#The bluebird of Bitterness

[mitigatingchaos]

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[cuppajj]

Neo beasts x reader head cannons? 🥺

You know what anon? Just for you

Beast Ancients AU - Neo Beasts x Reader Headcanons

Congratulations! Someway somehow you’ve attracted the attention—and affection—of the Neo beasts. How do each treat you?

Saint Vanilla Cookie

This implies that he’s decided not to purify you out of his intense compassion. In fact, he’s settled for something arguably much worse: saving you for last, so you can witness his deliverance.

You’re his lamb, his bluebird, and he never lets you forget how blessed you are to be one of his

He’s gentle in almost every way. Voice, touch, words. He especially likes cupping your cheek and cooing sweet little things. Sometimes they’re laced with dark promises

On his orders, the Lambs of Penance are your personal servants and won’t let any harm befall you. Cream Wafer speaks to you respectfully, but you can hear a little envy in his voice

Saint pays attention to every little detail you have, the things you like, and your wishes. He wants to see you at your happiest because a tainted soul as yourself should never feel sad. He’ll wipe your tears away

But don’t assume he’s perfect; he’s far from. Saint stays true to his personal promise that you will be safe and happy and alive until the day he finally saves you, and that means that any potential threat to you will be dealt with by his lambs. If he thinks something will taint your soul further, he’ll be sure that it’ll never have the chance.

In fact, why don’t you stay with him? In his timeless kingdom, amongst his loyal followers and all the orchids that will watch over you. It’s the closest you’ll be to the light.

Make no mistake, saint is two steps away from being a yandere. He just wouldn’t get his hands dirty, and he would never change to that typical yandere-ish behavior. The oh so benevolent saint just wants to see you safe, and if that safety is under his wings, so be it…

Dragonberry Cookie

As the Beast of Pride, the way she loves is bold and loud. She will make it known to you that she loves you pretty quickly.

While she throws parties pretty frequently already, you’ll be center stage at a lot of them with her as she makes you dance together and drinks herself stupid with a bunch of glasses poured your way as well.

If you’re the shy type, expect to be embarrassed or put in big social situations a lot since she’s a massive extrovert who would bring you along to things. Outside of parties and other events of the sort, she would also love for you to watch her spar with Wildberry and her other soldiers

She’ll also give you lots of gifts

She does have a pretty big ego though, so she expects praise and validation from you. Compliments, acts of service, things that assure her you’re not just mooching off of what she gives you. If she thinks you’re not being grateful, she’ll get bitter and confront you about it, which will or won’t go well depending on how well you can prove your point to her

She’ll kill for you 100%. She might even do it in front of you. If you get messed up from that? It’s okay! You’ll get over it in no time.

Despite all this she does respect your boundaries, she’ll give you space if you’re vocal about it. She disappears on occasions and comes back covered in battle wounds and jam anyway.

You know about Pitaya locked up in her basement but you know not to touch them, let alone try and free them if you’re hero enough. She might just have to punish you for that if she catches you doing something you shouldn’t. Don’t worry though, it’s just this once, because you’ll surely never try anything again, right?

Big hugger, her love language is touch so expect hugs and kisses and mandatory cuddle sessions. Honestly if you’re just as messed as her then she’s a pretty solid lover

Frigid Cacao Cookie

It’s hard to tell he cares for you because he’s so distant, even from you.

You’re allowed into the throne room without summons, but the furthest into it you can go is to the foot of his throne. Like everyone else in the citadel, you’re not allowed to touch him.

Your days in the citadel are quiet. The outside is cold but the hallways and your room are warm, the latter always supplied to the brim with what you need.

Tiny licorice creatures slink in and out of your peripheral vision, watching you curiously. Sometimes they slink up to you, purring and chittering, and some might even be balancing trays of food, warm towels, clothes, or other things on their heads. Little do you know that Cacao has been ordering them to take care of you

While he doesn’t forbid you from leaving the kingdom, he’ll want you to come back to him one way or another. Ideally on your own, but one of the licorice oozes that have been watching you since you left could also bring you back.

You might see him out and about on rare occasions, and he might look at you. On even rarer occasions he might ask about your well being

The only thing he’s strict about is that you absolutely cannot attract attention from the other neobeasts, especially Saint Vanilla. The beast of Penance is already curious about learning what things make Cacao go soft; he does not need to learn about you.

Also don’t bring up Choco, he has a reaction to it

Celestial Cheese Cookie

Pampers you. Pampers you and pampers you and pampers you and pampers you

Thinks you’re the sweetest little thing and pinches your cheeks and everything

She’d be more than happy to show herself off, as well as all of her achievements. She gives you treasures from her conquests regularly

She’s similar to Dragonberry though where she expects praise, but unlike her she doesn’t get as angry. She doesn’t see her gift giving as a transactional thing, she does it because she can. You just gotta tell her how wonderful she is

The oases are a popular spot for her to bring you for food and refreshments, cared for by gold-adorned servants as she gushes over the grand vision for her kingdom. She’s honestly quite excitable and loves talking about herself and her plans.

Pay no mind to the scans that are run on you while you sleep, or the diagnostics of your information that run deep in her servers. She doesn’t think it’ll need to happen soon, but she’s planning to put you in a sarcophagus and hook you into her virtual world to make you live forever. She’s not going to let something else she cares about go.

Midnight Lily Cookie

The tamest one honestly

Unlike the others, she sees you as an equal. She knows your personal space and doesn’t encroach on it too much or too little, makes sure you’re well cared for and healthy, and keeps you safe. She also lets you leave and trusts you to take care of yourself. Being Beast of Sovereignty, she encourages the people under her to do whatever they please within their allegiance to her, and this includes you.

She’ll play the harp for you and ask you how she did

You also get lots of gifts and compliments from the other faeries for being the lover of their queen

She does have preferences though. She likes honesty and expects you to keep promises, she prefers if you do something for her in exchange for her doing something for you, and to not question her motive and means to take down her other half. She will get very defensive with you and shut down the conversation pretty fast

The flora in the silver kingdom bloom to their fullest around you both, but when Lily is upset with you, they curl or bud as you pass by them.

Speaking of chlorokinesis, get used to seeing her show no mercy with her plants. Unlike Dragonberry though, she’ll do her best to help you if the sight of bodies skewered on flower stems is too much. Maybe stick to the heart of the kingdom for your own good, where you’re less likely to see how the rest of Beast Yeast challenge her kingdom.

She has a whole bunch of rules set up when Saint visits. While she’d encourage not being with him at all, if you really want to see him, she made it expressly clear to him that he cannot purify you.

[clockwayswrites]

“I’m going to assume there’s not actually any data I need to look at,” Phantom said with a little fanged smirk. He leaned against the table, putting the lovely lines of his body on display.

Dick chuckled. “You got me. I just wanted to check in that you were doing okay. We got a little, ah, intense yesterday.”

“Isn’t that sweet of you, bluebird,” Phantom said. His smile softened some. “Who knew that your mother henning would continue over to your fuck buddies.”

Fuck buddies, as if this was something Dick was out doing with just anyone. He pushed aside the bitter taste at being seen that way. It’s not like Phantom was implying Dick was fucking other people right then… just that this was Dick’s usual M.O.

He didn’t know how to tell Phantom that it wasn’t, not without stepping too far over that line again.

“Hey, what can I say,” Dick said, putting on his best smile. “It’s only fun for me if it’s fun for everyone.”

Phantom tilted his head curiously. “That’s not the same as it’s only fun if no one gets hurt.”

“Never said it was.” Though wasn’t that a thought what with the spark of interest in Phantom’s eyes.

“Huh. Well, I’m sore, sure, but in a good way. You don’t have to worry about me, though you still get a firm down boy. I am not up for a round two—”

“Nine.”

Phantom rolled his eyes. “—today.”

“Okay, but,” Dick stepped forward, bracing his arms on the table so that he was bracketing Phantom. “I could blow you.”

As close as they were, Dick could see Phantom’s eyes dilate at the suggestion.

“Thought that might interest you.”

“What can I say, I’m very aware how pretty of a mouth you have,” Phantom said, that fanged smirk back gracing his own lovely mouth.

Dick couldn’t help but reach up and run his thumb over one of the fangs. He was very aware that if he pressed just a little harder that the pointed tooth would slice into his finger. “I think you have me beat on the pretty mouth.”

