#Red Cedar Wood Shutters

[shuttermanuk]

Here at ShutterMan, we are a shutter company offering shutter products such as fitted interior window shutters, plantation shutters, white shutters, shutter installation, solid panel shutters, shutters for patio doors, home security shutters, wooden shutters, PVC waterproof shutters, and made to measure wooden shutters to clients throughout Uckfield and the surrounding areas of East Sussex.

Please call us today if you require additional information about our shutter products. We're always on hand to take your call, answer any questions and deal with any enquiries you may have.

Website: https://shutterman.uk/

Address: 33 Scarletts Close, Uckfield, East Sussex, TN22 2BA

Phone Number: 01825760722

Business Hours: Monday - Friday: 09:00 AM - 06:00 PM Saturday: 10:00 AM - 02:00 PM Sunday: Closed

Contact Mail: office@shutterman.uk

[shuttersha]

Pros Of Plantation Shutters In Kellyville

Plantation shutters in Kellyville are a popular choice for window treatments, but they have some drawbacks. If you're thinking of adding plantation shutters to your home, you must know what they are and how they work before purchasing or hiring an installer. 

Plantation shutters are well-suited for many types of windows, including ones with an arch or curve. They can be used on any type of window and offer the same benefits as other types of shutters, such as privacy and security.

Range of Colours

Plantation shutters come in various colours and styles to suit any décor. They can be found in more contemporary designs or painted in a vintage colour scheme. Whatever style you choose, plantation shutters will add the perfect finishing touch to your home.

Range of Styles

While plantation shutters are traditional, you can also find them in a more contemporary style. This is an excellent option for homeowners who want to modernise their decor without sacrificing the beauty of their home's original architecture.

Plantation shutters in Kellyville are available in many different colours and styles, including white and beige, as well as dark browns and reds. The flexibility of this style makes it easy to customise your home’s design by adding custom details such as hardware or door stops that match the existing hardware on the window frames themselves!

Home Insulation

Plantation shutters are an effective way to improve energy efficiency, which can reduce your carbon footprint. They also help prevent drafts from coming through your windows and depressors, which means they’re more effective at keeping out bugs and insects.

Plantation shutters can be expensive compared to other options like curtains or blinds. Still, they pay off over time by reducing energy bills while protecting against heat loss in hot weather.

Little Maintenance

Plantation shutters require little to no maintenance. This is because they are made from wood, which is naturally porous and can be cleaned with a damp cloth. They will not need to be painted or cleaned at all if you use plantation shutters that are made from natural materials like cedar and cypress. Suppose you have plantation shutters made from other hardwood, mahogany or teak materials. Those types will require some care but not much more than regular cleaning products like vinegar or mineral spirits.

In addition to being easy on your wallet by not requiring any special supplies for cleaning purposes, these types of windows also tend to last longer than vinyl ones because they're built more slowly over time while also being able to withstand weather conditions better than their competitors' counterparts.

Adjustable

The louvres on plantation shutters can be adjusted to control how much light comes into your home and how much heat and noise enter.

The louvres on a plantation shutter system can be adjusted to allow privacy or block out unwanted sounds. For example, you want to keep out the sound of traffic but still want some light from outside when you're working at night or in low-light situations. In that case, it may be best for you to install louvres along one side of your window that faces away from street traffic so that no one can see inside through these windows.

Plantation shutters are an environmentally friendly window treatment choice considering they are made of sustainable wood, last a long time and don't require electricity or batteries.

Cost-Effective

Plantation shutters are a cost-effective way to improve your home's value and curb appeal without breaking the bank. While professionals or DIY enthusiasts can install them, you still need to know some things before getting started.

Conclusion

While plantation shutters require some work to install, they are a great way to improve the value of your home and control the light in your room. They also help insulate against heat loss and cold gains, saving you money on heating and cooling bills.

[blindsnewcastle]

Add Some Finishing Touches to Your Home With Newcastle Shutters and Blinds

When it comes to choosing window dressings, there are many factors to consider. It’s not just about form or function – it’s also about the material you choose and how durable they are.

Shutters can reduce summer heat entering a room and prevent winter heat loss, which can help you save on energy bills. They can also provide privacy and light control.

Custom-made shutters

When you’re looking to add an aesthetic touch to your home, there are many things to consider when choosing the right window treatment. The style you choose should balance form and function, and should reflect the overall aesthetic of your interior design. In addition to providing visual appeal, shutters can also be used to control light and privacy. This is why shutters are a popular choice among homeowners.

Unlike other types of window treatments, shutters are made to fit the size and shape of your windows, making them a stylish and durable option for any space. They are also designed to provide superior thermal protection and help reduce energy bills. They use hinged louvres to regulate the amount of light and airflow that enters a room. They can be closed or opened to suit your needs, and can be fitted with different tilt mechanisms.

Heritage Blinds and Shutters offers a wide range of internal and external plantation shutters to meet the unique needs of our customers in Newcastle. They come in a variety of styles, colours, and finishes to suit any space and décor, and are suitable for both traditional and contemporary homes. Their shutters are available in a number of timber species, including western red cedar and basswood. These hardwoods are sturdy and moisture-resistant, which makes them ideal for long-term durability. They can be stained or painted to match your interior design.

Another great feature of custom-made shutters is their ability to protect your home from harmful UV rays, which can damage furniture and carpets. They can also be customised to any height to allow in the desired amount of light. These benefits make them an excellent alternative to curtains and awnings, which can be damaged by harsh sunlight.

The most popular choice of wood for interior shutters is basswood, also known as linden or tilia. It has a fine, uniform texture that’s perfect for painting. They can be finished in a wide variety of colours, from matte to high-gloss. They’re also heat- and moisture-resistant, and can be wiped clean with a damp cloth.

Faux wood shutters

Faux wood shutters offer homeowners the look of natural wood window treatments at a fraction of their cost. They also are resistant to moisture, which makes them a good choice for areas of the home that may be exposed to water or humidity. For instance, they are a good choice for kitchens, bathrooms and wet rooms. They also resist the damaging effects of sun exposure, fading and warping better than real wood. They can also be a great option for people with kids and pets, who are prone to scratching window treatments.

Aside from being affordable, faux wood shutters offer other benefits that are appealing to many homeowners. These include light control, energy efficiency, and a classic aesthetic that will never go out of style. They are a beautiful addition to any home, and they can boost your property’s value.

The best faux wood shutters are crafted from premium materials and offer a wide range of customization options. They are available in multiple colors and can be stained to match your existing woodwork or create a fresh, new style. They also have a variety of louver sizes to fit your windows and allow for privacy and light control. Some faux wood shutters are also designed to be angled, which allows for more natural light and can make a room feel bigger.

Some faux wood shutters, such as Polywood, are made from a solid-wood composite that won’t crack or chip. They are also treated with a UV inhibitor that prevents them from fading or yellowing. They can withstand harsh hot or cold weather and are durable enough to last decades in your home.

Faux wood shutters are also a great choice for homeowners who want to reduce outside noise pollution in their homes. They provide a barrier that helps to block out outside noise, making it easier to relax and enjoy your home. They can also help to save on energy costs by keeping the indoor temperature comfortable throughout the year.

Another benefit of faux wood shutters is that they can be installed in any type of window. They are a perfect solution for arches, triangular windows and even bay windows. These window dressings can be custom-made for a specific window, allowing you to get the look you want without compromising on functionality.

Shuttercraft

If you’re looking to add some finishing touches to your home, shutters are a great choice. These window treatments offer many benefits, including improved privacy and light control. They can also act as a deterrent against burglars and other uninvited guests. They’re made from solid and sturdy materials, so they’ll stand up to the elements and last for years. In addition, they’re available in a variety of colors and styles to complement any design theme.

Shuttercraft offers a wide range of shutters and blinds that are custom-made to fit your windows. The company’s newest product, the Duette blinds, offer energy savings and are available in hundreds of beautiful fabrics and ombre shades. They’re also a good choice for homes that need additional insulation.

The company’s headquarters are located in Micheldever, United Kingdom. The company has been in operation since 1996, and it currently employs more than 12,000 people worldwide. Its customers include individuals, commercial clients, and homeowners. In addition to offering a wide range of products, the company offers free consultations to its customers.

It offers a variety of options, such as tier-on-tier, cafe style, and full height shutters. These can be adjusted using the traditional blind pulley system or silent tilt, allowing them to open and close smoothly over an expansive area. They’re perfect for large windows, conservatories, and Velux roof windows.

Shutters are also available in different materials, such as wood or faux-wood. They’re usually angled with slats that open to let in sunlight, but can be closed to keep out harsh glare and heat. Shutters are often built from solid timber, which gives them an earthy charm and add a sense of warmth to a room.

Whether you’re a homeowner or a business owner, choosing the right window solution can be challenging. It’s important to consider your budget, aesthetic, and functional needs before making a decision. In addition, you should choose a reputable supplier with a track record of high-quality service. It’s also important to make sure you’re comfortable with the installation process. Luckily, there are many companies that provide this service in the Newcastle area.

Maxview

A custom-made blind or shutter is a great way to enhance your home. A skilled Newcastle supplier can create a design to fit your specifications. They also provide different options that can help you choose a style that fits your budget. They can offer both internal and external blinds, as well as louvres and shutters. These are usually made from strong aluminium and can be hand-wind or motorised.

Installing quality blinds and shutters in your Paoli, PA home is an excellent investment. Not only will they improve the appearance of your house, but they will also add to its value. Window shutters are especially useful if your house faces a public area, as they deter prying eyes while not blocking light. In addition, they can be opened at a wide angle to let in sunlight and air.

Maxview offers a variety of high-quality custom blinds and shutters that will suit your needs. They can schedule a home visit at your convenience to take measurements and consult you on the best window treatments for your home. They also offer quick installation and cleanup after the job is finished. They are dedicated to providing the highest quality service and strive for complete customer satisfaction.

source https://blindsnewcastle358125862.wordpress.com/2023/05/25/add-some-finishing-touches-to-your-home-with-newcastle-shutters-and-blinds/

[bubblehorse]

The Tiger's Cave | Chapter 2

Flashback the first: A glimpse into Kite's once-lonely childhood, and his first meeting with Brioche.

CHAPTER 2 - MAGPIE

Kite cannot help but feel taunted by the bright, flashing lights of the neon jungle of signs lining the street. The loudest of them all belonging to a building called The Happy-Go-Lucky Harlequin. A luminous white face, a round red nose, and a mouth split into a grin so wide, it’s almost grotesque. The triple reels of a slot machine, each displaying the number seven, form its teeth. Worse still, is the slogan it blares, at precise intervals of two minutes and thirty-seven seconds—Kite had actually bothered to time it one evening past—"Every One a Winner!"

Kite slumps against the wall and sighs. Weekend nights like these were his one regular escape, lurking in the shadows of the leisure district and stealing—like he did so many other things—glimpses of a life that had passed him over.

He invents backstories for passers-by. One woman in a mink stole is newly widowed and had come to the casinos to fling part of her late husband's fortunes to the roulette wheels and blackjack tables in a final tribute to him. A giggling young couple has sweet-talked their way into the honeymoon suite, though their wedding had been done and dusted six months ago, in a quiet ceremony missed by both sets of parents. Each tale Kite narrates to himself is more fanciful than the last, yet, he observes in a moment of self-awareness, none without their own notes of grief. Something in him feels inclined to leave holes in the tapestries he weaves of other people's lives.

The clink of coins shakes Kite from his stupor, and he automatically glances down to his newsboy cap, overturned on the curb to act as a pitiful offering basket. Had someone actually bothered to throw something his way?

A grope around the inner lining of his hat dashes his hopes so quickly, he barely has time to recognize the small bubble rising in his chest as a cheerful one. With a grimace, Kite realizes he’s been fooled by the chime accompanying the deluge of flashing lights from the Happy-Go-Lucky Harlequin’s mouth, miming the winnings of a slot machine to mark the half-hour. Ruling spending his evening as a beggar just as fruitless an endeavor as the gambling itself, he pulls his cap back on his head and turns on his heel, away from the crowds of rich folk and that gods-forsaken clown.

The whole of the city’s nightlife seems to have descended on the casinos and bars lining the Promenade, and as Kite rounds his second corner there’s already a noticeable change in ambiance. The leisure district gleams ever more brightly as the sun sets, and in its lengthening shadow the true nature of Rongé-Belle is revealed. Brick roads give way to cracked cobblestone and then to dirt, weaving between densely nested buildings. Beyond the towering, glittery facades of its carefully manicured center, the city sprawls out haphazardly, built in tottering terraced layers directly into the mountainside. To those merely passing through, the twists and turns and dizzying stacks of buildings might seem hopelessly confusing, even hostile, but Kite has spent his whole life on these streets. He doesn’t need to know where he’s going, but always seems to have an innate sense of where he is—an internal compass of sorts, with a few more bells and whistles.

Kite finds his feet leading him away down a quieter side street. The dull roar of the leisure district had been enough to distract him from his third day on an empty stomach, but without it, the hollow pain of hunger has returned with a vengeance. He idly curses the human body for not yet evolving the ability to subsist on smell alone.

A tray of savory tarts lay cooling on a windowsill, the open cedar wood shutters allowing the inviting scent to waft through the night air. He inches closer. Egg and cheese and onion—and one fruity scent that he can’t quite recognize, alluringly intertwined—nestled lovingly within a flaky pastry crust. Kite vaguely registers someone humming about the brick oven in the rear of the room, back to the window. Surely they could spare just one.

He strikes before he can even fully consider it. Pastry in hand, at his lips, in his throat, scarfing it down in the blink of an eye. But he is still hungry. Another. And another. Each one equally delicious, and, before long, equally vanished. The tray now stands desolate on its lonely wooden counter.

“Hey!” A shriek shatters Kite’s momentary peace. “What do you think you’re doing?! Put that down!” Naturally, Kite shoves the last remaining half of a crumbling tart into his overcoat pocket, and flees. He does not bother with looking over his shoulder to glimpse his pursuer. Escaping is all that matters.

Clack clack clack—The rhythm of his boots hitting the cobblestones.

Huff huff huff—The belabored noise of his irate companion keeping pace.

Kite is far too crafty, and much too quick to be matched for long. He can lose the tail at this next fork, darting through outer Rongé-Belle’s notoriously winding alleys... Left, right, left, double back in the shadows to make sure you’ve lost them, left again, right, right, left...

At the end of a side street flanked by abandoned homes, Kite skids to a halt, sliding his lithe form feet first into an open storm drain.

Here, surrounded by stagnant water and dimly flickering lanterns, he finally lets himself relax. A pile of rags and other pilfered linens serves as his nest, of sorts, against the far wall at the crux of the isolated sewer passage. Home at last.

A home that, until about three seconds later, had been utterly unexplored by the other inhabitants of Rongé-Belle. Kite’s moment of relaxation is once again interrupted, this time by the dull thud of someone dropping to the ground after squeezing through the same storm drain that served as his front door.

“You,” a familiar voice growls shakily, in between deep, exhausted gulps of air, “have about two seconds to give me those back.” A shuddery pause. “Or I’ll kick your damn teeth in.”

As they step into the light of the nearest lantern, Kite finally gets a good look at his dogged pursuer.

A child, hardly older than himself. Blonde hair, now damp with sweat, plastered against their forehead. Freckled face, streaked with mud, as are their pink blouse and denim pinafore. Despite their introductory attempt at an authoritative tone of voice, their weight shifts uneasily back-and-forth between feet clad in clunky leather work boots.

While Kite sizes them up, his opponent seizes the opportunity to strike. They seize a fistful of fabric from the front of his frock, tugging him forward.

“You don’t even know what you took, do you?” Kite blinks wordlessly. Between fight or flight, he had opted to freeze.

The intruder regards him with a hardened glare for a few long moments. Their thumb rises to swipe a few crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

“Wait a minute, you...you ate them?” Before Kite’s eyes, their entire demeanor changes. They drop their handful of his turtleneck, only to clap their hands on both scrawny shoulders, shaking him exuberantly. “So how’d it taste? Did the rosemary help or hurt it? No, wait, don’t say anything! Let me pull out my—” Their hands fly off his shoulders to pat themselves down. “Crud, it’s in my other apron,” they say with a huffy exhale that momentarily blows a lock of hair off of their forehead.

Free at last, Kite scrambles away, pushing his back into the furthest corner and affording himself a wide vantage point.

The intruder looks up at him. “Sheesh, guy, I’m just looking for my recipe notebook. Not gonna hurt ya. Anymore, at least,” they add sheepishly. They cast their blue eyes about the damp, squalid space, and then back to Kite, furrowing their brow. “You don’t live here, do you?” Kite allows himself a nod.

“But you’re my age,” they intend to sound matter-of-fact, but Kite can hear an undercurrent of concern in their tone. “Then you must be…” their gaze rests on him again, softened. “No wonder you’re swiping food off windowsills,” they say in a low voice.

Kite now feels more exposed, more vulnerable in the sewer, than he ever did above ground. Sure, it didn’t take much to connect the dots just by looking at him. But no one had ever said it so openly, nor offered him the discomforting tone of pity.

The stranger sighs, catching their lower lip between their gapped front teeth, chewing thoughtfully. “Say what, little magpie, I’ll make you a deal.” A smile pulls at the corner of their mouth. “Help me gather enough Chromatic Fungi for a new batch, and we’ll call it even.” The child offers their hand to Kite.

Tentatively, he extends his own clammy hand to meet theirs— it’s warm, calloused, and faintly sticky. Their iron grip seizes him immediately, nearly tugging his arm out of its socket with an exuberant handshake. Kite does his best to pretend he isn’t relishing the only friendly touch he’s experienced in the last…

He doesn’t want to think about how long ago the last time was.

“I’m Brioche, by the way,” Kite’s new friend says, yanking his mind back to the present. “Brioche Kavaro. What’s your name?” “Kite,” he offers stolidly, his voice only slightly hoarse for his first spoken word of the entire evening.

