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evanoxvt · 9 months ago

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A new month, different goals, same projects!

Well hello there! I'm guessing most people who read this don't know who I am yet so I'll tell you a bit about me shortly, but for those who do know me, you know I've been on a semi hiatus from streaming for quite awhile now. We are making a comeback, slowly but surely! Like I said, I'm guessing the majority of those who are reading this don't know me yet so I will start with an introduction!

Who am I?

I'm Eva Nox, a vtuber! I stream on twitch and discord, and plan to add youtube into the mix when I am able to. I really enjoy making clips in their raw states and find those to be an abundant source of things that make the world worth living, in a way.

I frequently and regularly have to take time off of streaming and social media due to health. I am very open about most of my health conditions, especially my Multiple Sclerosis and my Autism as these two are the most visible of my invisible illnesses & disabilities. My MS causes a huge range of physical health issues while my ASD heavily affects my processing and social skills. As a result some people may see me as flakey or noncommittal. I've found that by letting people know about these conditions and the hardships they cause, that people get a better understanding of me and why things are the way they are.

If you are interested in knowing more about me, pop by literally any of my streams or consider joining my discord! We are an 18+ community however for the safety of EVERYONE, so please be aware you will be kicked if you are not 18+.

What's up with this new month, new goals thing?

So, in January I made myself a content creator goals list for this year. Sadly, due to health we are way behind my goals and plans. Here's what it originally looked like:

January - Set up new PC, work on my discord server

February - Rest and recover from infusion, start doing more discord and community events

March - Start BDO and go through all of my clips

April - Come back from YT hiatus

May - Schedule group collabs

June - Celebrate good times~

July - Attempt an art month!

August - Rest and recover from infusion

September - Start spooky month game(s)

October - Finish spooky month game(s)

November - Schedule group collabs

December - Celebrate good times~

Sadly, we are entering March and I am way behind on my January and February goals. I am using my new pc, but I've been struggling with my OBS, partially due to some plugin issues and partially due to changes I'm making in my OBS setup. I've also had increased issues with eye strain which makes it hard for me to work on things like my OBS. I also have not been able to work on my discord server for similar reasons. I have however recovered from my infusion AND some bizarre illness I got recently, so that's nice!

I really do need to work on sorting my files and dealing with my major backlog of clips. This is my 4th priority for creator stuff at this time. My first priority is to get my OBS functional for streaming. My second priority is <instantly forgets everything I was thinking...> something.... Yes, I'm going to leave this here, it is important that people understand I literally get brain fog and cannot for the life of me figure out wtf I was doing or saying and that this is fairly NORMAL for me. I still cant remember the second thing, but I know there was something else before 3. The 3rd priority for my content is one of the most important projects I'm working on right now, called "Project S.S. Sunshine". There are multiple reasons for the title, but the biggest one is a homage to my nickname for my dogs when I was younger. I miss one of them dearly and this was one of my ways to reinclude him in my life even though he passed before I began my journey as Eva Nox. I know some people may get offended by the name of my project, but really its not meant to be a huge thing or anything like that. It's literally the initials of some of my childhood pets. There is literally no hidden or secret meaning beyond that, so don't attack me over it.

My schedule says I will come back from my YT hiatus in April but that is up in the air. My health has been really volatile recently so I really cannot predict when my PROPER comeback to youtube will be, however when I finish my project there will be 2 new youtube videos regardless of the status of my hiatus.

Another thing I guess I should note is that in March I have some medical procedures that will be happening for some of the health conditions I do not and will not be making public. Been told it's not much to worry about but I expect that to make it even harder to catch up with my goals.

More about me

I can't believe people are still reading this far into this.... a thank you is in order! I know I ramble on and on about things so I really appreciate those of you who are still reading it this far along. Thank you so much and I hope you day is going well!

So lets go back to Autism for a moment. This is by no means a comprehensive list of my struggles as an autistic person nor a comprehensive list of the struggles of other autistic folks. What this is, is a small list of the things I can remember off the top of my head right this second without the stress of remembering everything I deal with over the period of ever.

One of my usually less noticeable but VERY IMPACTFUL autistic traits is my language processing issues. I use "language processing issues" as an umbrella term for MANY things. I struggle with reading, writing, speaking, hearing, and processing all aspects of language. That may not sound so bad but it is a fundamental set of skills that can make or break your experience interacting with the world around you.

For reading and writing my comprehension is leagues behind what "others my age" would/should be at. People tell me to just try harder, and many autistic people do, but for me its not the most important thing ever. I hate being suffocated with "fancy" language when being direct makes communication much easier as well as leaves room in my brain to retain memories. Yes, I'm talking about memories because that is something that I've lost alot of due to schools pushing and pushing for us to memorize so much useless crap. I have things I wish I could remember but I don't have the "digital capacity" for everything society wants me to know. It sucks to know I will never be as "good" as everyone else, but that's my decision to make, and I am okay with where I'm at.

Let's end that one there and continue with speaking and hearing. I have several auditory processing issues and I'd like to use some imagery to help normal hearing people to understand what it's like for me. A painter starts by covering their canvas in a color for the base of the background. This is the first color on the canvas and the first sound I hear. Each layer of paint is a new layer of sound, and new layer to filter out while trying to hear people talk. The very last two, top two layers of this painting are human speech. The second to top layer is just pure sound, while the top one is the actual words being spoken. I have to sift through dozens of sounds before I can even hear the sound someone is making, let alone identify the words they are speaking. You will hear me sometimes say, "I'm tired of translating English to English", but not many people realize I'm not talking about accents at all but just simply the sound of the words and trying to figure out what word was said and the order of the words and then the meaning of those words. Most people don't have to take all the extra steps to understand a word in their native language, but I have to.

Additionally I have a speech impediment which isn't noticeable most of the time, but sometimes it becomes noticeable. In recent years, I've been learning how to continue speaking despite it as in the past I would just stop talking and make very little to no sounds. This mostly happens when I start to get too tired, stressed, mask too long, talk too long, strain my vocal chords, and sometimes there's not reason I can tell for why it happens.