Phantom laughed and god if it wasn’t always a pretty sound. “Well, next time you’re willing to be… a little hurt I’ll let you enjoy that.”

Dick swallowed.

“But you’ve already made me an offer.”

“I have.”

“Better get to it before we’re missed then.”

Dick had no issue falling easily to his knees at Phantom’s feet.

It was a quick effort— they both knew that they didn’t have too long before someone came looking for them— but it didn’t really need to be. Phantom still seemed to be riding a bit of a high from last night and Dick certainly had no issues treating Phantom to all the skill he had.

He obediently let the rough hand in his hair tilt his head up enough so that he could meet Phantom’s green eyes as the other came down his throat.

“Such a pretty mouth,” Phantom practically purred.

And damn if that didn’t feel like the highest of praise right then.

[natsuki208]

The Almost Cat-astrophe! 🐾

The story of how Sebastian discovered baby Ciel’s developed cat allergies.

———

It’s bitter cold outside but inside of the Phantomhive manor is cozy warm. Perfect timing for the growing heir’s first birthday.

Everyone of the servants are gathered within the main room; preparing food for the dinner later, and listening in on the baby’s tiny laughter. His new father, Sebastian Michaelis, is the one who cannot stop smiling - for the past six months have been warming him up to this very moment more than the fireplace.

It’s also probably because he’s ready to give his own present to his child, for the more presents the baby receives, the more impatient Sebastian subtly gets (even though he suggested to save the best for last). After one new pair of unfitting footwear, it’s finally Sebastian’s turn even though the little one sitting on his leg begins to tilt sleepily.

“Now don’t fall asleep yet, Ciel.” He speaks softly. “Papa still has something special for you.”

The man gently places his child on the sofa and stands up to get his gift; no longer being in his father’s arms widens his eyes immediately. It doesn’t take long for Sebastian to turn back around holding a box twice the size of Ciel, this grabs everyone else’s attention as their temporal master slowly takes off the lid with a smile.

Inch by inch, the box begins to move. The sight of fur becomes very clear to the others in the room, along with sky blue eyes peering out, the color of light and dark grey stripes pop out and the tiniest sound ever heard spills out:

Meww.

A kitten. A four week old kitten the size of a full-grown hand peaks its head over the top to look at the baby in front. Ciel spreads a little smile as soon as he sees it, clapping his hands as to pet it himself. Both little ones take a liking to one another already with one purring and the other patting repeatedly while giggling. Sebastian though feels much happier than the two combined and Tanaka, the butler standing next to him, can read him like an open book.

“I’m not too sure whom the kitten is suppose to please here.” He jokingly comments, keeping his laughter to himself.

Sebastian of course notices this. “Really. Well you can’t blame me for how precious they are.”

Little Ciel starts whimpering when his father pulls the kitten back towards him for a moment to get a better look at all the features.

“Look at her. Those innocent eyes, the softness to her fur, how plump her paw pads are and her elegant sounds that’s enough to put my child at ease. She’s perfect.”

Suddenly the whimpering gets a little louder, accompanied by the tugging on his sleeve, which is enough to bring Sebastian’s focus back onto Ciel. The realisation dawns on him and gently picks him up with his free arm.

“Oh. Of course I cannot forget you, bluebird.” The smile grows bigger by looking at those big, sapphire eyes again. Having both a tiny kitten and the only tolerable human to him close manages to bring HIM to ease, which use to be very rare in mundane scenarios such as today. “I’m sure you and Lady will go swell together.”

Oh yeah. He gave her such a sophisticated name for such a small feline (he was gonna go for Lilith or Lamia but it was too on the nose for him).

Tanaka gives another smile after hearing such amusing words coming from usually a calm and collected person (but is well aware how his behaviour can change around the little one) and he continues to view them with pride.

“If you say so, sir. Ho, ho.”

-

A few days have gone by and they felt like a dream to the normally practical demon like Sebastian. Who can blame him for now looking after two adorable pint-size creatures in his new life? Whenever they are around for asleep in his arms, it puts him in a mellow mood - dare he say it’s as pleasant as most worthless human souls.

His mind cannot focus on anything else right now but those cuties, not even whilst he’s suppose to go over some paperwork sent to him by the Queen herself. Such bothering work does not entertain him in the slightest, he’ll gladly admit it’s not the thing he signed up for when becoming Ciel’s new father but it must be done nonetheless.

“How tiresome.” Sebastian sighs, plopping the papers on the old desk.

The need for entertainment rises as he grows ever more unmotivated to finish it swiftly, and just from looking at it too. Then it pins to him, of course he’s gonna pay a quick visit to the nursery to see the precious pair again - it may be during Ciel’s nap time but still.

Sebastian slowly opens the office door and glances around for any witnesses, gladly nobody is present which releases a soft breath from the demon. He’s now standing outside the nursery and is just about to grab the handle when… he hears crying.

This is definitely not good. It sounds more chesty than usual which makes it worse. Sebastian hurries in fast and immediately sees what’s wrong; the wailing baby in the crib is coughing between cries, a runny nose and has small red spots planted on his cheeks. He cannot open his eyes due to tears but does his little grabby hands for whoever he thinks is in the room. The demon doesn’t hesitate to answer his gesture and picks him up, this gives him the chance to better check the sudden aching changes.

“Goodness, Ciel! What happened?!” The baby continues crying breathily. He is worried, actually worried. How rare for him to feel yet another common and strong emotion, especially towards a human.

Is it a cold? No it can’t be. Ciel never grew red spots like this before. He looks at every corner of the nursery to find some form of evidence for this calamity. That’s when he hears it; the small adoring sound from near his foot:

Meww.

Little Lady is innocently pawing at her favourite toy, jumping at it every time it got away from her, even if it’s cute it raises questions. She couldn’t have scratched him on accident, did she?… No! There’s no possible way that Lady can be possible for such a horrendous deed, nor does Sebastian ever want to suspect her either.

Suddenly, a knock at the door pipes up. Who else but Tanaka is currently standing by politely, and he immediately notices something is not right while seeing Sebastian’s troubled expression.

“Whatever is the matter in here, sir?” He asks. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I… was indeed working until…” This is no time to give away that he grew bored of the assignments, the sick Ciel is whom he cares for right now. “Something is wrong with Ciel and it doesn’t appear to be yet another cold.”

It must be serious if even Tanaka grows cautious of what has happened to the young heir. The butler requests if he can call over a doctor for assistance, Sebastian agrees and off both men head for downstairs; Lady is obviously taking down with them too because Sebastian.

-

It didn’t take long for a doctor to get here; but sadly Angelina aka Madame Red was the only one available at this hour. It took even longer to persuade Sebastian to lend Ciel over to her for examination, luckily Lady can calm him down during this dreadful situation. As he sits alone (minus Tanaka nearby) he gently plays with the tabby kitten and her tiny meows are like music to his ears, not to mention her soft nature while purring and rolling over on his lap just lifts his mood a teensy bit.

But it isn’t enough to bring his mind out of this current state of worry he’s trapped in. Sure, there were moments in his past contracts over the centuries when he felt some form of concern for his masters, but it only lasted temporarily and he never gave it a good thinking. Today however actually got to him; he’s already grown really attached to his new son so it shouldn’t be a surprise… but it is.

A few more minutes pass by until there’s a knock on the door, Sebastian tells Tanaka to answer it for him which he kindly does. Words of knowledge are shared, heads nod and a silent glare peeked over at Sebastian in the distance. Once that was taking care of, the butler proceeds to spread the information to him with a relieved smile.

“Good news, Sebastian - it’s nothing serious.”

Just a few words relaxes Sebastian firmly. “Well, that’s quite a relief. Would you mind telling me what it was then?”

Tanaka clears his throat before answering, losing that smile and looking down at Lady in Sebastian’s hands (not really a good sign).

“I’m afraid… it turns out Ciel has developed a allergy… towards cats.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen in genuine surprise. Not with the fact that Lady really was responsible, but due to the fact he doesn’t have full knowledge on something like allergies. He has heard of the word before and knows it mainly applies with certain foods, but animals as well? He honestly had no idea.

“Do tell, Tanaka. I don’t quite follow.”

“It simply means the fur is harmful and can cause one to gain a rash as we’ve seen on his skin. But don’t fret, the boy received some medicine and is sound asleep, so he’ll recover very soon indeed.”