“Well Kite, it’s a pleasure to meet you properly, friend. And I’m sorry for giving you a hard time earlier.” Kite does his best to approximate a genial nod. Neither his brain nor his throat feel up to speaking again so soon. “Meet me at the signpost right before the forest south of town. You know, the one shaped like a pointed finger? There, at daybreak.” Another nod from Kite, and Brioche Kavaro turns to leave markedly happier than they had been when entering. Despite beginning his night resigned to his position of a shunned and lonely beggar, Kite feels another flicker of hope in his chest. One that is not immediately snuffed out, as before, but tentatively rises, spreading warmth to each of his limbs. He sits on his makeshift sleeping mat, keeping a keen ear to the distant sounds of Brioche wiggling their way out of the sewer.

They had called him a friend. A friend. He has a friend. One he was going to see again tomorrow. Kite lies back, pulling his cap down over his eyes, and letting the steady rush of the waterways usher him to sleep. It comes much easier than it has in a long time, now that he has a full stomach.

[sinfulsigh]

𝙰𝚂𝙿𝙷𝚈𝚇𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝙽 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚂𝚄𝙱𝙻𝙸𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙿𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙻𝚂

summery : he, who bloomed and ravished, sought euphoria in your high.

pairings : hanamaki takahiro x fem! reader

caution warnings : smut, nsfw, asphyxiation, marijuana

word count : 4.3k

He hated how your name felt against his tongue during an achroous downpour on a friable Monday afternoon; complaining how it’s harsh and jagged, as if it could shatter ivory molars. Your name sounded of foreign revolutions and fescennine opulence, a name he claims that static nymphs would own as they choke on nude snapdragons. So, he prefers to call you Hanaame, for the rain storm you lingered under and how he desperately wanted to pinch himself onto you for an eternity.

Delirious and illecebrous was his four o’ clock stare as he gazed at how your hair rests in heavy tussles against the rainfall, admiring how your uniform clung to to your statuesque body (exposing every soft curve and barbed edge of your anatomy); silently worshiping a sfumato muse with amaranthine forelsket that taunts him. Amid captivating midsummer showers, you were the luminary of his hazed, vain possessed reality that’s soaked in the trichromatic hues of explicit soaking. The tip of his fingers trembled lightly as they ghost over your skin, pulling away the hair that cascaded down your face—water droplets slowly descending from the ends of your hair and the curve of your face; baptising you in solstice sorrows.

“You look pretty this way,” Hanamaki informed with a honeyed, shy voice. His skin flushing the vast shades of peaches as it paints his flesh in warm tones.

You cusp your palm against his cheek, cherishing the warmth that radiates from his ambiance that felt strangely of smoke. You smiled at him, the gloss of your lips seeping into the cracks of your chapped lips as he melts in the softness of your voice, “You look beautiful in the tides of this storm.”

All he could do was stare at you with squinted eyes that are glazed in an amaranth hue. Hanamaki smirks as he allows your hand to linger for a second longer before moving his body onwards into the insouciant prisms of the storm. The light drum of thunder quaked your bones, setting the rhythm for your heart as you walked between the roars and screams of a malicious tempest.

Hanamaki’s home lingered somewhere between a busy street that is known for its dense population of hallowed bodies and rural authority of decayed forests. The lights in his home glowed with warm lights with silhouettes of his youngest sister dancing hazardously as the hem of her dress fluttered around her. You can see his mother lingering in the kitchen as the small, crystal windows placed emphasis on her beauty—her strawberry blonde hair tied into a tight bun as her nepenthe eyes rested downcast at the counter while she cut away at freshly plucked produce.

Hanamaki leads you inside his home, ignoring the shrieking greetings of his sister and his mother’s demanding call of pleads as he pushes you up the koidan-dansu staircase. His home was small with narrow hallways and thin walls, wooden floors that creaked under your weight and memories plastered in oxidized silver frames on every mahogany surface. Hanamaki’s room was in the far back of the hallway where shadows brood, and he’s profusely apologizing that the light fixture above is broken and has been for many years now. His nimble fingers sliding the door to his bedroom open as a darkened room sat in cimmerian stillness.

The smell of musk and earth envelopes you into a sense of tranquility as you push farther into his room, taking in the sight of an unmade futon laying messy on beige tatami mats and a polluted desk messied with papers and unread books. Dust collected on the surface of his bookshelf, dresser and far corners of his rooms as lone spiders spun silk plexure on his windowsill. Hidden in too obvious of spaces were selcouth paraphernalia made of glass, their crystal bodies odd yet arcane with yellow inert water and resin clinging to the neck of his bongs.

You turned to Maki, who’s reaching into his closet to grab a spare hanger, as you melt away the tears of Mother Nature’s tantrum onto the floor. You're drenched and glistening after being consumed by the rain and Hanamaki listens to the subtle droplets fall from your hair onto his floor. Like the rest of his catastrophic room, he doesn’t care that you're making a mess. If he wasn’t so occupied trying to make things comfortable for you, he would gladly get on his knees and lick every stray droplet that falls around you (in his foam gagged consciousness, anything that spills from you should never go to waste). But he keeps his composure with a deep inhale from his nose as he hands you a wire hanger.

“Here, put your clothes on that and I’ll place them in the bathroom to dry off.” Hanamaki offered before the sudden realization laved over him. His skin burning into molten hues of rose golden as he quickly added onto his statement with furrowed brows, “And while you do that, I will get you some spare clothes to wear.”

“Thanks.” You smiled, waiting for him to turn around before you discarded your clothes one by one.

You stripped away the light blue button down that caged your torso, followed by the unravel of the red ribbon secured tightly around your neck. Bare flesh being kissed by the dampened freeze of his aircon spitting clear, turbulent winds. You shutter, the vertebrae of your pretty spine vibrate in a shockwave of agglomerative climax. Gentle fingers unfastened the zipper on the side of your plaid skirt and quickly did it fall down your legs with a deadened thrash. You stepped out of your skirt and gently tucked away your clothes in an orderly fashion on the hanger, standing half naked in the midst of his room with artificial lights spotlighting the delicance and elegance of your flesh.

Hanamaki blushed, attempting to hide the tinge of apricot blush that painted his face in soft strokes, his hands trembling as he attempted to offer you a gray shirt. You thanked him as you handed off your uniform into his empty hands, watching him quickly dart out of the room as you played with the hem of his shirt. Once the door slid shut, you placed his t-shirt over your head and watched it cascade down your body as it engulfed your stature completely. A normal shirt for him was an oversized dress in contrast to your feminine build, something he admired once he returned into the sanctity of his room.

“You look pretty like this.” He praised, his smile carving into the lunar flesh of his face.

“I can say the same for you,” you pointed, acknowledging how he slipped out of his uniform to wear a plain, light blue t-shirt and a pair of sweats. “Thanks for the T-shirt.”

“I couldn’t just leave you in that wet uniform,” he exclaimed as he walked to the far side of the room. His hands brushed against the light fixture of his LED lights that quickly blazed in a violescent pigment; his hands rapidly tampering with a different, much smaller lamp that illuminated the many shades of a citrus sunset. He walked back to the other end of his room again to turn off the main light fixture, “It should be dry once you leave tonight.”

“Hopefully this storm lightens up.” You peered out the window as maudit winds routed between the spaces of buildings and trees.

“Even if it doesn’t, I don’t mind giving you my clothes so you can stay warm.”

“Such a typical guy thing to say,” you rolled your eyes.

“I’m only human and you look too pretty in my clothes,”  Hanamaki reminded, looping his arms around your waist as his lips pressed a chaste kiss on the top of your head. “Thanks for skipping homework to have a smoke session with me.”

“Thank you for providing the flower.” You smiled against the skin of his collarbone, taking in his scent of musk, jasmine and coconut shampoo with earthy tones of cedar wood and lavender.

Hanamaki pushes you into the futon before giving you one last squeeze, watching you fall like dazed cinematic sequences of lovers falling in lust. The back of your head hitting the pillow too hard that it ached in a dull pulse but you didn’t mind. Your dilated eyes watch him stalk towards the long bookshelf from between your legs that gaped slightly opened. You watched him with sublime lacing your beings as his oversized hands grasped at his pink grinder with a uv dripped face, a small gray bag that tore at the seams with frayed threads while his other hand carefully held a beaker bong that's dusted in a light pink color. You felt the sudden relief of knowing that the bong you’ll be sharing is clean with freshly added water.

You watched him open his grinder, the pungent smell of terra and dirt invading your aura as he sprinkled bud into the glass bowl. You lean into him, watching Hanamaki set up everything on his own as he demands you to relax and seep closer to him with a soft smile. His warmth like molten suns as it lulls you into halcyon elation, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt as you curl your fingers across his thin torso. Lips latching onto his neck, sucking on the subtle skin that makes Hanamaki feel euphoria against the plush of your pouty lips and the slime of your saliva staining his skin. A deep moan escaped the charred airwaves of his throat, sounding sweetly of corybantic arousal.

“Hey, at least let me finish this,” he sighs, hands roaming into his bag to find the yellow lighter he believed to be was lucky. He placed the tips of his fingers against your chin, turning your head to face him with a smirk planting his face as the pad of his thumb brushed against your bottom lip that was swollen with lust and anticipation. “Here, place your mouth on the rim and inhale.”

You obeyed, leaning your head down to attach your lips against the glass and began to slowly breathe. Hanamaki held the lighter to the bowl as to set the bud ablaze; he encouraged you to suck harder with a gentle rub of his calloused hands as it traces the curvature of your spine while the smoke began to accumulate in the glass. He released his hold on his favorite lighter as he pinches the bowl of the bong tightly between long fingers, Hanamaki smiled as he gazed at you, “Okay, darling, start sucking.”

Hanamaki pulls out the bowl, making you quickly suck in the clouds that swirled in the glass bong. The water in the bong began to bubble with the force of your soft inhales, trying to match the rhythm of heavy downpours that shatter his windows. The smoke traveled down your throat, scorching into your esophagus as it settles in your lungs—the smoke burning your respiratory system as if you consumed a thousand molten, honeyed suns whole. Your lungs felt like they dropped into your core as the pain tangled your nerves and spread across your back, making you want to release the smoke you were currently choking on. You looked at Hanamaki with blurred vision as tears swelled into your eyes, the smoke you poured out of your mouth billowed around you till it dissipated into the atmosphere.

“Ah! You drooled!” Hanamaki laughed, collecting the silver spit that glossed your lips and dribbled down your chin.

“God, that hurt!” You complained in between deep breaths.

“The first hit of the day is always the hardest.” Hanamaki informed before taking the leftovers your small lungs couldn’t carry. He quickly took in the smoke and held it in his lungs like a blanket before he began to slowly choke on colorless clouds. Smoke poured out of his lips as if it was second nature as they thickened around him. Between gentle coughs, he began to speak.

“Hanamaki, can I ask you a question?” You jeered. All too soon between after school smoke sessions and tender kisses on the rooftop of your school, you began to notice how Hanamaki feigned vanity (pretending to be possessed with solar incendiary with every shallow breath and dagger pierced eyes). He wasn’t like he claimed to be, if anything, Hanamaki Takahiro was a man that had interest in everything and a deep desire to be loved. Blood deep, he was still a prelude mortal that carries inordinate vitality. But he gravitated somewhere on a spectrum of flowers blooming in a subtle reality and an acid trip of lilac skies, where pain is easily mistaken for pleasure. You were sure you knew the answer but the words still slipped past your saliva glossed lips “Are you a virgin?”

Hanamaki smiled as urged you to place your mouth against the rim of his bong, lighting the bowl as the green residing within it became blackened ash. “No, I’m not.” He said simply, no emotions carried as he pulled the bowl away, “suck hard, darling.”

You held the smoke into your lungs as your chest expanded, your eyes glazing over to Hanamaki who could only smile at you. Slowly, you felt skin heat under his stare and all at once, the shame relaxed your spine as your lungs pleaded for oxygen—like a slave to your body, you obeyed as the smoke pooled out of your mouth slowly to create thick mist between you. Quickly, you let out a sharp cough that scraped away at the flesh from behind your throat. Hanamaki mutters how cute you were before he played with his glass to seek his high.

“I’m still a virgin.” You admitted.

The bubbles of his bong roared as he swallowed the thick cloud that billowed in his bong. He held the smoke inside his lungs for a minute as his lips carved into a smile, his head nodding in understanding, as if he knew. You were a good girl and he just ended up becoming the floral demon that took possession of your nectar spine, quickly corroding the prayers etched into your grapefruit brain. He made assumptions of you, just as you did of him, but he could never call you anything with malicious intent. Like he said the first time you smoked with him beneath the rose hedges of his home as bumblebees swayed around you, ‘you’re the world to me’. He blew out his smoke, the front of his teeth brushing together before returning your stare, “I know, baby.”

Lean bodies protrude closer as Hanamaki slid closer to your aura, his slender fingers gently scraped at the curve of your face. Your skin was coaxed in slime and salt, oddly did it remind Hanamaki of the rapid rivers from behind his house and how the mist of fresh water soaked his skin. His thumb brushes against the edge of your cheek bone before his hand slowly glides downwards to rest on the base of your neck; his lips finding the corner of your parted mouth as he kissed you gently—the taste of the cannabis stained onto his skin invading your sense of taste that burst of charred earth lave your tongue.

Hanamaki grasped your wrist, willing to pull you deeper into his core of guilty pleasures. And just how willing he was to expose the rot and hallucinations that polluted his mangled body, you willingly stepped into his delusions of lilac skies where flowers bloomed vibrantly and violently—saturated in the acid that distorts your angelic image into a nymph that births peonies. He leaned forward, hovering his chapped lips above yours as waited for your signal, hoping it was fine to sink into your solar prisms and taste the honey from your lips. Eyes half lidded, he sweetly framed your mouth to his with open mouth kisses. His touches feel comforting as his weight is forged onto you and he pulls you down.

Nimble fingers card through his hair, the tip of your fingernails scratching against his scalp but he didn’t mind. It only encouraged him more with fever blossoming beneath his pale skin, your touch was something he craved and Hanamaki desired to capture it more with greed in hands.

Hanamaki bit the bottom of your lip before pulling away, gasping for air as you were far more dangerous than any smoke he could devour. “Hanaame,” he gasped, as if it was your actual name. The tips of his fingers inched higher above the hem of his t-shirt draped on your body as they roamed against your skin. You followed his movements, slowly pulling at the cloth that entraps his body till it raised just above his navel. Your fingertips brushed every hard edge and muscle of his torso before he replaced your hands with his, quickly discarding his shirt that suddenly felt too heavy to bear.

With furrowed brows, he gently placed his hands on your stomach from where your skin exposed, looking at you with half lidded eyes as you gave him the okay to touch your flesh. He slowly pulled at the hem of his shirt, raising it up to reveal your chest that was adorned in a bra that matched your black panties. Raindrops fell onto your skin from the open cracks of his window, painting you in cold, summer rainstorms as Hanamaki discarded the shirt; your body leaning forward from the assistance of your numbing elbows digging into the fabric of his futon. You harshly pressed your mouth against him again, missing the mold of his lips that feel like strelitzias swarming around you. The lingering taste of ash and earth of his lips felt hot in comparison to the rain that drizzled over you.

Water droplets began to pile against you, pooling into the spaces of your collarbones and neck muscles that you shivered. Hanamaki wanted to cure you of the pale freeze that glimmered onto your skin, jealous of how the rain loved you with it’s elixir offerings, so much so that attached his open mouth against your neck and dragged his tongue down. He cleaned the salt and purity from your skin, the sweat and nectar that doused you as the feel of your flesh mimicked the heat from oblivious, vermilion hell fires. He sipped on the rain fall that ruined your gentle image, knowing in the back of his mind he’ll become sick with infections that will soon saturate his organs with toxicity. However, he didn’t mind and it proved as his tongue still swayed against your skin.

Hands trembled as they pulled at the hem of your black panties, pulling them down slowly as you adjusted to the sudden chill of being bare and exposed. Hanamaki searched for your evening stare through half lidded eyes, assuring that he wasn’t pushing boundaries. Shaken fingers trembled as they gently pressed against the slit of your opening before they ran upwards to press lightly on your clit. You stirred, letting out a soft hiss as your body trembled from his touch, and for a moment he was scared that he harmed you but the apprehension that laced his translucent flesh washed away when he noticed your legs opening just slightly. He pressed agonizing small circles around you, adoring the sweet mewls that leave your lips with a drunken smile—saturated in euphoria at the beauty sprawled out in front of him as his high quickly takes over.

His movements felt slow as he carefully pushed away the hairs that curtained your face. The pad of his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before grazing it over your eyelid, smearing the eyeshadow and liquid eyeliner that painted you in renaissance beauty. “Open your eyes,” Hanamaki demanded, leaning his body closer to yours as you felt his hardened cock rest painfully on your thigh.

You obeyed, your vision going hazy like a noise filter. For a second you couldn’t comprehend as to why your body reacted in such a way but you couldn’t escape this high that made you feel like mauve flowers blooming underneath the heat of a uv lamp. You felt dizzy, as if you orbited around Saturn’s orange halo rings yet you knew perfectly well that you laid still and composed under Hanamaki. You reached out your hand to cusp his face, your reaction time slow as your limbs felt too heavy.

“Your eyes,” he complimented, “Are a beautiful shade of red.”

“I feel like the color purple, rare and untouchable.” You murmured, “But I know I’m in nude tones of skin shows and it’s just my aura slowly reaching enlightenment under the haze of your influence.”

He smiles at you, returning his lips to your skin as his fingers trailed down to feel the nectar collecting at your opening. His fingertips coated in slime as he pushed one digit in, curving his digit against your walls to witness the reaction of ecstasy that laced your bones. He moved his fingers in rhythmic tone, sliding in and out before needing to replace his slender fingers with his raged member that demanded to be noticed.

He grasped the base of his cock, sliding it between you in slow pushes to give you time to adjust to his length. He shutters at your unintentional squeeze as you milk him, Hanamaki never realizing how loud his gasps and grunts are as the pounding in his heart (from embarrassment, the pleasure and the high) became too coherent in his racing mind. The grip around your hips could break, allowing the black ichor spill like ink, blotching your flesh in a bouquet of flowers. Once he’s fully in, he recomposes, staring at you with the casual sparkle in his eyes as his smile resurfaces. Hanamaki traces the skin from just below your eyes, demanding you look at him with those red eyes that captivate him completely like salacious artwork hanging proudly in elegant museums.

“I can take you even higher,” he admits, fingertip brushes tracing softly against your neck, “I can take you away from this reality.”