Between my auditory processing issues and my speech issues I struggle with communication quite often, and have been alienated because of it time and time again. I used to struggle alot more with making friends because of these issues but having met so many more people with autism I'm not nearly as worried because now I'm understood and accepted.

With my autism, I also suffer from Sensory Processing Disorder. For me, not for all with SPD, I am more often than not overstimulated by one or more sensory inputs. I often struggle with sounds because they are just so loud and intrusive, lights are so horribly bright but if you dim it, I'll get a headache. Smells become overbearing and horrid. My sense of touch becomes hyper aware of everything, clothes, blankets, the ground, the air, every little thing I touch. Of course I'm not dealing with ALL sensory types being overwhelmed at the same time, but often if I am dealing with sensory overload it is two or more sensory types at a time.

Recently someone redefined habits and routines in terms of autism and I really liked how they described it. I used to consider myself a creature of habit/ a habitual creature, but now I do not identify that way. Habits, as the person described, is something you automatically just do. Every X frequency at the same time in every time. ROUTINES are things that you do, at the same exact time, in the same exact order, for the same exact "reason" in whatever the frequency is. One of the big differences is that a habit comes automatically and without thinking about it, whereas a routine does not come automatically but is crucial in maintaining <I don't have a good word for this right now>.

For me, if I had a habit, it would be like "brush your teeth when you wake up, whenever that is" whereas a routine would be a specific time after waking up, and if there was anything I did prior or afterwards it would need to be in the same order.

When I look at the differences, to me a routine is much more natural and necessary, however my routines can easily be disrupted which can affect me for hours, days, weeks, or even months at a time. This can make things like taking medicine difficult as once that routine is messed up it becomes so incredibly difficult to fix again. You can't just say "I need to do these 10 things every day" (outside of work/school/etc) because it literally is a ONE THING AT A TIME type thing, and it needs to become a stable routine before you add one more thing. So things like showering, brushing teeth, medication, eating, etc all have to be added in ONE AT A TIME for an extended period before another is added. For me this becomes difficult with my volatile health messing my routines up constantly.

Another thing I struggle with as an Autistic person is emotional management. I have a hard time existing in the world of emotion and the world of functionality at the same time. A great example that I think alot of people may connect with is when you were a kid and you really REALLY enjoyed something and someone took a picture of you, but in the picture you are making a face that leads people to think you either didn't like it or that you were unhappy/uncomfortable, etc. The "flat" emotion type face if you get that. The thing is, that is an example of being so intensely invested in that emotion that your entire body literally shuts down and freezes while you are basically just existing in the world within your mind. I really have yet to find a better explanation for the separation of emotional states and everything else that goes on. As a result, good/bad/neutral emotions used to be so intense that it was all I could do, all I could be, and all that I was. I still struggle to identify emotions today, but I am able to express emotions I feel to an extent, largely in part due to learning how to mask and express things through mimicry, but also in part due to having an outsider help manage and combine those two states into a semi functional level. I'm not going to go into the details on this one because it gets too complicated for my comfort level, but this is one of the things my service dog does for me. She helps bridge that gap, allowing me to FEEL and EXPRESS emotions WHILE functioning. Of course it isn't at the same explosive level as those emotions actually are, but it is at a level that normal people are more used to seeing. Again, I will not be going into HOW she does that because its really complicated.

Another struggle I have with ASD is autistic meltdowns. While similar to panic attacks and anxiety attacks, these meltdowns are a distinct thing. It can be really hard to differentiate between the three, but that does not mean it does not happen. In fact, I'd say I deal with meltdowns the most out of the 3, followed up closely by anxiety attacks, and in 3rd place I rarely have panic attacks (but I do get them, and often mistake them for the other two). Meltdowns are involuntary, just like the other two. They are very dysregulating and can last a long time after the "trigger" is "over". I often get meltdowns when either I become extremely overwhelmed by sensory input or when I have an outburst of extreme emotions (of any kind). Meltdowns look a bit different for everyone I know, but all of us have had issues with people telling us things like "you're an adult, stop having temper tantrums" or "just get over it, you're not a baby anymore", etc. These meltdowns are not temper tantrums and have a specific cause EVEN IF YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS. There is always a cause with a meltdown, and sometimes it's not obvious, while other times you may never figure out what it is. I really want to stress that a meltdown is a VALID struggle that autistic people have and that it isn't okay to deny or criticize it. It's not fun or cool, it is stressful and can be scary, especially for children who don't know what they're going through or why.

I think that concludes my autism struggles for tonight (otherwise this post will never get close to ending). Onto some of my MS issues I suppose. I will try to make this one shorter.

First thing is first, flare-ups are not the same thing as daily symptoms. Flare-ups are specific immune system response where your cells attack the myelin on your nerves. This leads to scar tissue, and can contribute to permanent damage to both the area it's attacking and cause lesions in your brain and spine. Am I forgetting anything else? Probably, but that's the generic description of a flare up. As you sustain more permanent damage to your body, you'll very likely have increased daily symptoms. The damage type, specific location, and severity is different for everyone and their symptoms are also different on a by-person basis.

For me, I often deal with issues with:

Temperature regulation

vision (several different types of visual issues)

numbness

pain

fatigue

weakness

muscle twitching and spasms

balance and coordination issues

dizziness

brain fog

heightened sensory issues (yes, my MS makes my SPD worse)

skin issues

other issues relating to conditions I do not make public.

For obvious reasons this makes working very difficult and leads to very inconsistent streams. I often wake up feeling at least reasonably okay, to only feel like crap by the time I've gone to the bathroom and taken care of Town Crier. Again, this obviously makes it difficult to go about my day. I rapidly go between being good/okay/bad and often get a tiny bit of each every day, with most days leaning towards okay and bad. This is part of the reason why I stream. I want to do something that I can do. I want to give meaning to my life when and where I can. Streaming allows me to do that because although highly inconsistent I can do it when I'm feeling good enough to, for however long I can do it, just simply because I can that day or at that point in time. No one is there to fire me because I had to miss a day or two or a week or more. No one is going to tell me that I'm not trying hard enough and that I need to work harder. Everyone in my community is so supportive and helps me remember to take breaks and stay hydrated. It makes me feel so validated as a person struggling to exist and helps bring the light to the days that are so very dark.