While good news, Sebastian can’t help but sadden at the fact that is pointed out next.

“But I apologise for this dearly when I say we’ve been informed to keep felines out of the mansion.”

There it is. As it does break Sebastian to see his child sick AND to now give away such a cute little kitten which was a gift to said child, he eventually accepts what must be done and silently agrees, keeping those feelings to himself.

“If it’s what must be done to keep him safe… I’ll allow you to find a more suitable home for Lady. Be sure that it’s a sensible one as well.” He informs regrettably.

“Yes. Of course, sir.”

Whilst Tanaka takes away the now sorrowful kitten, squeakily meowing non-stop, Sebastian is allowed to check up on the sleepy Ciel in the bedroom. Thank satan that the rashes have toned down along with the redness, although he occasionally sneezed during his slumber (but it didn’t wake him up) and all Sebastian can do is gaze down at him, stroking his hair softly. It’s a shame the young Lady couldn’t stay around as he had hoped, but human nature can be torturing, and as long as Ciel is safe once more he’ll eventually move on and wish luck for her.

Even after the unfortunate event has cleared up, it was still an intriguing experience in its own way.

[ahhhhhhhh3613]

Dear bluebird, can you see the signs?

The day was sullen, dry and drawn as bitter men still yet haunted by their ghosts. Growing now tired of my studies I turn and look out the window to see, to my sudden joy, a bluebird sitting in a tree.

I gaze only a moment before it darts away, stalwart and fast as the wind upon which it glides. Just as many seconds and it is returned to my view. it goes on like this for many heart beats, feeling to me like an eternity in motion.

To and fro and back again the bluebird ricochets in the glass, just as lightning through stormy skies flickers between luminous life and haunting death. There is splendor in it's quick paced toil but so too is there a bitterness. An ominous pact sealed with the blood of fathers past is soon to command it's iron will

For what untold purpose do you so diligently flutter and fly? A life lived, made a slave to the unrelenting tide of evolutions merciless cruelty. Dear bluebird, can you not see the tragedy of fate's design? The ritual of your existence so long preformed it seeps into your bones, into your heart, inherited from your ancestors, and forced up your descendants, only shared with your likewise doomed kin.

Do you live in blissful folly? Unaware of yourself, of your kind? Or are you enlightened, made wise to some grand truth beyond my understanding. I will count you, dear bluebird, among the others, among those who died and the reaper met with angelsong.

I am not unlike you, each day spent for a life. A slave, not to nature's cruelty, but the malevolence of man, and the solitude of my soul. Yet you, my dear friend, seem not to care, in a way unlike my own. The days not black, nor roads paved in thorn, the sun shines upon your feathered flesh as ever before this day. You will live, back and forth again, until you live no more.

No secret sepulchre of the damned waits for you in the devil's hand. Rather you are destined to make your nest upon the stars, your song to echo in the wind. Dear bluebird, can you not see the beauty of fate's design? Your outstretched wing benevolent and merciful, that you would so toil before me and teach so poignant a lesson.

[what-do-you-mean-you-ate-it]

Nine Lives

CW: discussions of suicide and suicidal ideation. The Sandman fanfic, Fix-it for the Wake, ergo cannon divergent. Dreamling feels, but Hob is at the ren-faire with Gwen, and Death of the Endless gives him a present. I have used up my whole year's supply of cuteness on this fic.

Read here on AO3; or here:

If Morpheus is the King of Cats surely he has Nine Lives

Hob sighs as he nurses his too good beer. He’s been morose, passive aggressive, superior, and short with Gwen. She deserves better, she deserves to be with the man she thinks she is dating, Robbie, educated, moderately wealthy, emotionally aware, attentive, and born in the 20th century. Hob clutches the pint mug with both hands and tries to scry its depths. He is nursing not only a pint of beer, but a case of despair, both of which—or at least the despair—he should set aside, and instead find Gwen and a fine old time. But if he goes out there he will need to not be an arse at a Ren-Faire that has little attachment to accuracy. No one believes him though. He is here for Gwen and she didn’t bring him here to make a fool of himself. Best to keep a handle on how much beer he drinks. The beer is better than it was those years ago. But while the beer is smooth and sweet his thoughts are bitter this evening, and lonely enough that he wishes for the piss that passed for ale that evening. There is a different Dream now, or so he thinks. It’s not the same. He’s not the same. Hob is lonely for his friend and homesick for 1389. He takes a swig of his too good beer, and then startles.

Death looks lovely. She always does, but more so this afternoon. He thinks of taking her hand, asking for a last dance, it would be a good way to go out, dancing with a beautiful woman. They would find his body here later, a tragedy, they would call it, dead at only thirty-two! That should raise a smile. It doesn’t.

Hob doesn’t remember Dream’s - Morpheus’ - wake clearly, but he knows that he damn well could have. He should have been told, properly, that Morpheus was gone. Morpheus should have told him about how bad it was getting. Hob knew something was up. He didn’t ask Morpheus, he didn’t want to cause spook him again, have him run off again. Morpheus should have told him what was happening. Hob should have said more, been direct, blunt, overly curious. There were an awful lot of things that should have been properly said. No one told him, he was left to his own suppositions. Could he ask her if Morpheus were as dead as he would be should he ask her for her hand? She looks lovely today

But he needs it confirmed. “It’s true? Isn’t it?” Hob says to Death, “he’s gone?” He can’t help the question in his voice. Hob knows Death, so he has said, he knows what she will say.

Instead, she rummages in her shoulder bag. Then her face lights up, and with two hands she reaches in, she smiles brightly and broadly, and she pulls a small black blob of fur from the depths of her bag, and hands it over to Hob. He doesn’t have time to refuse

It is soft, it is small, it is rumbling with purrs and life and Hob holds it gently cupped in large strong immortal hands. He raises it to his face, not kissing noses of new acquaintances be damned, he is over 650 years old, today his heart just won’t stop breaking, and he’s damned if he’s not going to give a little love to a little cat fluff. He has plenty of spare love, love that was meant for Morpheus, best that love find a new home now. Hob is looking at the soft new thing, knowing that he will keep and protect it for as long as it lives, and his heart is already trying to break again.

Then the little thing opens its eyes.

not the blue of seas nor the blue of skies, not the blue of cornflowers or topaz, or bluebells, nor lobelia, nor flax, nor hydrangeas, not bluebirds, or Lourie birds, or blue-tits, or blue jays or herons or swallows, or tanzanite or opal or sapphire

Hob runs a hand over the kitten’s little fuzzy black head, rubs a finger along its puffy cheek, he smiles at it, touches a finger to its nose briefly, and then plants a kiss on the top of it’s head. The kitten purrs, giant whirling purrs. Happy purrs.

blue of the night sky lit with hope

There is a moment in this world and Hob and a blue-eyed cat are in it.

Hob brings the kitten tight against his chest, hopes it will be comforted by his steady heart. He doesn’t know how long he has been standing there. He should go find Gwen, she will be looking for him. But for now he just holds the kitten tight. Forever, he thinks, forever.

Fin. Thanks for reading!

[maelstrom-of-emotions]

Summary:

Greg Heffley already has a lot to deal with on his plate—every day feels like an uphill struggle through the relentless torment of middle school. The days bleed into each other, each marked by the fresh bloom of a bruise on Rodrick's skin, like a twisted form of art. Speaking of Art, Manny's scribbles seem to grow ever more disturbing. Except the gods are bitches, and he ends up having to deal with none other than Bryce Anderson—Westmore's Golden Boy and Professional Prick, whose presence is like a suffocating ivy, winding tighter around Greg's already fraught existence. Bryce Anderson, on the other hand, is bored. His days of effortless glory have become monotonous, a golden cage that offers no real challenge. Then he spots Greg Heffley—a broken figure kneeling at a gravestone, looking like he wants nothing more than to be the one buried six feet under. Curiosity piqued, Bryce decides to unravel the mystery of this wimpy kid, always scribbling away in his diary. This is a mistake; for the secrets Greg guards are not just pages in a diary—they are the bitter reality that Bryce is scarcely prepared to face.

Tags: Inspired by Dysfunctional Perspective by u/ABitchWhoMakesShit/ @moonsxg on tumblr, Toxic Dynamics, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Child Abuse, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Worse, Unreliable Narrator.

Extract:

It starts with apricot roses on a gravestone.