You don’t say anything, still attempting to understand his words as they pour slowly out his lips. The reaction of his fingers on your skin was delayed, and it wasn’t until he pulled away did you notice his lingering advances. Once you could comprehend his words, you nodded your head, shaking it so quickly that it pulled at your center of gravity. “Okay,” you meekly whispered, giving him consent before you completely forget what he offered, “Just don’t kill me.”

Hanamaki pressed his lips onto yours sweetly before pulling away, his words tracing your lips in the same hush toned you spoke, “I could never.”

Because, you were his world.

He quickens his thrust, his hips carving into yours as if you’re a goddess demanding to be worshipped. You could feel the pleasure resonating from your love and spreads—every little edge and surface of your skin feeling sensitive to the touch of his lust. The slam of his hips felt like thunder as it echoed and reverberated off the thin walls of his room, and in the back of your mind before you forget about it mid sentence was, ‘I’m sure his mother can hear us.’ But Hanamaki didn’t mind, he wasn’t ashamed to let his mother know that he was deep within the bathic caverns of the girl he worshipped.

He knew you would most likely come before him, so quickly he fulfilled his promise and offered his hands to you. The palm of his hands pressing tight against the side of your neck as the curve of his thumbs sat against the base of your neck. Once he paved inside, he began to squeeze, restricting your breathing as his hips hit hard against your liquid love. He ignored the rainfall that slaps against his limbs, the cold thrush of droplets adoring his skin like impaled jewels. Disregarding the water droplets that splashed against his narrow shoulder blades and traveled downwards across his spine. And under him, you were soft with widened eyes as you try to comprehend his soothing words. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he assured and you believed it, ‘cause deep within your core, he’s nurturing the lotuses that wilted as the stomach acid dissipated from your organs. Hanamaki was a literal demon, adored in flowers as he puked up petals beneath your naked frame—he could make you witness the destruction of paracosms and rebuild the dimensions that you nuked with heartache with the growth of florals and cannabis oils.

Your vision faded into this reality to a white cascade that appeared like static in your dilated pupils. Against his palms, he could feel the gentle pulse that fastens with every pace of his hips. Once you could witness the rebirth of this reality, your vision still clouded in noise and static, everything felt slow. His pace, his touch, your buildup. You never notice how the rain pours onto your bare flesh, or how Hanamaki’s heated exhales mist your skin. Slowly, did you feel euphoria tightened around your love as it escalated heavily before the vertigo grew overwhelming.

“H—Hana...maki!” You moaned, “I think I’m going to—!”

“It’s fine, darling.” He whispered, “Come, it’s okay.”

With or without his permission, your climax heightened as your hips raised against his careless rhythm. His cock brushed against your cervix as his hands began to squeeze tighter around your neck. As you slipped out of this reality, you released the pressure that pooled inside, your body seizing with the heavy weight of your climax and milked his cock.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He moans.

His hips continued to thrust as he formed his lips onto yours, swallowing your moans and saliva as he too was close to reaching his high. Beneath him, you felt the wave of euphoria graze your daybreak ambiance, shedding away the title of mortal to enter a slow metamorphosis of godly.

[fatehbaz]

don’t want to give too much attention or credit to w*k*ped*a, of course, but like that at least one editor believes that the most evocative, most powerful expression of the classic and ineffable “Middle America” concept is “a quiet street in a small Indiana town in October.” like, thank you for being so specific. the ominous mystique of an archetypal Midwestern town lost in the haze of a perpetual autumn.

“Middle America is an obscure super-entity which, though cryptic and fleeting, periodically reveals itself in various physical locations like vacant lots, quiet empty rusted playgrounds, moderately-wooded stream channels near unploughed remnant prairies, and in transitional landscapes where rural agricultural zones of the Corn Belt meet hardwoods forests and urban fringes in the southern Great Lakes industrial corridor. The purest distillations of Middle America seem to occur roughly between Cedar Rapids (Iowa) in the west and Mansfield (Ohio) in the east, from Saginaw and Eau Claire in the north to Evansville and Mt. Vernon (Illinois) in the south. Middle America regularly presents itself in places with complex and painful cultural histories and which experienced mass social trauma in the recent past, trauma that went unreported and unnoticed outside of your local four-county area. A place, like, say, a field with sandy soil, partially enclosed with flimsy chain-link fence, along the edge of a shuttered suburban manufacturing plant near Grand Rapids, which experienced a mass layoff in 1972 under the purview of apathetic corporate owners, an event which coincided with an increase in racist assaults that year, the horror purposely obscured by those in power, the crumbling facade of middle class American Dream niceties hiding them from view; the plant eventually closed in 1991, now quiet and reclaimed by grasses, decaying logs scattered across crumbling concrete, with gartersnakes and magpies now calmly moving amidst the shrubbery as black oak trees slowly return to the lot. The half-buried history of violence and loss is described in decades-old headlines on the yellowing newspapers kept in the archives, rotting as silverfish slither among the bookshelves of a small public library. Middle America happens in places where crows roost in the branches of red maples and closely observe your evening pedestrian commute through a quickly-darkening residential neighborhood as the loose gravel of the empty alleyway crunches a little too loudly underfoot. (What was that sound? Am I alone?) Most often manifesting itself in our dimension at dusk, during late summer or autumn, Middle America descends upon you, sometimes imperceptible until it’s too late, the once green but now ochre leaves of the tallest and most aged local elm tree a harbinger of creeping Arctic air and an inevitable winter season that seems to be purposefully and patiently circling the town, like a wolf.”

[eyeofmud]

Home is cold when only one person lives in it. The ice of happy memories clings in the corners of rooms and William wraps himself up in blankets to stave off the chill. Doesn’t move to save his energy. A statis in the making, freezing him from the inside out. Even his tears are cold when they’re able to fall at all.

One by one leaving him behind, William sits at the edge of the bed with his feet on the freezing floor and wonders if the memories get lighter. Paint is peeling where the wall connects to the ceiling, the old red coming away in flakes to flutter down and glitter in the sunlight. Counting them, one by one, sitting and unmoving and cold. He used to love the sunset but now it just leaves him in the dark.

Alone now, a big house gathering ghosts instead of giggles. William drifts from room to room, memory to memory, until his legs ache with walking and his lungs ache with grief. If this hurts, maybe he should have tried harder, loved more. Or maybe he’s just fooling himself further. A useless son in a useless city, a broken song whispered by chapped lips. The door to his mother’s room is closed and William’s hand is on the knob but he can’t find the strength to turn it.

He can sit under the twin’s trees though. Peach and apple, the bark is rough against his back and the leaves rustle in the small breezes making their way through the courtyard. Eyes closing and head leaning back William rests under the trees he planted for the siblings he couldn’t protect and dreams of a home warmed by family.

Summer in Kirkwall is stuffy, muggy with oppressive heat. Thick enough to fill his lungs with apathy. Sunlight leaks inside but it only sheds light on dust collecting on songbooks and a hearth cooking for one. Open in his bedroom and shuttered closed everywhere else the windows of William’s home keep him shut inside where the world is small and still. There isn’t room here for life. Not anymore.

Cold tiles and a warm breeze, a feverish heat under a bone deep chill. Mourning in the deepest parts of him, icicles on his fingertips and molten tears down his cheeks. What is loss if not a contradiction. Memories if they’re tied to the dead?

The mountain welcomes him home, just as it always has before. Clear summer skies, a blue so deep William could get lost in it. Wants to dive up into the sky and leave all this behind. But that is selfish, isn’t it. To want and to take and to lose, to fail to protect and want to do it again. Mother taught him never to be selfish, but she isn’t here to tell him not to want her back.

His hands shake as he carves a lily out of cedar to match the mabari and cresent moon already hanging from his crook. William's wittling knife catches the edge and slices into his finger, staining the wood with crimson drops. Fitting, to bleed now when they can't. Three charms wrapped around a shepherd's crook matching in how they fit inside his hands. Cold wood in the mountains in summer.

The weight doesn't ease. It doesn't get lighter in his chest and the fever keeps him cold. Grief for something he never should have lost eats away at him until William can only haunt the home he used to live in. Listless motions, jerky mockery. There used to be something here but William no longer remembers what.

So instead he sits on the edge of his bed with his feet on the freezing floor, clutching three charms tight to his chest. Wondering it death will come for him too.

[acraftedmistake]

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM

Chapter 1! Enjoy~! :0c

“This is stupid.” Olivia muttered under her breath.

“Says you, I think this is the best thing we’ve done in a while!” Jesse said happily as he carefully maneuvered his way through the jungle’s thick leaves. The air was warm and thick enough to cut through, the area carried a scent similar to freshly cut grass; the vibrant greens complimented the cool and calming indigo night sky.

“We’ve saved multiple worlds from multiple dimensions multiple times. A jungle temple is pretty mediocre compared to what we’ve done before.” she grumbled while yawning, upset that her friend convinced her to join him on this little exploration so late, the regret and drowsiness catching up to her and slowing her down more and more.

“Look out for the spiderwebs!”

“The wha-” Olivia stopped dead in her tracks and sputtered, feeling a thin, slicky string wrap around her face. She shook her head violently while trying to pull off the practically invisible materialy on her; she gagged, thinking she got it in her mouth, though it could easily be her hair or imagination. Jesse jumped and quickly rushed over to her to help get the web off of her.

“Okay, all off!” He assured her, sighing with relief. Olivia still felt the spider’s web’s presence on her and shuttered.

“That’s it, I’m going back home.” The girl huffed as she turned around, only to have Jesse’s hand promptly grab her shoulder.

“We’re only a few feet away, after we go in and look we can leave right away, I promise!” Jesse pleaded as he motioned his arm north, a faint green glow coming from an area that couldn’t have been no more than a few meters away. She gave her friend a look and asked

“Why did you have to bring me along?”

“Well,” Jesse began without skipping a beat, “I read about these temples having little lever puzzles and redstone tactics that are super ancient and I thought you’d like checking that out!”

Olivia blinked a few times, staring at Jesse for a moment. His eyes glowed with joy and his smile didn’t twitch.

Sighing, she began walking again, “Well, let’s go, the temple won’t explore itself.”

Jesse mouthed a “Yesss!” as he walked beside her.

A few minutes of walking in silence--with the sounds of the jungle making the scenario a little less awkward--they knew they were getting closer and closer to their location, the saturated emerald green light practically blinding them, forcing Jesse to shield his eyes; Olivia placed the goggles on her hat over her eyes. They could only make out bits of the temple, such as it’s medieval-esque exterior. Old, worn down flags with strange symbols--that didn’t look like anything the two recognized--decorated the walls and the large, moss covered cedar door, which had its steel handles removed.

It was quite small in size, the huge, gaping hole in the roof made it appear even smaller as the trees’ thick leaves and tangled vines consumed sections of the temple.

“Probably monsters in there.” Olivia said under her breath with uncertainty, looking up a bit in an attempt to see more of the ancient building.

Jesse drew out his sword, “That’s never stopped us before!”

As they approached the massive door, chunks of the building and trees managed to block out the vibrant light, giving the two friends time to have their eyes adjust to the darkness once more and be able to properly observe the area.

“Man, time has not been kind place, has it?” Olivia huffed as she studied the structure. Glass was broken, blocks were missing, arrows covered in cobwebs stuck out from the wall, it felt as if it was all going to collapse on them in any given second.

“Gotta wonder what the inside looks like.” Jesse reached out for one of the damaged door knobs and pushed in, only to have the door itself fall forward and shatter into hundreds of tiny pieces. They cringed as the booming sound of the crash echoed throughout the abandoned temple, afraid they had awoken any sleeping creatures. Slowly creeping their way in, the floorboards creaking under their weight, they kept an eye out for any traps, monsters, or the source of the green glow.

“How did you find this in the first place?” the girl whispered as she clenched her fists, the inside of the area looking like a haunted mansion. Spider webs, dimly lit torches, broken weapons, and even chunks of armor were scattered about, a strong, metallic smell took over, causing Oliva to gag. Broken levers and redstone smeared on the ground, which was more of a shade of brown than it’s usual dark red were placed in seemingly random patterns.

Despite what little was left of the room they were in, there was still a soft, moss covered carpet on the ground, leading to a fancy but worn down chair. The few tables and chairs were flipped over, vases were covered in dust or shattered, and paintings on the wall were torn or possibly burnt gave Olivia the impression that they were walking in the remains of a throne room. A throne room where a battle must’ve taken place.

“I was walking around yesterday during lunch and kind of... Ran into it. I was excited to explore it but I didn’t really want to do it alone, so I went back home to tell everyone about it but then I forgot, but- Woah! Look at that!” Jesse ran towards a corner of the room, he stared at a broken plank of wood where the blinding light was coming from.

“All this light from such a tiny opening...” he pulled the plank with a little force, a loud popping sound caused them to jump. Olivia took a few quick breaths, collecting herself.

Jesse pulled some more, a new scent began coming from underneath the floor, or maybe it was the jungle itself, but it was a sweet, pollen-like smell, feeling much more welcoming than the overpowered rustic one.

“Mind lending me a hand?”

“Oh, sure!” Olivia crouched down beside her friend and grabbed the old wood tightly, feeling small splinters stabbing her fingers. She bit the bottom of her lip, uneasy, she couldn’t shake off the thought that something was wrong with this place; opening her mouth to say something, the plank, much longer than they thought it was, flew off the poorly bolted floor and flug across the room. Olivia looked back at the wreckage, Jesse stared at the now bigger hole in the floor, more light pouring out and filling the area.

“Hey-” they both began at the same time, they paused and exchanged embarrassed glances.

“You go first,” Jesse insisted,

Olivia cleared her throat, “Uhm... Don’t you think this place is... Bizarre?”

“It’s a temple in the middle of some jungle, of course it’s going to be bizarre!”

“No no!” she shook her head, “I’ve never BEEN inside one of these before, but I’ve seen pictures of jungle temples before, and while they’re small, none of them were shaped like like THIS, none of them had flags or some weird, glowy green stuff coming out of it!. Plus! There were no mobs in here, or surrounding it! Don’t you find that a little weird?”

“... Maybe we... Lucked out?” Jesse shrugged awkwardly, Olivia sputtered in response.

“You think it’s ‘lucky’ that no mobs happened to appear in a DARK and ABANDONED temple in the middle of the NIGHT in a thick, spider web infested jungle?!” she waved her arms about.

There was a moment of silence, both were trying to figure out what to say next. Jesse thought for a second before speaking, “I don’t understand it either, but...” he motions towards the floor, “I think if we find the source of the light, we might get some answers.”

Jesse slipped one of his legs into the hole, avoiding any jagged wood or crooked nails sticking out, “There’s some old staircase down here. Looks a bit unstable but I’m sure as long as we’re careful, we’ll be okay.”

He sucked in his gut as he slid his way in, Olivia could hear him fall face first into the floor below them. Sighing and shaking her head, she squeezed through the hole and fell right on top of Jesse, who let out a small “Oof!”

“Sorry, I thought you already moved!” she frantically got up and adjusted her hat, helping her friend up.

“Nah, it’s okay. Let’s go!” the boy said as he tiptoed as fast as he could, his small steps echoing throughout the stone stairs each time his foot touched the ground. Two grey walls were on each side of the staircase, which gave the already thin stairwell feel even smaller. The pollen smell was getting stronger, almost making it hard to breathe in. The girl felt as if she was suffocating.

Tightening the strap around her goggles, she squinted her eyes to see how far ahead Jesse was, but a thick layer of fog devoured the area.

“Great, I’m blind AND can barely breathe-” Olivia let out a yelp she felt her foot touch the floor, thinking that for a second, she had missed a step. Catching her balance, she inhaled a hefty amount of the sickeningly sweet air, getting more and more nauseas by the second. Maybe the metallic smell from early was a blessing in disguise.

“You okay?” she heard her friend ask, before she could respond, Jesse turned and pointed to something in front of them, “Do you see that?”

Olivia looked up.

It was just a long, green, foggy hallway.

“Yeah. More walking down this creepy hallway. Amazing.”

“No! There’s something else, come on!” Jesse grabbed her hand and ran to the other end of the hall, Olivia stumbling behind, missing every other step. At first, all she could see was a thick layer of fog and the unholy green, but the farther they kept going, the more she could make out the dead end.

No, it wasn’t a deadend.

It looked like some bizarre painting that she couldn’t properly make out.

They kept running.

It wasn’t a painting.

“A portal...?” Olivia’s eyebrows shot up as they slowly came to a halt. It wasn’t the usual obsidian one she was used to, the blocks that were used appeared to be... Lapis? The entrance was emerald green and swirled about peacefully, it’s consistency reminding her of clouds in some odd way; it’d release small gusts of wind that’d brush against her face. At first, Olivia thought her eyes were deceiving her, maybe the pollen aroma was finally getting to her.

Sticking one hand through, Jesse shivered.

“A bit colder than I thought it would be.” he chuckled, giving her a small smile with a hesitant pair of eyes. “You coming?”

Olivia stared into the portal’s entrance, the wind swirling around her. Who knows where this would lead to. It could be paradise. It could be some terrifying monstrous kingdom. Or it could be an abyss. Gulping down her fears, she nodded, and with a confident voice she said “Let’s go.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The two leaped out of the portal and into the new world. There was no green light that consumed the area. There was no longer an active portal.

‘That’s gonna be a problem...’ Jesse thought to himself as he observed his surroundings. They appeared to be in another hallway, but this one was much more refined. The floors were made of oak and spruce wood, instead of the mossy, stone one they walked on before, the walls were noticeably wider, the ceiling was higher as well; Olivia felt much more at ease, more space and no stupid oder she had to constantly breathe in.

Turning to her left, she saw the walls were made up of stone bricks. They were still in tact and sturdy, but she also noticed carvings. It was hard to make out at first, they were quite thin, and the dark hallway didn’t help with that either, but they were odd swirls, figures, and shapes that vaguely reminded her of words, they were carefully engraved into the blocks.

“Jesse, you see this?”

Jesse walked to her side and brought himself closer to the wall.

“Wish I could read that, it’d be cool to know a bit of information about this world we’re in.”

Olivia nodded in agreement.

