel like a regular job. It’s like one of their hobbies for them. They also are found in jobs where they entertain, not necessarily on stage, it can also be on a social media platform.

Credit goes to my Tumblr blog @astroismypassion

[noise-vs-signal]

Serpentine Vibrations

Sing the notes of the scale, ascending the ladder (spine) from lowest to highest.

Move on to sounding the vowel from each note. Feel how your mouth changes shape for each one, and practice different ways of singing and vibrating these.

For each vowel visualise and feel the appropriate planetary sphere at each station along your central axis (axis mundi).

The low bass of Red Mars, molten magma, iron will, will to live, life force. Om, ॐ, Aum, primeval sound, Omega, Ω, Ouroboros, world serpent, coiled 3 and a 1/2 times at the base of the spine, the base of the world tree.

The songs of Orange Mercury, the serpent undulating across the desert sands, sibilant syllables, the sacred letters and words, the world as language, Aleph, א, the Alphabet, Alpha and Omega, twin serpents twined round the caduceus, the spiral of DNA.

The music of the Yellow Sun, light and beauty, Eros, desire, energy and electricity, the serpent basking in the Sun, its warmth and heat, curled round the fire.

The release and pleasure of Green Venus, Amor, Love, Aphrodite, Viriditas, Mother Nature, Gaia, the emerald scales of the serpent, emerald stone in the crown of Lucifer, Morning Star, Venus.

The clarion call of Blue Jupiter, the bass note of Mars now at a higher level, Odin, All Father, the song of the runes, cerulean sky, Ouranos, Odysseus, πολύτροπος, shape shifter, serpent twisting and turning.

The symphony of the Indigo Moon, her different phases, from dark to light, the mirror of Artemis, the wisdom of Athena, Ariadne, Shiva's 3rd Eye, serpent shedding its skin, shedding the outer world.

The vibration and frequencies of Ultraviolet Saturn, Time encircling us, the fire in which we burn, Kali dancing on Shiva's corpse, Ecstasy, Serpent becoming the Great Dragon, the Phoenix, Exit into Eternity ...

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: This is my first time ever writing fanfic. I have been reading fanfic on this godforsaken app since I was 12, and have been encouraged blindly by my best friend to post this. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 4: The Pink Dread

Your uncle casually walked up the stairs, not acknowledging his tardiness, long legs pulling him towards the table. He wore black leather pants and heavy leather boots so that you could hear the intention in every step he took, though you knew this to be an illusion. If he didn’t want you to know he was coming, you wouldn’t. 

A white dress shirt was neatly and meticulously tucked into his pants that were held up with a dark leather belt. On his hip lay his sword, which if you didn’t know any better, you would think it was attached to his flesh. You thought to yourself he must eat, sleep and bathe with it on his person.

He was the only member of the Greens that did not follow their coloured attire. No green could be found upon his body, except for a small golden ring that sat on his pinky, with a large emerald sitting in its centre.

He wore a simple black leather coat that flowed gently down his slender and toned body. Slits cut through the material neatly on the back, so that the coat would move without catching, and allowed for the long end of his sword to peek through. 

Walking round the table, he sat at the opposite end facing you. Keeping his eyes on his mother he muttered a soft “Forgive me”, before sitting down slowly. Once seated his one good eye slid across the table to stare directly into yours, slowly looking down your body. That same sly smirk sliding across his lips once more, sending heat down your neck. 

Breaking away from the eye contact, you sought out your mother who was looking at you knowingly. A silent command to behave.

You reached forward for your goblet and drained it. The tart red liquid sliding down your throat, leaving a burning warmth in its trail. Leaning back you held up your cup to gain the attention of one of the maids, who stepped forward to refill it, before bowing and stepping back against the wall. You softly thanked her, taking a smaller sip and placing it back down upon the table. 

King Viserys stood slowly, his large chair scraping slightly against the stone flooring. Reaching forward with his one arm, he clasped the goblet and raised it, 

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems.” 

He breathed heavily, leaning slightly to his left to gaze upon your brothers, 

“My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena,” 

A slow smile rising on his lips, “further strengthening the bond between our houses.” 

He paused to look across the Green side of the table, Alicent sat pin straight with her hands still in her lap, Helaena had raised her eyes to shyly smile at her nephews and cousins, whilst Aegon was looking into his goblet as if he wished to fall straight in.

Aemond however, was still staring directly at you, not having moved an inch, lips upturned challenging you to look away, and so you did.

“A toast to the young Princes... and their betrothed.” Your Grandsire concluded joyously.

“Hear, Hear!” was heard across the table, albeit its enthusiasm lacking from certain parties.

Carefully King Viserys sat back down, with Alicent and Rhaenyra clutching at opposite sides to guide him, their eyes flitting to each other in a silent understanding. 

After a few moments of discomfort, your mother abruptly stood, pushing her chair back and reaching forward sharply to grab her goblet. The Greens flinched at the sudden movement and you felt pride in knowing your mother still commanded the room in one way or another. 

“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen.” She started, Alicent’s head whipping to your mothers, eyes holding a deep scepticism.

“I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife.” 

Rhaenyra looked across the table, gazing at her father and letting her eyes land on Alicent’s.

"She has tended to him with... unfailing devotion, love, and honour.” 

The Princess spoke gently and honestly, “And for that, she has my gratitude…” She paused as she let her eyes flit back across the table and then down at her goblet,

“And my apology.”

Queen Alicent’s face softened, as she looked from her lost childhood friend and back down to her hands. 

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess.” 

There was a sorrowful air to her voice, “We are both mothers…” she looked to her own, then back to Rhaenyra.

“And we love our children.” 

She slowly stood as your mother sat back into her seat, Daemons hand coming to clutch hers and held it on the table in show.

“We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” 

Alicent picked up her goblet which she had not touched thus far, 

“I raise my cup to you... and to your house.” 

She paused and breathed in deeply, as if preparing herself for her next words.

“You will make a fine queen.” 

Rhaenyra stared at her in shock but then a small smile worked its way to her lips. 

Your father, younger siblings and cousins grasped their cups and held them high, loudly proclaiming “Hear, Hear!”.

Taking a deep sip alongside them, and glancing along the table, you saw that Aegon was still gazing deeply into his cup. Helaena however, was proudly holding out her goblet and softly spoke with us, taking a gentle sip before placing it back down and keeping her gaze upon you.

As you all settled back into your chairs, music slowly began to fill the room and the sounds of chatter and clinking cutlery filled the atmosphere. Outside a storm slowly rolled in, the low rumbles of thunder and flashes of lightning filling the room.

Aemond still sat in the same position, not having moved, and not having lifted his goblet, with Alicent watching him intently. Every moment he stared at you, you felt anger rise inside of you, making you clench your teeth in annoyance.

The tension slowly lifted after Rhaenyra and Alicent’s words; a subtle treaty and perhaps a new beginning. 

Pulling some turkey leg onto your plate and helping yourself to some steaming vegetables you slowly began to chew, listening to stories from your Grandsire and siblings, watching them bounce off of each other whilst Alicent occasionally joined in to share the sudden joy. 

Aemond continued to watch you, unblinking like a predator hunting its prey from across the room. He had not touched any food, nor gone to serve himself a meal; his plate remained empty. He simply sat and stared.

You knew that he was doing this to get you to react, to push you into causing a scene but you would not ruin this night for your Grandsire or mother, who needed it more than anything. So instead, you opted to keep your eyes on your end of the table for the duration of your meal despite the prickling sensation of his gaze. 

You looked about the table, watching as everyone interacted in their own ways. This could have been your lives if Alicent had not become poisoned by her fathers ambitions.

Otto Hightower had ruined the bond her and your mother had, causing a fracture throughout your family. It was a bittersweet moment and you felt yourself yearning to speak to Helaena again after many years apart. 

King Viserys had become increasingly unwell during the feast, the pain from his ailment making him weak and groan. Alicent and your mother both called the Knights guards to come escort him back to his chambers.

As he came past you, you stood and kissed his face and hand gently, bid him a goodnight, praying that the gods would be kinder to him.

You all watched as your Grandsire was escorted back to his chambers and feeling emboldened by the wine in your system, you quickly walked down the table. Your skirts flowing behind you as your hair was swept up with each step. Once next to Helaena, she looked up at you and smiled brightly. 

Reaching your hand out you spoke loudly, “Care to join me for a dance Aunt Helaena?”

Beaming up at you she nodded vigorously, taking your hand firmly and quickly jumping out of her seat. You both walked to the centre of the room and began to twirl around each other, giggling and smiling, much like you used to as children. 

After a quick spin you went forward and grasped her hands, gazing at her, “I have missed you so much Helaena, life is not the same without you!” 

She sadly smiled back and squeezed your hands, “I’m sure it isn’t too unbearable.” 

“There are far too many men at Dragon Stone, I feel as though I’m being suffocated by them! Please promise me that you will come visit! I couldn’t bear to go another year without seeing you again.” 

You pulled her in for a tight hug which she reciprocated softlyAs you held each other in the giddiness of your reunion, Helaena murmured into your ear gently. 

“Beware the beast beneath the boards”.

You pulled back to look at her, her face was blank. You nodded to show her you heard, and she went back to smiling once more. This was not the first time she had uttered her dreams to you, though you always struggled to decipher them.

After a few seconds of holding onto each other, your brother Jacaerys stood and walked towards you both, asking gently if he could dance with his aunt. Giving her hands one last squeeze and smiling lovingly at her, you gave her hands to your brother. 

Walking back to your seat, you watched as Aemond now had his attention fixated on your brother and his sisters' peals of laughter, as they childishly danced together. Alicent and her father Otto, smiled watching and laughed alongside the table. 

You sat back down in your seat as more food was brought out. Most of the food would not be touched as the wine and ale flowed heavily. All drank greedily from their cups, faces flushed.

Except for Aemond, who’s lone eye was fixed on the back of his nephew. His lips were no longer upturned and a scowl made the scar across his face wrinkle in places. 

Wishing to take the heat of his glare off of your brothers back you spoke out to your uncle.

“Prince Aemond, were you riding Vhagar this evening? I thought I saw her soaring up into the sky. When you didn’t arrive on time, I worried that a storm had come and taken you.”

Your father Daemon stared at you, emotions unreadable and your mothers glance warned you to not poke at the beast; perhaps that is what Helaena was trying to warn you of. 

Slowly Aemond turned his head to look at you, feigning disinterest as he reached forward to grasp at his goblet with his long slender fingers.

“I was merely enjoying the night sky, dear niece. It’s not everyday you have the world's largest dragon, and I make a habit of reminding myself of that.” 

He stared intently at Lucerys and Baela, taunting them. Baela’s hands were clenched in her lap, whilst he let his lone eye drift to them, and then back to you before taking a shallow sip of his wine.

You leant back to continue,

“We can thank the Seven that you weren’t caught in the weather. I had a terrifying vision of you falling from Vhagar and sinking into the depths of the sea.” 

You smiled gently at him as you reached for your goblet.

“Thank the Gods you made it this evening to join us all again. I can scarcely remember the last time we were here all together.” 

You slyly took a sip of your wine, your mother growling your name lowly in warning at you, whilst Daemon sat back and smirked.

Alicent sat up straighter, clearly sensing the tension and eyed her son cautiously. His smirk dropped from his face. The last time you were all together was when he lost his eye.