Who is Town Crier?

Last segment! Town Crier is my service dog. You may see me call her TC, Town Crier, baby, etc. while streaming. It's just my little nickname for her and it makes sense since she is half husky!

Thank you for reading this far! If you are interested in finding me on my other socials, click below! My carrd has my comprehensive list of links and some additional information! Again, thanks for stopping by and I hope to see you when and where I can!

#chronically ill #chronic illness #invisible illness #invisible disability #multiple sclerosis #autoimmune #chronic fatigue #audhd #autism #adhd #chronic pain #streaming #disabled streamer #content creator #content creation #march madness #youtube #twitch #carrd stuff

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delldarling · 4 years ago

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the city is hoarding hearts | arroven

male dragon x gender/body neutral reader 9015 words lemon | mention of drinking alcohol, face riding, size difference, fairly submissive monster, penetrative sex, poetry, touch starved note: behold! my modern epic fantasy universe! this world first appeared back in August for my Patreon Story of the Month, and though I haven’t revisited Arroven again just yet, I did return to this universe for December’s Story of the Month as well. 👀

Magic, despite people's claim to the contrary, is beyond rare these days. No one really claims that it isn’t real, that it didn’t once run rampant with it’s existence. After all, it’s impossible to deny when people have things like the architecture of the North to reference. The towers built into their seaside cliffs, spiraling up like the serpents of old reaching for the sun? Without magic, without gravity spells, and an everlasting charm on those spells, thick enough to double as a coat of paint, the towers would have fallen into the sea by now, dashed against the dark stones jutting out from the deep green waters. Many people, though especially the elves, think that the towers will endure long after the cliffs have crumbled into the water. Floating relics, you’ve heard more than a few people murmur, wonder in their voices, wouldn’t that be something?

Even more common now, there are people the world over that claim they have a spark of magic left still, that they can feel the rhythms of the magical tide flooding back over the world.

She Wakes is written on street corners and thick posters, spray painted on the underside of the colossal Echo Bridge. No matter how often they have workers doing their best to clean the graffiti up, the giant letters are back in place a few days later.

Despite how much you’d like to believe them, as everyone dreams of the rumors, of magic returning, you’ve never put too much stock into the whispered words. Why would you? No matter how often you’ve spent watching wispy clouds streak by your window, no matter how often you’ve taken a moment to reflect on the thought, to nurse a seed of hope… Nothing has ever come of it.

It’s why you keep trying to ignore that heavy ache in the arch of your feet, or the way you keep noticing advertisements for Arroven.

History books and the elderly all say that this is how it starts when magic finally blooms in someone’s blood. There’s an itch. An ache. A constant irritant that starts in your extremities and wriggles into your veins, and then coincidences will start to pile up. Small things, like noticing whenever the clock strikes 11:11 on whatever clock you pass. Or maybe it’s having the luck to switch the radio station to your favorite song without fail, or—

“Stop it,” you mutter to yourself when you spot it. You breath puffs out into the chilly air, adding to the fog lingering in the streets. You kneel, brushing aside some of the fallen damask leaves, their velvety backs clinging to your touch even as you do your best to shake them off. Just barely hidden under their litter is a postcard. Without even glancing at it, you know what you’ll find on the back, but you’re drawn to pick it up anyway, turning it over. It depicts a sprawling city with green undertones, the word Arroven written in a sloping, beautiful script along the bottom of the image. The edges are creased, almost lovingly, and there’s a small puncture hole at the top left corner, as if someone had it pinned to a corkboard for no short amount of time.

Until this moment, you haven’t picked up any of the advertisements for Arroven. The stories all say that you can ignore it, that the magic will go away and fade from you like an ebbing tide if you only will it hard enough, but… You don’t know that you really want it to leave. Those seeds have hope might not have fully sprouted, but their roots have run deep, snaking through your veins. You swallow past the dryness in your throat and turn the postcard over, wonder if you’re going to get an address, or if there are words of encouragement intended for the last owner.

The postcard is faintly yellowed at the edges, but it’s otherwise blank.

You wilt, disappointed, but you don’t throw it back down onto the stones. If you check the railway listings, you’re more than certain that you’ll find a one way trip to Arroven suddenly dirt cheap. The pathway that will lead you there is probably paved with strangely good fortune, more invisible hooks ready to find a secure hold in your heart. You might as well find out if there’s anything to these claims of magic. You have far too much hope shored up in your bones and pumping through your chest not to at least try.

A month later, and you’re starting to believe that whatever magic that led you this far has all but fled. Of course, you’re more than content with where it’s left you, a word rattling around in the back of your brain and clamoring to spill from your lips: home. Arroven feels like home.

It’s not just the city though. It’s your place. It’s the stones that pave the streets and the people that fill them. It’s the smell of bakeries and the faint hint of exhaust. It’s the clean smell of paper and ink from the stationary shop you’d stumbled into on your first night in Arroven, and the proprietor’s barely-there smile. You’d made fast friends with her almost instantly, like it was fate.

Mora, despite her solemn stature, and the vast amount of spiraling tattoos disappearing under the neck of her cleanly pressed shirts, is beyond kind. She possesses a startling, sparkling wit that leaves a smile lingering on your lips whenever you think of her snappy little comments. She’d given you a job in her shop a few days after you’d first arrived, perking up as soon as you’d come back into her shop. She needed a cashier, so she could have more time to develop her own inks, and then a few days after that you literally stumbled onto a showing of a furnished apartment. It had fit all of your needs, and your shoes had sunk into the plush carpet of the bedroom, like a quiet voice in the place asking you to stay.