It is a mockery of grace—how each petal unfurls like a delicate sigh, suffused with the softness of dawn’s first light, casting a gentle glow on the solemn earth below. It masks the carelessness and lack of thought behind the suggestion, as all beautiful things do. Their color reminds him of the blush of summer, of warmth and fleeting beauty, of watching Rowley leave on yet another fucking trip.

The apricot roses are truly beautiful, so much so that they almost distract him from the nest that lays beside it, full of dead bluebirds, tiny little hatchlings with soft splashes of blood staining their brilliant blue feathers, like a stroke of watercolour. Perhaps it is concerning that he feels more grief for these dead birds than for the actual dead person he brought flowers for, but Greg’s never been one to follow and fit with social norms.

He kneels down; the earth beneath his trousers is fresh and is sure to stain it, but he doesn’t think anyone will mind, he’ll make sure that they won’t mind, and gently cradles one of the tiny things with his palm. There’s no point of this, he knows, and he’s never been one for sentimental feelings – that sort of shtick has always been Rowley’s thing - but, there’s something about them, that causes a deep sort of ache within him, and it’s not because of the dead lady in the coffin six feet under him.

He's not sure what he’ll do. Create a grave? Leave them on the gravestone like cruel souvenirs? He’s pretty sure his aunt would have laughed at the latter, she’d always had a fucked up sense of humour, shame it couldn’t save her.

[read the complete chapter on Ao3]

[lususnatura]

burgeon employing 'natural insect hunters' which essentially means animals like bluebirds, as well as owls + frogs to control the amount of pests in his garden (which is honestly a HUGE place and has a spiral staircase + this is where you will find it most of the time) because he refuses to use pesticides is honestly... kind of iconic of him when you don't think about all of the atrocities it has committed JSJSJ i mean, because there have been studies done to show that they negatively affect other thing's besides insects themselves, such as the soil of the plants you are putting it on itself and non-target plants along with other creatures.

so you better bet that blamore has some thing's inside his garden that attracts these animals and he treats them kindly. and now that i've mentioned it, i suppose his appreciation for nature is one of the better qualities that blamore possesses — though i think it's bitterness towards humanity in general has still very much left him feeling lonely, and just having the occasional animal as company is not sustainable for it. which i think is part of why blamore has forged a bond with nico morselli because he is one of the few people who he can trust will not cringe at the sight of it / think less of it because he is vastly different from the person he used to be.

[the-fallen-stones]

The Mountain Song

TopHouse

We climbed a mountain

And I picked wildflowers and put 'em in her hair

And at the top we found a meadow

And danced barefoot in the grass

And I'm not lying there were bluebirds in the air

It was a long one

There was a time or two we felt like giving up

But every fall and every stumble made us

Stop and see the wonder

With your hand in mine we pushed on towards the top

Why do people climb mountains?

Is it just to reach the top and see the view?

Well I'll tell you something

Every rock and every river

Every sore and every splinter

I would climb every mountain with you

Well the clouds rolled in

There was lightning there was thunder there was rain

As we hid beneath our shelter

All the doubts that we had felt

Came pouring in as a flood we had to face

Then came the sunshine

The clouds rolled back and color filled the earth

And the rain had brought the flowers

You could sit and stare for hours

And the toil and the struggle showed its worth

Why do people climb mountains?

Is it just to reach the top and see the view?

Well I'll tell you something

Every rock and every river

Every sore and every splinter

In the summer, in the winter

When it's warm and when we shiver

I would climb every mountain with you

I picked wildflowers

We climbed a mountain

I picked wildflowers

We climbed a mountain

I picked wildflowers

We climbed a mountain

I picked wildflowers

Why do people climb mountains?

Is it just to reach the top and see the view?

Well I'll tell you something

Every rock and every river

Every sore and every splinter

In the summer, in the winter

When it's warm and when we shiver

When our feet are full of blisters

When it's sweet and when it's bitter

I'd climb every mountain with you

[l0vergirlwrites]

come over ; peter parker

warnings: sweet angst & fluff post no way home (btw i didn't really edit this, don't judge)

also, listen to "pistol" by cigarettes after sex while reading <3

it was cold, considering it was the start of december. snow continued to fall from the sky at a steady pace, adding to the snow-covered streets & buildings upon where spiderman sat. peter dangled his feet off the edge of the building, gloved hands resting in his lap as he peered out onto the busy streets. "last christmas" by wham mixed in with "all i want for christmas" by mariah carrey blasted from the shops below, families eagerly trekking up & down the sidewalks with gifts & winter attire.

peter sat alone with that familiar ache in his chest. he couldn't suppress it any longer. it overtook him, making him feel both heavy like a brick & as light as the wind. heartstrings likely snapped as he caught the figures of his former friends below, faces full of smiles as they headed to mj's work.

he was happy his old friends were safe, but it was still bittersweet. more bitter though.

moving away from the ledge of the building, he dusted off the snow that gathered on him, ignoring his cuts & bruises that made him wince, & he swung to his apartment window to sit on the fire escape. while his head rested against the rusted metal, feet moving back & forth to pass the time, he waited for you--the only person he has left-- to call.

he soon heard the sweet bluebird tweeting from his phone, the ringtone he picked for you, & felt a bit of tension ease from his muscles. swiping right on the call, he put the phone up to his right ear & lifted his mask to be just under his nose.

"hey, i just got in" your voice told him, sounding soft like sleep due to the yawn you let out.

"you sound tired" he noted, looking up to see if he could catch a glance of your apartment window, only to see a bit of light seep through the curtains a few windows above.

"i can say the same thing about you. so, come over" you insisted as you plopped onto your couch, letting out the smallest sigh as the cushions enveloped you after a long day of studying.

"i really miss you & i don't know what else to do..." you admitted, hoping that'd be an incentive.

feeling his chest grow a little lighter now, the ache going away, peter gave in. he didn't like being alone anyways.

"give me five minutes?".

he could almost feel your smile beaming from the phone "see you then, peter".

ending the call off with a smile, you reluctantly rose from the couch to pull out some cleaning supplies from your bathroom, knowing that he'd likely have a few things he'd refused to patch up, so you'd do it for him.

taking a quick shower to get off any sweat & body odour, peter closed his eyes as the water pelted his skin. he grew tired of looking at all his scars, so he learned to do his routine blindly. once his body smelt of an aloe body wash he bought a few days ago & his hair was freshly clean, peter didn't bother to look at his reflection as he threw on a pair of sweatpants & a hoodie, locking his door to make his way to your apartment. lightly knocking on your door, peter could hear a few pill bottles rattling & a kettle going off, making him furrow a brow as he listened in.

but once you opened the door, his senses tuned out & he felt somewhat normal again. your warmth pulled him in, & he held you close, even though his bruised ribs weren't fond of your body's pressure; but he didn't care. his eyes closed & his arms held you tight. the comfort of your body against his felt nice.

"i missed you" you mumbled into his shoulder, smelling the aloe on the skin of his neck, which was littered with some light bruises. pulling away to get a better look at him, your hands scaled his skin before resting on his slightly hollowed cheeks as you inspected an old cut that was healing quite well.

"i'm okay, you don't have to clean me up tonight" peter whispered, knowing you worried too much cared for him.

you looked into his eyes & gave a knowing a look, a look that said "i don't completely believe you".

"okay, just checking" rubbing your thumbs along his soft skin, his hands did the same to your waist before you pulled him inside, locking the door & heading for the couch.

as he got comfortable on the cushions, you nudged his knee to look at you pointing at the tea & pain pills on the small coffee table. looking back at you with a "really, i'm okay" look, you nudged him again, urging him to take them. smiling happily when he took a few sips of hibiscus tea & the two pain pills, peter nudged you this time, a small smile forming on his lips.

"thank you" he said, his eyes twinkling at yours in the dim light of your apartment, feeling your hand slowly reach out to hold his, waiting for him to accept your touch even though you were pressed into his side.

"you're always welcome" you smiled back, heart fluttering when he rested his head against your shoulder.

comfortable silence overtook you both for a while. peter was enjoying your presence, your touch--just being there with you seemed to somewhat cure of him.

resting your head on top of his, your left arm taking a hold of his left upper arm, you asked him "do you want to talk?"

the question made him shift to peer up at you, his tired face looking at your slightly concerned one, & he tightened his lips.

but you squeezed his hand again, "no pressure, okay?" you nodded to him, just letting the option be out there because you knew he needed it.

with his eyes faltering a little, peter became conflicted. "i don't want to burden you" his hesitant voice said.