Slowly he tilted his head, continuing to stare at you, but this time with liquid courage running through your veins you refused to look away, instead you stared right back; challenging him. 

He must have found this amusing as he smirked sharply, a deep “Hm.” coming from his chest and he took another yet deeper sip from his goblet.

Still staring at you he swirled the remainder of his drink, shifting his eye to it before looking back up at you, but as he opened his mouth to speak, two servants placed a large roasted pig upon the table in front of him. 

You believed in that moment that the Gods planned for this.

Lucerys softly giggled and looked away and you proudly smiled, glancing at Aegon before looking back to your one eyed uncle and speaking loudly.

“Is that not your first dragon uncle Aemond? What had you named it again? The Pink Dread?” 

Small giggles ran across the table and even Aegon smirked, looking at the perfectly roasted pig sitting in front of his brother. 

Slamming his hands upon the table, Aemond stood up sharply, making your father sit higher in his seat. The room quietened as Aemond violently reached forward to grab his now almost empty goblet, raising it forward towards you.

“Final tribute” He spoke loudly with sinister conviction, that sly smirk finding its way back onto his face,

“To the health of my nephews, Jace….” He looked across to see my brother paused with Helaena, still hand in hand,

“Luke and Joffrey” He paused, and slid his eye back to you. “Each of them handsome, wise…” Paused again, then continued, his smirk deepening whilst Alicent shifted in her seat, 

“Hm… Strong.” 

“Aemond.”  Alicent snapped sharply at him.

Your hands balled into fists in your lap as you tensed your jaw. A flittering thought crossed your mind to grab the fork closest to you and jam it into his only good eye.

He continued, 

“And to my darling niece,” 

He stared into you, slowly sipping on his drink as his mother begged him with her eyes to stop. Aegon sat in quiet amusement sipping on his goblet which had been refilled as he watched you.

“Some cast doubts about her strength, but I can see that she is just as strong as her brothers.” 

Your uncle raised his goblet and took a large sip, smiling at you. 

Alicent reprimanded him, apologising profusely to yourself and your mother. All you felt was a seeping white heat traveling over your body. How dare he not only call yourself but your brother's bastards so confidently.

"Let us raise our cups, to these three Strong boys, and their Strong sister." He purred.

"I dare you to say that again." Jace called across the room.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?"

After all these years away, he seemed to have festered like a fungus. You wished to squish him under your boot.

You unclenched your hands. Small crimson beads began to rise to the surface, where your nails had ripped through your skin.

You watched as Jace ran forward and punched Aemond across the face, your uncle barely moving from the hit. Aemond smiled a vicious smile as he turned his head back, not a single drop of wine spilled from his cup as he pushed your brother to the ground with one hand.

Shooting up from your seat, the small drops of blood began to drip down your hands, catching your mother and Alicent's eyes. Luke shot up to help Jace, but Aegon intercepted, slamming him down onto the table.

“Y/n.”  Rhaenyra quietly warned. 

But your father Daemon subtly nodded, silently giving you the permission you had been seeking, for he had caught you eyeing the fork in front of you. 

Snatching the cold utensil you clutched it tightly in your fist. 

“Say that again. Say that again I dare you!” 

You yelled across the table, and all fell silent again except the soft pattering of rain hitting against the windows as the storm grew louder. 

Helaena flinched in her seat whilst Queen Alicent softly reached towards your side of the table,

“Princess Y/n, pl-“  

You interrupted her,

“No. I want to hear what my uncle has to say.” You heaved a breath, 

“Speak Aemond, so that we may hear your treasonous lies again.”  The words rushed out of your mouth, before you could stop them. 

The wine and adrenaline coursed through you, guiding your anger. There was no question that you had the fire of the dragon within you. You were a Targaryen through and through. 

Aemond stayed silent as he watched the reaction of the room unfold. You had given him exactly what he wanted, but you didn’t care. You wanted to hurt him. His lip twitched into a smile, white teeth peeking through his lips.

Your chair flew back behind you and crashed against the floor, as you began to storm towards him, fork clutched tightly in your hand, blood dripping down your wrists to create a small trail behind you. You dodged the other guards, racing up to your smiling uncle, weapon tightly clenched in your fist.

He stood still, smirking, sipping on his goblet, unmoving as you rushed forward to push the fork up under his chin, the four prongs hard against his throat, yet not puncturing him.

“Say. That. Again.” You hissed, looking up at him, chest heaving in breaths.

Yet, he still simply stared down at you smirking, as he slowly lifted his goblet once more to his lips, taking another sip in a silent challenge to you. 

You swiped your free hand up and knocked his cup out of his hand, sending it flying onto the table, spilling its contents onto Aegon's already creased shirt.

Lucerys moved swiftly around the table to run to you but Aegon intercepted him, grabbing the young boy by the scruff of his neck before slamming him down onto the table.

Several chairs pushed backwards along the stone floor.

Jacaerys moved to come towards his younger brother Luc but halted as a booming voice broke the silence.

"Keligon." (Stop.) Came Daemons voice from behind you. He sighed loudly as two warm arms wrapped around your waist. One slowly reaching forward to grasp at the hand wielding the fork at Aemonds throat.

Daemon pulled on your arm, whispering lowly into your ear, “Ivestragī ziry jikagon.” (Let it go.) You did not budge.

He sighed. The Prince roughly pulled the fork away from his nephews throat as he pulled you back and away from Aemond, his smirk now gone from his face as he stared up at your father behind you.

The Rogue Prince stared back. 

Prince Daemon looked to Aemond, lowering his voice so that only you and the man before you could hear, “Issa ñuha tala."               (She is my daughter.)

The young Prince continued to stand still, although his stare began to falter, his eye flickering between the two of you. Looking at your features intently.

“To your room! Now!” Alicent commanded before he could respond.

Aemond did not move.

He slid eye down your body, which shook in anger, letting the warmth of his gaze linger on your chest before slinking back up to your eyes. 

“Now.” Alicent repeated, suddenly behind her son.

“Rȳbagon naejot aōha muña, riñītsos” (Listen to your mother, boy.) Daemon mocked, leaning back releasing you from his hold only to push you backwards behind him.

You stumbled over your feet at the harsh push, your chest heaving in anger as you stared at the One-Eyed Prince.

“Hm.” Came that same grating hum from your uncle before he slinked around you and walked out the doors. 

You watched him as he left, the leather of his coat sweeping behind him as he swayed with each step.

Alicent continued to apologise profusely to your mother, whilst she tended to Jace and Luc's anger.

Daemon took hold of your shoulders and turned you to face him.

“Ao tolī.”  (You too.) He spoke softly brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“Kessa, kepa.” You nodded. (Yes, father.)

Daemon leant forward and brushed a soft kiss to your hairline and bid you goodnight. 

You turned to face Helaena who still sat in her seat looking at her hands, repeating 'Beware the beast beneath the boards' over and over again into her lap. 

Softly apologising to the room, you bowed your head and began to walk down the short steps, the two Knights opened the door for you. You took one final glance towards the room.

Helaena had turned around to give you a whisper of a smile to which you returned one gratefully. 

Alicent and your mother stood off to the side, hands held together speaking softly as your brothers and cousins were dismissed to their chambers after you.

You took a deep breath and stepped out, feeling that you didn’t entirely ruin the evening, and made your way to retire to your chambers for bed. 

[minecraft]

gem cuts rant

imo when it comes to gem cuts round brilliant is soulless and uninteresting. like the shape itself feels like it removes soul from stones somehow. old mine cuts are fucking awesome. oval cut is similar to round but actually has a soothing egg-like energy to it. ascher cut is cool as fuck but only on lighter colored stones. cushion and pear cut are way underrated. square princess is ugly most of the time usually unless the stones are pink or very light colored. emerald cut is overrated and should only be used on emeralds or green stones and octagon radiant is way nicer and better looking than emerald cut like 90% of the time. trillion cut is dumb but i kind of like it even though i feel like i shouldn't. marquise cut feels cheap and "off" to me somehow and heart shaped is great but is definitely a love it or hate it type deal. better for red and pink stones because ofc.

[smudgingpumpkins]

BELTANE

May Day / Fire Festival

When is Beltane?

It is celebrated on the first day of May, marking the near-beginning of summertime. May 1st is roughly the halfway point between the spring equinox and the summer solstice.

What does Beltane mean?

"Beltane" can be inferred as the Gaelic word for "bright fire." It signifies that the days are growing longer and warmer, and welcomes fertility, life, and love. The veil between the human world and the spirit world has become thin, connecting us to fairies, nature spirits, and the dead.

Who does Beltane celebrate?

One may worship any fertility deity on Beltane, including Cernunnos, the Celtic God of vegetation, fauna, and fertility; Flora, the Roman Goddess of flowers, fertility, and springtime; and Belenus, the Celtic God of the sun, fire, and healing.

----------

BELTANE TRADITIONS

Work with stones that activate the heart and spirit, including rhodonite, rhodochrosite, rose quartz, emerald, and jade.

Use fresh, sweet-smelling flowers and herbs like roses, dandelions, lavender, mugwort, woodruff, and spearmint, all in which promote solace, pain relief, self-love, and spiritual healing. Mugwort may be beneficial to relieving colic and pain during mensuration.

Prepare and consume meals with honey, mint, and lemon, each considered aphrodisiacs. This mix of sweet and refreshing marks the revival of flora and fauna in the warming months. These three ingredients are also relatively hardy and are available year-round, symbolizing vitality and spirit.

Decorate and adorn yourself with soft pinks, greens, whites, and yellows.

Incorporate animal imagery (e.g., figurines, photographs, drawings, et cetera) of birds, cattle, stags, and other creatures associated with crop, fertility and strength.

BELTANE ACTIVITIES

Create and/or wear a flower crown. Use seasonal flowers--especially white, yellow, and orange flowers to represent fire--and decorate your hair with them!

Take a ritual bath: add lavender, coarse salts, mint, and rose petals to your relaxing bath.

Light a fire. Safely light a bonfire and indulge as you would like: sit and chat by the fire, feast over it, or safely dance around it. You could also take a blank sheet a paper, write down one thing you would like to achieve in the year to come, and then toss it into the flames.

Dance around the Maypole. The maypole is a ceremonial folk dance performed to ensure fertility and union. People dance around a tall wooden maypole and weave colored ribbons by walking in a circle in opposite directions from each other.

Make a Beltane altar. In the center of the altar, add an image/icon of a fertility god(dess) of your choice, and decorate around it with seasonal flowers, bells, burning candles, soft colors, and sugar or honey.

Get creative with recipes! Carlota Santos, who is the author of Magika, recommends drinking freshly made lemonade and baking buttery sugar cookies!

Carlota Santos’ Beltane Cookie Recipe

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter seven.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 3.7K

Summary: Day 160 - also known as the day Levi found you in the middle of the night.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Eventual Romance, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Touch Starved Idiots, Masturbation

( Read on AO3 )

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

She’s borderline insane.

As days past, day into night and night into day, that is all Levi can think about. Even when he knocks you down, you're still getting back up. Even when he bests you, you ask for another round. You’re still putting your fists up like you can take him, like you’ve got an ace up your sleeve for his eventual downfall.

Except that card was played long before you got fucked in the head.

(You were always fucked in the head, in an ironic way, since the day he met you.)

Truth is, he likes sparring with you. You'll proudly sport a bruise, two, five. You'll hold your chin high as you limp into the mess hall, undeterred by a pulled muscle in your leg.