The ache in your feet had eased, that strange little irritant in the back of your mind fading with every passing day. You haven’t put too much thought into magic since then, as there hasn’t been a reason when you have a new job to keep you busy, and a city to explore on your days off. You love it here, the sea green patina on the copper statues, the swirling architecture that extends to every building in the city, no matter how large or small. Besides, you know if you go looking into magic again, at the message boards or if you go hunting down books, it’s likely that they’ll all say much the same thing: She Wakes, and her gift will blossom in you, but not Forever. She moves us like pawns, adjusting us Just So, no matter how small the slot She needs filled.

You’ve read it all before, have heard debates shouted in the streets or argued about in the back corner of classrooms. Magic moves through people as it wills, and no amount of pleading will keep it in you unless you’re a mage, and even then, that takes years of study. If the magic that led you here only existed long enough for you to make your home? Then you’ll have to be satisfied with that.

And you are, until that ache in your feet starts up again.

Late one evening, as you’re locking the back door of Rumoura’s, it floods through you fast enough to steal your breath. There’s no voice, no heavy hand on your shoulder, just a fierce pain that wells, threatening to bring tears to your eyes, until you turn to the right. You blink, surprise at the sudden and complete lack of pain, and take a ragged breath as you pocket the key to the door. When you feel steady enough, when your lungs no longer ache, you turn to the right and start walking.It takes you about ten minutes to realize you’re headed towards the main park, the one with ancient ruins of a half finished serpent tower peppered throughout its boundaries. You’ve walked through once, one golden afternoon with Mora, and you’ve been meaning to come back sometime on your lunch break. The past few days have been busy though, with a flood of students coming back to Arroven, stocking up on both casual and serious supplies from Mora’s shop.

Besides, there’s always been time to explore at your leisure now that you’re living here.

Two towering trees make a grand arch over the park entrance, and the slow swirl of damask leaves spiraling down from the branches make you laugh.

“Coincidence,” you murmur, a small smile curling your lips, and you walk into the park. The paths are well lit, even this late in the evening. This part of the city doesn’t boast about it’s lack of crime, but most people feel it. There always seems to be groups of people roaming: Elven tourists, hooking arms and laughing over cups of tea and coffee, Orcish artists and musicians, setting up on benches or street corners, busking for the simple sake of sharing their art with others. You wander through the park, expecting to simply take in the sights among the meandering attendees, but.. You haven’t seen anyone for the past few minutes. Your footsteps start to slow, wondering if you missed a sign somewhere and you have the nagging feeling that you just need to find someone.

Cautiously, you keep moving, the sudden bout of nervousness easing when you see someone up ahead. They’re sitting at the foot of one of the rather large blocks of toppled variscite, a dark hoodie hiding their face. Their shoulders are broad, and their clothes are a little more ragged than you see on people around here, but it gives off more of a well lived look than a dangerous one. They’re tapping the toes of their boots together, the tread of them worn smooth, and a low, masculine hum reaches your ears the closer you get. He stops as soon as you’re within speaking range though, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees. There’s a street lamp not too far behind him, and with the hood and the angle of the light, it casts most of his face in shadow. All you can spy is a pair of long, thorn-like ear gauges, curling out from the depths of his hood. They’re bigger around than a thimble and sharp looking from this far away.

“Nice evening, hm?” You say in greeting, hoping that if he doesn’t want to speak, he’ll just bob his head and let you move along. You haven’t run into any trouble in Arroven yet, but even with that strange ache, you don’t know that you can see your good luck lasting forever.

“A lovely one,” he mumbles and he leans back, hands grabbing at his knees and squeezing like he’s the nervous one.

That thought makes you stop, your eyes focusing a bit more intensely on what you can see of his skin. At first glance, his knuckles are bruised and paint splattered, nails split and a little too long, skin rough in texture. You blink, realizing that his knuckles aren’t bruised, his skin just mirrors the strange patterns of the variscite he’s sitting on, ink black and sea green, and the rough texture to his skin has pointy, scalloped edges.

The noise he makes isn’t a sigh, not quite, but he turns his face away, as if he expects you to ignore him, or run, and his hood edges back, just a sliver. The arch of his nose is straight as an arrow, and his nostrils are thin things, slashing upwards. His face has so many angles that it’s hard to tear your gaze away. You wish you could see his eyes, but he has them closed, like he’s still bracing himself for a blow.

“Are you.. Are you alright?” You ask, because it seems like the thing to say, with how tense he is, with how he’s waiting.

His eyes flash open, reflective in the depths of his hood. His mouth curls into a frown when he turns to look at you again. His eyes are still the eerie glam of a reflected light. “You’re not frightened?”

“Are you?” You ask, ignoring the thundering of your own heart. You’ve seen Trolls before, and even a few half-elves or half-orcs of varying descent, with skin that just barely reminds you of his, but.. You’re willing to bet he isn’t any of those.

“A bit?” He says, unsure, and the edge of a violet tongue flicks out to wet his lower lip. “It’s been a few centuries since any of you have made yourself so at home here that you stumbled across me.” He hunches his shoulders, looking away from you for the breadth of a second, before he can’t help himself. His eyes flick back to you, rove over you from head to toe, almost greedily. “You felt a call then, an itch?”

“An ache,” you correct, staring at him with wide eyes. Centuries? The long lived races don’t often mention the time they have over others. It’s rude at the best of times, and most of them are terrible sticklers for manners.

“At home here, you said?” You ask, knowing that something about him seems terribly familiar.

Your question makes him pause, brow lifting before he finally pushes himself to his feet. He unfolds, all long, heavy limbs, but doesn’t move from his spot on the variscite. “M-.. Arroven. You do think of the city as home?” He breathes in, hesitantly lifting his chin. “Not to be rude,” he says, a little awkwardly, “but you smell like Arroven.”

All at once, the old poem flickers back into your mind, the one about hearts and desires and winter. The oldest folktales of the first cities, those built around the serpent towers, all seemed to carry the poem with them. It was both a warning and a blessing to those that wished to stay. You’d have to hunt down the entirety of it, but the ending couplet?

The city promises, you’ll be most adored So can you, will you, join the hoard?

You bite down fiercely on the desire to blurt out dragon, but he must sense it, might even see the aborted twist of your lips.