"it won't burden me, spider boy" you squeezed his hand again.

putting his head back on your shoulder, peter squeezed your hand three times, a sign that he'll talk. he quietly updated you on everything you've missed for the last few days: seeing happy again at may's grave, his old friends continuing their lives during their christmas break from MIT, the loneliness that continued to creep at him--he slowly broke through his hesitation & took off the things that made him grow hollow.

as he spoke, peter took notice of your heartbeat, your hand in his & how they both grew with empathy as he went on.

"... i-i just feel a little lost" he ended his vent, sighing deeply & shutting his eyes as the emotions he keeps trying to hide break through the surface.

you stayed silent for a minute or so while you gathered your thoughts, rubbing his arm with your left hand & rubbing his knuckles with the other.

"peter, you know you don't have to be strong right now, right?".

unsure of what you meant, peter moved his head to the the couch pillow behind him & looked at you, trying to read you.

"i-i, i-i don't know what you mean by that" he didn't understand.

biting the inside of your cheek, you tried explaining it. "you've been through so much in these last few months-- hell i could even say these last few years-- but throughout everything, you've been so strong haven't you?" you asked him, seeing him nod his head.

"i had to be" he added, to which you agreed.

"right. so you haven't had much time, until now, to process everything & take your time with it, right?" he nodded again, slowly seeing what you were getting at.

moving your hand up to his cheek again, you sighed at him, looking so fragile & precious, so vulnerable.

"you don't have to put up a front or ignore what you're feeling, even in front of me" your sincere voice told him like a vice, coaxing him out of his old isolating habits.

"it's okay to not be strong all the time".

in response, peter just nodded his head & felt his eyes begin to water, feeling more & more comfortable to be in this state with you.

"c'mere, it's okay," you cooed at him, letting him rest in the safety of your chest, hugging him as he held onto you tight. "i'm here for you" you told him quietly, lips pressed against the top of his head.

peter hasn't felt so cared for in so long after it being an official year since his old life came to a stop. you reminded him whats its like though--his light through the fog, through the tears & the endless nights where he didn't feel worth it, where he wished his dark thoughts would just consume him to the point of no return--you, the girl he met on the roof while stitching himself up, helped him through it one by one.

retreating from your chest, peter rested his forehead on yours as your hands ran through his hair, the act so domestic; so normal. his teary eyes closed as he breathed you in, the hollowness in his chest was there, but it wasn't so bad this time.

"it's been on my mind for so long... i've been meaning to properly thank you but--".

sadly smiling, you almost paused him but he shook his head, his nose bumping yours a little.

"i need to tell you how much you mean to me, 'cause you're all i got. i wait for your calls every night. i feel normal when i'm with you, i feel okay & i don't get to feel that much anymore... i-i..." opening his eyes to look at you, he genuinely smiled with so much ease where he looked almost like his old pictures from his homecoming he once showed you.

"i wasn't sure i'd get another chance at this..." he hinted, throat becoming dry due to his nerves.

"what is it?' you asked, even though you knew. you needed him to say it.

"love. i didn't know i'd get another chance at love" peter finally confessed, squeezing your hand in hopes you felt it too.

he was still hurt. he knew he still needed time to heal. but, he loved you & you need to know it.

with teary eyes, you lifted his hand to your heart which was beating loudly against your chest, & you both chuckled. tapping his hand to make him open his eyes, peter looked at you with an adoring gaze, immediately knowing you felt the same.

"i love you too, peter" those five words sounded like heaven to his ears.

they became his favourite.

[oohnotvery]

Edges of the Night (Chapter 9)

Read on AO3 (I'm the_eternal_optimist).

Life in the cabin feels far from normal, but it feels right. They don’t have coffee, so Scully develops a bit of a caffeine withdrawal headache on their first day, but if it’s the worst of her problems, she’ll take it. That first morning dawns frosty and bright, a bluebird sky overhead. The forest around them is densely thicketed, so she is a bit disappointed to learn she can’t actually see Glacier National Park’s famous mountains. Still, the scent of pine and fir is so overwhelmingly fresh that she spends ten minutes outside just filling up her city-slicker lungs. Later, she spies bear tracks in the snow behind the house and shudders at their obvious recency. Although she’s city-born-and-bred, she’s wise to the dangers of the grizzlies that lurk in these woods.

She and Mulder pick around the little food they have and make a tentative plan for doing a supply run. They also face the bitter reality that Scully’s supply of cash is already running out, and they’ll need more sooner rather than later. Although Frohike provided them with shelter, he didn’t go quite so far as to ensure their lasting survival. Mulder suggests placing a call to him in the next few days to ask for a food-and-cash drop-off from the cabin’s proprietor. While Scully isn’t too convinced of this plan, she doesn’t have a better idea.  

Apart from a slightly heated debate over how to handle the supply run, the first two days pass peacefully. So peacefully, in fact, that it almost—almost—feels like a vacation. Of course, with Mulder around, she knows better than to expect any real relaxation. True to form, on their second evening, she finds herself sitting on the front porch, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders as she listens to him spin off all his theories about who’s after them and why.

After a few hours of that, she tells him to hush and he obliges sullenly. They sit in silence for a long, long time, until the moon starts to rise and stars litter the sky. Once the world overhead is bright with celestial beings, their silence inevitably breaks, and they go back and forth sharing the names of constellations. Although Mulder can’t tell this sailor’s daughter anything new about the navigable star map above them, Scully loves hearing the stories he spins for her about each and every star she can see.    

After a while, he retreats inside. In his absence, Scully’s ears instinctively hone into the sounds around her. Every whisper of falling leaves or crunching of a branch under animal feet sounds like car tires or human footsteps. Though the cabin has been peaceful, she’s still running on high alert. She hasn’t forgotten just how quickly those black sedans found them in Utah.

She’s considering disappearing into the relative safety of the cabin when Mulder steps back out onto the porch, holding something behind his back. She tilts her head in question and he waggles his eyebrows as he produces a fifth of whiskey. Her eyes widen in shock.

“You found alcohol? Where?” she sputters. She’s sure she checked every nook and cranny in this place.

He grins with boyish excitement. “Stuffed behind the extra blankets in that closet.”

“Get out,” she says incredulously.

He sits next to her. “Not a word of a lie.”

He offers her the first sip but she eyes the bottle warily. “There’s nothing better to do,” he prods with a shrug.

She rolls her eyes. “We need to be at our best,” she argues. “We can’t get drunk and let down our defenses.”  

He snorts and takes a swig. “What defenses, Scully? No weapons, no locks on the doors, no food, no money. A car that probably can’t even make it back up that hill.” He takes another, longer pull and makes a face. “If anyone comes for us, we don’t stand a chance.”

It’s enough for her. She tugs the bottle out of his hands and tips her head back, taking a long swallow. The whiskey burns down her throat, but she’s accustomed to drinking the harder things, so she bears it without complaint.

“But we’re not getting drunk,” she makes him promise as she hands the bottle back to him.  

“Not getting drunk,” he agrees, and tosses her a knowing look.

**

They get drunk. It doesn’t take much, since neither of them has much food on their stomachs. They’ve only finished a quarter of the bottle by the time Scully starts to feel a warm headiness sinking into her bones. She’s lying on her back, curled snugly under two blankets, while Mulder reclines on his elbows beside her. It’s irking her that he’s wearing just his long-sleeve t-shirt, so she tugs at his wrist to get his attention.

“C’mere,” she mumbles, dragging him towards her.

He goes with a smile, sinking down onto the porch’s crude wooden boards and sidling up next to her. She arranges the blankets over them and he turns on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. His warmth overwhelms her and under the influence of the whiskey, she doesn’t resist pushing her cold nose into his chest. He chuckles softly and drops his hand to her head, his fingers strumming through her hair like he’s playing a guitar.  

They talk about nothing and everything, words flowing seamlessly, easily, breezily between them. Removed from the outside world, stripped of their ordinary lives, taken from the things that tied them to their respective places in life, it’s as if no time has passed between them, as if he never sent her away and she never went to California.

“You remember that time you shot me, then drove me all the way to New Mexico to save my life?” he mumbles.