In a way, there's a sliver here that feels like nothing ever went wrong.

You're still you.

And because you're still you, he won’t go easy on your daily training — can’t, not when he can feel you judging from across the dirt circle, waiting for the second he'll go soft and let you crack a decent uppercut or a surprise kick.

You’re right to assume such; there's no reason to bruise your ego on top of the bluish-green patches on your body. He finds himself holding back only when you stumble.

(The spineless higher-ups really should come out here for just a day see how determined you are to stay on your feet.)

Levi says up — you’re already standing. Levi says don’t think — you’re already acting.

He doesn’t need to urge you to fight harder, because you do it all on your own.

You don’t need him.

You’ve never needed him.

Yet you seek him out anyway, with every free moment you have. Levi Ackerman has to stay poised, controlled, distant.

God forbid you get the wrong idea, like somehow he’s going to buckle at the knee and cave with all of his sins at your altar. 

He’s never been one to pray, so why would he feel the need to confess?

He doesn’t need the questions. You don’t need the judgment from the rest of the team. The arrangement works for what it is:

Compromise.

Except he can’t fucking sleep when you’re here under the same roof. He incessantly fidgets in his captain’s quarters, pacing back and forth over and over in a broken-record loop.

Why is he so agitated all the time? Why is he so restless?

Every time he thinks about knocking on your door after hours, Levi drags on his chickenshit pants and turns the other way.

Every time he considers asking you to join him on a walk around the grounds for a patrol, he shoves his mouth with soup and leaves the mess hall hungry.

Every time he so much as thinks about you, he wants to bash his fucking head through the wall.

You’re right there.

You’re right goddamn there, and he can’t do a thing about it.

Tonight, however, is different — because his late-night pacing gets interrupted. Through an open window, he sees it play out in real time: a person with an emerald cloak and a lantern leading their way to the… stables?

No. Levi side-steps the billowing curtains at his bedroom window to watch the person below feel their way through the dark, clearly looking for something, until their fingers catch onto a thick patch of vines that lovingly caress the side of the supply building to…

Climb it?

Squinting, the captain shifts off the heel of his boot to lean beyond the window's edge.

The person outdoors struggles to climb one handed, yet they eventually manage to get to the top. They drop the lantern on the stone roof, resting on all fours to catch their breath.

When their hood flicks off of their head as their chin lifts to the sky, his eyes abruptly widen.

It’s you.

He’d know that hair anywhere.

Like a bat out of hell, Levi grabs his own cloak and rushes out of his bedroom before he can stop to think about what the fuck he’s doing.

If you’re in trouble, then he needs to know. If there’s something wrong, he has to ask—

(Why is he so fucking frazzled all the goddamn time anymore?)

By the time he reaches the supply building, he can see it: the faint glow of your lantern fading in and out from view, expanding and contracting. Levi swiftly uses both hands to climb the veins, popping his head over the roof’s edge.

You’re sitting cross-legged, staring up at the sky.

His chest constricts as the flame of the lantern wavers.

“Hey.”

It’s almost cute, how much you jump in the air with a chortle of frightened surprise. You fumble for the lantern like it’s about to topple over before snapping your attention back at him, wide-eyed and startled. Levi keeps his expression neutral no matter how bad he wants to laugh.

Then you melt, like he is no danger to you.

That recognition.

Shit, he’s missed you remembering who he is.

“Captain.”

He doesn’t enjoy, however, how formal you get around him.

“No one’s here, shithead,” he replies, climbing the last two rings of the vines before dropping his knee to the roof. “You don’t have to do the Captain crap.”

Call me by my name, is what he quietly begs.

You answer, like he really has stumbled into your church at the midnight hour.

“Levi.”

He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose.

“The hell’re you doing up here?” he asks, keeping his voice monotone as he stands tall on the rooftop. 

Your eyes follow, still confused and nervous.

“I’m—” Are you sweating? “—I couldn’t sleep.”

Levi’s brow ticks. “Gunther snoring or something?”

You quickly shake your head, and immediately he can sense it: something is wrong.

Are you going to let him in? Is he going to get to hear about what the hell is going on in that cloudy head of yours?

(He could iron everything out so neatly, like a soft pressed shirt, if he lost his resolve.)

Cautious not to slip on the roof’s slant, Levi makes a slow descent to the reclined space you have yourself situated upon. You’re generous enough to move the lantern to the other side of you, allowing him space to sit beside you.

“Then what is it?” he asks carefully.

At first you don’t respond. The look in your eye is… new. Hazy. Like you’re caught between a dream and reality.

He squeezes his fists together at his sides so as not to reach out and shake your shoulder back to where he sits.

He shouldn’t.

He really shouldn’t.

“You can—”

Too late. Two words spill out, and you whip your attention so fast to him that his throat constricts like he’s got a severe case of allergies on the horizon.

Be brave, Ackerman, you dumbass.

“You can… talk to me, if you need an ear,” he grits out, wishing he had the tact like Erwin or the generosity like Hange right now. They’d softly lead you into the conversation, create a cushioned security blanket to fall back on.

All Levi’s ever had is his arms and the clothes on his back.

Your loop your wrist between a finger and a thumb, lost in the consideration of his offer, and when he open his mouth to dispel it — forget I asked, you don’t have to say shit to me — you let out a sharp breath and croak:

“I think I dreamed about what happened.”

His blood runs colder than the night sky.

“What do you mean?” Levi asks, unwilling to assume for himself.

You drop your arms to your butterfly-laid knees and sigh heavily, distantly. “I really have enjoyed sparring with you, you know.”

Oh.

So you’re going to switch the subject.

It’s that memory, and Levi fights — struggles — not to press harder.

“Have a thing for getting your ass kicked or something?” he brushes off, and you smile with your chin to your chest.

His jaw goes slack just watching it from his peripheral.

“We used to spar all the time in the Underground,” you reply. “I think… I think it just feels like home to me, y’know?”

You look too fast, catching the slack-jawed expression on his face, and scramble for a better explanation.

“Because we grew up there! That’s home.”

“The Underground City wasn’t home for us,” Levi tells you instead, shaking his head.

(That’s home — fuck, why do you have to say shit like that?)

“No?” you ask, and he shakes his head despite himself. “Sparring feels like it, though.”

Levi stretches his legs out on the roof, mindful not to touch the dirty surface with the palms of his hands. “Kicking the shit out of you every day just so you can remember yourself is one hell of a fucked-up plan, you know that, right?”

You snort, nodding. “Yeah, I’m aware it’s a little unorthodox.”

“A little?”

“A lot,” you correct, grinning. He has to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth not to smile back. “And it makes sense, since we used to work together before the Scouts.”

You say it with such conviction that he doesn’t even notice you’re setting up a trap.

“You remember that now, huh?” Levi asks.

You rest your chin on your shoulder, eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“Nope, but you confirmed it for me.”

Levi scowls at the dirty trick, rolling his eyes. “Little shit…”

“Well? Too late now, it’s in the open,” you urge, eyes rounding. “Right?”

He could kill you himself.

Metaphorically. Metaphysically. Spiritually.

So long as you’re physically still here, flesh and blood and beating heart.

“...if I give you this, then you’re never gonna quit asking.” But he’s feeling generous, especially now that you actually look sorry. You open your mouth, and he decides to beat you to the punch. “We were in a gang. Nothing glamorous.”

“With Isa?”

Levi can feel his face smoothing in surprise faster than he can look away.

The disbelief crawls and etches onto his expression, his body shivering from something colder than the night.

Isa.

A wave of sadness crashes at his shore and dissipates just as fast.

“Do you remember her?” Levi asks, softer than intended. "Isabel?"

He hopes you remember her. He hopes you remember all of them.

Even if he’s the last one that makes it to the roster, Levi wants you to have the good times in your back pocket so you remember why you’re fighting for humanity.

“The tomato thing,” you clarify with a softness that rivals his own. “The memory I had. You said I started sounding like Isa, wanting to go up to the surface. That we’d be happy up here. And it… yeah, I mean I can’t see Isabel's face, but I know there was a girl. And a guy, right?”

Is this really happening to him right now?

“Yeah,” he coughs to mask the strain in his vocal chords. “There was a guy.”

“Furlong.”

Levi couldn’t stop it even if he tried: the corner of his lip ticks upward. “Furlan.”

“Furlan…” You trail off, nodding to yourself. “That’s what his name was. Fuck, I kept saying Furlong, Furlong… but Furlan. Yeah. Isabel and Furlan. We all worked together?”

Speechless, all he can do is nod.

You don’t seem to notice the gravity of him, lost in your own orbit as you begin to ramble.

“We didn’t spar with them. That’s why all of my memories come from only us fighting. Not because they didn’t exist, but because they couldn’t keep up with us.”

You snort, shaking your head. Levi’s tongue is full of lead.

“There wouldn’t be a fair fight in sight. I mean, I think Furlan tried his best, but Isabel didn’t even try. She was too young, or at least I get the feeling she was younger than the rest of us. Sparring was only between us. We made it our thing.”

“Our secret language.”

Levi doesn’t know what the fuck possesses him to say that, but it’s out and open in the night air before he can stop himself from falling clear off the fucking roof.

He’s numb, his fingers frostbitten despite there being no breeze.

He isn’t brave enough to see your reaction.

His chin lifts to the moon.

“I fell, didn’t I?”

Your voice rips him clear from his stubbornness, forcing him to blink back at you. Your eyes are glossy, and his chest feels tight after forcing himself not to feel a damn thing at all.

“What?”

“The day I lost my memory. The day you… when I had my accident, or whatever.”

From such fond memories to the worst moment of his life, Levi has nothing to keep him afloat in this whiplash.

He can’t look away. He can’t even blink.

He’s fifteen all over again looking back at you, speechless and blank.

“My dream was bleak, to say the least,” you continue. He’s grateful for your voice overriding his racing thoughts. “But I don’t really know if it was a dream or reality. It all felt like a dream… but I can’t trust my dreams anymore, because half of the time they’re just memories.”

When Levi says nothing, you continue with a softer voice.

“I was flying through the trees. There were… screams, just… everywhere.” His teeth clench together, but he refuses to look away. Levi deserves this — to watch you tell boomerang his very own nightmares back to him. “I was trying to save this one person from getting eaten by a titan. Ten meters? Maybe thirteen? I couldn't tell. We were getting slaughtered out there by two abnormals that just wouldn’t quit.”

Levi doesn’t have the heart to say it.

If he could ease your pain, then he could lie.

He could say it’s just a dream.

(He was always so bad at lying to you.)

“There was one Scout half-eaten, hanging off a tree like he was… like he was just a leaf in the wind. I remember his cloak billowing. And — and I tried to recon with my ODM gear to go back for them. I tried saving them. I know the orders were to keep moving, and I…”

You look so haunted. Grief stricken.

This was the exact thing he was dreading, bringing you out here.

It’s too close to where it all went to shit.

Levi has to squeeze his fist from reaching for your shoulder.

“Go ahead, James,” he quietly reassures. “I’m listening.”

“I disobeyed your direct order, didn’t I?”

The way your eyes snap to his has him feeling cornered — it’s a rhetorical question that you want answered, verbally, here and now.

He can’t.

Levi merely nods once, and the devastation etched across your brow makes his stomach ache.

“You knew we couldn’t go back for you if you tried to save them,” Levi tells you, flat yet unsteady. “You knew.”