“..you’ve figured it out, then?” He asks, and when his shoulders droop, you spy the barest edge of a wing, tucked in close to his back. “If being in my immediate vicinity is a problem, I quite understand, but please stay in the city. You-” He blows out a breath, large hands fussing about with his hoodie pocket. Everything about him reads awkward, almost shy. “You’re safe here, I promise.” He breathes in again, like he can’t resist, eyes falling closed when his violet tongue appears, there and gone before you can blink. “You belong,” he murmurs and tangles his fingers in the material of his hoodie, like he would reach out if he didn’t stop himself.

Inexplicably, you wonder if Mora knows about the city patron. If you should waltz into the shop tomorrow and announce: I’ve officially been welcomed to the hoard. ...Sort of. Before you lose your nerve, before you can bite your tongue, you ask. “An official welcome involves more drinks though, doesn’t it?”

-Arroven, the dragon, the founder of the city, is sitting across the table from you, slouching in a barstool that has a difficult time encompassing his enormous body. Despite his height, and the way his hood shadows his face in a frankly ominous way, no one is paying him any attention. One of the bartender’s had slid a drink list your way as soon as you’d claimed the seats, but she hadn’t even glanced at Arroven. In fact, you think her eyes might have skipped right over his seat. It’s a little disconcerting, seeing as he’d claimed that Wink was one of the best bars around, but if they ignore him, if they can’t see him?

“What’ll it be?” A different bartender asks, a tall elf, with his hair plaited back in a complicated braid. He has pleasant features, though he looks a little flustered, a lock or two of dark hair escaping his braid. You think he might be on the newer end when he fumbles a bit with the card you slide his way, olive skin flushing when his fingers nearly touch yours.

“Uh, the special,” you finally decide, expecting him to turn to Arroven so he can order as well. Your jaw drops when he whirls, not even bothering. “Ar- hey, wait!”

The elf turns back, smiling vaguely, looking even more tense now that he can’t leave straight off, but he doesn’t seem to see Arroven when you gesture towards him. His gaze zips right through the neckline of Arroven's hoodie, straight on through to the next customer.

Perturbed, you lean in close to Arroven, heart skipping a beat due to his proximity. He smells faintly of musty books, and stone, cooling in the early evening after baking in the sunshine of a warm day. "Didn’t you want something?” You force yourself to ask, unwilling to let the elf leave without at least checking with him first. He doesn’t have to get anything, but you’d hoped he would, if only so you can spend a while longer in his company. Maybe the flirtatious tone you’d struck had made him uncomfortable?

For a moment Arroven hunches further into his sweatshirt, and you think your fears might hold weight. You are a little close, and you still don’t know each other terribly well yet. You straighten, hoping you don’t look as embarrassed as you feel and Arroven heaves out a sigh. He finally tugs back his hood, though the elf behind the bar doesn’t even blink. “Just a.. a Beetle Wing," he mutters, large, sharp teeth catching the light. The elf nods, though his gaze is still on you when Arroven speaks, and turns away to go make the drinks.

Without the darkness of night, without his hood shadowing his face, you see that his eyes aren’t permanently reflective. In the dim lights of the bar, they’re a lovely shade of blue-green that matches well with his skin. What you thought were ear gauges were actually his horns, thick and curving, and trailing after the clean arch of his jaw. His ears are heavy with plugs though, and they clink against his horns when he turns, noticing that you’re staring. The scent of hot stone grows stronger when you smile at him, and then he huffs, looking away and running a hand through his already tousled, short dark hair. You catch sight of scales on his scalp and then blink. It’s not hair on his head, it’s feathers. His eyebrows are much the same, in miniature. Fine, thin feathers, as ink dark as the scalloped edges of his scales.

“So,” you tease, hoping your questions won’t come off as prying. “Can the rest of the people in here see you at all? You said that it’d been a while since anyone had felt at home enough here to stumble across you, but.. I don’t know exactly if that means Magicis is at work, or something else.”

Arroven breathes in, glancing up at the filigreed round sign hanging over the bar. There’s a single neon eye in the middle, opening and closing on loop under the word WINK. Even with the noise of people talking, and the music coming steadily from the small corner of a dance floor, you can still hear the faint buzz and click of the neon switching over. “Not many,” he finally confesses. “If the proprietor were here, she would see me, but she’s been here for a.. For a while.” She’s one of the long lived races then. Arroven turns, taking a quick look over the other patrons, tense, as if he expects one of them to approach. “The couple near the dance floor there,” he finally says, pointing out two women leaning into each other, stealing sips of each other’s drinks. “The orcish fellow on his phone. They can see me, though I doubt they’ll realize who I am. Just living here doesn’t make someone part of the hoard, though it’s always a step in the right direction.” For a second, he looks like he might let the subject drop, but then he cringes, glancing at your eyes before he looks away. “I don’t- I don’t steal from the people living here, whether they’re part of my hoard or not, even if they don’t realize I’m around. Even if they can’t see me.”

That’s reassuring, though you hadn’t planned on diving into that topic.

“What then,” you ask, leaning your chin in the palm of your hand, and your elbow on the bar, “makes someone part of your hoard?”

Arroven’s rough looking scales don’t shine, but the neon light over the both of you shifts again from blue, to pink, and back. It was already hard for you to take your eyes off of him, knowing who he is, attracted to the nervous quirk of his lips, but now? The magic that you’ve only ever felt the after effects of, the strange aches and coincidences, it feels like more in this moment. More than a soft nudge in the correct direction. Arroven is sitting at your side, winking neon sign a spotlight over both your heads.

Hesitant, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, Arroven lifts his hand, reaching out, and taps once, softly, against your sternum. “It sounds esoteric, but the only explanation I have is that all of you feels like you should be here. From the way you smell, to the echoes of your voice or your footsteps along the pavement...” Arroven swallows, and then inhales, letting his hand fall away from your chest as his eyes close. He doesn’t pull his hand back completely though, just lets his hand hover over your thigh. “It’s always the desires of the heart that bring my hoard home,” he murmurs and starts to sway towards you.