He’s dropped down beside her now, his head pressed against hers. Under the blankets, he’s linked their fingers together and she doesn’t even bother considering whether or not it’s appropriate for them to be touching like this. They’ve done a lot of talking over the past few days; their bodies deserve the same opportunity. She’s always known her body speaks to his in ways she’ll never be able to with her words.

“Mmm,” she remembers. “You were so sleepy.”

His laugh rumbles around her. “In the medical field, they often refer to that as comatose.”

“Oh, you weren’t in any danger,” she says confidently, even though she’s not quite sure that’s true.

His thumb rubs against her own. “Not with you, never.”

She sighs heavily. “I did save your life, didn’t I?”

He hums. “Many times, if I recall.”

She brings her free hand up to his chest and presses down, feeling for the rhythmic thumping of his heart. “I know why you did it,” she says quietly, “but I wish you hadn’t pushed me away.”

He squeezes her fingers under the blanket. “I wish I hadn’t either.”

Although it’s far too dark to see him properly, she twists her head to face him. He glances down at her. “You didn’t care that you’d miss me?” she asks.

He shifts then, untangling them in all the places they’re bound together, only to rearrange them so she’s lying fully on his chest. “That’s practically all I thought about,” he counters, and his hand comes to rest on her hip. “I was fighting myself making that choice. I thought—either way, I lose you. If you stay with me, you’ll get hurt. If you leave me, I’ll get hurt. I thought I was making the least selfish choice.”

She shakes her head gently. “Not at all.”

“No?”

“No, because you didn’t consider how I would feel.” She swallows, trying to arrange her messy thoughts.  “You didn’t consider that you’d be the one to hurt me in the end.”

“I didn’t think,” he agrees. “Not about that possibility. That you—that I—”

She looks up at him. “Did you really even know me, Mulder?” she teases.

“I’m starting to think I didn’t,” he murmurs, bringing his hand to rest in her hair.

Gravity pulls their foreheads together and silence envelops them. She’s familiar with this space; she’s been here before. Tucked into the privacy of their impenetrable bubble, everything goes. Things that should feel too intimate, too risky, too otherworldly, suddenly feel just right.

It’s why she isn’t alarmed when his lips brush hers. His fingertips dance delicately against her temple, tempting her closer. She moves into him, lets his lips press against hers again. He keeps the kiss chaste and dry, a soft and tender thing. Under the spell of his warmth, her eyes flutter closed. She’s blissed out, surrounded by him, enveloped by him. His palm curls around her cheek, his thumb skimming her jawline, his fingers scraping gently at her scalp. She responds without thought, sliding her hand up his neck, letting her fingers tickle the grown-out edges of his hair. Under the blanket, their ever-communicating bodies are talking too, legs twisting and twining together, hips pressing flush against each other.

As they move, he slants his mouth and the angle deepens the kiss, but his mouth remains closed. She wants more but doesn’t press. This is more than she thought she’d ever have. When he pulls away seconds later, she sighs, stroking her thumb absentmindedly across his jawline. The alcohol has made her hazy, so she isn’t reacting strongly to what has just happened. All she knows is the here-and-now, of curling deep into Mulder’s chest, of weaving their legs together under a bundle of blankets, of letting him press kisses across her forehead until he finally stills.

Lulled by his warmth and the alcohol, she begins to drift in and out of sleep, only waking sometime later as Mulder lifts her to her feet.

“What?” she mumbles, tripping over the blankets as she rights herself. Without the protection of Mulder, the chill of the night air is brutal, and she wraps her arms around herself protectively.

“Inside, inside,” he directs gently, turning her towards the door.

The cabin isn’t much warmer, and when Mulder starts flicking on the lamps, she has to cover her eyes as they adjust to the light. God, she forgot what it was like to get drunk with Mulder. The headiness of letting down her guard with him, the thrill of pushing boundaries.  

Although . . . it was never quite like that.

She watches him move about the room. He seems confident and unbothered by what just happened. Jesus Christ, what just happened?

Suddenly she feels like she’s going to throw up. Mulder kissed her. And she kissed him back. What the hell does that mean? Where the hell did that come from? Did it mean anything to him, or was it just a result of the alcohol? They did drink quite a lot. Does this mean he has feelings for her? Or maybe he just wanted to test out the waters? Was it just a spontaneous kiss brought about under the intense pressure of their difficult circumstances? Close proximity, high stress, alcohol. All of those things can lead to a simple kiss between two people who know each other well.

She excuses herself and retreats to the bathroom, where she starts up the shower. She jumps in before the water gets warm and goosebumps fly across her skin, but she likes the way the cold sharpens her dulled senses. She needs to think about this rationally. It was just a drunken kiss, nothing more. It was bound to happen at some point. There’s always been a mutual attraction between them, she’ll be the first to admit it.

She tries to convince herself that she doesn’t need to find out whether the kiss had any real feelings behind it. That isn’t important right now. It’s highly possible that the truth might just crush her, and if she and Mulder are going to be in close quarters for the next who-knows-how-long, she needs her emotions under control. She doesn’t need to hear him walk it back, or tell her it was a drunken mistake, or explain that it was just a moment of stress release. No, she definitely couldn’t bear to hear something like that.

She scrubs her body clean and shampoos her hair, wishing she had bought the conditioner at the gas station. She is grateful that she splurged on some body lotion, which she lathers all over herself once she’s out of the shower. Because she didn’t think to buy a brush, she finger-combs her hair until it hangs damp and wavy past her shoulders, just skimming the tops of her breasts. Then she pulls on some clean clothes and stares at herself in the mirror.

She will go in there and act normal. She will not make him answer to her about that kiss. She won’t bring it up. And because they tend to avoid difficult subjects, he probably won’t either.

He’s lying flat on the couch when she walks in, and when he glances up, his expression is neutral.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

She nods. Be normal. “I think I drank too much.”

His lips pinch together. “Yeah? I got you a water,” he says, motioning towards a glass on the coffee table.

She shoots him a quick smile and gulps down the water.

“You think . . . you think you’re drunk?” he asks, and there is an edginess to his voice.

She sinks into a chair across from the couch and shrugs. “No,” she says honestly. “Maybe an hour ago. It’s wearing off.”

He hums and sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. She glances up and wills her body not to flush as their eyes meet. He is so goddamn handsome. She rarely allows herself to consider it, the way his dark hair hangs messy and floppy over his forehead, or the way his jawline is sharp as steel, or the way his lips are softer and poutier than her own, or the way his eyes are a mixture of emotions only she can interpret. Sometimes, when he hovers right behind her, or touches her lower back, or bends down until their faces touch, she can’t escape it. Can’t escape the idea that his body was made just for her.

She shuts her eyes.

“Scully.”

She shakes her head. She doesn’t want to open her eyes and look, doesn’t want to see his beautiful face.

She hears a movement and then feels his hands clasping hers, which are perched on her lap. She opens her eyes and sees him kneeling in front of her, his face tilted up. His eyebrows are slanted in concern, but his lips are lifted in a slight smile.

“I’m sorry I did that,” he says quietly, his expression earnest. “I didn’t mean to make you so uncomfortable.”

She sighs, eyes falling to their hands. His thumbs are running circles across her wrists. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” she says honestly. She swallows, wets her lips, then looks back at him. He’s studying her closely, those profiler eyes reading every minute change in her expression. She doesn’t know what to say here. She doesn’t really know how she feels, except that it’s clear she liked it and wanted it badly. But what about Alan? What about the next however many days or weeks they have to spend together? If they take this any further, what happens next?

She forces herself to meet his gaze. “I just don’t think—if we’re going to be living in such close quarters for a while—we probably shouldn’t—”

Mulder’s face falls slightly. He nods even as his jaw clenches, and she tugs her hands away to tuck them under her thighs. He retreats to the couch, falling onto it with a heavy sigh. She knows she can’t sit in here any longer, not while he and his perfect face are there, tempting her. She stands.

“You didn’t like it?” he asks quietly, and she pauses. He’s not looking at her, just staring down at his hands.

She opens her mouth to speak. What is she supposed to say? To say she didn’tlike it would be a lie. But to say she did . . .

At her silence, he looks back up at her. Her mouth is open, her expression unsure. She mumbles something incoherent just for the sake of creating an escape. She needs to get out of this room and now. She’s walking past the couch towards the bedroom when he catches her wrist.