“And I did it anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“By myself.”

“Yeah.”

“And you came back for me anyway.”

(How vivid was this dream of yours?)

Levi sucks on his tongue, debating. Your eyes narrow in suspicion.

“Because you did come back for me, Levi.”

“James, how much do you remember about this?” he finally blurts, cutting straight through the hedge maze you’re formulating through storytelling to get to the point.

He has to know.

He has to hear it.

His bark makes you blink, recoiling with uncertainty, and he hates that — hates knowing he can’t let this play out when the guilt festers like a parasite in his stomach.

“A titan grabbed me,” you cautiously recall, the blood draining from your face. “I tried saving someone and a titan grabbed me out of mid-air. I fought it. I cut myself free, but it jammed my ODM gear.”

Levi frowns, ignoring the trembling in his right fist. “And how do you know I came back for you?”

At first you don’t reply. Your eyes round, as if surprised by the challenge.

The raven-haired man’s eyes narrow into slits, and he waits with a meanness that comforts him like a protective shield.

“How do you know?”

“Levi—”

“Because your not telling me—”

“I fell!”

That is not what Levi was waiting to hear.

“My fucking... ODM gear got jammed because I stupidly got caught by a titan, and I fought with it, then panicked and sliced my own… my own line. I fell.”

Your eyes get glossy again, voice nothing short of a whimper, and you look back to the moon with a trembling lower lip.

Levi hates that he has to push you, that he has to do this, but he’s a glutton for punishment.

Maybe you’ll understand.

Maybe this is the time where the illusions dissolve and you see him for what he is.

“Broken ribs.” 

You turn your attention back to him, a tear accidentally falling from your momentum.

“Bruised spine. Internal bleeding. Lacerations on the torso, neck, and right leg.” 

Again and again, Levi tortures himself with his own account of what you’re retelling. 

“The cherry on top being the major concussion. Those were the injuries you sustained for saving five out of eight Scouts that day.”

Your eyes watch in horror as he adds the little detail you would have never, and could have never, recalled—

Because you hadn’t been awake to hear for yourself.

“Miro Squad should have been a lost cause that day. You didn’t let that happen.”

His breath grows short. Yours doesn’t seem to exist at all.

His eyes drop to your chest, pleading for your lungs to work.

“Almost all of those injuries you sustained were before the—”

Shit.

Levi can’t do this.

He glances away, pressing his palms into the dirtied surface to focus on something other than the bile climbing up his esophagus.

“James, why did you say I came back for you?”

He has to hear it.

From your lips, because he won’t believe it elsewhere.

“...because I saw you diving after me.”

Your voice is soft, appreciative.

Like he’s a fucking savior.

Levi clenches his teeth, speaking through a modicum of restraint:

“James, I’m the reason you don’t remember anything.”

Finally.

Forehead to the fucking stairs of your altar, he confesses.

A sinner in front of a deity, laid bare.

Telling you feels as horrible as he always imagined. Levi doesn’t wait to catch how you look at him, because he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t need to see that wide-eyed stare, that panic, the fear, over the edges of your face again.

He couldn’t stand it then, and he surely doesn't have the courage to stand it now.

“That’s…” His eyes close as he awaits the impending explosion, but you don’t sound angry. You sound… in denial. “That’s impossible, Levi, you dove after me—”

“It’s not impossible,” he reassures, wallowing in the hatred he feels in every vein of his body, "because it's true. It’s my fault that you’re like this. That you barely remember shit.”

“No, it—”

“James, I was there. I know what happened, I saw it happen, so fucking listen to me, alright?”

It’s harsh, cruel, and for some stupid reason he expects you to simply take his words at face value.

He starts to push himself up from the rooftop’s surface, but something heavy catches on his sleeve.

Despite his better judgment, Levi glances down.

You stare up at him, arm outstretched, tethering him to you. Your fingers crawl up his arm, encasing his forearm. He sees it: how you suck in your breath, sharp and surprised, as if the touch brings a fire to the pit of your stomach. And if he didn't know any better, then he'd think that's your thumb running along the bone.

Reassurance.

Want.

Starvation.

He could really drive it home, shove you away, then maybe you’ll reconsider the Scouts.

He can say that he wishes he hadn’t come back for you, but he doesn’t have the guts.

You’re offering forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.

“Don’t,” he warns.

Your fingers shift and he knows exactly what you’re doing. You’re trying to pull him back down.

Levi rips his arm away like your touch burns.

“Don’t what, Levi?” you ask, and it’s sickeningly sweet.

He wants to drop to his knees.

He wants to bow his head.

He wants to beg, over and over, until he’s cleansed in the midnight sun where you both belong.

For a second he falters, leaning like he’s going to hover over you.

Your eyes are so large, so hopeful, that he almost feels hopeful, too.

“Forgive me,” he croaks, finding his sanity in the nick of time. “Don’t ever forgive me.”

He hears your pleas to come back, his name so sweet on your tongue — Levi, wait! Levi, come back. Levi, please! — but Levi walks straight to the edge of the roof, climbs back down, and beelines straight to his quarters before he can break out into a cold sweat.

By the time he’s shut the door behind him, he’s ripping off his clothes.

His shirt, thrown messily to the ground.

His pants, unbuckled and dropped somewhere close behind.

He'll care in ten minutes. He doesn't care right now.

His skin is on fire. He falls to the bed, and the freezing sheets sting him.

This is hell.

Throwing his forearm over his eyes, the forearm you grabbed, Levi reaches shamefully for the bulge in his black briefs and squeezes, sputtering at euphoric relief.

His teeth grit when he drags his cock out, pumping furiously. Desperate. Needy.

He has to bite his tongue not to whimper when his brain poisons him with the way you say his name.

Levi. His fist squeezes the tip. Levi, please. He tenses, bowstring tight, and knows he’s already close.

Don’t what, Levi?

He gasps, the back of his head slamming into his pillow when the orgasm hits him like a ton of bricks.

He spills over his hand, legs trembling, before slumping with regret.

Forgive me.

.

Author's Note: ...told u this fic was gonna be 18+ for a reason, oop

TAG LIST:

@lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul

[fazalkhan2914]

Fine-quality rubies have gradually increased in value per carat Of all the coloured gemstones, rubies can fetch the greatest prices. Fine-quality rubies have been steadily increasing in Pigeon Blood Ruby price per carat, frequently surpassing previous auction records. In the case of superior-grade material, minute variations in colour might translate into substantial variations in value. https://www.takatgemssr.com/blog/fine-quality-rubies-have-gradually-increased-in-value-per-carat.html

[only-by-the-stars]

It's WIP Wednesday, so have a snippet!

From my ongoing (and nearing completion!) fic Song of a Champion (a retelling of Breath of the Wild with Mipha as the protagonist [and miphlink as the main ship], AKA the coolest retelling out there because how can you argue with MOAR MIPHA?) (also my writing is amazeballs):

“What is this?” Riju spoke in a hushed voice, her tone one of awe and slight disbelief this time, rather than horror. Her booted feet echoed slightly on the stone, the soles crunching on scattered grains of sand, as she made her way over to something that laid in a patch of borrowed sunlight. Something round, that glittered almost blindingly in the golden pool. As Mipha watched, Riju picked it up carefully and held it to inspect it; a charged silence hung over them, and then Riju turned with an odd look on her face. “Lady Mipha, this—do you recall it? Do you think it is…” “… yes.” Her eyes prickled as she stared at what Riju held. At the sun-shaped piece of finely wrought metal, blazing with color that hadn’t faded even after a century. A second sun, one made of a perfectly cut ruby, shone from the very center, with gold crafted into a beautiful, stylized design that called to mind the rays of that celestial orb, stretching their limbs out across the boundless sky. Two round-cut blue topaz adorned the scarlet lacquer on either side of the ruby, while four square-cut emeralds made corners of a sort around the crimson gem. Completing the shield’s decoration was a ring of leaf-green lacquer with golden spheres set in at intervals, between which Gerudo symbols had been delicately painted on. “It is…” “Lady Urbosa’s Daybreaker shield…” Riju hugged it to her chest, her voice wavering slightly. “To think it would still be here after all this time… we have always believed it was lost in the desert.” She looked up, pain peeking around the edges of her carefully guarded expression. “Has anyone… do you know of what… how Lady Urbosa was found?” Mipha shook her head. Impa and Purah more than likely knew, but it wasn’t hard to guess at why they hadn’t spoken of it. “No.” “She was…” Riju looked away, her eyes locking on the shield again. “It took weeks before they located her body. And entirely by accident. A guard patrolling on her sand seal wiped out, so the story goes, and when she went to investigate what had caused her accident, found…” Her fingers trembled, her chipped nails scraping the metal. “She found what… what was left of Lady Urbosa, half-buried in the sand, almost unrecognizable but for the Champion’s garb still wrapped around her.” She turned her brittle gaze on Mipha again. “Just like the sash my guards told me a certain Zora vai had worn upon her entry to the city.” Mipha drew her breath in sharply. “You… knew, then? When I walked into your throne room?” “I suspected.”

[whositmcwhatsit]

Chapter 3

AN: Well, this whole writing thing got away from me for a bit, sorry everyone! Thank you to my alpha @thatbanditqueen, who decodes my gibberish, and a big thank you to @vintageshanny, @ellie-24 and @be-my-ally for keeping me sane without even knowing it.

Here are the previous chapters since you'll definitely need to be remind yourself what it's all about!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

There was a sharp rapping at the door after lunch the next day. Sally had gone back to the room to change into her bikini and robe, deciding to brave the poolside because she was tired of looking like the washed-out spirit of some pioneer girl haunting the hotel.

Thinking it was Laura checking on why she was taking so long, Sally threw open the door as she went to the mirror and adjusted the bikini top beneath her loose peasant blouse.

“Do you think I should untie the straps on this thing? I don’t want to have white lines on my shoulders.”

The tall man standing in the doorway raised his eyebrows behind his sunglasses and flashed a wide smile.

“Uh, I don’t know that I’m qualified to answer that one, Miss,” he replied amiably with a shrug.

Sally whirled round, feeling her mortified blush tingle as it hit her hairline.

“Oh gosh, I thought you were someone else,” she mumbled lamely. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, my name’s Sonny. I work for-“ He pointed a finger up and Sally frowned.

“God?” Utah wasn’t a million miles away but surely they didn’t send missionaries to the Las Vegas casino hotels. That just seemed unfair on both sides.

“What?” He gave a sharp laugh. “No!” He shot her a look like he thought she was either dumb or crazy, maybe a mixture of both. But she wasn’t the one who cased the corridor like a secret agent before murmuring: “Elvis. I work for Elvis.”

“Oh.” She thought that he was maybe waiting for more of a reaction, but after worrying that he was a Mormon missionary, the fact that he was one of Elvis’ guys was a relief.

“Uh, anyway, my boss wanted me to bring you these-“ He whipped out the tickets for that night’s show. “And, uh, this.” He held out a small, dark green velvet case in his other hand. She took both and frowned again at his look of expectation.

“Do you… Oh, I don’t really have any cash on me right now. Hang on a second, I can check-”

“God, no.” He wiped his face with a big meaty hand and yanked off his sunglasses, fixing her with a look that she thought was supposed to be intimidating but just looked exhausted. “Can you open it please? I’m s’posed to let him know how you… acted.”

“No pressure,” she muttered, lifting the lid.