There’s a soft clink on the bar, your drinks being set carefully in front of you and Arroven. When you look, the bartender still hasn’t noticed the city patron, the dragon, but the drink is still clearly set aside for him. Your card is placed very quickly next to your glass, the elf flashing you a much more jovial smile than earlier.

“Your drink has been taken care of,” he explains, but doesn’t stay behind to point out who might have bought them. When you look, Arroven is sitting straight up in his seat, and his guilty expression is answer enough.

“I was supposed to be welcoming you to the city,” he murmurs, turning in his stool so he can take hold of his glass. The liquid inside is iridescent, shifting from what looks like violet, to a strange umber. You’re willing to bet that it’s more blue and green, but the neon light isn’t doing it too many favors. Arroven lifts his cup, patiently waiting for you to do the same and then quietly toasts your arrival. The clink of the glasses rings in your ears with the clarity of a bell, echoes lasting far longer than the noise itself.

“Goodness,” you say, coughing when you finish your swallow. Your drink is a little stronger than you thought it would be, heat already spiralling down into your chest and filling your belly. “So, uh, the city blessings seem to be true, I take it?” You don’t look at him as you speak, afraid he’ll cringe away from the mention of them.

“Blessings?” Arroven asks, and then you have to search up the poem. He sounds like he doesn't know, but they're supposed to be as old as the cities. Or near as.

“Sometimes they vary, from city to city. But most of the time they have almost the same structure. The same meaning,” you explain, pulling up the poem on your phone. “Hoarding hearts, keeping people safe in winter. The, uh-” You turn it his way, but he doesn’t take the phone from you, just reads the words out of the palm of your hand, brows raised by the time he gets to the end.

“‘Sinking talons into your thighs?’” Arroven’s slit pupils grow wide, nearly drowning his iris in darkness. He straightens, taking another hasty gulp of his drink. He laughs when he’s finished, nerves finally beginning to ease. “That’s how they’re translating it these days?” He asks, but you notice his eyes lingering on your hands, drifting down to your knees and the way you’re sitting.

You pass a good portion of the evening, teetering back and forth with conversation about the city now, and how it was when Arroven had first settled. For all that he’s wearing modern clothes and walking on two feet, you can see him in a larger, more draconic figure, delving into the variscite mines and overseeing the people that had decided to settle under his watch.

He’s just as enthralled with your stories though, hanging onto your every word, even though he’s still clearly a little anxious. He abandons his hunched and wary demeanor as soon as you start talking about the magic though. All the little aches and nudges and postcards that had led a clear path to his city. To him.

You insist on buying the next round when he makes to wave down the bartender, who is still completely oblivious to his presence, but Arroven stops you with a hand on your wrist.

"Another time," he says, just loud enough for you to hear. "A welcome isn't a single round, is it?" He asks, a tentative smile revealing a small glimpse of those sharp teeth.

You could argue. You have the feeling that he would let it go if you pushed, but the smile sways you. It's the first time he's spoken without lowering his eyes mid sentence. You accept the drink, and try not to stare when his smile grows, shy and small and all the more endearing for it.

You both pretend not to notice each other grinning after that.

It’s just past 1 AM by the time the both of you leave the bar, only slightly unsteady after a few drinks and a few plates of bar food. Warmth floods you when Arroven’s hand finds your elbow, just barely keeping you from stumbling off the edge of the sidewalk and into the street. All it takes is a single stroke of his thumb over your arm for you to throw aside any worries you might have about flirting.

He's reciprocated, in quiet ways, for the last hour or so. He’s leaned into you whenever you lowered your voice, had let his eyes linger on your hands and thighs after you brought up the poem.. The worst thing he can do is say no.

“Come to my place?” You blurt and Arroven stutters, hand spasming in his grip on your arm. For a heart wrenching moment, you think he might turn you down, but he finally bobs his head, gauges clicking against his horns with the motion. “...You said you’d been out of the loop with the people living here,” you start, mouth dry, wondering if he knows what you’re trying to ask, but still a little too sober to spell it out. “I’m asking, I’m not just asking you to come visit. I-”

Arroven stops your worried speech with a slightly awkward smile. “I know what you’re getting at,” he finally says with a gentle huff of a laugh, hand sliding down your arm until he can twine his fingers about yours. His breath hitches, and for a moment you think he might stop, might pull away. “I- I would love to,” he says quietly, and squeezes until his fingernails gently prick the back of your hand.

Wordless with triumph, you flash another smile his way, heart pounding as you keep hold of his hand, ventral scales dry, but slick against your palm.

“The walk back to my place is a bit of a long one from here,” you confess, glancing at the handful of cabs loitering along the street. “Seeing as you got the drinks, I can—” You nearly trip over your own feet when Arroven tugs you back, keeping you from approaching any of the cabs.

“I don’t.. Fit very well,” he says, apologetically. “If you would rather take one, I can, but if you aren’t opposed..” Arroven’s wings, still tucked in flat along his back, quirk and stretch, spreading wide enough that he nearly clips another leaving bar patron in the face. They don’t move, don’t see him, but they blink, as if a gust of wind just hit them, and shield their eyes until they’re well past you and Arroven.

His statement leaves you staring, jaw beginning to grow slack. “Are you saying you can fly us back to my place?” Your eyes trace his wings again, the fragile veins spider webbing across the membranes. It’s not that you thought they were ornamental, but it’s one thing to see them, and another to know you’ll get to witness their use first hand.

Arroven’s shoulders start to hunch, but his eyes flick down to your hand, fingers still curled around his. He smiles instead. “Yes?”

You glance at the cabs, and then back to Arroven’s tall figure and broad shoulders. As much as you’d like being pressed up against him, trapped in the backseat of an uncomfortable cab isn’t quite what you’d pictured, and he’s already nervous enough. That settles things. You nod, just the once and lift your chin to meet his eyes. “Flying it is then! We can’t have you getting stuck in one of those, can we?”