“There’s another staircase, maybe that leads to a way out of here.” Jesse said, looking ahead. Without wasting any time, they raced their way up the stairs, their eyes passing by hundreds upon hundreds of symbols on the wall. It seemed to tell a vague story, from what Olivia could make out. Maybe this old place is a library, or has a room full of books. Anything. There was no telling what lies ahead. She was praying that there’d be something she’d recognize when they’d reached the top of the stairs. Thinking about it, being lost in some unknown world, with a chance of being stuck there forever didn’t sound too appealing to her. Yes, they’ve been through similar adventures, but it was still a fear that crept in the back of her head.

“Did you say something?” Jesse asked, as the spacious stairs came to the end. He hunched over, panting, Olivia leaned against one of many pillars, also trying to catch her breath.

“Uh, no?” she said between gasps.

“I don’t think I even heard another voice.”

Jesse groaned and threw his hands up, “Great, not even five minutes into this new world and I’m already going insane, huh?”

Before Olivia could comment about their new location or Jesse’s sanity, she heard something. Jesse did too. Footsteps, and a very, VERY muffled voice. The friends looked down the hall decorated hall, it wasn’t too long, in fact, the door was only several feet away.

“What should we do??” Olivia whisper shouted, hearing the footsteps getting closer and closer.

“Hide behind the pillar, draw out your weapon.” he mouthed some words, but she still got the message. But a weapon... She didn’t have one on her. She did have a lever, however. Hiding behind the pillar with Jesse parallel to her, she clutched the lever tightly in her hand. Anything is a weapon if you’re skilled enough.

The talking got louder, it almost sounded like arguing, it was hard to tell, but the sound of the doorknob jiggled, causing the two of them to tense up.

Swinging open, Jesse peeked his head out from behind his little hiding spot and gasped.

“Aiden?!”

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Lost Boys

Rating: Gen

Characters: Runaan, Harrow, Rayla, Viren (mentioned) 

Tags:  #major character death, #canon compliant, #young Runaan, #young Harrow, #timeskips, #friendship, #friendship gone wrong, #fathers and sons,#destiny is a bitch, #good intentions, #sad, #bittersweet, #Runaan’s dad is awful, #fluffy happiness turns to heartbreaking angst, #angsty af, #did I mention the angst, #contains 3943% of your daily allowance of angst, #AAAAAA that’s six A’s on the Swiss Angst Scale, #tissue warning, #tell me how this made you feel, #your feedback is a gift

Word count: 12k

(art by @random-fandom-ramble)

 Runaan’s toes had gone numb, but he kept walking through the shin-deep snow anyway. He was sure he was close to camp—he could smell the cedars—but the falling whiteness had obscured his original tracks hours ago. He wasn’t even sure which way was north anymore. Surely—please, Moon—this was the right copse of cedars. The last three hadn’t been.

“Hello?”

Runaan’s little boots stopped short. That voice was no Moonshadow. His mind had wandered far ahead, hoping for shelter and warmth, and he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings.

He shifted his bright turquoise eyes toward the small voice, moving nothing else, as if his white winter clothing might make him turn invisible even without a full Moon.

A young boy about his height stood twenty feet away, peering around a slender fir tree, his arms wrapped around its crusty, snow-dusted bark. His face was dark against the white ruff of fur on the hood of his coat, which was gray and finely made, and his knitted mittens blazed scarlet against the black-and-white of the trees and snow.

Runaan tensed and sucked in an icy breath that burned its way down his throat. Gray and scarlet. The colors of Katolis. A human. Reflexively, the young Moonshadow tugged on his thick leather hood, making sure his ears and horns were covered.

“Do you know the way to the Banther Lodge?” The boy’s voice tried to be brave, but a thread of fear ran through it. “I… got lost.”

Runaan blinked in surprise, but a small, warm tendril of connection flared in his chest. It couldn’t be so bad to be lost in enemy territory if the enemy got lost in his own backyard. But this little boy didn’t look aggressive. He looked worried. And cold.

The boy rubbed his hands together for warmth. Runaan studied the gesture of vulnerability. His father had trained such behavior out of him two years ago. It had been a hard lesson to learn. But his father had been—was still—determined to make his son the best Moonshadow in the family. And Runaan would never do anything to threaten his family’s honor. Which meant that, right now, Runaan needed to act as human as possible, to keep the boy’s suspicions at bay. What would a human do in this situation?

“I can climb a tree and look for you,” he offered.

The look on the boy’s face was pathetically grateful. Runaan figured he didn’t even know how to climb trees. Or maybe he was afraid of slipping on the snow. The young elf scanned the area, full of several firs and a few bare oaks, and picked the fir with the lowest branches. He trudged through the snow toward it, making obvious tracks like any human would, then he hopped up and scrambled through the fragrant branches. He reached the top in no time and looked out across the snowy landscape. The snow was falling thickly, and he couldn’t see far in any direction. But the gentle curves of the nearby hills gave him the lay of the land, and a cut through the woods indicated the humans’ road, which led directly to the lodge and crossed the river next to it.

He knew where he was. He knew which way the Banther Lodge lay. More importantly, he knew where his own camp sat. A grin split his face, and he looked down through the tree branches.

The young boy gazed up at him from beneath the shelter of the tree. Runaan shimmied down and dropped into the thin layer of snow that had reached the ground beneath the tree’s sheltering limbs. In the quiet, surrounded by winter’s frozen fall, they faced each other closely for the first time. The dim shelter of the tree limbs hooded them in peaceable silence.

Runaan silently raised a hand and pointed in the direction of the lodge.

The boy grinned, exposing a gap-toothed smile. “Thanks.” His dark eyes shifted from Runaan’s turquoise gaze to his nose—its blue stripes—and back up again.

“Do you live there?” Runaan asked, hoping to head off the human’s next question. “The lodge.”

The boy shrugged one shoulder of his fine wool coat. “We stay here in winter.”

Runaan nodded. Moonshadows didn’t always live in the same place, either.

“My grandfather is the king.” The boy’s tone was proud, and his chin lifted as he spoke.

Runaan’s thin white eyebrows shot up. Was he supposed to compete with this young prince for status somehow? Human rules were very strange. “My father works for a king,” he offered, hoping that was the right thing to say.

It was not. The boy’s pleasant face closed down. “Which one? Are you from Evenere?”

Runaan’s lip curled at the very idea. “No.”

“Then who are you? Why are you here on my grandfather’s property on the Eve of the Winter’s Turn?”

This one, Runaan knew. His father had made him practice. “My parents are tinkers from eastern Del Bar. Our wagon broke a ways up the road. I’m just… exploring… while my father fixes it. We’ll be on our way soon.”

“Del Bar? That’s all right, then. The King of Evenere is—well, my grandfather calls him a handful. He calls me that, too, when I’m being naughty.”

Runaan blinked. “A handful of what?”

The boy laughed as if he’d said something truly funny. “Trouble, usually. But Grandfather says that, come spring, things will change.”

“You won’t be a handful of trouble in the spring?”

Again with the laugh, clear and easy. Arrogance masks ignorance, Runaan’s father always said. “He wasn’t talking about me. I’d better go. Thank you for your help.” The boy held out one of his bright red mittens to shake hands. “My name is Prince Harrow.”

Runaan stared at the scarlet mitten and the line of knitted stags that danced across its back. Slowly, he reached out and clasped the young prince’s hand with his own leather mitten. “Runaan.”

“Thank you again, Runaan. You’ve saved me.”

Harrow’s words shivered uncomfortably against Runaan’s spine. He didn’t know exactly what his father and the others had come to Katolis to do, but humans were the enemy, and not generally to be saved from things. “From what?”

“My father would’ve been furious if he’d had to send the guards out after me. He’s in a foul enough mood as it is, with Grandfather being sick.”

Runaan gulped and tried to smile. He knew all about the foul moods of fathers. “Then I’m glad I could help.”

Harrow took two steps toward the edge of the fir’s sheltering limbs and turned back. “You’ll be okay out here, won’t you? You know the way back to your family’s wagon?”

Runaan pointed toward the road, nearly the opposite direction from the Moonshadow camp. It seemed to satisfy the prince, who waved a friendly goodbye and stepped out into the falling snow.

Runaan watched him go until the prince vanished past a thicket. Then he dashed toward the Moonshadow camp. Not twenty minutes later, he puffed into the center of six pale tents with silver-gray markings, each sheltered under a tree at the edge of a small clearing.

“Runaan.” His father’s voice was low and taut.

Runaan’s heartbeat jumped. His absence had been noticed. He stood as tall as he could and faced his father’s lanky frame, holding his little chin high and meeting those dark teal eyes without any outward sign of fear. “Yes, Father.”

His father had other things on his mind besides his son’s winter wanderings, though. “You will stay in camp tonight. If none of us return by sunrise, make your way home without us. Your mother will understand.”

Runaan studied his father’s stern face with a small frown. His glance strayed to the other Moonshadows as they sat just inside their open tents, dressed in heavy white rabbit fur and preparing various items for the work they would carry out. “Is this a test?”

A smile flickered once at the corner of his father’s mouth.

Runaan hooded his eyes, hiding his feelings. An old habit even at his young age. Everything’s a test when it comes from you. But I won’t fail.

 ***

 As the first rays of dawn crept through the window of the chambers belonging to the King of Katolis, they fell across his slack face and lit in his unseeing eyes. A crystalline smear of a poison common to Evenere was found on the rim of the glass beside his bed.

The whole household mourned the king’s passing for seven days. Then Harrow’s father performed the burial rites and accepted the Crown of the Uneven Towers upon his brow.

Spring came. But Harrow was wrong—nothing changed. The new King of Katolis redoubled his realm’s war efforts, and all of the human kingdoms shook with battle cries for the next three years.

 ***

 Prince Harrow woke suddenly as if he could sense a watching presence. He rolled over, scrubbed at his eyes with his knuckles, and squinted up toward his open window. Its shutters lay open and its sill was drenched in moonlight.

Drenched, that is, except for the figure that crouched on it, casting a deep shadow. Its turquoise eyes glowed faintly, and a pair of slender, curling horns arose from its head. The moonlight illuminated a pair of dark green boots and side tails of soft white hair.

The figure stared down at Harrow, motionless, unblinking.

Harrow felt a grin spread across his face, and his chest lightened with amazement. He propped himself up on one elbow. “I knew it,” he whispered. “I knew you were real.” His gaze rested on the other boy’s horns. “And… you’re an elf.”

Runaan’s voice was soft, just another shadow in the night. “All my life.”

The prince’s dark eyes narrowed. “You said your parents were tinkers from Del Bar.”

“You can’t prove they’re not.”

Harrow began to splutter indignantly because yes he could, but then he spotted the shadow of a grin on his visitor’s face. It triggered a parade of fairy tales that flitted through Harrow’s mind. Unlike most of the stories the servant children grew up with, the ones his grandmother told him painted elves as pranksters, but never evil. “You lied to me, you trickster.”

The lithe elfling on the prince’s window sill tilted his horns with curiosity. He didn’t protest either the accusation or the label. “Do you want to play?”

A tingle of excitement that had nothing to do with the cold shivered down Harrow’s spine. He pulled his heavy blankets back and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. The chill bite of wintry air nipped at his toes. “Let me get my boots.”

Harrow threw on trousers, gloves, and a new scarlet coat as well. The young elf helped the warmly dressed prince clamber out onto the sloped roof of the Banther Lodge and up to the sharp ridge. Though the snow lay thick on the ground, the dark slate roof was snow-free after several sunny days. Despite the easy footing, Harrow nearly slipped twice in his big boots, but Runaan easily caught him both times without a word.

They sat straddling the ridge and gazed out over their tiny, snowy kingdom. Harrow decided not to ask about the blue stripes on the elfling’s nose. Runaan’s hair had grown longer, Harrow thought, or perhaps it only seemed that way since the elf wasn’t wearing a hood. A single turquoise bead glimmered on a thin braid tucked back into Runaan’s ponytail, giving him an air of glamor and adventure. Harrow wondered if Runaan’s life had been full of it since they’d last met. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Why not? I know where you live.”

Harrow leaned forward. “It’s been three years. That’s a long time.”

Runaan raised a puzzled white eyebrow. “Is it?”

“Yes. My father’s war just ended last month.” Harrow gestured toward Evenere with a mittened hand. “We won, by the way.”

The elfling turned his gaze to the snowy fields that surrounded the lodge. “Congratulations. Maybe we shouldn’t play down there tonight. They’ll wonder why your footprints are everywhere.”

“Mine and yours.”

Runaan’s grin was bright and cocky. “No.”

Harrow squared his shoulders, determined not to be useless. “What can we play on the roof then?” His question puffed out into the chill air.

“We always play elves and humans back home,” Runaan offered. “I’ve never played it with a real human before.”

Harrow squinted with mild suspicion. “We have that game, too. How’s it go when you play it?”

Runaan’s grin was back, cockier than ever. “Like you’d expect.”

With an eye trained by three years of military tactics and philosophy, Harrow studied the young elf’s slender, athletic legs, encased in only a thin layer of dark fabric despite the deep chill. His arms were bare, too, and he wore neither hat nor hood. When Harrow played elves and humans, it always ended with his side’s victory, too, but he didn’t think he could manage it against such a superior force. “I don’t think I want to play that right now.”

Runaan shrugged easily. “Well, what do you want to do, then?”

Harrow looked down the steep slope of the roof to the ground thirty feet below. “Let’s be explorers. You can climb all the peaks, and I’ll draw all the maps and carry our supplies.”

“That’s fun for you? Carrying supplies?” Runaan eyed Harrow, who nodded equably. “All right, then. And if we need human troops, you can tell me how many and what kind.”

Harrow snorted. “‘Human’ troops? As if I’d allow elven troops to guard me.”

The elfling’s slender horns tipped to the side. “They’d do a better job.”

“They would not.”

Runaan’s giggle was soft and sure. “I got onto your window sill, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you’re no elven soldier. And you don’t want to hurt me.” Harrow glanced down again. It was a long way to the snow, but more than two feet of it would cushion his fall. He’d probably survive. If he didn’t have a dagger in his back. “Do you?”

Runaan’s turquoise eyes gleamed in shadow for a long moment before he replied, “Of course not. Let’s go be explorers.”

The boys played under the moonlight for hours, exploring every peak of the roof with dedicated imagination. Harrow woke exhausted the next morning, yelled at his tutor during his history lesson, and ordered the four troops assigned to guard him to perform marching maneuvers in the snow for miles around. Eventually, his mother lost patience with him and sent him to his room straight after supper, where he promptly fell asleep, smirking on his pillow.

Harrow woke at moonrise to see Runaan crouching over him. “I told you it would work,” the Moonshadow whispered.

Harrow grinned up at him with mischief dancing in his eyes. “Let me get my boots.”

Runaan helped Harrow scamper down to the ground by guiding his feet just so along the lodge’s sills and eaves. Freed from the roof, they dashed off into the silent, snowy night, hiding their footprints in the trails that Harrow’s guards had stitched across the moonlit landscape. They played for hours, climbing, racing, and building snowmen. Runaan insisted his was a snowelf, though, and gave it stick horns. Harrow got a snowball in the face when he stole one of the stick horns, but he gave as good as he got, leaving Runaan blinking in shock through a layer of snow and sending Harrow into fits of giggles.

Runaan helped Harrow clamber back in through his window just before dawn. As Harrow shucked off his heavy scarlet coat, Runaan pulled a small snowball from his pocket and pelted the prince with it. It caught him in the chest, soaked his nightshirt, and sent him into protesting splutters. Runaan smirked and held a finger to his lips before whispering, “See you tomorrow night, human.”

Every night for ten nights, the Moonshadow elf woke the prince, and they’d run through the forest and build snow forts together. Runaan never accepted Harrow’s invitation to sneak around the Banther Lodge on the inside, though. So on the tenth night, Harrow tugged off his snowy coat and said, “Wait here. I have something for you.” Then he slipped out his door and closed it behind him.

Runaan perched on the window sill, ready to flee at the first sign of soldiers. But after a minute, Harrow returned with a carved wooden box and set it on the little table right below the window. The elfling’s eyes widened at the sight of the leaf on its curved lid. “Where did you get that?”

“It’s my grandmother’s. Just some old box. I’m not supposed to take it out of the game room, so please don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Runaan hesitated, as if Harrow asked a great and heavy boon of him. His eyes lifted from the box to Harrow’s face and studied him seriously. Finally he said, “I promise.”

Harrow grinned and lifted the lid, not letting Runaan peek inside, and pulled out a silvery old key. He held it up like a talisman and proclaimed, “I, Prince Harrow of Katolis, hereby give you, Runaan of the Moonshadow elves, permission to enter my room. And the rest of the lodge if you want to, but you don’t have to.” He held out the key.

Runaan accepted it slowly and turned it over in his fingers. “What does it unlock?”

Harrow shrugged. “No idea. There’s like, six dozen useless keys in here.”

Runaan stared at him, perplexed. “Humans are so weird.”

“Yes, we really are.”

They both broke into quiet giggles.

The next night, the moon was new. Harrow waited for Runaan to summon him out into the snow, but the elfling never came. When Harrow woke at dawn, disappointed, he looked out at his window sill and spotted something that hadn’t been there the night before.

A length of soft white braid bearing a turquoise bead lay atop last night’s freshly fallen snow.

 ***

 Runaan trekked home alone through the snow and placed the key in his father’s expectant hand. “He gave it to me freely.”

His father lifted his chin in a rare gesture of pleased pride. “Well done, Runaan. What does it unlock?”

Runaan’s turquoise eyes glittered. “His trust.”

 ***

 “You didn’t say goodbye.”

Runaan blinked down at Harrow from his perch on the prince’s window sill. “Should I have?”

“It’s considered polite.”

Runaan tipped his horns and considered the prince. The human’s hair was longer now, and set in braids. The shape of his face had changed a little, too. But his eager green eyes were still the same. “If you say so. Do you want to play?”

“It’s been a whole year, Runaan.”

“Yes. We have the same seasons in Xadia that you do.”

Harrow snorted. “Do you still have the key I gave you?”

Runaan pulled Harrow’s gift out from under his shirt, where he kept it on a slender leather cord. “Did you keep my braid?”

Harrow’s eyes flickered to a small keepsake box next to his oil lamp. “Yeah.”

Runaan’s turquoise eyes lingered on the box for a moment before returning to Harrow’s face. “Do you want to play?”

The intervening year vanished from the reflection in Harrow’s dark eyes so cohesively that Runaan saw it leave, saw the very moment the young prince let him back into his life. Harrow grinned, threw back his thick coverlet, and leaped out of bed. “Let me get my boots.”