Inside was a gold bracelet interlaced around emeralds circled by little diamonds. It looked like something the Queen of England might wear to a soiree, not a teller from a bank in the middle of nowhere. Not without being accused of embezzlement.

All of that ran through her head as she stared open-mouthed. Finally, she remembered her audience and she glanced back up.

“Can you tell him that I was overjoyed and jumped up and down and was grateful?” she asked, worrying that she hadn’t accrued enough goodwill to get him to lie for her. “I am very grateful, really grateful, but this is… I’ve never even seen anything like this before, let alone touched it.” She tentatively put a finger to the metal; it felt cool against her fingertip.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him.” He slid his sunglasses back on and gave her a small smile and a nod. “I’ll see ya.”

Sally nodded back and closed the door, clutching the tickets and bracelet to her chest. “Well, that was weird.”

At the pool, Laura huddled over the bracelet, pulling Sally’s wrist close to her near-sighted eyes like she was a jeweler, appraising gems.

“You think they’re real?” she asked, tilting Sally’s arm to see the stones caught the sun. Sally looked around at the other people on the sun loungers, feeling slightly too conspicuous thrusting precious stones in the air.

“I don’t know.”

“And you didn’t even have to sleep with him.”

“Keep your voice down!” Sally hissed, snatching her arm away.

“I’m just saying, you’ve got to be careful playing hard to get, you know, Sal, they can get tired of it real suddenly.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I wouldn’t do that.”

Sally could imagine that he would be able to see through that pretty quickly too. He seemed to do that, to see deeper than people thought he did, or at least it felt like he did when his eyes were on you.

Almost as if she was afraid of being caught, she glanced up at the towering white façade of the hotel. It rose up and disappeared into the shimmering heat of the endless blue sky. Somewhere, right at the very top, which she couldn’t make out from the bottom, he was there. She wondered if he was thinking about her. Maybe he was looking down at the pool… She felt her cheeks heat up and she had to look away just in case.

That evening, she and Laura were standing in line for the dinner show. At the front were the devoted fans who had probably started queuing while they were still at the pool.

“Imagine if they knew you what you got up to last night,” Laura remarked, wiggling her eyebrows. She seemed more excited by the cachet of Sally’s relationship, such as it was, with Elvis, than Sally herself was. “What? It’s okay to enjoy things, Sal, Jesus!”

Sally opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Emilio the maître de who had somehow picked them out of the crowd of heavily made-up glamorously dressed women.

“The Beatles fan… Sally, is it not?” He pecked both her cheeks and then grabbed her fingers, wrapping them around his crooked arm. “We have been told to take extra special care of you.”

Sally glanced back at Laura, who had snatched hold of her other arm, and pulled a face. They giggled as they were escorted past all the baleful looking people in front of them in the queue.

“It’s like being a movie star!” she whispered to Laura.

“Now you’re getting it.”

Sitting in the central booth again, they felt highly visible as the room rapidly filled and staff served dinner. Sally watched the tables beside the stage fill up, the biggest tippers sitting central, women only closest to the stage.

“You know, some people come all the way from Japan and England and Australia just to watch these shows. Not even on vacation, just to see Elvis. The other night, I was talking to some people from South Africa!”

“Well, older folks have more money I guess,” Laura murmured, sipping her champagne.

“It’s not just older people,” she murmured, hearing how defensive she sounded. Laura shrugged, but didn’t reply as the lights started to go down.

The show passed in a blur of lights, sounds and, of course, music. Sally could tell that Elvis was getting more comfortable on the stage with each show, the patter between each song was becoming longer, sometimes surreal, usually funny, and he was cutting up during the songs more, swapping lyrics, usually for something dirty. The audiences seemed to enjoy it, and he certainly seemed to thrive on that.

Joe appeared during the piano intro for ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ This time, he didn’t ask them to come backstage, he just gave them a smirk and gestured for them to go ahead of him.

In the wood panelled outer dressing room, Sally recognised some of the stars in the crowd, there were the actors from the Mod Squad, over there was Glen Campbell, but there was only one face she was looking for. She stayed back as the inner dressing room door opened, there was a glimpse of fleur-de-lis wallpaper, and Elvis came out.

Sally thought he looked anxious as he emerged, but even as her brain was registering it, his face relaxed into his usual charismatic smirk and he scanned the room. She averted her eyes, her stomach fluttering manically, and tried to look casual. She twitched a nervous smile at a stranger across the room and looked around for Laura, finding her beaming up at a tall, tanned older man.

Shaking her head, Sally turned back and almost banged her nose on Elvis’ chest.

“Oh!”

“Snuck up on ya, didn’t I!” He looked pretty pleased with himself even as he grabbed her forearm so that she didn’t stumble back. He pulled on her arm a little harder, tugging her towards him so that he could lean down and give her a lingering kiss on the cheek. She felt a wave of goosebumps ripple up her spine as her hand brushed against his suit jacket and his cologne tickled her nose.

“You did, I almost pulled out my pepper spray.”

“Pepper spray?! Hell, that ain’t no good, honey, that’s just seasoning. We oughta see about getting you a gun.”

“Oh, no thank you,” she replied, pulling a face.

“Not a big one,” he reassured her, like that was the problem. “You know, they make ‘em small enough that you can just put it in your purse.”

She envisioned fishing around for a mint or lipstick and shooting herself instead.

“I think I’m more comfortable with the pepper spray.”

Elvis pulled a face that told her that he wasn’t, but luckily they were interrupted by one of his famous guests, who leant right across her to shake Elvis’ hand and pat him on the shoulder. Sally moved back before she was elbowed. She almost stepped on the foot of a man behind her who was wearing a jacket covered in Elvis pins. It was a comedy of errors as she shuffled and circled and edged out of everyone’s way. She found herself pressed up against a decorative carpet that hung against the wall, overshadowed by a dark wood cabinet. It didn’t feel that different from the showroom, standing at a distance, watching him say his lines and his audience beaming at him. Even off stage he was still always giving a performance.

After about half an hour, the tall man who had delivered her bracelet- Sonny- gave her a pleasant smile and asked her to come with him. She glanced over at where Elvis was explaining something with animated hand gestures to a rapt group of men and women. The group let out a loud collective laugh as Sally grabbed Laura and they followed Sonny from the room.

“Where’s Elvis?” Laura asked as they walked along the bland tiled corridor towards the elevators.

“He’ll be coming along,” Sonny replied, pausing to introduce himself. Laura’s eyes lingered on him a little longer and Sally looked down to hide her knowing smile.

The elevator ride felt like an interrogation as Laura questioned Sonny on himself, on Elvis, on Hollywood, and anything else that caught her attention. Laura’s enthusiasm was unphased by Sonny’s stoicism, even after he mentioned his fiancée. Sally envied her friend’s confidence and self-assurance. Laura was the top saleswoman back home every month because she had a knack of dragging customers into conversations and building rapport with them so that when she mentioned that she was worried that they were not sufficiently covered by insurance, or that they could get that home renovation done now if they just signed up for a little, low-interest home loan, they felt they were being advised by a friend. If anyone had told Sally that one of them would get noticed by Elvis while on vacation, she would have bet all her cash on Laura.

Up in the Imperial suite, Sonny brought the women a drink and settled them in the den like they were his house guests. He seemed to have succumbed to Laura’s charms, sitting beside her on the couch and stretching out his arm behind her. Sally clutched her drink and surveyed the room, pretending to be intensely interested in the chandelier as Laura giggled quietly off to her right.

Finally, the door of the suite burst open and half a dozen guys strode in together. They all seemed to be talking at once, laughing at some in-joke. Elvis appeared amidst the group and the corner of his mouth twitched up as he caught sight of her. He made a beeline for her as his entourage peeled off and headed in different directions. Joe handed him a bottle of water, still talking to him, but it didn’t slow Elvis’ stride as he came and stood in front of her.

Without a word, he took the drink from her and placed it on the side table, then grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“C’mon, honey, let’s go hide.”

Sally bit down on her lips to stop herself grinning like a cartoon as he tugged her along behind him. He took big strides so she had to half jog in her heels to keep up and she kept her eyes on the floor to make sure she didn’t trip on the thick carpet or any hidden steps.

In the bedroom, he slowed down as he purposefully closed the door, leaning on it for a moment before he turned round and smiled at her. She shivered involuntarily at the light twinkling in his eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” she giggled and he bit his lip as he moved toward her, his eyes taking her in with an almost predatory hunger. His lips pressed softly against hers even as she felt him gathering her up, his hand around the back of her head, the other on the small of her back, sliding up as he pressed her into him.

Sally almost sagged in his arms as the anticipation and tension she had felt since leaving him passed liked waves from her body. She didn’t realise he was moving the both of them backwards until the side of the bed hit her calves and she made a squeaking noise against his mouth as she wobbled. Elvis’ grip of her tightened even as her arms tensed around his athletic frame, trying to keep herself upright.

Elvis pulled back from the waist up, his eyes opening slowly, thick black lashes flickering against his cheeks, as if he didn’t want to quite let go of the kiss. It only made her want to launch herself back at him, but she suspected he knew that.

“Man, I been thinking about this ever since I saw you in that dress,” he murmured, his hand dragging around her waist from her back and his long fingers tickling underneath the short hem.

Sally had already worn all of her good outfits to his shows, so she had borrowed a green mini dress from Laura and had spent most of the evening tugging it down.

“You wear this for me, honey?” His warm breath tickled her neck as he leant in to pepper her jaw and throat with soft butterfly kisses. “You ain’t trying to get me in trouble now, are you.”

At the same time, her thighs tingled with goosebumps at the feel of his callused fingers trailing up to the edge of her underwear beneath her skirt.

Part of her was protesting that this was too fast, that he was too much of everything: too experienced, too rich, too famous, too handsome, too Elvis for her. She was so far out of her depth that drowning was inevitable. The problem was that he made drowning look both exciting and pleasurable.

“I wore it because it matched my new bracelet,” she said, slipping her fingers through the opening of his jacket, warmed by his skin and the feel of the coarse chest hair against her fingertips. She could feel the thudding of his heart reverberating through his rib cage and sternum.

His chin dimpled as he peered down, grabbing her hand and pulling her wrist up for examination. She gazed at his face as he inspected her wrist, his left eyebrow twitching with self-satisfaction. She loved the creases at the corners of his mouth, how they made his full lips look sullen even as she knew he was suppressing a smile. It felt like a secret between them.

“You like it, baby?”

Sally shot him a look of disbelief. “Of course, it’s beautiful, Elvis, so beautiful, but you shouldn’t have. It looks expensive.”

“That don’t matter,” he murmured, frowning. “It looks pretty on your little wrist here.” He dipped forward and pressed his lips to the bony part of her wrist. Sally’s whole arm twitched at the heat and velvety softness of his mouth and her stomach fluttered as his pout continued its path round to her pulse point. His hair brushed against her jaw and throat as he leant over pressing kisses up the delicate skin on the inside of her forearm.

“I -uh..” She dropped down onto the bed, even as she was thinking that she was starting to feel a little lightheaded from holding her breath.

He looked like he was holding back a laugh as he asked, ‘You okay, honey?”

“I meant to do that.” She frowned, daring him to contradict her.

“Uh huh.” He nudged her legs open with his knee so that he could step closer and she could feel her skirt sliding to the top of her thighs as he drew in, his thumbs on her jaw tipping her head back so that he could kiss her as he slowly and gently lowered her back onto the bed, his tongue teasing its way into her mouth.