While Arroven walks you through how he’s going to pick you up, how he’s going to hold onto you, some of the people on the sidewalk start to watch you. You’re nodding readily at what they assume to be empty air. You spare a second to wonder if they’ll see you vanish, or if they’ll be able to see the equivalent of a magical wind carrying you away. That would cause quite a stir, wouldn't it? You forget to ask Arroven about it though when he holds out his arm, waiting patiently for you to step closer, fingers gentle in their continued grip on your hand.

He’s still giving you the chance to turn away.

You take a breath, thinking back to the nerves you’d felt, packing up a bag and deciding to visit somewhere based on coincidences and the hearsay of magic. You think of Mora, and the apartment that feels more like home to you than nearly anything else ever has. The way everything fits here, every piece of the city you've set foot in branded on your brain, clearer than any map. You step close, eagerly letting Arroven curl his arm around your back and then lift you up in a bridal carry. His forearms and biceps tense, bracing you as he prepares, and then the snap of his wings flaring open makes your heart jump before he leaps. His wings catch a sudden breeze swooping into the street, allowing it to lift the both of you well clear of the ground before he starts to flap. The slight dip in elevation as he finds his rhythm makes you clutch a little tighter, but Arroven doesn’t complain. In fact, when you glance at him, he seems to be holding back a smug little smile.

It’s cold when he finally crests over the top of the nearest buildings. Between the chill, and the fast growing height between you and the ground, you have no issues absolutely clinging to Arroven’s neck. You don't feel like you're going to fall, but it's still safer than sitting meekly in his arms, isn't it? You try to twist your head about to see everything below you, but another rush of cold wind makes you squint. It takes a moment before you realize Arroven isn't moving though, he's simply keeping the both of you suspended in midair.

“Your address?” Arroven asks as soon as you start to frown, his voice rumbling against your ear.

“Ah.” You give it to him, laughing when you meet his still-shy gaze. “I suppose that’s a little important.”

While the walk would have left you both a little tired, the flight is a fairly short one. You have just enough time to relish all the places you’re pressed in close, to enjoy what little warmth you’ve managed to keep with the wind seeping through your clothes, when Arroven lands in front of your quiet building. There are no witnesses but the dim streetlights, the sound of his flapping wings muffled by the mist beginning to roll through the city. Arroven lowers you almost reluctantly, fingers slow to uncurl so you can step down onto the pavement. He takes a step back as soon as you do, like he needs the space between you to think.

“Still up for coming inside?” You ask, giving him the same chance he’d given you earlier. You jerk a thumb at the locked door, searching for your keys with your other hand.

Arroven’s head jerks forward almost too fast, the dark feathers on his skull prickling upwards. His wings snap closed, tight against his back again as soon as you unlock your door. It’s only mildly nerve wracking, having him follow you up to your place, and you think it might be because of how nervous he’s acting. He flinches away from the wall when he barely brushes it, almost tripping over his own boots as he goes up the stairs. He’s been shy from the get-go, but this-

“Arroven,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, hand pausing on your door handle. “Is something wrong?”

He breathes out, turning his head so the plugs in his earlobes clack against his horns, blue-green eyes roving over the hall. “No,” he says slowly, forcing himself to stop hunching into his hoodie, to take his wringing hangs out of the front pocket. “I’ve just, it’s just that I keep-” He stays where he is, brow furrowing for all of five seconds before he’s huffing and stepping into your space. When Arroven leans down, his pupils are needle thin, that sunshine warm smell suffusing the air. He was summoning up courage, you realize, just in time to let your eyes fall closed as he cradles your jaw with both hands. They dwarf your human face, his fingertips easily reaching all the way to the back of your neck, but his touch may well be the softest thing you’ve ever known. His kiss is more the brush of his mouth over the shape of yours, a slip of a taste when his tongue follows the curve of your lower lip. He hums, softly, but when you kiss him back? When your tongue touches his and you try to stand on your tip-toes to deepen things, when you stumble a step closer—Arroven’s groan is gratifying. Achingly slowly, he draws his hands down the side of your neck, leaving you free to control the pace of the kiss. His thumbs trace your collarbone, slow, deep circles that make you wish you weren’t standing out here, fully clothed and too warm.

You pull away, licking your lips and glancing down the hall. There’s no one there, despite your pulse loud in your ears and your breath heaving, surely loud enough to wake even those in the very depths of sleep. Arroven’s breath hitches, and for a moment he sways, ready to chase you for another kiss. “Wait, wait,” you say softly, trying not to smile too wide when his eyes flicker open, dark pupils growing larger. He starts to straighten, embarrassment lifting his shoulders. “Maybe we should get in my house first?” You rush to say, not wanting to potentially scar one of your neighbors, but not wanting him to rush away either.

His mouth opens on reflex, and then closes, slipping into a gentle smile. “Yes,” he says, and then you have to swallow, watching his eyes slide down to your hands and then further down to your knees.

You get your door open before he touches you again, but you’re only a few steps inside when Arroven reaches for you. He strokes the back of his knuckles down your forearm, fingertips only barely grazing your hips. “I’ve missed this,” he whispers, one of his fingers catching two of yours. “Touching,” he explains, the edge of his thumbnail stroking over your wrist and the base of your thumb and back. “Being close to, well…” He breathes in when you step into him, and grows as still as a statue when you balance against him, reaching around his middle to swing the front door shut. This close, Arroven still smells of sunshine, but there’s a sweeter, crisper undertone that makes you want to close your eyes to savor it, to breathe it in. He’s nearly vibrating with you pressed close though, hands hovering somewhere over the middle of your back, trying to keep himself still. He’s waiting for you to give him the go ahead, still caught up in his nerves... Or maybe just manners?

You grin, gently pushing yourself back a step before you smooth out your expression. “Part of your hoard?” You wonder aloud, but then you can’t keep yourself straight faced any longer, wanting him to recognize the words for the gentle teasing they are. You smile. “How about you touch me then?”

Arroven huffs, pleased, and then you quickly discover how needy he can be. He kisses you all the way down the hall, his wings nearly catching on picture frames, hands trembling in their stroking over your back. He keeps pausing at the top of your hips, like he wants to let his hands drift lower, but focuses on his mouth instead, mouth and teeth moving from your lips, to your jaw and down to your neck. You don’t think he’s willing to risk going further though, knowing that it would likely end up with both of you unbalanced and on the floor instead of the bed.