She startles. His face is tilted up towards her, the long column of his neck tempting her to touch, to taste. He holds her gaze with chameleon eyes and it’s clear he’s assessing something.

Then he blinks. A decision.

His fingers tighten infinitesimally on her wrist.

“Come here, Scully,” he demands, then tugs at her hard.

She tumbles into him, letting her arms drape across his shoulders, letting her forehead drop to his. It’s so easy, too easy, to let herself fall into him. He grips the backs of her thighs and lifts, and she slides her knees onto couch.

One breathless second passes as they both acknowledge that she’s sitting astride his lap, and then his hands come up to cradle her face. He tugs her lips down to his and her body follows willingly, so willingly.

She hums with joyful desperation as their tongues meet. His hands stroke along her cheeks, then her neck, then travel down her body to grip her hips. She grinds into him as he pushes up into her, and her breath grows shallow as her arousal spikes harder and faster than she’s used to. With others, it’s a slow, advancing wave. With him, though, it’s an instantaneous, all-possessing crash.

His fingertips dig into her hips possessively and she slips her fingers up under his shirt, running her palms over the toned, muscular plane of his abdomen. God, that she can have this. God, that she gets to experience him this way.

He breaks their kiss to lick down her neck, nipping and biting as he goes, and her head drops back in pleasure when he sucks at the juncture between her neck and shoulder.

His large, warm hands slide from her hips to her knees then back up again and she shifts until their hips are flush. She wants him everywhere.

Leaning forward, she tugs at his hair until his mouth unlatches from her collarbone. She needs to see him; needs to look at him. His eyes are dark pools and a high flush is rising to his cheeks. She realizes, with a shock, that she is staring into the face of staggering want. Their gazes hold as a whole range of human emotions—disbelief, amazement, thrill, desire—course through her.

As their bodies start up a conversation of their own, her mind works to catch up to the idea that this is Mulder. Her Mulder. Her tender, tortured, traumatized Mulder, the man whose life has been one unending cycle of pain. The man who sees obsession as a natural state of mind. The man who has gone to the very depths of human suffering. The man who has stayed gentle through it all.

And right now, he is deeply, painfully aroused by her. Off the hungry look in his eyes, she is helpless to resist grinding into him, and she feels sexy and powerful when his mouth falls open at the movement. She drags her fingernails through his hair and leans forward until her mouth is pressed to his. He wets her lips with his tongue and she opens to him. She feels his hands snaking up her shirt to grip her ribcage and her hips surge forward, desperate for some relief.

Their bodies collide and he groans, tearing his mouth away. He looks feral, panting for breath.

“God, Scully,” he mutters, fingers moving to unclasp her bra.

And then her body does something she doesn’t expect of it: it freezes.

“No,” Mulder whispers roughly, and she hears the anguished defeat in his voice. He knows even before she does what’s about to happen. “I want this, Scully.”

Her mouth opens slightly in surprise. She wants to tell her body to start moving, to go for it, to keep it up. God, she can practically feel her heartbeat in her clit. She wants this.

But her mind has finally caught up, and it’s panicking.

“Too fast,” is all she can say.

He wastes no time slipping his hands out of her shirt. With hypervigilant eyes, he scans her expression.

“I—I want this too,” she breathes, realizing with a start that her hands are still in his hair. She retreats slowly, reluctantly.

“I want this so badly,” he whispers with all the desperation of a dying man. His hands drop to squeeze her thighs meaningfully.

Breathless, she closes her eyes and tries to think. She wants this badly too, so why did she stop? Too fast, she said. It’s too far, too fast. Just four days ago, she had a completely different lover, different career, different life. One that didn’t involve Mulder. Jesus Christ, she was engaged. Her life was so devoid of him that she thought they’d never see each other again.

Going the distance with Mulder tonight would be irrational, unthinkable. Foolish. Her emotions are on the line here. She doesn’t need to jump into anything quickly.

But weren’t all those years together just one long buildup to this moment?

“I feel—” she starts, then shakes her head.

He squeezes her thighs until she opens her eyes again. When she sees his, the fire in them is gone, replaced with anguish. She tries to speak, tries to fight off the incredible urge to take her pants off and just fuck him already. But that wouldn’t be quite right. The time isn’t now, not when emotions are high, when danger is in the air, when she doesn’t know what her future looks like. Right? Right?

As she’s muddling through her twisted, tangled jumble of feelings, Mulder’s hand moves over hers, where he draws circles across her empty ring finger. He holds her gaze with long-suffering solemnity.

“Do you love him?” he asks quietly.

God, four days ago, the answer to that would have been an easy yes. But now, as she stares right into the face of what love is supposed to look like, feel like . . .

She closes her eyes again. “I—I have a person that I thought loved me. I don’t know—I don’t know what he thinks or feels anymore. I don’t know him. And I think—that’s something—”

Beneath her, Mulder goes rigid and her eyes startle open. His expression has turned angry, enraged. He pushes her off his lap and she trips over herself trying to stand.

“What the hell—”

He stands, towering over her. “Tell me you didn’t do that because Alan turned out to be fake.”

She blinks.

He dips his face closer, his breath ghosting her cheek. “Tell me you didn’t let me touch you like that because you think you’ve lost him.”

Her eyebrows crinkle in confusion and she shakes her head. “No, Mulder, God no—”

But he’s already retreating from the couch. She lunges, grabbing at his bicep, tugging him close. She’s not ready to be separated from him again.

“My feelings are complicated, yes, but it has nothing to do with—with that.” She stares up into his eyes and sees a lifetime of pain in them. Sometimes she looks at him and thinks that all he does is suffer.

“I did that because I’ve always wanted to do that, Mulder,” she admits quietly, sincerely.

His expression softens and he steps into her, his hands falling to her hips. “Then why stop?”

She shakes her head, biting her lip. “I don’t—my feelings—everything is complicated right now. I need—I need—”

He reaches up to squeeze her shoulders encouragingly.

“I need to think,” she says carefully, because it’s the only thing she really knows right now.  

His expression is inscrutable, as if he’s trying to clear his own emotions to make way for hers. She takes a deep breath and he nods, leaning close to press a kiss to her temple.

Even in this matchbox of a cabin, they manage to go their separate ways, she to their bedroom, he to the shower. She lies in bed ruminating for a long time, long enough that she hears Mulder finish his shower and then beat around the kitchen for a while doing who-knows-what. After a while, she hears him finally settle back onto the couch. She wonders if he’s planning on sleeping out there. She hopes not.

After a while, her thoughts start to settle, her rational brain taking over. It’s a good thing they didn’t go further tonight. It’s okay to acknowledge that there are deep, intense feelings between them, but it’s not wise to fall into bed together just days into a tentative reconciliation. As the peace of her decision washes over her, her eyes begin to close.

Sometime later, she returns to semi-consciousness when Mulder slips into bed beside her. She’s awake enough to feel surprised that he isn’t giving her the cold shoulder.

Surprise turns into shock when she feels him slide close to her. She starts to turn to face him but with a quiet confidence only Mulder seems to possess, he arranges them so that her back is pressed to his chest. He holds her.

“I’m sorry that I pushed you,” he starts, and she opens her mouth to interrupt, to reassure him that it was entirely mutual, but he gently shushes her. His fingers brush up her face to smooth her hair off her cheek, and then his lips settle across her skin. She flushes under the tenderness. “You know I want this, and I think you do too. But I realize we’re in a complicated place. You were right to stop us. And maybe—maybe I’m not the only person in this world that you . . . want.” She hears him swallow and tears sting at her eyes. You are though, she wants to say, but she bites her tongue. Give it time, let the wounds heal. “But Scully,” he says, his voice turning rough and raspy, “if, when this thing is all over, when the pieces fall into place, when we’re finally safe . . . if you’re given a choice . . . please, choose me.”

She doesn’t reply, but she’s sure he can feel the tears running down her face. Unable to speak, she reaches back and runs her hand through his hair, scratching along his scalp in a gesture she hopes is comforting. He takes the chance to press his lips to her throat, then her jaw, then her cheek. Her body responds as if it were made for his and their lips meet tenderly, sweetly. He breaks the kiss first, sighing into her ear.

Eventually, she shifts back into his chest, and after a while, they both fall asleep.

**

Scully wakes with a violent start. Mulder is shaking her so hard she’s almost halfway out of the bed.  