“Well,” he said, pressing his knee into the mattress right at the apex of her thighs, the pressure of him answering the ache beginning to throb there, “I might not get around to the next show, but-” He lifted a mischievous eyebrow. “It’ll be worth it.”

It took every drop of restraint in Sally’s being not to grind down on his thigh, but her self-discipline was almost immediately undermined by Elvis pressing down on her, and she let out a sigh mixed with a moan, catching a glimpse of his smirk before he kissed her again. Yet again, he was performing exactly the show he knew his audience enjoyed.

Trying to find some sense of balance, she let her hands glide down from his shoulder blades, feeling the mechanics of his lean muscles working beneath his suit jacket, and cupped his perfectly round ass. She felt him pause for a second, before he tried to cover his surprise by moving with even more authority, rolling his hips and driving a moan from her that had her turning her face into his neck and hiding in embarrassment. He didn’t seem to realise this was what she was doing as he shuddered and showered kisses on her throat and shoulder, pulling back her neckline as far as it could go so he could taste her pink, sun-kissed skin.

Sally felt his teeth clamp down lightly on the muscle in her shoulder before he drew back, depriving her of his spicy warmth, so that he could shrug off his suit jacket. As usual, he wasn’t wearing anything underneath and she couldn’t stop herself reaching out to touch his skin, running her fingertips up his sides and making him twitch and hiccup a laugh before he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. Her bracelet bit into her skin from the pressure, but she didn’t fight it or protest.

“This okay?” he asked softly, his face looking suddenly very boyish and vulnerable. It was unexpected and helped ease some of her nerves as she gazed up at him and nodded. Her lips were swollen and tingly, seemingly a side effect of being in close proximity to him, and she bit down on her bottom lip, trying to stop herself from panting too needily. He groaned, mumbling about how she was going to be the end of him, and sank back down into kissing and rubbing and pressing against her as she shivered and writhed and pressed right back.

Sally’s skirt was now somewhere around her waist and her restraint was buried somewhere in the sand outside of Las Vegas along with everything else that people from this city found themselves forsaking. She hooked her fingers into the tight waistband of his pants and tugged impatiently even as her tongue was sliding against his.

“Hey, whoa whoa, easy, baby,” he mumbled into her mouth. “We got plenty of time. I got you to myself all night, right?” She nodded dumbly. “That’s right, we made a deal.”

Despite his words, he walked his fingers up her thigh and her breath stuttered in her throat as he slipped his thumb into the warmest, wettest part of her. His eyes crinkled slightly and his mouth fell slightly open as he studied her face, which she was desperately trying not to screw up into unflattering expressions as he circled and dragged the pad of his thumb over her slippery skin, flooding her with sensation, before slowing and ebbing back, letting her breathe and float for moment. He seemed to take her efforts to be quiet and composed as a personal challenge, shifting his hips to get more comfortable and pressing himself against her thigh, before pulling out his thumb from the leg of her underwear and insert his whole hand into the front.

“S’okay,” he whispered, panting softly, as he played her like an instrument with his delicate fingers and she bit down on a whine. She could see where his mascara was beginning to smudge below his eyes as they both lost their cool both figuratively and literally.

Sally felt sweat trickle from her hairline down behind her neck and she shifted slightly. Elvis glanced up from where he was watching the movement of his hand and his heavy-lidded eyes seemed to assess her. In one smooth movement, he rolled onto his back, his hand still working in her underwear, and reached over to grab a pillow from the top of the bed.

The next thing she knew she was being thwacked lightly in the face with it.

“No, wait, that ain’t right,” he remarked dryly, picking it up again and smirking at her disgruntled expression beneath. “Lift your head, honey.” She clasped her hair in one hand and raised her head so that he could tug the pillow into place with his free hand, grunting slightly as he tried to keep himself up at the same time.

As soon as he was satisfied she was comfortable, he leant back over to kiss the air from her, increasing the pressure of his fingers as they began to sink into her while his thumb strummed at the bundle of nerves, making her twitch and writhe.

“Oh God,” Sally breathed, clasping at his neck and the damp tendrils of his hair. She couldn’t decide where to touch him, still not able to believe that she could. Her hands moved from his neck to his shoulders to his back, brushing his narrow waist, kneading his perfect ass and squeezing his thighs.

As the knot tightened in her belly, her muscles tensed and she began to moan freely, losing her inhibitions, she palmed at the firm bulge in his pants. He growled softly, pressing his face to her chest and resting his warm, sweaty cheek against her decolletage, scratching her with his sideburn. It felt like he was everywhere, leaving nowhere for her to retreat and hide, making it impossible to stay calm and demure, giving her no way to hold it together.

His fingers prodded deeper, causing the swell of the waves of pleasure in her gut to break and ripple through her body. She whimpered into his damp hair as stimulation so intense that it was almost painful rolled over her, making her thighs clench and her toes curl. The aftershocks made her twitch and he huffed a laugh into her temple, giving her pussy a scritch like it was actually his pet.

Sally shot him a disapproving look, a little embarrassed at how completely he had taken her apart with just his hand. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if he wasn’t responsible for what he did.

While she slowed her breathing and felt the unwelcome return of her inhibitions, Elvis hovered over her, straightening her underwear and diligently pulling down her skirt. He moved up, adjusting her neckline and pulling the shoulder of her dress back into place. Sally hoped they hadn’t stretched it, because she knew Laura would make her pay for another and she suspected it wasn’t from a catalogue like Sally’s own dresses.

“All better,” he pronounced in a soft, babyish voice, looking down at her body. When his eyes returned to her face however, he snorted softly. “Up here’s a different story though, baby, up here you’s a mess!”

“Noooo!” she protested, her hands going up to her hair, feeling the damp frizz and knots as he gave a cartoonish cackle and nodded. She pouted and reached up, vigorously ruffling his hair and pushing it in his face. “There, now we match!”

There was a pause and her stomach dropped as she thought that maybe she had crossed a line, but then he laughed and shook his head, swiping his black hair out of his eyes before he swiftly straddled her and obliterated any hope she had that her hairdo was salvageable. She wrinkled her nose and blew a lock of hair off her face.

“You made me do that!” he informed her. “I didn’t have no choice.” He did one of his patented sullen smirks as he picked up a long lock of her hair and laid it across her forehead like a monobrow. His laughter vibrated through her and his thighs tightly clamped her hips as she batted at her face and knocked her hair away.

“You are a public menace,” she informed him.

“You ain’t the first person to say that,” he nodded. “First person with a bird’s nest on their head to say it though maybe…”

In spite of his playful tone and the calming endorphins flooding her body, she was starting to feel self-conscious and she tried to roll over and escape his grip.

“Okay, let me up.”

“Honey, I’m just teasing. It ain’t that bad.” The expression on his face contradicted his words. She shoved at his thighs, trying to push herself free, and quickly discovered when her hand slid up that she might have been a mess, but she was apparently an exciting mess.

It was another twenty minutes of rolling around on the bed before she made it to the bathroom to examine the damage to her hair. It was as bad as she had feared, and she rooted around in the drawers and cabinets looking for a brush or comb to attempt triage. During her search, she found three pistols, some amber bottles of medication with a range of names printed on them, and a photo of a cute blond-haired baby, before she finally found what she was looking for.

Two hours of curlers and teasing and half a can of hairspray wasted, she vigorously brushed her abused hair into long brown curtains on either side of her face and wet some tissue to wipe away her smudged and smeared eye make-up.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Elvis was laying on the bed and he did a double take as she came out.

“What?” she asked, pausing nervously.

“Nothing… Nothing, honey.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You just look different with your hair all down like that.”

“I didn’t have much choice now, did I?”

“No, I guess not.” He rolled off the bed and somehow made it onto his feet before he hit the floor, striding over to clasp her head in his hands and kiss her almost chastely. “It looked so pretty before though, honey.”

“Thank you?”

He shook his head sharply. “I mean, you’re still pretty. I don’t even know what I’m saying, man. Sorry, baby.” He kissed her again, this time with more force. “Every time I get up on that stage I think I must shake something loose up there, losing my damn mind. You’re pretty, you’re beautiful, honey.”

Before either of them could speak again, there was a gentle tap on the door.

“E, it’s time.” The guy’s voice was no louder than speaking volume and clearly audible through the door. Sally was horrified, thinking about what they might have heard on the other side of that door. Elvis didn’t seem bothered though, just annoyed that their time together had to end, but then he was probably used to all of this.

“I gotta go to work, honey. Sold my soul to Kirk Kevorkian for a hundred thousand a week and I’m starting to think I’m the one that got snowed.” One side of his mouth twitched up into a half smile as he rose, but she didn’t quite understand what his expression was trying to convey. And in in an instant, it was gone.

“You coming to the show?” he asked with a bashful smile.

“If that’s okay with you?”

At this, he cupped her face in his large hands and kissed her, nipping her bottom lip between his teeth before pressing his forehead against hers.

“You ain’t real,” he told her, to her confusion. “There ain’t no way you’re real.”

“Funny,” she replied, “I think the same about you.”

As he walked her to the main door of the suite like they were on a surreal date, he told her not to bother coming down to the stage for a kiss at the midnight show.

“Oh,” she murmured, a little deflated. “I did exceed my allocation after all then?” He gave her an amused little frown.

“The way you talk, honey! Naw, I just got something else in mind. Don’t go messing with my plans, now, okay?” He gave her a peck, motioning to someone behind her. Laura reappeared, straightening her dress slightly and looking sheepish. Sally looked from her to Sonny wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The midnight show, her fifth now in three days, confirmed that the tummy flip when Elvis appeared on stage was a permanent thing. Meeting him, talking to him, hadn’t lessened her wonder and awe at his talent and energy. If anything, seeing him up close in the flesh and learning more about him only made that huge presence he projected seem that much more impressive.

“Does it bother you?” Laura asked curiously, pouring herself a glass of champagne from the magnum resting in an ice bucket. They hadn’t ordered it, it had just been presented to them with the assurance that there was no charge.

“What?” Sally asked. Laura nodded towards the stage where Elvis was crouched down in front of a couple of women who were giving him a gift. He gave them both deep, effusive kisses, going back for seconds from one of them.

“Why would it bother me?” she laughed. “if he didn’t do it, I wouldn’t have got to kiss him.”

“Exactly,” Laura said cryptically, raising her eyebrows. Sally rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the show.

Elvis didn’t introduce Love Me Tender until later in the set, leaving Sally wondering what he was talking about when he said he had a plan. When he finally started the introduction, she suddenly became vigilant, like she was waiting for an ambush.

At first, nothing seemed much different, Elvis sang a little, kissed a lot and the band persevered, playing verse after verse. Then, after walking to the wings, he just… didn’t stop. She watched his dark head drop down into the crowd and pandemonium broke out. People- women- were charging down from the back of the showroom, the audience were laughing and whooping as girls called Elvis’ name and begged to be able to touch him.

“God, they’re going to eat him alive!” Laura laughed, as they both craned their necks to follow the knot of people moving through the crowd.

Sally watched as people tried to climb over tables just to reach out and touch his arm as he passed by. He was being jostled by the press of his own bodyguards and then the fans begging for kisses. Her eyes widened as she realised the procession and growing mob were heading toward their booth; blue uniformed security guards were already appearing behind her, ready to marshal him through safely.