The boys played atop the roof that night, exploring new territory—to Runaan, anyway, for he asked Harrow to name all the peaks and valleys the rooftop represented, and he even coaxed a hand-drawn map out of him. Harrow drew it by moonlight, and it vanished into Runaan’s tunic. The next morning, Harrow ordered his personal guard to march all over the grounds again. The next night, the pair dashed silently into the forest and played to their hearts’ content. Monstrous foes of bark and snow were vanquished, dragons slain, and princes and princesses rescued from danger.

Runaan shared some of his moonberry juice with Harrow when the prince’s stomach growled so loud that it scared away the mouse they were stalking, and when Harrow could barely keep his eyes open, he led the tired prince stumblingly back to the lodge. Harrow shucked off his snow-packed boots and his new, longer wool coat, and fell exhaustedly against his pillow.

Runaan hesitated a moment, then he slipped in through the window and tucked the prince under his covers. “See you tomorrow, Harrow.”

“You promise?” Harrow’s murmur was nearly incomprehensible.

“I promise.”

Runaan woke the prince every night for two weeks. And then he was gone, vanished across the snow again.

Once home and dry, he handed his father the map Harrow had drawn and recited a list of tactical details he’d gleaned from the young prince’s chatter.

His father studied the map for a long moment. “Well done, Runaan.”

The praise and accompanying rare smile did nothing to ease the cramp in Runaan’s belly. He’d kept the secret of Harrow’s Earthblood box for a whole year. Told himself a promise to a human was no promise at all, and that he’d pretend to learn it this year, to present his father with the information like a prize. But on the snowy journey home, Runaan couldn’t stop thinking about the human’s kindness, his earnest heart.

Harrow had kept Runaan’s braid. Hadn’t told anyone about it for a whole year. He’d passed Runaan’s simple test of trust. Shouldn’t Runaan show the same loyalty he’d hoped for from Harrow? Wasn’t that what friendship was based on? Wasn’t that worth something? What was his word truly worth, if he gave it knowing in his heart that it was worthless?

Runaan curled up to sleep on his first night home and swore he’d never tell his father about Harrow’s mysterious Earthblood box.

 ***

 “Do you want to play?”

“Let me get my boots.”

The snow was scant that year. Runaan taught Harrow how to shoot a Moonshadow bow. Harrow could barely draw it at first, and he pretended that the problem lay with trying to shoot an elven bow with five-fingered hands. Runaan teasingly offered to cut his pinkies off for him.

Harrow finally convinced Runaan to sneak around the Banther Lodge’s rafters with him. They listened in on the grownups discussing late-night political matters. Harrow tried to twirl fly wings down into their steaming mugs from up above. Runaan was first to land one in the king’s mug.

“Do you want to play?”

“Let me get my boots.”

The extreme cold had splintered dozens of trees in the forest the week before, so Runaan convinced Harrow to play on the frozen river under the moonlight. They built a snow fort and pelted each other with snowballs. Runaan’s missiles found Harrow more often, but whenever Harrow hurled a snowball that Runaan knew would land, Runaan learned to scramble for safety. Then, just when Harrow thought he’d won, Runaan shifted into his full Moonshadow form, darted across the open ice unseen, and tackled Harrow into a snowbank.

Harrow beat Runaan in a midnight bread-eating contest. Easily. Runaan tried his best, but he just couldn’t get used to the baked goods’ strange texture. Harrow jokingly consoled him with a jelly tart, and Runaan ate the whole thing just to spite him.

“Do you want to play?”

“Let me get my boots.”

The boys’ voices had begun to change. In solidarity, they said very little as they roamed the forest. As the first night ended, Harrow darted across the river bridge toward the lodge. But Runaan paused reluctantly on the forest side, hoping to draw Harrow back for more play. Both unwilling to speak, they stared at each other impatiently until Runaan finally stalked across after him. On stormy nights, they passed their time in Harrow’s room. Runaan perched on the chest at the foot of the prince’s bed and practiced his balance. Harrow wrapped himself in his blankets and drank hot cocoa. Runaan told Harrow about the Moonstone Path. And Harrow kept that to himself.

The fifth year that Runaan sneaked onto Harrow’s window sill, everything changed.

 ***

 “Do you want to play?”

“Runaan, we’re not children anymore.”

The lanky Moonshadow tilted his horns in confusion. “What do you want to do, then?”

Harrow looked up at him from his pillow. He hadn’t done more than open his eyes at the sound of Runaan’s voice. “Let’s just talk. You want to come in? I have something exciting to tell you!”

Runaan automatically scanned the interior for threats and found none. He knew from previous years that the king and queen slept on the other side of the lodge, and that the rooms nearest to Harrow’s were for servants or daytime activities, but after years of his father’s lessons, the young Moonshadow took little for granted. He slipped a booted foot over the sill and entered the prince’s bedchamber, feeling out of place.

“Sit,” Harrow invited as he sat up himself, indicating the foot of his bed. “But close the shutters. Not all of us dance in the freezing moonlight all night long.”

“I don’t dance in the moonlight.” Runaan pulled the shutters across the window. He didn’t like the trapped feeling the action gave him, but he trusted Harrow. So he sat cross-legged on the foot of the prince’s broad, fluffy bed and rested his hands in his lap.

“You did that one time,” Harrow said with a chuckle. “Hands behind your back, parading in a circle. What did you call it? A rune henge procession?”

“Moonhenge progression,” Runaan corrected. “And I only showed you because you wanted to see what Moonshadow dancing looked like.”

“Just for comparison purposes. It’s a lot like the rondel I had to learn for last High Solstice. Anyway. I wanted to tell you that I’ve started attending university.”

Runaan’s ears drooped. “Does that mean you won’t come to the lodge anymore?”

Harrow only chuckled. “Of course it doesn’t. You always visit me during Low Solstice anyway. My family is always at the Banther Lodge at this time of year. That won’t change. But that’s not the thing I wanted to tell you.”

“Oh. What is it, then?”

“I met someone.”

The glee in Harrow’s voice made Runaan curious. “A girl?”

“No, a boy.”

Runaan’s white brows rose. “Wait, you like boys, too?”

Harrow blinked. “What? No, he’s just really interesting. Like you!” Harrow’s warm green eyes twinkled with excitement. “His name is Viren, and he’s a stable boy at the university. I met him when he started filling in for my usual horse groom. Silly man broke his ankle falling down stairs. Who does that?”

Runaan had a suspicion about what had really happened—humans would do almost anything to get closer to power—but he kept it to himself.

“And he’s so bright and clever,” Harrow rambled on, barely pausing for breath. “If he could afford the university, I know he’d be one of its best students. I’m actually thinking of sponsoring him next semester so he can attend classes with me. I’ve already arranged for him to have the most exclusive private tutor in Katolis. Whenever Viren shows—”

“Why are you telling me this?” Runaan interrupted. The slow swirl of emotions that had begun as Harrow began talking had whirled faster and harder until he had to say something. He’d spent years befriending this silly young prince. Years planning what to do with him every winter, crafting the illusion of a perfect, harmless elven friend. Until this year. This winter. His father had given him new orders—the final step that made sense of all these years of work. Runaan had soberly agreed to his mission, though deep down, he’d been troubled and uncertain. And now, Harrow seemed to have no interest in their shared history. Runaan’s chest cramped with hurt.

That’ll make this easier. I think I can do it after all. His fingers brushed the dagger he’d sheathed inside the top cuff of his boot.

“I’m getting to that,” Harrow assured him, waving his hands animatedly. “Like I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, Viren likes to show me what he’s learning from his tutor.”

Runaan’s brows drew together. “I thought you said he’s a stable boy, not a student.”

“Would you listen?” Harrow huffed impatiently and shot Runaan a short glare. “He’s not a student at the university. He’s studying independently. For now. And see—this is why he reminds me of you—he’s learning to do magic!”

Runaan froze, his spine tingling with sudden sharp stabs. “That’s impossible.”

“Hah, I knew you’d say that!” Harrow showed no remorse or concern for his horrific statement. The only expression that danced in his eyes was excitement. “Humans can do magic too, Runaan! Dark magic is our birthright, it’s our heritage, and Viren’s showing me all kinds of ways to use it. It’s amazing, it’s—it’s—”

“It’s disgusting.” Runaan’s voice was cold. His fingers slipped inside his boot cuff.

Harrow gave him an exasperated look. “It’s a few grasshoppers. No one’s going to miss them.”

Runaan’s stomach clenched and roiled. All these years, I kept carefully away from the subject of dark magic. I didn’t want to push him away. And now, he knows nothing. Nothing at all! Runaan’s first fear raised its ugly head again, sending a cold spike through his guts. What if humans chop me up for spell parts, one piece at a time? What if I die screaming under the hands of someone who doesn’t see me as anything more than a walking collection of supplies? Humans really are monsters after all.

“You’re upset,” Harrow added.

Runaan realized he hadn’t replied in far too long.

I am. I am very upset.

Runaan’s mind fled back to the moment his father pressed a new dagger into his hands, its green sheath decorated with a coiling serpent symbol. “What’s this for?” Runaan had asked.

“It’s time you knew the true extent of your mission, Runaan.” His father folded his hands behind his back and stared down at him, gray eyes sharp. “You’ve befriended the prince. You’ve brought years’ worth of useful details back to us. But there is a larger picture here. The human kingdoms are barbarous, and if they ever make peace and unite, they will turn their eyes to Xadia. We are kept safe when they are in turmoil. Assassinating the old King of Katolis provided three years’ worth of protection for Xadia. Your mission has been to encourage a more permanent state of war. The assassination of the Crown Prince of Katolis at the hands of Del Bar has been calculated to provide Xadia with the longest respite from human attention.”

Runaan’s fingers stilled around the dagger’s handle. The image of Harrow smiling at him in the snowy night flickered across his memory. “What are you saying, Father?”

“I’m saying, you are to return with the terrible news that Prince Harrow has perished. With this dagger in his heart.”

Runaan couldn’t lift his eyes from the weapon in his hands. Its pull was too strong. “But… he’s my friend.”

“And you are my son. You’re fifteen now. Next year you will take your place among the Moonshadow assassin recruits, Runaan. It will give you an edge on the others if you have already taken. The harder blade gets drawn more often from its sheath.”

Unshed tears edged Runaan’s turquoise eyes. I don’t want to kill Harrow. Please don’t make me.

But what had come out of his mouth was the ever-obedient “Yes, Father.”

Sitting on the end of Harrow’s bed, Runaan could almost feel the weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder. His fingers slid further around the Del Bar dagger’s handle.

“Runaan? Come on, talk to me.” Harrow leaned forward and waved a hand in front of Runaan’s eyes. “I only paid Viren any attention because I already knew you. You told me so many stories about Xadia and its magic. You made me want to see your homeland. It’s only natural that I’d want to learn more about magic—”

“There’s nothing natural about it!” Runaan snapped. “You know nothing, Harrow, and your ignorance is going to ruin lives. Starting with your own. Stay away from Viren. And stay away from me.” Runaan spun to his feet, feeling the façade over his true feelings splinter. All the hurt, fear, and guilt he’d been soothing himself to sleep with for years burst out in one single, controlled action.

The Del Bar dagger embedded itself in Harrow’s headboard, a mere inch from the prince’s ear.

Harrow’s eyes went as wide as Runaan had ever seen them. To his credit, the prince sat very still and didn’t even flinch. And though the prince’s body had halted, his mind was clearly racing, because the first thing he said, when he finally did speak, was, “Did you kill my grandfather?”

Runaan’s eyes tightened. “I was seven. What kind of monster do you think I am?”

Harrow’s gaze didn’t waver. “Your parents, then. You lied to me about them the day we met. They weren’t tinkers. They’re assassins. Like you. My grandfather died the night after I met you. That’s why you were here that day.”

Runaan bunched his jaw. He hadn’t known what his father’s mission had been that day. He’d felt terrible for months afterward. But Harrow was in no mood to hear about Runaan’s childish ignorance or regrets now. “I’m not an assassin.”

With the towering arrogance that only a human prince could muster, Harrow slid his eyes ever so slowly to the side until he stared directly at the handle of Runaan’s Del Bar dagger. Then he flicked his dark gaze back to Runaan’s turquoise eyes. “Really.”

Frozen by his own uncertainty in his flight toward the freedom of the shuttered window, Runaan had never felt so overexposed in his life. His past and his present collided and shattered, and Harrow could see far too much of his soul. Secrets he barely understood himself had just come spilling out of him.

He had no idea what to do, and all he could think was, Father will kill me for this.

“I’m confused,” Harrow said coolly. “Are you storming out or trying to kill me? Because you can’t seem to decide. Maybe you’re not an assassin after all. You don’t seem to understand how it works.”

“I… I just…”

Fragments continued to fall from the shattered armor around Runaan’s heart. He’d known Harrow for more than half his life, and though trust came slowly to Moonshadows, Runaan had absolutely trusted this human. Had trusted, but no longer.

No one had told him how much the breaking of trust would hurt. It stabbed deep and coiled through him like a poison, leaving green and black afterimages against his vision. It stole his breath and froze his guts. Its insidious black hand squeezed his throat from the inside, making him heave for air, forcing him to stare into Harrow’s eyes.

But the prince wasn’t a hardened liar. His face softened, and he leaned forward. “Runaan, you just don’t understand. You have magic. You’ve had it every day of your life. I’ll never know what that’s like. But Viren does. And he just wants to learn—”

“To kill. He wants to learn to kill, Harrow.” Runaan flung an open hand between them, desperate to make the prince see, to make him understand—

Harrow sighed slowly. He kept his eyes on Runaan’s, but he tipped his head and once again indicated the dagger Runaan had just hurled at him.

To learn to kill.

Runaan’s argument ground to a halt. He couldn’t drag his gaze from that dagger, couldn’t think of a single thing to say, except “I’m not like him.”

Harrow’s voice was quiet. “Everything you accuse him of, you do yourself, Runaan.”

Runaan would have to tell him. He’d have to tell him, and Harrow wouldn’t believe him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Do you know the secret to dark magic, Harrow?” he began.

But Harrow cut him off. “Yes. It’s a shortcut. And literally anyone can use it. We don’t need to be born an elf, all special and blessed, like you.”

Harrow’s innate pride had picked exactly the wrong moment to raise its head, and Runaan’s temper snapped. “You utter fool, elves are no different than grasshoppers in the eyes of dark magic!” Runaan growled.

“That doesn’t even make any—listen to me.” Harrow scooted forward to the edge of his bed and gave Runaan a direct look. “Viren would never hurt any elf, no matter what. I guarantee it. So quit being worried over something that’s never going to happen. He’s pro-Katolis. That’s not the same thing as being anti-Xadia.”

Yes it is. The final shards of Runaan’s heart crumbled and fell. He couldn’t stand to be in the room with this stubborn prince for another breath. “I’ll leave you to your new friend’s care, then.” He ripped open the shutters and leaped onto the sill, but he pivoted back as the icy winter air struck him.

His braid lay in Harrow’s keepsake box. White Moonshadow hair with a turquoise bead. The Del Bar dagger lay buried deep into Harrow’s headboard. And Harrow, still breathing, able to explain the true significance of both. If Runaan let Harrow live, not only could the prince blame the Moonshadow for an assassination attempt, but with dark magic, he could make sure that Runaan was personally tracked down and killed for it.

This is why Father didn’t tell me my real mission until just before I left. He knows how soft I am. That if I messed up, the only way to set things right would be to kill Harrow anyway.

Harrow tensed on the edge of his bed. By the look in his eyes, the same idea had occurred to him, too. Runaan met his eyes guardedly. He glanced at the Del Bar dagger, then back at Harrow.

Runaan could reach it first.

Harrow knew it, too.

“Is that what you want?” Harrow asked softly. His fingers knotted in the sheet, and his toes curled from against the icy draft that poured in the window. “Runaan, do you really want to kill me?”

The soft hurt in Harrow’s voice nearly shredded Runaan’s already broken heart. “No,” he choked out. “No, I don’t.”

Harrow’s shoulders slumped, and he leaned his elbows onto his knees. His braids fell forward and obscured his expression. “Then here’s what we’ll do. You’ll go, and I’ll let you. I don’t think I can ask you to trust me anymore—your Moonshadow sensibilities wouldn’t let you, would they? But stay nearby. Somewhere safe. And watch me. We’re the lost boys remember? Lost together.”

Runaan stared down into the prince’s face for a long moment, caught in the window, between two worlds. One world where he trusted his unique childhood friend. Where they could run off and play in the moonlit forest every winter for a lifetime, never growing up, never growing apart. And another world where his father had been right all along.

Humans are liars.

Runaan turned his eyes to the snowscape that spread before him under a layer of broken clouds. The pattern of moon and shadow appeared chaotic from where he perched, but if only he were perched a little higher up, he’d be able to see the pattern spread across the land.

Never trust what you see. Trust what you feel. Trust the Moon. Not the human.

“Goodbye, Harrow.” Runaan leaned forward, letting gravity pull him off the sill and onto the roof.

“Will I ever see you again, Runaan?”

Runaan hesitated. He turned his head partway back toward Harrow and said, “You’d better hope not. I am my father’s son.”

From a sturdy branch in a towering cedar tree just within hearing distance of the lodge, Runaan watched as morning brought a bustle of activity outside. Troops formed up. Harrow stalked outside and mounted his horse, outfitted in light armor. He stood in his stirrups and addressed his father’s men. “Last night, an assassin attempted to take my life, right here on these grounds.”

The troops murmured angrily.

Runaan tensed.

Harrow produced the dagger. “Del Bar may or may not have actually sent an assassin after me. But someone wants us to think they did.”

Runaan’s eyes went hard. His fingers dug into the branch he held for balance.

“Our enemies are indeed under our very noses. We must all stay vigilant. I want this man found. He fled northwest. If we’re fast enough, we can catch him and ask him who sent him.”

The mounted troops thundered off after Prince Harrow, leaving Runaan a clear escape toward Xadia.

Runaan stared after Harrow for a long time. He squared his shoulders and took the eastern path without a backward look.

 ***

 Runaan had no prize to give his father when he arrived home. “You have your war,” he said as he stalked past the older elf.