“Get up, get up,” he whispers hastily, then aggressively shoves the blankets off her.

“What—” She reaches for the lamp and he smacks her hand away.

She’s about to turn on him when she hears it—a faint noise in the distance, one that her foggy, sleep-deprived brain can’t instantly place.

How did that noise wake him up? she wonders, her ears straining to make sense of it.

It’s a whirring, chopping sound. A rhythmic thump-thump-thump-thump-thump that seems to be coming from . . . above her?

Above her.

Above her, in the sky.

She gasps, her palm flying to her mouth.

Helicopters.

[displayheartcode]

hiii hope you’re doing okay over there 💛💛 also may i have some amazing urban fantasy recs?? u always have the best, most wonderfully curated recs

i'm melting in this weather, jessi! melting!

here are some favorite urban fantasy book recs:

even though i knew the end by cl polk - a fantastic noir novella about a private detective, a gamble for her immortal soul, and the secrets we keep from each other

devil and the bluebird by jennifer mason-block - a stand-alone that reads like a folk ballad, a young girl trades her voice for an enchanted pair of boots to cross the country to find her sister

the city beautiful by aden polydoros - wonderfully seeped in jewish ghost stories, a teenager is possessed by the murdered spirit of his friend

small town monsters by diana rodriguez wallach - there comes a time when every teen must ask a simple question of what's scarier: the locked basement door or the smiley cult that's gaining power in your town

the conductors by nicole glover - a young woman's past comes back to follow her as series of strange murders strike in her antebellum-era city (hetty x benjy 5ever!!!!)

deep secret by diana wynne jones - one of the most weirdest and lovable books you'll come across. a sff convention! terrible job interviews! a centaur prince!

hold me closer necromancer by lish mcbride - a fry cook learns that he's a necromancer and is unintentionally on someone else's (scarier) turf

the warrior heir by cinda williams chima - after helping his aunt rob a grave, jack confronts his new inheritance as rival wizard houses plot to kidnap him

bitter medicine by mia tsai - she's the descendent of a god and he's not fully human. together, they're a blushing mess of feelings and complicated magic when their jobs collide

[saunne]

what flavor is your soul? by crunchycrowes

oh spry little dryad, spinning sprite, you drift through life as light as lion down. you are the chimes of churchbells and the laughter of faeries. gossamer and spidersilk shine from your ribs. life is fleeting, you more than anyone should know that. something we love today may never see tomorrow's sun. you pride yourself on skipping through moments, soft and merry. but you do not let your soul be tethered. is it for freedom or fear, sweetheart, that you do not let yourself be tamed? you are as fresh as and wild as bluebirds in snow, you smile at your problems before dashing away. hoping they will never catch up to you. but even nike can't run forever. you have been hurt before. but that is life. you wish to never feel that way again, but regretfully I must tell you that is nothing short of impossible. life is but part sorrow part sun, you cannot have teacups until they are burned by the kiln. oh I see the scars child, they shimmer down your chest, I see the pain in your eyes. but I also see the stardust. keep smiling, but allow tears also. you do not have to be solely wonder, fear, you are allowed to be bitter. so bite, and scream, and laugh, and love. that is what makes life worth living.

[kitsunesfandomtime]

writing patterns tag game

Rules: list the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern!

Got tagged by @aimportantdragoncollector and got to admit looks very fun!

1. Bird Cage Ch 22: Izuku made it.

2. Hated by life itself: “What… If I died?”

3. Longing for the Unattainable CH 3: This woman claimed her name is Inko.

4. Bluebird Illusions: In the Northeast of America, a man of infamous renown from the other side of the world traveled.

5. An Unending Hunger for more: This hunger was something Izuku had suffered ever since he was born.

6. Moonlights and Lanterns: In this forest, there are stories of monsters that haunt this domain far longer then humans have lived.

7. Slow Burn & Liquor goes down bitter: CH 5, "What a mess, can't those heroes work faster instead of snooping around?"

8. A Look into All for One: There is a fine line between love and hate.

9. Don't you want to become a Cult Leader?: "Don't you want devoted followers?"

10. Doll: In a memory long ago, his mother used to have dolls. 

My style varies from story telling to voice lines to whatever sounds the coolest. Like what story is this? And then run with it also spooky vibes. LOL

No pressure tagging @mamashenanigans, @donkeys-waffles and honestly anyone else who wants to do it can tag me with their post! So take away~

[iricathel]

Once upon dreams and nightmares... 🥀

Event hostess @bluebird-dolly-bride

Far, far away, in a place where no other man set foot on a land rich in fronds, lived a young boy in an ancient castle bathed in gold.

Spoiled child, gluttonous for power and control to the point of becoming the nightmare of the workers.

Ungrateful brat, as some would say behind their young master's back.

Do you remember, when you almost blinded a servant?

Do you remember, when you punished the butler's son to starvation for grabbing one of your toys?

Do you remember, when you threatened to execute the cook if he used an ingredient that you disliked again?

Time heals all, but so powerful was the malice in the boy's heart, that once he reached adulthood he became completely sick with his darkness.

Some blows were heard at the huge front door, and for the first and only time, the young nobleman decided to open his entrance by himself.

"An apple, just buy me a single apple to feed my family, please sir." An elderly man sobbed, barely able to hold the mentioned fruit firmly in his wrinkled hand.

"Save your words, old man. Who do you think you're talking to? That thing doesn't even resemble a fruit." The raven-haired man spat, fixing his contemptuous gaze on the offer. "

"So give me a little help, then. My family will always be very grateful to you."

A bitter laugh splashed over the old man, poisoning his ears with that teasing smug.

"Your family will be grateful to me? And how that will benefit me? Go back the way you came, old man. I don't want to see your drooping face peering through my windows again, nor your calloused and heavy feet dragging on my marble floor."

Loud rumbles resounded in the sky, and soon it was covered in black clouds, blotting out any sunlight.

A strong and cold wind blew, and to the surprise of all present, the old man was turned into a white-haired youth with a chiseled face to resemble the very own gods.

"For your insolence and cockiness, you will have to learn a lesson. So much evil inside you must be reflected as the devil on the outside equally. Loneliness will be your sentence, because all your close beings will have been objectified. In order to find a cure, as well as two twin seeds of this apple, you will have to find your own reflection before the apple rots into mere rubble.

Be smart, child, and keep close to that person who understands you because it will be the one who can accept your seven hells."

Damn curiosity, and damn her stubbornness.

For having played with the same fate, the young blonde found herself trapped in the Beast's clutches. Rusty bars imprisoned her like a caged bird.

"You were guided to this place in order to carry out your mission. I waited for the return of the burning rays of the sun, and the green meadow returning to dye the borders of my home."

The Beast spoke, leaning against the iron bars to look at his encapsulated rose.

"With your stay here, I will guarantee the eternal upkeep of the apple and—"

"You'll still be a horned beast, excited to see a red apple like a little kid getting candy. Stay delusional, maybe that way you won't go crazy."

The Beauty with the same arrogant poison bathed the Beast.

They were two sides of the same coin, because it didn't take long for the young woman to show how conceited and proud she was.

A reflection of the same face began to be seen.

The same melody being played by two different instruments.

The Beauty and the Beast, would be forever depending on the existence of the other, for the end of time.

[draconicfool]

What Flavour Is Your Soul?

mint

oh spry little dryad, spinning sprite, you drift through life as light as lion down. you are the chimes of churchbells and the laughter of faeries. gossamer and spidersilk shine from your ribs. life is fleeting, you more than anyone should know that. something we love today may never see tomorrow's sun.

you pride yourself on skipping through moments, soft and merry. but you do not let your soul be tethered. is it for freedom or fear, sweetheart, that you do not let yourself be tamed? you are as fresh as and wild as bluebirds in snow, you smile at your problems before dashing away. hoping they will never catch up to you. but even nike can't run forever.

you have been hurt before. but that is life. you wish to never feel that way again, but regretfully I must tell you that is nothing short of impossible. life is but part sorrow part sun, you cannot have teacups until they are burned by the kiln. oh I see the scars child, they shimmer down your chest, I see the pain in your eyes. but I also see the stardust. keep smiling, but allow tears also. you do not have to be solely wonder, fear, you are allowed to be bitter. so bite, and scream, and laugh, and love. that is what makes life worth living.

tagged by: um i'm a thief hi tagging: go do crimes be free