A beautiful blond managed to step into Elvis’ path as he almost reached the back of their booth. Sally and Laura had turned in their seats and were kneeling up on the red velvet cushions, watching the circus. He clasped the blonde’s face, just as he had done Sally’s only an hour earlier, and kissed her on the lips. Sally wondered if maybe she should be feeling jealous, but the truth was that she really just felt empathy with the woman, understanding how exciting and delicious it was to be kissed by him.

Despite the pressing and the chaos, he managed to pause at their booth, his tanned hand replete in gold rings gripping the white scrollwork to fight the momentum pushing him on. He gave her a lopsided grin as he leant in.

“How’d you like my plan? Seemed a good idea at the time.” He almost stumbled as he was jostled from behind.

“Not bad for a public menace,” she grinned, wrapping her fingers around his sweaty neck and almost sighing against his soft lips. A security guard stepped closer as if she was an overexcited fan that he was going to have to drag away, but she drew away before he could reach out and grab her.

“See ya later!” Elvis called over his shoulder, taken by the current. As he was swept on, she only heard the word ‘deal’ float back through the screams and whooping and laughter.

Turning round and smiling at Laura, Sally licked her lips and savoured the salt there. 

Tag list:

@itsnotthatserious03 @everythingelvispresley @bigromansgirl-blog, @sillybookmarks, @returntopresley

As always, shout out to the Elvis harem: @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @missmaywemeetagain, @peskybedtime

[bomberqueen17]

kitchen status

ok well. so. we're at the point now where the countertop guy (his name was Ken and he had a cool laser thing and confessed he often enjoys playing with people's cats with the laser thing when nobody's paying attention; alas our cat is not home and missed her chance) has come and measured, and now the countertops are due on January 4th.

Today the electricians are finishing the installation of all the outlets and such, which is exciting.

My mother advised me that the one thing she regrets about her kitchen remodel of, gosh more than ten years ago now, is that she didn't immediately install shelf liners. So I am going to do that. A cursory websearch told me that you can in fact make your own from fabric, but I think I am going to mostly buy premade ones, since they're not very expensive and I want this to get done.

BUT I do have a lazy-susan corner cabinet that's got these big round shelves that the liners won't easily fit, so I am going to make my own slightly-padded lil quilted guys to go on those, I think that's the most expedient thing. i intend to fill that cabinet with my saucepans and baking dishes, so it doesn't need to be spillproof and grippy and all that.

ANYWAY the next thing I need to think about is COLORS. I found a bunch of my notes from when we first started thinking about remodeling the kitchen and my big conclusion was "i don't want gray! i don't want a kitchen all in shades of gray!" and guess what my new kitchen is all shades of gray. BUT. that's because I realized that getting brightly colored cabinets would lock me into one color. Like blue-- a lot of bright blue options in cabinets or countertops exist, but then you're locked into that specific shade of blue. And what if the cool accessories you wanted don't coordinate? No.

So I figure, i will pick ONE very bold color, and will paint the east wall around the window, the window trim, and the west wall and entryway that color, and then perhaps a secondary bold color will be what the dishes, spoon rest, and other replaceable accessories will be in. (I think some floor rugs too, at least in a couple high-traffic areas.)

But I need help choosing colors, so please do weigh in.

The kitchen is all in shades of gray with both warm and cool tones. The floor is grayish-mottled faux stone vinyl with a kind of warm cast. The cabinets are warm wood washed blue, which comes out to a fairly cool grayish color. The countertop will be a mottled mostly-white quartz composite. The backsplash will be (boring, I know, I know) white subway tiles.

The neighboring room, the living room, which the kitchen is now wide open to, is bright, saturated buttercup yellow, with royal purple trim. (The bedroom is deep royal purple with bright scarlet trim.)

I don't like pastels or desaturated colors. The colors I prefer are primary or secondary colors in jewel tones.

So I'm currently considering cobalt blue, emerald green, pthlao green, deep teal, mermaid blue, royal purple, or bright crimson as my main color, with the smaller secondary color being either goldenrod yellow, bright scarlet, bright orange, bright turquoise, or metallic gold.

My everyday china is in the classic Blue Willow pattern, and a few of the pieces are mended with gold kintsugi from the time period in which Dude was into doing that. We also have some CalamityWare because his sister bought us a bunch of that-- and that includes some soft furnishings, a pair of kitchen towels and a hot dish mitt and an apron and such.

Middle-Little advised me that the Pantone color of the year is "Peachfuzz(TM)" and that a pale peach or bright coral would be great colors for the kitchen, and she is correct, but that is not in the slightest bit to my personal taste so I won't be doing that. Alas. She's super correct though. But I have discovered I am allergic to those types of colors. What category is that? I don't know but I know my answer is No. And I feel like anything on-trend will soon be dated. (Also, and I do know this by chance, the Pantone Color Of The Year for like 2018 was a coral color, and like, why. Why do they keep coming back to this.)

I don't know what that means but that's my story and I'm sticking to it, LOL.

[serpentsillusion]

|| Aneira's Gift ||

{🎨 tag at the bottom of post} A special thank you, and happy trip around the sun for my friend @rhewart because HAHA! You knew I was planning an art piece, but you NEVER expected a oneshot also!! Mwaahaha! *Insert evil laughter here* 💚 plus I learned how to use the glitter effect on my art app. 🤣

Word count: 1,649

✨Enjoy ✨

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The sky was a deep shade of blue, untouched by the encroaching fingers of smog that usually marred its beauty. Birds sang in perfect harmony, their melodies drifting lazily on the warm spring breeze. It was a day much like any other at the end of their 7th year, except for one small detail: today happened to be Aneira's 18th birthday. The date was May 17th.

The Slytherin common room was absent of the bustling students milling about, chatting animatedly or engrossed in books. A crackling fire burned merrily in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The room itself was a study in emerald green, from the cold stone beneath their feet to the old historic windows bordering the underwater walls.

Aneira, clad in her favorite casual dark ensemble and dark red hoodie that Jess got for her birthday last year, sat at a couch near the fireplace, lost in thought. Her wand intricately tucked in her disheveled bun. She didn't even notice the three figures creeping up behind her. Suddenly, Jess, Sebastian, and Ominis burst into song, startling her out of her reverie. "Surprise!" they shouted in unison, grinning widely.

"Oh my gods, you guys!" Aneira squealed, her face flushing with excitement. "I can't believe you guys right now! Haha! This is the best surprise!" She threw her arms around Jess, then Sebastian, and finally Ominis, hugging them tightly.

As they pulled away from the hug, Jess gestured back to the couch, where a couple bottles of fire whiskey and a tray of glasses awaited them. "I smuggled these in myself! We thought you'd want something to help you unwind after a long day of classes," she explained, pouring each of them a glass. "Here's to another year around the sun!"

"Lechyd Da!" Aneira echoed, clinking her glass against each of theirs. She took a sip, savoring the warmth that spread through her chest as the smooth liquid slid down her throat. "This is amazing, guys. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Ominis said, grinning. "We figured you deserved something special."

Sebastian leaned in closer, his dark brown eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, you know how Jess and I always talk about our grand adventures, sneaking off into the night?" he began, eyebrows raising cheekily, setting off a round of knowing laughter from the three of them. "Well, we decided it's about time we include your devilish mind in some of those exploits."

Aneira's brow furrowed in confusion. "Woah, What exactly do you mean exploits Sebastian?"

"Not "those" exploits Aneira! Haha! You know..." Jess chimed in, her hand waving about the air, "He means like that time we snuck into the restricted section of the library and discovered that ancient scroll." Aneira shook her head, her confusion growing. "Or how about when we charmed Professor Howin into letting us pet a baby unicorn?" She still looked unsure. "Oh, come on," Ominis groaned, "you must remember that time Sebastian and Jess stole the headmaster's prized pocket watch and wore it for a whole week!"

Sebastian grinned impishly, "Oh, that's right, you were out of the country to Wales that week." Aneira's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh thanks the gods, but also, rude that you guys would almost get yourselves killed, or expelled without me, but you seriously mean, you want to include me in on your adventures too?" she asked, a sparkle of excitement starting in her emerald eyes.

"Uh hell yeah dude, Of course! We need your expertise and skill so we don't die!" Jess replied, clapping her hands together covering her mouth while she giggles. "We thought it was about time you joined in on the chaos. You've been hanging out with us for long enough now."

"HELL YEAH!! I'M IN!" Exclaimed Aneira, wiggling her hands and legs and excitement.

Sebastian grinned and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small leather pouch. "As a welcome gift," he said, tossing it to her, "we got you this." Aneira caught the pouch, feeling its weight in her hand. "It's a disguise kit, and a necklace Jess made herself." Sebastian explained, "So you can blend in better during our escapades."

"Also the necklace looks pretty dope." Jess added, her face turning shades of red from the alcohol. "What? I'm proud of myself you guys. Look at that craftsmanship! OH oh! I also enchanted it with my very own jinx I created. It's called Protego Infinitum, which will automatically cast stupify for approximately 15 minutes during a duel of any kind. It protects you from any curse, hex, or spell... Including Avada Kadavra... Don't ask how I know how to do that." Jess stated cheekily.

"What?!" Exclaimed Aneira "How is that even possible?!"

"Magic, apparently!" Jess stated back, Laughing. "Also, Garreth helped, and he's been asking about you too, since you two went to the Yule ball together." She added.

Ominis laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, you're going to love it. We've gotten into some pretty crazy situations us three, and I mean, some of them, we couldn't have even gotten out of without Jess's quick thinking." He paused, glancing at Jess with a smile. "Not that I'm biased or anything. Sebastian and I have something similar on us too."  Sebastian and Ominis in unison pull out similar looking pendants from their pockets.

Jess waved away his words with a small smile staring at her mouth. "Ominis hush! I can't have my three favorite people just wandering around unprotected, and I'm just glad we can count on you, too, Ominis and your Father for saving our butts on more than one occasion," she said. "And Aneira, you've already proven yourself more than capable at defending yourself, plus let's not talk about how you got to Hogwarts to begin with. I mean, let's not forget about that time you also talked your way out of detention for all of us by sweet-talking the headmaster."

Aneira's face flushed at the memory. "That was a very close call, I sneaked into his office and spiked his pumpkin juice with a concoction Garetth and I made up before all four of us had to meet in his office" she said, taking another sip of her fire whiskey. "But you guys have always been there for me, and I'm so grateful for that. I can't wait to start adventuring with you." She looked from one of them to the other, her emerald eyes shining with excitement. "So! Where do we start?"

The air was thick with laughter and the warm glow of the fireplace. The room was alive with the sounds of their voices, each story adding a new layer to the tapestry of their friendship. Aneira, Sebastian, Jess, and Ominis sat in the plush couch of the Slytherin common room, their bodies leaning into each other as they shared an unforgettable moment on Aneira's birthday night. The fire whiskey in their glasses flickered with each movement, casting dancing shadows across their faces, accentuating the hollows of their cheeks, the arch of their eyebrows.

Jessica, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief, leaned over to Aneira and whispered, "Do you remember that time we snuck into the forbidden forest and found that ancient tome on dark curses?" Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, sending a shiver down Aneira's spine.

Aneira grinned, her green eyes alight with the memory. "Oh, Jess! Of course I remember." She reached across her lap to squeeze Jess's hand. "That was the night we first discovered what we could REALLY do to the Ashwinders, Ranrok's loyalists, and the Dark Wizards." She paused, her gaze drifting off into the distance, lost in thought. "I'll never forget the feeling of that ancient magic coursing through my veins."