His father paused in the doorway and observed Runaan’s angry packing. “Ready for another mission so soon?” he asked wryly.

Runaan whirled, turquoise eyes blazing, and lifted his chin. “I’m joining the academy. Not next year. Now.”

Runaan’s father held his gaze for a very long time, sieving his very soul. But Runaan’s soul held no fear, nor guilt. Only anger. And he let it show. His eyes sparked, his chest heaved. His hands balled into fists at his sides.

Infuriatingly, his father let one corner of his mouth pull into a smile. “Well done, Runaan.”

 ***

 When Harrow entered his chamber, he brought the smells of high summer with him. Corn and apricots, tall grass, fresh cool streams. Yet he moved like a man twice his age, as if his body was gripped with an icy chill colder than the winter that was supposed to be swirling outside. The winter that still existed across the border in Xadia. He never noticed Runaan lurking in the shadows atop his wardrobe.

Runaan had spent years bracing for a sudden attack from Viren’s magic, or Harrow’s troops, following the magic Runaan had foolishly left with Harrow in the form of his childhood braid. But seeing Harrow now, he began to question his fears. Some quiet instinct deep in Runaan’s heart, under the thrumming rage and the decade-old pain, told him to wait. To watch.

Harrow’s steps were slow as he shed his formal coat and dropped it carelessly across a trunk near the wardrobe. They slowed further as he turned toward the bed on the dais.

Then they stopped, just shy of the first step. The King of Katolis covered his face in his hands, his shoulders drawn tight like a bowstring.

Runaan pivoted in a crouch, ready to raise his bow, his arrow nocked but not drawn. He knew what Harrow had done. Knew what it had cost. Runaan had come anyway.

“You were right, Sarai,” Harrow murmured into his hands. “I did want to build a better world. But this wasn’t the way.” He rubbed his cheeks as if massaging life back into his face and addressed the empty bed. “It was too easy. And far too hard. I thought the price of saving two kingdoms was cheap. But it was way too high. If I had known…” A groan of deepest anguish filled him and radiated into the silent room as if he were made of regret given form. “If I had only known…”

Before his childhood friend could lose himself in grief, Runaan leaped lightly from the top of the wardrobe and stalked closer, his arrow half-drawn. The message he’d come to deliver didn’t require words, but Harrow clearly hadn’t learned anything since they’d met last. And look what it’s done to you. “You’re missing her point, Harrow.”

Harrow spun to face Runaan with wide eyes, drawing a dagger from his belt. “R-Runaan?” The dagger’s gleaming tip trembled in the moonlight.

The assassin paused and let himself be seen. Taller than Harrow, whip-thin, and dressed for the shadows, Runaan was a deadly breath on the wind: a brief warmth on the skin, here then gone, leaving nothing but cold death in his wake. “Your queen. She was trying to tell you something important. You didn’t listen.”

Harrow’s eyes were still wide with shock at Runaan’s sudden appearance. His dagger shivered harder. “Are-are you here to kill me?”

Runaan’s face was hard. “Yes.”

Harrow’s eyes lowered to Runaan’s bow, still pointed at the floor. He gulped and looked up into Runaan’s eyes again. “I understand.” He lowered his dagger and stood tall, lifting his chin. Accepting his fate.

A dirty glee slicked across Runaan’s rage, and he tipped his horns mockingly. “You acknowledge your arrogance?” he murmured.

Harrow’s accepting pose bowed back into defensiveness. “My—? No. I acknowledge that I willingly invaded Xadia to save a hundred thousand lives from an agonizing and drawn-out death. I acknowledge that my military solution carried a secondary risk: you.”

“You knew I’d come?”

Harrow took a deep breath. “Not you specifically. But Xadia is well defended. And I have first-hand knowledge of the skills of Moonshadow assassins. Your kind killed my grandfather to spark a war. You came to kill me to spark another.”

Runaan pointedly glanced toward a large map clearly marked with Katolis’s recently expanded borders. “You started that war yourself.”

“I made a military feint to let you walk free. Pardon my softness, assassin. It so happened that I did find traitors among my men. My war was justified. Yours never has been.” Harrow’s brows lowered. “Is that why you’ve come? To start another war for your precious political schemes?”

Runaan hesitated so long before replying that Harrow actually took a step back from the angry elf. “I’m here for me, Harrow,” Runaan finally said. “I’m here because you didn’t listen. To me, or to your wife. I warned you about Viren. You didn’t believe me. And you’ve learned nothing.”

“It was one monster, Runaan. For a hundred thousand lives. You’d have done the same. You’re standing right there because you’ve already decided to do the same. Haven’t you?”

The accusation caught Runaan by surprise. “That’s not what—”

Harrow went on the attack, eyes flaring with pain and hurt. “Isn’t it? How dare you come into my life, at the lowest moment I have ever suffered, and tell me to my face that I deserved this, while you stand there ready to make the same ‘mistake’ I did? How dare you.”

Runaan’s fingers slipped on his bowstring, and he took a step back at the harsh truth in Harrow’s words. He’d become an assassin. His father’s son. He’d killed for Xadia, repeatedly. But Xadia hadn’t sent him after Harrow. He’d come of his own accord. Out of fury. Out of guilt. “You don’t know what you’ve done, Harrow. What you’ve started. Your arrogance reaches much further than you think.”

Harrow’s eyes narrowed, eager for any emotion that wasn’t sorrow. He waved an angry hand, inviting Runaan to explain, if he could. “And how is that, exactly?”

Upset on too many levels to resist, Runaan obliged. “I never thought I’d hear of you again, once I walked away from you that night. But I was wrong. You had the towering presumptuousness to assume that you could strut across the border and take what you wanted. That you could commit murder on foreign soil and simply walk away. But your actions have consequences, Harrow! The King of the Dragons is furious. He’s forming the Dragon Guard to defend against further foolishness like yours. My sister—” Runaan bit off the rest of his words.

At that very moment, his sister, Cloda, and her husband were preparing to say goodbye to their little daughter, Rayla. They’d answered the call to serve the King of the Dragons as elite members of his newly formed Dragon Guard.

The only way to quit the Dragon Guard was to die. And with the way the slumbering war with the humans had suddenly rumbled to life again, Runaan and Cloda both knew how her term of service would end.

Cloda knew all about Runaan’s connection to Harrow. Her Moonshadow sensibilities had forced her to choose between salvaging her brother’s honor and raising her daughter. And she’d chosen Runaan. Runaan and Xadia.

Runaan owed her. And he owed Rayla. In fact, he’d never stop owing Rayla. His soft heart—soft head, more like—had led to disaster within his own family and torn his sister from her only child. What else could he do but promise Cloda that he’d look after her daughter while she looked after his honor?

What else could he do?

Runaan’s face was a mask of pain, but he drew his brows down. Justice will not be denied.

“Your sister,” Harrow pressed. “My wife. Your Dragon King. My people. You. Me. We all pay prices, Runaan. One way or another.”

Runaan lifted his arrow from the bow and swiped it through the air in a negative gesture. “But not like this, Harrow! Never like this.”

Harrow folded his arms and glared at Runaan accusingly. “Says the assassin who’s come to kill me for my crimes against Xadia.”

Runaan stalked closer in a rush of angry shoulders and hot breath. “I’m not here for Xadia. I’m here for me. This is my fault. You’re my fault. Everything you did after I let you live… That’s on me. And I’m here to make things right.”

“‘Make things right’?” Harrow shoved himself into the inch of space that separated his chest from Runaan’s. His dark green eyes stabbed up into the assassin’s bright blue ones. “Make things right? Don’t stand there and tell me that marrying Sarai was wrong. That raising her son alongside our own was wrong. That leading my people toward a more equal future than the one my father envisioned is wrong. That wanting everyone across two kingdoms to live happily and healthily is wrong. Don’t you dare judge my life from your high and mighty position as a blessed elf, gifted at birth with powers none of my people will ever have.

“You want to talk about arrogance, Runaan? Let’s talk about how your father killed my grandfather. Let’s talk about how he sent you to kill me. Let’s talk about how you said yes to that. Let’s talk about how I kept your secret from that day forward. How I kept all your secrets, including the Moonstone Path. Because I’m not trying to go to war with Xadia. I’m not trying to invade you and take what I want. And let’s talk about how, the next time I finally see you, you don’t acknowledge that I’ve never given you away, not once. No, you come in here trying to make up for what you see as weakness. You come in here telling yourself that you’ll finally be the good son your father always wanted once you make up for your failure all those years ago and kill me!” Harrow slapped his hands against his own chest and held them open wide, inviting Runaan’s death blow.

But Runaan only stared at him. His bow lowered, and his mouth slowly fell open. “You have children?”

Harrow threw his dagger across the floor and lunged, shoving Runaan back with both hands.

Runaan took the blow and skidded smoothly to a stop several feet away. His eyes flickered across Harrow as if seeing him for the first time. “Harrow—”

“You heard me, you disgraceful excuse for an elf. You utter embarrassment. You unworthy son. Kill me!” Harrow dug his fingers into Runaan’s tunic and slammed him back against the wardrobe.

Runaan dropped his arrow and clasped Harrow’s wrist, not to remove, but to contain. “Harrow. Stop.”

But Harrow didn’t seem to hear him. He slammed Runaan against the wardrobe again, though more softly. His face crumpled, his hands knotted in Runaan’s tunic, and under his breath Runaan heard him muttering over and over, “Kill me, just kill me.”

Harrow’s shoulders knotted, and his grief overcame his ability to stand. His knees gave out, and he sank toward the floor. Runaan smoothly leaned his bow against the wardrobe and dropped with him, hands on his shoulders, guiding him down, until they knelt together on the stone tiles. The king’s grief radiated against Runaan like a dark sun, and the thick weight of it shredded Runaan’s single-minded rage.

Harrow’s head dipped forward, shaking with sobs, and rested against Runaan’s chest. “She’s gone, she’s… I miss her so much.”

Runaan sat back onto his heels and rested his arm across Harrow’s shoulders, feeling the heavy tremors of the king’s utter grief. How easy it would be to kill him now. How easy to destroy him, too—to tell him he deserved this. But Runaan only murmured, “I’m sorry, Harrow. I’m so sorry.”

The assassin who’d come to kill the king held him instead as he wept for the death of his queen. When Harrow’s sobs finally subsided, Runaan handed him a soft cloth, and Harrow wiped his eyes and blew his nose. They knelt facing each other, full of too much emotion and too few words.

Uncharacteristically, Runaan spoke first. “You’re right. And Sarai was right. It’s not my place to come here and take your life. So I won’t. You… you have children.” Rayla’s face blossomed in his vision, smiling up at him for approval, her tiny, dark horns nudging their way out of her short white hair, her lavender eyes alight. “And I have—my own responsibilities.”

Harrow raised his eyebrows, too tired to fight anymore. “You found someone, then.”

Runaan dipped his horns to the side. “I have someone to take care of.”

Harrow’s gaze shifted toward the door to his chambers. “So do I. I’ll try to do better. They deserve that from me. For Sarai’s sake.”

“All your people deserve that from you. Come, you need to rest.” Runaan flexed to his feet. He could have taken up his bow, or simply struck out with his hands. But he did neither, offering an empty hand to Harrow instead.

After a moment, the king took it and let the assassin pull him up. Runaan rested a hand on Harrow’s shoulder and guided him up to the dais. He drew back the embroidered blankets on the bed and tucked Harrow in, just as he had done once when they were children. His shadow fell over the grieving king, and Harrow rolled onto his side and hugged Sarai’s pillow.

“Thank you, Runaan,” Harrow mumbled, as the exhaustion of the bereaved began to claim him. “For your mercy.”

Runaan studied Harrow, curled against the hurts of the day, exhausted by the toll of his own choices. He’d known Harrow well, once. Should have trusted him more than he had. Though he wasn’t sure that letting the king live with this crushing grief counted as mercy, he replied, “I’ve owed you a debt for years. Today I consider it repaid.” After a breath, Runaan laid a hand on Harrow’s shoulder. “Don’t make me ask you about Viren again.”

“Viren?” Harrow’s voice was cloudy with sleep.

Runaan’s voice was a breath of shadowy judgement. “Sarai’s death is his fault.”

Harrow’s eyes slid shut, and he let out a tired breath. “Sarai’s death is Thunder’s fault.”

Runaan’s fingers twitched. Now was no time to borrow trouble. He’d have enough to explain when he got home as it was. He’d traveled all this way, unsanctioned and alone, only to hesitate? Runaan’s father would have had a viscerally strong opinion on that kind of behavior if he were still alive to see it. Although, to Runaan, his father’s death was only an insidious illusion. Runaan could hear every word the old assassin would say anyway.

Everything’s a test.

“Goodbye, Harrow.”

Runaan’s shoulders tensed. Guilt, his oldest friend, dogged his steps as he fetched his bow, retrieved his lost arrow, and vanished into the shadows.

 ***

 Night fell as the six Moonshadow assassins darted through the forest. The storm would be upon them well before dawn, and Katolis Castle was still hours away. Runaan gestured for a break. It would be their last dry one before the rain fell.

Beneath a spreading oak tree, Rayla sauntered over to Runaan, still bouncing with energy and excitement, and grinned up at him. “How am I doing, Team Leader?”

Runaan nodded curtly, though he kept his eyes soft. “You’re doing very well. The real test will come later.”

Her violet eyes sparkled with adoration, just as they always had. Runaan would miss that innocent gleam after tonight. He took a deep breath and fixed it in his mind.

His young charge noticed. “Runaan?”

“Yes, Rayla.”

“You’re staring a bit. Is everything all right?”

No. “All according to plan. How do you feel?”

Rayla straightened her shoulders and tucked her hands behind her back. “I’m ready, Runaan. You’ve only been training me for this all my life.”

He hid his thoughts behind a tolerant smile. “You’re fifteen, Rayla.”

Rayla shot him a sassy look and tucked her beaded braid behind her right ear. “Yeah, I am. That’s plenty old enough.”

Doubts jostled inside Runaan’s chest. Rayla had demanded a position on his team in order to restore her family’s honor after reports circulated that her parents had fled Avizandum’s lair instead of staying to defend him, the Dragon Queen, and the egg of the Dragon Prince. Her insistence gave Runaan flashbacks to when Cloda had insisted on joining the Dragon Guard after Runaan’s failure to kill Harrow when he was only fifteen. The cycle is complete. And yet it’s my own failure that put everything in motion.

Runaan steadied his expression. “Fifteen, Rayla. Do you know what I was doing when I was fifteen?”

Rayla rolled her eyes and gestured broadly. “Oh, I don’t know, probably killing every traitor you passed on your way to market?”

Runaan gave her a lightly reprimanding look despite his inner amusement. Despite the weight in his heart. I was getting my heart broken by a friend who turned to the darkness.

“No, wait, I know,” Rayla continued, wagging a finger at him with broad exaggeration. “You were slaying an evil dragon between running epic marathons around Xadia!”

“Hardly.” I was learning why an assassin needs to be hard.

Her sass was on a roll, though. “Or, wait, I bet it’s this: you were being wined and dined by the King of the Dragons himself because he wanted you to be his own personal bodyguard!”

He crossed his arms and toughened his expression to sternness. “Rayla. Nobody likes a loud assassin.” I was learning the lesson I needed, if not the one my father was trying to teach me.

Rayla sighed and let her sass run out. “Yes, Runaan.”

He settled a hand on her shoulder. “And remember.”

“Yes, Runaan?” Rayla used her attentive-pupil voice.

“Moonberry surprise when we get home.”

Her soft white brows shot up. “But it’s not even close to my birthday.”

I’ll tell myself that it will make up for that gleam I’ll have stolen from your eyes. Maybe I’ll even believe it for a breath or two. “You’ll have earned it. Look at me, cooking twice in one year.” He let a smile cross his lips. “We shouldn’t dally. You lead this time.” With another silent gesture, he gathered everyone’s attention and directed them onward. With pleased surprise, Rayla took point.

She didn’t slow down even when the downpour began.

 ***

 “You will wait here, quietly.” Runaan pointed imperiously to the rock, his turquoise eyes sparking. Rayla wouldn’t dare challenge him now, would she? Please, Rayla. Don’t.

Rayla reluctantly plopped onto the rock, and Runaan felt his shoulders unclench. His right hand went slack with relief, hidden where she couldn’t see it. She’s hidden, too. Away from us, away from camp.

But he knew her stubborn streak well. She wouldn’t stay unless he shamed her into it. Such a sentimental child—she’d found the key Harrow had given him long ago and decided it was a delightfully quirky human treasure, hanging it from her window at home. Runaan hardened his heart and told himself it was just a trinket, after all.

Focus. Runaan couldn’t have Rayla lurking around camp if the humans returned. And he couldn’t have her following him, either. All the scenarios he’d been running in his head for the past hour had ended in disaster. There was no escaping that, now. It was all a matter of degrees, a matter of price. And of how many would pay it.

Runaan would do whatever it took to ensure that Rayla didn’t pay it, including paying it for her. Rayla needed this redemption as much as he did, but if he was going to keep her alive, he had to choose for her, between death and dishonor. I never should have brought her with me.

His left hand tightened harder, and he felt his knuckles pop. “If we’re not back by sunrise…” He turned toward the castle, tightened his right hand back into a fist, and stabbed Rayla with the words that he knew would hurt the most. “Go home.”

His ear just caught the soft sound of her hurt sigh. He kept walking until he was out of sight.

Then he began to run.

The castle loomed in the high distance, but Runaan knew the way. Along the river, lurking across the underside of the bridge, around the base of the wall, up the side of an isolated outer tower. Then along the roofs toward the central tower where Harrow’s chamber lay.

Everyone expected the assassins to wait for the cover of darkness. Everyone expected a team of six.

Runaan had never been one to measure up to others’ expectations, for good or ill. He was going to finish what he’d started. Alone.

As he eased his way around the edges of the castle guards’ eyes, he tried to keep his thoughts on the moment, but it was impossible. The roots of this mission ran deep.

The battle against the humans on Winter’s Turn had been a disaster of epic proportions. In the aftermath—the devastating reality of the Dragon King’s demise, and the dawn of a bleak, warlike future that could have been prevented by Runaan’s dagger striking true all those years ago—Runaan had utterly fallen apart, been unable to eat for days. Rayla had been so worried she’d tried to drag him to a healer.

For her kindness, he’d snapped at her.

Things had gone downhill from there. Rayla was beside herself with horror at what her parents had done, and it manifested in a kaleidoscope of emotions that even Runaan couldn’t predict. Runaan’s guilt hadn’t let Rayla fix anything, had driven her to the most extreme solution of them all: demanding to join his assassin team in order to extract justice from Katolis. That same guilt which had held her comforting words at bay had clouded Runaan’s judgment—he’d allowed Rayla to join up.

At any given moment during the mission, Runaan could easily have broken down into hopeless sobs. Everything was coming together—or was it coming apart?—too hard, too dark, too fast. He couldn’t stop it. He could only do his best to complete the mission at hand and keep Rayla safe. He’d never taken a mission so knotted with personal attachment before. It didn’t suit. Runaan functioned much better detached and he knew it. If he kept up this level of inner turmoil, someone was going to get killed.

Possibly everyone. And that will be on me, too.

At least I can only fail everyone once.

Runaan slipped around the crenellated crown of Harrow’s tower and timed his descent to the balcony with the turning of the guards’ heads as they scanned out across the castle courtyard for enemies. With practiced ease, Runaan dropped lightly to the smooth stones next to the balcony railing and slipped in through the open doors. He stepped to the side, put his back against the wall, and let his eyes adjust to the dimmer interior.

Memories of the last time he’d stood in this room flooded his mind, and his resolve betrayed him once again. Harrow had cried. And Runaan had let him live. Why can’t I hate you, Harrow? How much easier it would be if I could.

Harrow sat at his desk across the broad chamber. He pressed a heavy seal against a spill of red wax, stamping a rolled letter with his royal mark. His expression was soft, sad, contemplative. As if he bore the burdens of generations on his shoulders and could press them into that blood-red wax with the weight of his royal seal. Beside him, his sword, blade bare and bright in the last golden rays of a dying afternoon, rested its handle against the table’s edge, while its point gleamed deadly sharp against the tile floor.

A bright green bird of prey perched nearby on an elevated stand. It saw Runaan first and chirruped a soft call. Harrow immediately rose and took up the long, broad-bladed sword, aiming its deadly point toward Runaan’s lurking spot.

“It’s you, isn’t it, Runaan? They finally sent you properly.”

Runaan didn’t answer. Didn’t step forward. He should have shot Harrow by now. He should have killed this faithless human three times over. He’d learned to be hard enough for anything in the past nine years. He’d hardened up over Cloda. His hard heart had given in to Rayla’s demands, too. But the old softness of his youth danced before his eyes. His friend, exploring the roof of the Banther Lodge under a waning moon, grinning mischievously from a snow fort, lurking in the rafters at Runaan’s side.

He could be hard for anything. Anything except this.

Harrow’s sword point lowered. “It’s all right. I understand. You’ve been trying to kill me since we first met, haven’t you? It’s high time I let you finish the job.”

Runaan took one step forward, and the failing light of day backlit his horns. He fitted an arrow on his bowstring and drew it back smoothly. He had drawn that bow a thousand times. But even though his aim was true, his fingers would not loose the missile. One breath, then another, and still he hesitated. “Tell me why. Why you never listened to me.” He gritted his teeth so Harrow wouldn’t hear the tremble in his voice.

Harrow grounded the point of his sword on the tile. “Yours was never the only voice striving for my ear, Runaan.”

Runaan’s eyes slitted. “Is that what you thought I wanted? Your favor? The ear of the king, for what? For the sake of peace?”

Harrow’s face was drawn. His shoulders slumped. “You would have had it, if you’d been honest with me.”

The condemned king’s words struck hard, and Runaan lowered his bow with wide, outraged eyes. “I put my life in your hands every winter.”

“You were grooming me to trust you so you could kill me and start a war, Runaan. That’s not being honest. You of all people should know that.”

Runaan bit back his protests. If he’d truly wanted Harrow to understand, he’d have spoken them years ago. But Runaan’s father had wrapped him in decades of schemes, and Runaan could only cut himself free of the cords he could see. His father’s machinations ran deep.

Just as Viren’s did in Harrow.

Harrow misinterpreted Runaan’s silence and offered an unexpected statement. “You were right, though. All along. I should have listened to you.”

“Your words won’t stop me. They’re about twenty years too late.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to.”

Runaan took a steadying breath and studied Harrow. “This changes nothing. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Harrow reached into a pocket and pulled out a small token, offering it slowly. “I thought it might be you, so…”

Runaan’s eyes dropped to Harrow’s palm and flickered wide.

His boyhood braid draped softly over the king’s hand, its turquoise bead still intact.

Something broke—shattered—in Runaan’s chest. Hot magma began to ooze out through his ribs, making it hard to breathe. “You kept it. All these years. You kept it from him.”

“Of course. I want you to take it back. They can’t find it on my body after— Afterward. Please. It’s yours, anyway. I’m glad it’s you, Runaan. You’re the only one who would understand.” Harrow stretched his hand a little further toward the assassin, offering the soft token.

Runaan’s heart hammered against his ribs. It’s a trick, it’s a trick.

“It’s not a trick,” Harrow said, as if he could read Runaan’s mind. “If you won’t take it back after everything I’ve done, I understand. But for your own safety, destroy it. You know what he’ll do with it if he finds it.”

The utter absurdity of the moment broke over Runaan like a sundering wave. He’d never felt so evil in all his life, nocking an arrow to kill a man who offered him everything he’d ever wanted of him: trust, validation, friendship.

I’m here to avenge one king by killing another. I’m here for justice. I’m here to kill my oldest friend.

Runaan’s father’s face swam in his mind’s eye. “What does it unlock?”

“His trust. Is this a test? Everything’s a test when it comes from you. But I won’t fail.”

Harrow broke into Runaan’s spinning thoughts. “Runaan, it’s all right. I accept my fate. It’s what I deserve. So unless we have time for me to get my boots so we can run around on the roof one last time, I suggest you get to the business you came for.”

Heat pricked at the corners of Runaan’s eyes. His side tails swayed as he shook his head. “No,” he breathed. “I’ve tried three times to kill you. I’ve turned my hand away every time. It’s not your destiny to die by my hand, Harrow. You deserve justice for what you’ve done. But not from me.” Runaan dropped his arrow back into its quiver.

Harrow blinked in surprise. “You’re calling off the mission?”

Runaan faded back into the shadows. “No.”

“But… your braid.”

“Burn it.”

Harrow’s hand slowly closed around the soft white braid. He nodded sharply, eyes soft with pain. “I would never have given it to him.”

A muscle in Runaan’s jaw twitched. No. But you gave him everything else. “Goodbye, Harrow.”

As Runaan slipped out onto the balcony and began to scale the wall, the sun slipped behind the horizon before him. The moon rose at his back. And the acrid smell of burnt hair reached his nose.

The first and last connection between Runaan and Harrow went up in smoke.

 ***

 The full Moon was rising as Runaan made his way back across the castle battlements to meet his team. Everyone but Rayla—

Ting.

His Moonshadow senses told him another elf was nearby. Runaan eased to a sudden stop and looked down over the tower crenellations. A spike of disbelief and fear shot through him.

Unbelievable. She didn’t stay on that rock four minutes.

While her back was turned, Runaan leaped lightly down to the top of the wall that stretched from his tower to the next and strode up behind her.

“Rayla.”

 ***

 Runaan knelt on the cold stone of the dungeon floor, his right boot slowly filling with blood, and felt his left arm start to die. Its rot would take the rest of him soon, if Viren didn’t.

Viren. At long last, Runaan had come face to face with the man who had turned Harrow against him. And found him to be disappointingly human. Just an ordinary man who’d caught the ear of a soft king.

An ordinary man, yes, but one with extraordinary vision. With a heart of righteous greed. With a mind for dark magic.

With a disturbingly familiar magic mirror hidden under a dark cloth.

If Viren could bring down a king with his pragmatism alone, what might he do with that mirror? Runaan had no intention of letting the world find out. For Viren had indeed brought Harrow down. By the time Runaan led his assassins to the king’s chambers, intent on letting one of them take Harrow’s life, Runaan’s childhood friend was no longer as Runaan had left him.

In every way that mattered, Runaan’s mission was a success. In every way that mattered, Runaan was a failure. As he staggered out to the balcony to loose his shadowhawk, sending proof of the kill to the Dragon Queen, he finally understood what Harrow had been saying.

We’re both dying for what we cannot change. Dying because we cannot change.

A long, hot pang slid through his heart like a deathblow as he leaned into his chains. Rayla, Rayla, do better than I did. Be better than I am. Don’t get lost.

Hot tears squeezed out and dripped onto the cold stone floor between his knees. You and I are still wandering the forest, aren’t we, Harrow? Two little lost boys who never found our way home.

Heavy footsteps approached.  Runaan sent a hot blue glare toward the door to his cell. The dark mage who had lured his oldest friend away from him, and ruined any chance for peace in the process, had finally come to finish the job. Runaan would make sure of it.

Viren entered, and their eyes met.

I’ll see you soon, Harrow. I’ll crouch on your sill and ask if you want to play. And you’ll say yes.

[welcome-to-my-daydreams]

Man in the Storm 6

Summary: It’s rut season at the compound. Omega Reader plans to ride it out alone, locked in her room away from any unwanted Alphas. But she finds that to be a lot easier said than done when the team’s strongest Alpha pays a visit.

Pairings: Alpha!Thor x Omega!Reader

Type: Series (A/B/O Dynamics)

Warnings: smut, smut, smut and some fluff

Word Count: 2,583

A/N: This one is so long guys! But I felt you deserved a proper smut fest and didn’t want to rush it to keep it under 2k. SO THERE. 

Part 5, Part 7

Masterlist

You popped your freshly moisturised lips together as you took a final look in the mirror. Your stomach churned with nerves as you took a deep breath before heading out to meet Thor for your dinner. You were dressed casually, in jeans and a tank top, since you both decided to stay in.

You had realised that you’d have most of the common areas to yourselves this evening. With most of the couples spending the evening together anyway, Bruce and Tony were at their conference and Natasha and Sam already headed out on their undercover mission. So you both decided cooking at home was better than getting a car to the city. 

At first you actually considered cancelling the whole thing. Just saying you were feeling ill again and locking yourself away in your room. But you quickly realised that you and Thor would still be home alone together in this massive estate and it would be even more awkward than any date.

You walked down to the kitchen to see Thor pulling the groceries out of the fridge and onto the counter. He looked up as you entered and greeted you with his bright smile before returning to finish his task. 

He was wearing a white V-neck that showed just a hint of the incredibly toned chest underneath and deep blue jeans that matched his eyes. You sighed to yourself. 

This was going to be a long night. 

“You look lovely this evening, (y/n).” He complimented you while pouring two glasses of wine. He stepped around the island counter to hand you yours. 

You gave him a small smile and took your glass. You raised it to his and clinked them together. “Thank you, Thor.” You responded before taking a drink of the deep red. “I must say...Earth clothes suit you well.” You said with a light giggle as the wine coated your throat with a gentle warmth. 

Thor smiled and brought you around to the food sitting on the counter. “I think I was able to gather everything we needed for tonight.” He said happily. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to instruct me on what to do next.”

You took another sip, “You don’t cook much on Asgard do you?” You poked at him. He laughed, shaking his head. “Not at all, my lady. Though there was this one time when I was younger. My brother and I snuck into the kitchens and tried to make our favourite venison stew...But we nearly burned the place down and were eternally banished from that entire wing of the palace.”

You laughed at the picture forming in your head of a young Thor running around and causing trouble. 

You started prepping the food, instructing Thor what to cut and when. You were making a random pasta recipe you found online, something easy because you were no expert in the kitchen either. As you prepared the meal you continued to laugh and share stories with one another. 

The wine was helping to dull your nerves, but not completely. Thor was standing next to you and you could feel the body heat radiating off of him. The smell of cedar-wood and oranges mixing into the sweet red wine you had both been drinking. And it didn’t help that his voice had gotten lower, smoother as he spoke to you.

You had taken over most of the cooking and Thor was mainly just handing you things when you asked. It was for the better, though. This way, he would admire you without the risk of cutting his finger off. The smell of Lavender and morning dew was everywhere. The wine had only enhanced his senses and he couldn’t resist the need to have you close. 

He was unsure of what to do next, though. On Asgard he never had to wait long before approaching a woman because they had always thrown themselves at him. But you were different. He didn’t only desire your body, but he wanted to spend every moment with you. To share things with you, to know you. No woman on Asgard made him feel this way. Not even the ones his parents had tried to force him to marry.

Despite all of these confusing emotions and desires he was feeling, the one thing he did know for sure was that he had waited long enough to taste your lips.

With his mind made up he walked over to you as you chopped away. He put his wine glass down and stepped behind you. His chest pressed against your back and you felt a sudden surge of energy bolt through your body. Placing one hand on the countertop and another brushing your hair to the side. He hooked the thin strap of your shirt with his finger and pulled it to the side, leaning forward and giving it a gentle kiss. You sucked in your breath, hearing your heart beat through your chest. You put down the knife you were using and closed your eyes as he began to kiss along the skin on your shoulder

You bit down on your bottom lip and leaned back against his firm chest, tilting your head to the side to give him more room. He continued kissing softly along your shoulder to the base of your neck until he came to your bonding gland. He nuzzled his nose into it before giving it a wet kiss.

It sent a shiver through your core, provoking an audible gasp from your lips. when he heard it, he turned you around to face him. You looked up at him in a haze as he towered over you. 

“Thor...”

He cupped your face in his hand and pulled you into a deep kiss. You moaned into his mouth desperately, snaking your hands up his chest and around his neck.

He pushed your mouth open with his tongue, making you whimper again before clearing a space on the counter and lifting you up on it. You gasped aloud as he pushed your legs open and pressed his body against yours. You grabbed at the hair at the nape of his neck as he stroked his tongue against yours.

You wrapped your legs around his torso and he pulled you closer to him by the small of your back. You moved one hand down and slipped it under his shirt, greedily feeling after his warm, firm skin.

You both gasped for air as Thor moved from your lips down your neck again. He returned to the unmarked spot on your neck and sucked on it. You let out a moan as your panties dampened from your flushed core. He sucked harder and you pulled tighter around his neck, biting back a scream. 

You pulled his mouth off of you and smashed your lips onto his again. You were moaning frantically now, your urges were beginning to take control. 

But you broke free from the kiss as a sharp pain surged in your lower abdomen, followed by an overwhelming wave of arousal. You lunged forward in both pain and pleasure and grabbed onto Thor’s shoulder to steady yourself. You screamed out as the pain intensified and your skin began to heat up.

Oh no.

Thor smelt the change immediately. His eyes went black and he took a deep shuttering breath.

“Omega...” 

He tried backing away from you but you squeezed his shoulder desperately.

“No, please....d...don’t go.”

You let go of him and clenched your stomach as another wave of pain hit you. You slid off the counter but your legs gave way underneath you. Thor caught you before you fell and you clung to his arms. 

His skin was cool against yours. The fever had come just as fast as the heat itself.

Thor was doing his best to ignore the smell coming off you. The spot on your neck looked even more delicious than it had a few minutes ago. He tried to stay calm, but the desperate sounds of pain coming from you was torture for him. His Alpha instincts were screaming at him to care for you. To ease your suffering.

“(y/n)...I can’t...I can’t stay here much longer.” Thor warned, his strength to fight against his natural instincts was withering away as you triggered his rut.

You cringed in pain again as slick began to soak through to your jeans. You pulled yourself up straight, using Thor’s chest to steady yourself. You gazed up at him, a tear flowing down your cheek. 

“Alpha....” you started, between deep gasps of breath and winces of pain. “Alpha I need you...” you pleaded. 

Thor looked down at you and held you close, he wiped away the tear with his thumb. “Are you sure Omega?” He needed to know you were sure.

You bit down on your lip before nodding up at him with wide eyes. “I w...want you Thor....so bad.” 

And that was all he needed to hear. 

Without missing a beat Thor smiled dangerously and picked you up and threw you over his shoulder. You squealed at the sudden movement but he heard the excitement in your voice and it only encouraged him further. 

When he got to his room he kicked the door shut and threw you onto the bed. Whipping his shirt off before crawling over you and ripping yours over your head and throwing it across the room.  

He had gone completely wild. His Alpha urges were on overdrive and your Omega instincts were feeding off of it like a starved animal. 

He kissed you deeply and bit at your bottom lip. you let our a pornographic grasp, enjoying the tinge of pain. You clawed at his body, feeling his warm skin against yours and feeling every inch of his thick muscle. You went for the buttons on his jeans, eager to get them off but he caught your hand and shook his head.

“I’m in charge here little one.” He said in a grizzly voice as he pulled your arm over your head, holding it there with his hand. He brought your other hand over as well and held you down before he started kissing down your entire body. You whimpered as he took control. 

He undid your bra, revealing your breasts to the cold air. He circled your nipple with his tongue, nibbling gently and making you squirm beneath him. He sucked hard on each of your breasts, leaving little red marks on your supple skin. He continued licking down your body until he got to the waistband of your jeans, he unbuttoned them slowly and pulled them off with your underwear.

He spread your legs wide and sat there on his knees, just looking at you, licking his lips as you spread out for him. Your folds were flushed and dripping wet with slick. He let out a deep, rumbling growl that made writhe your hips impatiently. Your heat was making your entire core feel like it was on fire and you needed him to put it out. 

The sight of you, the smell of you caused Thor’s cock to harden in his jeans. He quickly pulled his pants off before lowering himself between your legs and licking the slick off your inner thigh.

He groaned at the sweet taste.  

Without a moments hesitation he dived into your throbbing folds. Your back arched as he sucked relentlessly on you and you pulled at his blonde hair. He pushed his tongue inside you a few times before finally circling his tongue around your clit. Once there, he didn’t give you a moment to catch up. 

He pushed and sucked and circled around your bundle of nerves, using your moans to guide him. You were so on edge from your heat that you already felt an orgasm coming. You fisted the sheets around you as the bubble in your core burst into a million pieces. Thor buried his face further into you as you came in his mouth. 

He came up to kiss you with his slick covered face and though the orgasm he gave you was incredible your heat was not backing down. You needed more. You kissed him hard and sucked on his bottom lip. He smiled into the kiss. Your aggression only making him harder. You felt him line up his massive cock with your entrance and circle it within your folds a few times. Getting it nice and wet. 