Sebastian chuckled, his voice deep and gravelly. "And the look on Professor Hecate's face when she found out we'd been in there? Priceless." He took a sip of his fire whiskey, the liquid burning its way down his throat that he was all too used to. "She's never forgiven us."

Ominis nodded in agreement. "No, she hasn't, but you know what they say, 'with great power comes great responsibility'." He glanced around the room, his expression turning solemn. "And with great friends, comes even greater adventures."

Jess wrapped her arms around herself as she leaned forward, a contented smile on her lips. "I'm so glad we found each other, you three. You've changed my life in ways you'll never know." She took a sip of her fire whiskey, the heat spreading through her body. "Here's to many more birthdays together, Aneira. May they be as magical and adventurous as this one...Lechyd Da!" Their glasses clinked together, the sound echoing through the common room as they toasted to their friendship, their futures, and the limitless possibilities that lay before them.

The four of them sat there, laughing and sharing stories, their plans for the future growing more elaborate by the minute. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room as the night wore on. Eventually, they began to discuss specific ideas, each one more outrageous than the last. They talked about sneaking into the restricted section of the library to steal ancient artifacts, charming their way into exclusive parties, and even plotting a daring heist to steal the headmaster's pet dragon. Talk of future plans after graduation also surfaced, mingling with the atmosphere of the room.

As the alcohol flowed, their plans became more grandiose, their laughter louder, and their camaraderie stronger. It was as if the four had been friends for years even before Jess and Aneira started classes at Hogwarts, bound not only by their shared experiences but also by their shared desire for adventure and mischief. And as they finally began to wind down, Aneira knew that this was only the beginning of an incredible journey with her now life long friends.

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Happy Birthday Aneira! 💚✨

[apollobar]

Everything That Is Left

Summary: Lucy Chen and her friends join what was meant to be a dream vacation across the Pacific Ocean, aboard a small cruise ship. But when a devastating storm strikes, turning their journey into a fight for survival, Lucy finds herself stranded on a deserted island with her companions. As they struggle to endure and await rescue, tensions rise and bonds are tested. Amidst the challenges, a budding romance has begun to unravel between Lucy and Tim, her old mentor turned fellow survivor, casting a fragile ray of hope amidst the uncertainty. Yet, as they all navigate the challenges of island life, dark secrets emerge, threatening to unravel the fragile bonds holding them together. With each passing day, the survivors must confront not only the mysteries of the island but also the depths of their own resilience and the intricacies of their relationships. Will they find a way to overcome the odds and make it out alive, or will the island's mysteries consume them all?

Chapter 1 of ?

CHAPTER 1: Travellers from Beyond the Shore

Unable to face the screams, Lucy Chen looks out at the ocean. It’s hypnotic, the way the water laps upon the shore. Swallowing up the beach and then spitting it back out, leaving behind sand dollars and bits of rock to litter the ground. Every cry or shout of her name is muffled as she stands there. The sand pulls mindlessly against her feet like thousands of tiny magnets, whispering for her to be engulfed along with them. But the temptation is briefly silenced when a sudden spark of green catches her attention. An object splashing amongst the recent waves, tumbling across the beach until finally resting against her bare foot. The search for her left shoe lost and momentarily forgotten.

All jagged edges and rough cuts have been erased from the fragment along with any sign of what it once was. Now replaced with rounded curves and polished sides that Lucy imagines must be smooth to the touch. She remembers learning of sea glass long ago, reading about it in an elementary science class. Her textbook had explained about the effects of weathering and erosion; how shards of broken bottles, plates, or jars are worn down overtime. The tides push and pull while carrying it miles away. A journey, Lucy vaguely recalls, takes years for glass to become as opaque as the pebble that now lays at her feet. She lifts her head and looks beyond the bank, beyond the smoothed glass and the chorus of waves crashing against each other.

Her eyes fall on the horizon, where the sky touches the expanding sea and she scans the line searching for a clue to the sea glass’ origins. How long has it been away from home? She wonders. She waits for a response but a silent ocean taunts her, holding tightly to its secrets. The deceptive peace and the absence of everything that she and the glass have been through pulls at her insides, twisting and tearing until she can no longer hold herself up. Lucy drops to her hands and knees, and she can feel the contents of her stomach threatening to spill out. Sand digs into her skin as she grips it. Needing something to hold onto and give her balance while she fights to keep what little she has left inside. But as she claws the beach, her lifeline escapes through her fingers. Flowing back to the shore and with nothing left to keep her steady, the remaining contents of her stomach eventually follow.

When there is nothing left to give up, she rolls onto her side, unable to bring herself to stand.

At least not right now. 

 The warm sand, baked from the afternoon sun, is inviting enough to convince her to lay down for a few moments longer. The emerald shard of glass now sits a few inches from her face and without thinking she reaches out and takes it. Lucy squeezes her hand shut, all the danger of broken glass long since worn away and with the pad of her thumb she outlines the bumps and divots of the stone over and over again as if running her fingers along a piece of die. 

The voice beyond is beginning to get louder now, he will find her any minute now but she’s not ready to face it. Just give me a few moments more, she pleads to herself. Her eyes fix back onto the task in front of her. Fingers, sticky with sand, occasionally grind against the stone as she moves it around in her palm. An action that emits a crunching sound similar to that of stepping onto gravel. The noise is quiet but distraction enough to pull her focus back in.

Lucy can’t help but feel a connection to the poor glass. Both of them in an indescribable distance away from home, forever changed by a journey they never asked for, but swept into nonetheless. She clenches her fist, pulling it protectively against her chest. Memories of home call upon an ache that has settled itself within her heart, and Lucy is unsure of how long it has been there. The pain conjuring up thoughts of how long it will be until she can go back home-if she can at all? Or will she become more like the traveler in her palm, destined never to return? The hot sand, the advancing desperate shouts, and smell of saline begin to overwhelm her. In an attempt to push out the world, she squeezes her eyes shut. However, the pulse of the beach is no longer loud enough to drown out her environment and a familiar voice has finally reached her.

“Chen! Where have you been? My god, what happened?” 

There is a sternness and sincerity to his tone that only he can bring and she doesn’t need to open her eyes to recognize who it is. So when his hands tentatively touch her shoulders, warm and solid, she doesn’t flinch. She knows it’s Tim. Her teacher, her friend, and now fellow survivor.

 She opens her eyes as she lets him pull her up into a sitting position, his own scanning her for signs of new injuries. It’s only when he finds none does his concern fall to annoyance. 

“We have been calling your name for ten minutes, boot. You know better than to just go off on your own and start ignoring everyone. After everything that has happened..” His voice falters and he fights to get it back under control of it, taking in a short breath and twisting chapped lips. Tim’s habit and pathological need to remain in control is so soaked in normalcy that Lucy can’t help but laugh at it. At the sheer ridiculousness of it all. 

“This isn’t funny.” He tells her, taken aback at the absurdity of her reaction.

“I’m sorry,” she chokes out while lifting her head towards the sky in disbelief, “You’re right, I know. It’s not funny. None of this is funny.” The insincere fit of laughter trickles away with her last few words and flows seamlessly into tears. After the intensity of the last few days, the nights adrift at sea and the morning’s fleeting relief of finding land, Lucy had not let herself grieve. Not allowed the reality of their situation sink in. 

Tim is quick to pull her into his arms, sheltering her from the wind and bringing a comfort only an old friend could provide, his initial annoyance now dissipated. The intimacy of the touch is uncommon and foreign between them, but Lucy allows herself to welcome the reassurance it unexpectedly brings. She tucks her head under his chin while hot streams glide down her cheeks. Lucy knows this situation has taken so much from them both, from them all, and will continue to ask more of them as the days go on, but she is grateful for his patience at this moment. A moment that is needed. A moment that has been earned.

 When her breathing falls back to even strides, she attempts to peel herself away, afraid of overstaying her welcome. But Tim’s arms tighten without a word and Lucy suspects that he needs a moment as well. So she gives it to him, instead taking the time to really look at his appearance for the first time.

Much like Lucy, Tim’s clothes are dirty and torn with fresh purple bruises staining his exposed arms. Red blotches have soaked into his shirt, and those thick pieces of cloth that stick to his torso like glue have now transferred onto her own shirt. She lingers for a moment on the rubber, yellow band around his wrist at her side. The same one they all eagerly put on a few days ago, now smudged with dirt and blood. Evidence of a vacation gone wrong. 

She braves a look at his face and his eyes catch hers, exhaustion and worry hidden within the lines tucked around his mouth and the creases between his brows. With their experience of being police officers, and Tim’s added time in the military, they’ve both been through traumatic events before, trained to handle the most stressful of situations. However, the LAPD doesn’t hold many courses on shipwrecks, and Lucy can’t recall ever receiving a Tim Test on what to do in the case of being stranded on a deserted island. They are in unfamiliar territory, and no amount of training fully prepared them for a situation like this. Rookies again.

Finally, as a silence begins to nestle between them, Tim pulls away and Lucy watches him debate on what he should say next. He shifts around a bit, growing uncomfortable in the quiet and from the kneeling position he had taken earlier. She imagines what he could be thinking, knowing “Are you okay?” must feel like too lame of a question and“Get up, let’s get moving” while more in line with Tim's usual rough demeanor, perhaps too harsh even for him in this present moment. He is the first one to break eye contact as he finally stands, stretching his legs. The silent debate in his mind seemingly over and won.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks finally, his question soft and low. For a second, she’s taken aback by the unusual gentleness he continues to show her. But when she feels some of the heaviness in her shoulders release, slightly, but as if lifted up by a balloon, she is thankful for his tenderness. Lucy looks down at her feet. A single brown boot on one foot, and she wriggles the uncovered toes of the other drawing his attention.

“My shoe.” She responds, and Tim raises an eyebrow. “I just wanted to find my shoe.” 

“After the rescue boat shows up, I’ll take you to buy a new pair, hell about twenty?” He proposes and it’s his turn to smile. It's small but there, and Lucy can’t help but feel the infectious pull of it.

“You are going to take me?” She teases and Tim scoffs.

“Why is that so shocking? I’m probably not as good as Angela, but I know my way around a shoe store.” He jokes and it is enough to bring a genuine grin out of her. 

Seizing the moment, Tim stretches out an arm and Lucy takes it, accepting his offer to help her to her feet. As she rises, the island beneath her sways and the clouds spin causing her to stumble. Tim is quick, as he often is, and steadies her by grabbing her elbow. Keeping her upright as he waits for her world to stop spinning. 

“Thank you.” She tells him, after a breath, and they both know that her words are meant for more than just this moment. 

There’s a pause before Tim says, “Rescue is going to come.” His voice is sure and absent of any doubt and Lucy notices the hand still cradling her elbow. 

“I know,” she whispers. And she does. Lucy has always been clever, and the logical part of her knows that Tim Bradford is right. With the advancement of modern technology, the likelihood of rescue boats arriving any minute now is high and there is no need for panic. So when Tim suggests they go back to the group and wait for help, she doesn’t argue. However, as he guides her back to their friends and fellow survivors, to their humble beginnings of a campsite not meant to last, the ache in her chest tightens. And the weight of the seaglass, still secure in the palm of her hand, grows heavier than ever.

Thank you for reading! You can also find this story via my AO3 account @apollobar.