“Alpha please!” You begged. 

“Hush Omega” he said with a heavy voice. He brought one hand to your face and kissed you deeply before thrusting his cock inside you. The noise that came out of you made him groan. 

Your pussy was so tight that Thor needed a minute before he could continue. He was stretching your walls so much it actually hurt and you had to bite down on his shoulder to hold back the scream. 

Thor took a moment to adjust to your tight pussy and looked down at the utter mess you were beneath him. His little Omega.

He began to pull in a out of you, bottoming out with each powerful thrust. Eventually the sting you felt slowly melted into pure, euphoria and you stretched your arm above your head and pressed against the headboard. You continued to bite at his shoulder and scratch at his back as he picked up the pace, slamming into your g-spot so hard you could no longer hold back your screams. 

Every noise you made encouraged him to push deeper. He snaked his hand under your ass and propped you up to get a better angle. You threw your head back into the pillow and scratched at the skin on chest. You closed your eyes tightly as you felt your second orgasm coming closer. Your walls were tightening around his cock and your vision started to blur. 

Thor felt your climax coming and his knot began to engorge inside you, catching on your walls with each thrust. He reached down to your neck and sucked on the soft spot he had been craving to taste. Your orgasm hit and your walls convulsed around him, a shockwave flooded throughout your entire body.

Thor’s climax hit as well and his knot reached it’s full size, locking him inside you.

You opened you eyes again, complete disoriented, trembling and out of breath.

You smiled up at him as you both came down from your highs. Bringing both hands to his face you pull him in for a long, deep kiss. With a smile he turned you both over so that you were now lying on top of him. A much more comfortable position to be in while you waited for the swell of his knot to go down. 

You took a moment to grasp what had just happened and you couldn't help but  giggle into his chest. He laughed with you and cleared the hair from your face as you rested on top of him, tracing the sizeable red scar on his shoulder. 

“That was....wow” You admitted softly. Thor smiled and hummed in agreement, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

Exhausted, and fully fucked out, you closed your eyes. Thor wrapped one arm around you, holding your warm body close against him. Stroking the soft skin of your back with his other hand. lulling you to sleep.

 After a while your breathing had calmed and his knot went down. You had drifted off to sleep already so he gently pulled himself out of you, keeping you on top of him. 

“Sleep well little one.” He smiled and kissed the top of your head. 

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[dogberrycollection]

Find Out Your Perfect Outdoor Wood Shutters At Dogberry

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[architectnews]

Unknown Architects embeds home in sand dunes on Dutch island

Dutch studio Unknown Architects has completed a cabin-like holiday home in the Netherlands with panoramic windows for looking out at the surrounding landscape of dunes and hills.

Aptly named House in the Dunes, the home has a steeply pitched roof and simple cross-laminated timber (CLT) and steel structure informed by the surrounding buildings in Terschelling in the Wadden Islands.

House in the Dunes is a holiday home on Terschelling island

While from a distance the dwelling looks like a simple single-storey cabin, Amsterdam-based Unknown Architects sunk the concrete base of the building into the dunes, creating an additional floor and a sheltered terrace space.

"The house aims to be modest and expressive," said the studio. "By making use of the terrain of the dunes we could make a larger lower ground floor where two bedrooms, a bathroom, storage and technical space are situated," it continued.

The dwelling is embedded into the sand dunes

The resulting building is a stack of three distinct levels – a concrete base, a central form of CLT and steel surrounded by panoramic wood-framed windows, and a steep, asymmetric pitched roof clad with Accoya wood planks.

These materials were chosen for ease of construction and the way that they will age and weather over time, meaning the window frames and roof planks will blend into the landscape as they slowly turn grey.

It is surrounded by panoramic windows

"The majority of the house is prefabricated to reduce construction time on site and limit the impact on the surrounding area," explained the studio.

"The elements of the pigmented concrete base have been cast in the factory, while the ground floor and roof construction are built out of CLT, making this the first CLT construction in Terschelling," it continued.

Read:

Beach house by Marc Koehler Architects is half submerged into a grassy dune

In House in the Dunes' plywood-lined living space, the high-pitched skylit ceiling and 360-degree views create the feeling of being in the landscape. A built-in bench sits beneath the windows wraps around the interior and doubles as storage.

A central wooden block demarcates the kitchen and bathrooms and separates them from the living area, while also creating a mezzanine level directly beneath the roof's skylight.

Its interiors are lined with plywood

House in the Dunes' large overhanging roof and demountable wooden shutters help to prevent overheating, aided by ventilation grills integrated into the timber window frames.

Below, the bedrooms, bathroom and entrance hall have been finished in white with smaller square windows framing views out onto the dunes.

Timber-framed windows capture views out onto the dunes

Unknown Architects was founded in 2012 by Daan Vulkers and Keimpke Zigterman. Previous projects by the studio include the renovation of an apartment block in Amsterdam, where red-painted steel columns have been used to open up a series of previously compact living spaces.

Another home that is embedded into the sand dunes of Terschelling is a beach cabin by Amsterdam-based studio Marc Koehler Architects, which has a crystalline form clad in a combination of glass and red cedar.

The photography is by MWA Hart Nibbrig.

Project credits:

Architect: Unknown Architects Contractor: Bouwbedrijf Kolthof Engineer: H4D Climate consultant: Adviesbureau VanderWeele Cost consultant: Ingenieursbureau Multical

The post Unknown Architects embeds home in sand dunes on Dutch island appeared first on Dezeen.

[idealshutters]

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[industrialreviewer1]

4 Highly-Qualified Traits of Dependable Manufacturers of Wood Shutters in Toronto

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[hausvonklaus]

Welcome Home

This is for @richqansey! Sorry it took me so long, but I hope you like it!

The temperature in the mountains is colder than Adam expected, but he’s bundled up in a thick navy jacket and gray scarf that keep him warm enough. He’s looking down at the directions he’d scribbled on the back of a laundromat receipt, his breath coiling into the air like cigarette smoke. His car is parked in a gravel lot at the bottom of the mountain, right beside Ronan’s BMW, which looks like it’s been there for days; it’s covered in brown leaves and a ridiculous amount of acorns.

With a sigh, Adam takes the path to his left that should lead him to his final destination. He’s still unsure of what that is exactly. 

Originally, he’d planned to go back to the Barns for winter break. He was homesick after months of being away from Ronan and Opal, and Ronan had been on board up until a couple of weeks ago. I promised Matthew I’d let him and a few of his friends stay here for their break if he got Declan off my back about hosting Christmas dinner, Ronan told him over video chat one night, so we’ll be crashing somewhere else. Don’t give me that look, Parrish, it’ll be fucking fantastic.

Adam rubs at his nose that’s surely as red as a cherry by now, as he climbs a little higher. He’s not sure if he’d use the word fantastic to describe this surprise trip so far. The last time he was in the woods wasn’t exactly the most pleasant experience of his life, so if Ronan expects him to go traipsing through hidden caves or–

“Kerah!” Chainsaw crows at him from a branch a few feet up, her head tilting left and round eyes blinking in a very happy hello. Just seeing her makes Adam’s complaints vanish and a warmth settle within his ribs. Ronan must be nearby.

He picks up his pace and shrugs the strap of his duffel bag further up his shoulder. It’s been about twenty minutes since he’d started the hike up the mountain and there’s no sound around him besides the rustling of leaves. Suddenly, a sense of familiarity creeps up his spine and the swaying canopy of trees whispers to him. Adam inhales the biting cold, filling his lungs with ice. Cabeswater is gone, he reminds himself. 

The path winds around an outcropping of rocks and when Adam turns the corner, the dancing flames of a campfire ahead catches his eye. It’s not big enough to create much smoke and behind it, a few feet away, is a decently sized tent and a large stack of firewood. A small smile twitches at the corner of Adam’s lips and the memory of Cabeswater is quickly replaced with an aching fondness for his boyfriend. 

Said boyfriend emerges from the tent in clothes inappropriate for the weather: ripped jeans, a leather jacket, and finger-less gloves. How very Ronan.

“Is there a point to those gloves?” Adam can’t help himself. “They’re obviously not meant to keep your hands warm.”

Ronan’s blue eyes snap up to him instantly. There’s a tug in the pit of his stomach and then Adam doesn’t know if it’s him or Ronan or both of them running, but he’s tossing his bag onto the ground right before a hard body collides with his. The familiar smell of leather and cedar slams into him just as hard, making him pleasantly light-headed. Chilly fingers touch the skin under his jacket and he yelps, but the sound is swallowed up by Ronan’s lips. 

The kiss ends as fast as it began and then Adam’s being hoisted up, held firmly in the cage of Ronan’s arms. His cheeks heat up as he looks down at Ronan’s childish grin and he’s quickly changing his mind: fantastic is definitely the word he’d use to describe this surprise trip. The winter air is forgotten when he’s held like this, pressed so close he can feel the other’s body heat through his clothes.

“You can put me down now,” Adam says, but he wraps his arms around Ronan’s neck like there’s no place he’d rather be.

“Sure,” Ronan carries Adam to the mouth of the tent, steps in, and then tugs hims down.

There are so many blankets that it feels just like a bed, soft and inviting: surely pulled from Ronan’s dreams and meant to keep them perfectly warm within the tent once the temperatures drop. Adam sighs happily as he removes his scarf and jacket, his eyes closing as Ronan’s fingertips press along the pulse of his throat. They’re already warm. 

“I still don’t understand the point of the gloves,” Adam leans into the touch.

“Fashion, Parrish,” Ronan watches him through dark lashes.

Adam laughs, showing his teeth.

“Ah, forgive me. I forgot that there are hibernating bears you need to impress.”

Ronan slowly rocks forward until his forehead is against Adam’s shoulder.

“I missed you.”

Adam runs a hand along the nape of Ronan’s neck, eliciting a shiver from him.

“I missed you, too.”

They spend the next few hours catching up, sharing everything that happened to them during the four months apart in more detail than they’d give through texts. Adam talks about the friends he’s made, his crazy assignments, his new part-time job on campus; Ronan talks about the weird things Opal keeps trying to eat, Matthew’s new girlfriend, and all of the farm projects he has planned. He stops talking for a moment to reach behind him and dig something out of his back pocket.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

Adam looks skeptical, but does as he’s told. Something small is pressed into the crease of his palm, pulsing and thrumming like a small heartbeat. But after a moment of being held, it stills and Adam is flooded with the same familiarity that he felt while walking on the path here. This time, the whispers are more than just the rustling of leaves.

Magus, a multitude of voices greet him. Grata domum, welcome home. Our hands, our eyes.

Adam feels himself falling, as if he’s scrying, but Ronan’s voice keeps him here and when he opens his eyes he can hardly see through the tears threatening to spill over. He blinks once, twice. His tears fall the same moment a small sob stutters from his lips.

“Hey,” Ronan uses the back of his glove to gently wipe at Adam’s cheeks and trembling jaw. He sounds distressed, like he doesn’t know what to do, but then he draws in a breath. “Jesus fuck, can you be any more obvious?”

Adam’s still crying, too overwhelmed to feel embarrassed, and takes a shuttering breath. His gaze catches on a shower of blue, the reason for Ronan’s grumpy expression. He wasn’t talking to Adam, he was talking to Cabeswater. Blue violets tumble from the ceiling of the tent, where twisting vines cover every inch of fabric they can reach, the flowers blooming and showering petals over the two of them. The floral scent is everywhere. It calms Adam until his eyes are dry and his breathing evens out.

Magus, Cabeswater calls to him again, almost adoring. 

Ronan still looks like he wants to punch something and Adam croaks out a laugh, his throat dry from crying. Ronan’s embarrassed.

“Should I assume these flowers mean romantic love?” Adam plucks blue petals from his boyfriend’s scalp and bites his lip when Ronan’s rolls his eyes in response. “Ronan.”

Ronan glances down at the small item in Adam’s hand. Adam follows him. It’s a worrying stone the color of rainclouds, with a smooth groove in the middle for Adam to press his thumb. He briefly recalls a phone conversation where he’d shut down on Ronan due to stress and wonders if Ronan dreamt this up because of that.

“You never said so, but I knew you missed it,” Ronan curls Adam’s fingers over the stone. “And I didn’t want to tell you about this until it was finished. As long as you have this stone with you, Cabeswater will be there. You won’t have to drive to the middle of fucking nowhere to get there and–”

Adam leans forward and kisses Ronan, using his free hand to grip his jacket and bring him as close as possible. He can feel petals brushing against his skin and landing in his hair as he lays back and pulls Ronan over him, their lips pushing and pulling but never letting go. He trails kisses along a sharp jaw.

“Thank you,” he whispers, then drags his kisses across a pale throat. “Thank you,” he whispers again.

“Anytime,” Ronan groans, pulling Adam back up for another searing kiss.

[nightmare-afton-cosplay]

Red-Hot Real Estate: 10 Homes for Sale in the Nation’s Hottest ZIP Codes

realtor.com

Eighteen days. That’s the average time a home spends on the market in one of the nation’s 10 hottest ZIP codes.

Realtor.com®’s resident data crunchers recently identified the nation’s most scorching housing markets of the moment, where homes are flying off the market, and the results were a bit of a surprise. No big cities crashed the party.

Instead, the research showed a spike in interest in areas where buyers can get more for their money—where the price per square foot is relatively low and the quality of life is high. Some of the popular destinations, like those in Maine and New Hampshire, seem to reveal a shift in buyers’ interest in getting away from cities and moving closer to more rural areas.

To give you a taste of what you can expect in each of the 10 hottest markets, we plucked a favorite home currently for sale in each ZIP code. If you spot one you like, you had better act fast. These red-hot markets slow down for no buyer!

Have a look at some of these sought-after homes—many of them are priced for far less than you might think.

1. Colorado Springs, CO (80911) 1020 Walsen Rd, Colorado Springs, CO

Price: $849,000 Horse property with a view: For equine lovers, this spectacular home sits on 5.5 acres. The main three-bedroom house was built in 1984 and boasts vaulted ceilings, a stone fireplace, and hardwood floors. Also included are an ADA-compliant guest cottage, loafing shed, and toolshed.

Colorado Springs, CO

realtor.com

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2. Reynoldsburg, OH (43068) 689 Culpepper Dr, Reynoldsburg, OH

Price: $275,000 Waggoner Hills: Built in 1995, this four-bedroom home comes with hardwood floors and a basement. The backyard is perfect for entertaining and backs up to the woods for added privacy.

Reynoldsburg, OH

realtor.com

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3. Rochester, NY (14617) 476 Lakeview Park, Rochester, NY

Price: $92,500 Historic Colonial: Here’s where your dollar will stretch! Featuring a five-digit price tag, this three-bedroom home was built in 1912 and offers 1,448 square feet of living space. Highlights include coffered ceilings, remodeled sleeping porch, and updated electrical systems. The home also has a basement and attic for even more living space or storage, a detached two-car garage, and fenced yard.

Rochester, NY

realtor.com

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4. Melrose, MA (02176) 89 School St, Melrose, MA

Price: $515,000 Fixer-upper with flair: This two-bedroom home will need a little interior TLC to keep up with the rest of the residences in this high-end hood. But on the exterior, the home’s red paint gives it oodles of curb appeal, adding style to the tree-lined street. The Cape Cod home boasts hardwood floors, is close to transit lines, and offers limitless possibilities to create something spectacular.

Melrose, MA

realtor.com

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5. South Portland, ME (04106) 119 Skillings St, South Portland, ME 04106

Price: $299,999 Storybook shingle: Ringed with multiple yards, this four-bedroom, 2,253-square-foot home has plenty of space for a family to spread out. Inside, there are hardwood floors as well as a newer heating system. Outside, the shingles add a touch of storybook charm to this Colonial from 1930.

South Portland, ME

realtor.com

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6. Topeka, Kansas (66614) 1616 SW Boswell Ave, Topeka, KS

Price: $229,000 Updated Colonial: This classic center-hall Colonial received a nice little face-lift. There’s a new kitchen with granite countertops, updated bathrooms, and gleaming hardwood floors. The five-bedroom home spans three floors and includes a large backyard. The pretty red shutters and door set against the crisp white exterior make for a picture-perfect residence.

Topeka, KS

realtor.com

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7. Hudson, NH (03051) 22 Robin Dr, Hudson, NH

Price: $649,900 Golf course adjacent: This roomy home features high-end upgrades, including vaulted ceilings, a home theater, and a cedar-lined, screened porch. Custom touches include a kitchen backsplash with tile imported from Turkey. Outside, the 1.5-acre lot runs adjacent to a golf course and includes a large, fenced yard with irrigation, 1,200 square feet of decks, and a shed.

Hudson, NH

realtor.com

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8. Worcester, MA (01602) 316 Lincoln St, Worcester, MA

Price: $575,900 Mixed-use in MA: Opportunities abound! This intriguing three-story home comes with an attached executive suite with three offices, conference room, reception area, and bonus living room. Sitting on nearly a half-acre, the four-bedroom main home measures in at a sizable 4,889 square feet. And don’t worry—parking won’t be a problem—there are six parking spaces plus a detached two-car garage. It’s close to the UMass Memorial Medical Center, shops, restaurants, and schools.

Worcester, MA

realtor.com

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9. Springfield, VA (01602) 8114 Edinburgh Dr, Springfield, VA

Price: $675,000 Sweet Springfield: This four-bedroom brick Colonial is a classic bit of Americana built in 1978. Elegantly remodeled and filled with natural light, it’s an ideal family home. The wooded and fenced backyard, complete with pergola, makes it a postcard-perfect property close to the Pentagon and Washington, DC.

Springfield, VA

realtor.com

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10. Raleigh, NC (27604) 3920 Lauriston Rd, Raleigh, NC

Price: $365,000 Brick beauty: This brick Colonial was built in 2000 and recently received a fresh paint job and new carpet. Sitting on nearly a full acre, the three-bedroom home has a lovely foyer, shiny hardwood floors, and crown molding. Outside, the yard is outfitted for entertaining with a deck and patio.

Raleigh, NC

realtor.com

The post Red-Hot Real Estate: 10 Homes for Sale in the Nation’s Hottest ZIP Codes appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.

from https://www.realtor.com/news/trends/homes-for-sale-in-the-nation-hottest-zip-codes/