“Distracted?” You ask, reaching blindly around your doorframe, searching for the lightswitch as Arroven’s tongue flickers over the pulse on the left side of your neck. Your own breathing stutters for a moment, heat building in your veins. “You keep-”

Arroven’s breath puffs over the damp patch he’s left on your skin as he lifts his head, violet tongue sliding along the sharp points of his teeth. “Hardly,” Arroven interrupts, and his wings tense when you hook your fingers into the neck of his hoodie, drawing him further into the room. Your fingers find the lightswitch, the soft ring of the bulb lighting strangely loud in the room. “You’re all I can see. All I can focus on. ..am I missing something? Cues?” He asks, voice gone lower when you give his hoodie a fierce tug. He follows, all too willingly, fingers flexing around your hips.

“Hardly,” you say back, teasing as you back up towards the bed. You pull when you lean back, expecting him to let you fall, to fall with you, but his wings flare again. He catches himself on the blankets, hands to either side of your body, the blue-green of his eyes swallowed by his pupils as he takes the sight of you in. “Still good?” You ask after a moment, because he’s staring, because he hasn’t moved a muscle.

“Tell me,” Arroven blurts, arms tensing as his fingers twist into the blankets. “Tell me what to do,” he pleads, gaze catching on every sliver of bared skin he can find. “I’m.. finding it a little difficult to think. All I want to do is make you happy, make you want to-” He stops, feathered brows drawing together as he considers his words.

You arch an eyebrow, your hands stilling just shy of his chest. The way he’d hesitated, his flighty touches? they all make a bit more sense now. He’d asked you to stay in the city, had mentioned your belonging here. If you wanted to leave, if you insisted on stopping, Arroven wouldn’t keep you. But he wants you to stay here.

“Little to no thinking,” you muse, unable to keep from smiling as he hangs onto your every word. “Undress me,” you finally decide, and his nostrils flare before he sets to work. He’s terribly careful, every brush of his scaled knuckles whisper-soft and cool against your skin, but his breathing is ragged by the time he’s finished and your heart has sped in response. You’re tempted to make him undress himself too. In fact, he would probably do just as you asked, but you’re too impatient to get your hands back on him. “Hoodie off,” you declare, half amazed that he’s obeying your whims, “and lay down on the bed.”

Arroven listens immediately, tucking his wings in close before he’s pulling off the hoodie, careful around the curl of his horns and the arch of his wings. He isn’t wearing a shirt, but with his wings, you understand why. Most of those with wings don’t favor mass produced clothes or modern fashion. He’s on the bed before you can finish pushing yourself back up, jeans low on his hips, pale belly and chest all the brighter compared to the black and teal pattern of his scales. His legs spread reflexively when you stand, jeans growing taut when you reach for him. Your hands are steady, even if your pulse isn’t, but Arroven doesn’t seem to care. He looks blissed out from this much touch alone, jaw gone slack, eyelids heavy as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He exhales when you pull at his jeans, eyes zeroed in on your face.

He’s thicker than he is long, and as pale as his abdomen, save for a violet tinge that makes you think of his tongue. Nestled as he is in the ‘v’ of his unzipped jeans, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from stroking him straight away, or even leaning down to-

“Maybe I can think,” Arroven says hoarsely. He lifts one of his hands, gentleman-like, offering it to you palm up. “Let me?” He asks, though you’re not entirely sure what he wants you to let him do.

Mannerly, you can’t help but think, lips twitching as you place your hand in his. The older races are, generally. It’s something to fall back on if they’re nervous or unsure. Not that most of them would ever admit to it.

“Are you thinking I should leave your boots on?” You get one knee on the bed before you pause, glancing back at his legs still hanging over the edge.

Arroven hums, but his grip on your fingers tightens for a second, not wanting to let go. “I’ll worry about those later,” he says, and then inhales sharply when you straddle his lap, cock pulsing as you settle against him. If he wants to let his jeans tangle around his boots, you’re not going to complain. It’s a bit of a thrill, knowing that he’s too impatient to fuss with them.

“Boots on, then. Now, what am I supposed to let you do?” You lean forward, drawing an aimless, spiraling pattern from his abdomen up to his ribcage. He’s much warmer now, with you astride his thighs and his wings trapped beneath him on the bed. It looks uncomfortable, but he hasn’t mentioned them once.

Hesitant, Arroven’s hold on you loosens, and then his hand drops to your thigh, eyebrows furrowing when he finally speaks. “Sit on my face?”

The brevity of it, the tone of uncertainty, makes your mouth twitch. “Jumping right in there, aren’t we? And here I thought you were kind of shy.”

“I am!” Arroven blurts and then covers his face with one hand, laughing quietly at himself. “I am,” he says, a bit more composed when he lets his hand fall away. “Though shyness has hardly ever been a factor in my favor. What is it humans say? Better to rip off the bandage?”

You crawl halfway up his body, smiling wider when he forgets to breathe. “Had to get the anxiety out of the way?” You brush a kiss over his chin, eyes catching on the curl of his horns. He’s moved so carefully that you’ve yet to feel the sharp points of them catching your skin, but if you sit on his face… You ignore Arroven’s disappointed sigh as you turn away to stroke the pad of your thumb over his right horn, wondering whether he has any feeling in them. They’re as ink dark as some of his scales and twisted in a lovely spiral that perfectly circles his pointed, gauged ears. Arroven isn’t reacting like he has sensation in them, though he reacts to every other little touch of you against his scales. “You’re going to have to help me balance,” you confess, sitting back against his middle. “Because even though they aren’t terribly sharp, I rather think I’ll be risking my thighs. Don’t you?”

Arroven stares, blinking, and then he looks horrified, which makes you wonder how long it’s been since he’s been close to a human, if ever.

��I’m not against this,” you add, grinning, “just to be clear.”

For a moment, all he says in response is a strangled sounding “Ah,” before he blinks again, glancing up at the ceiling. “I can... I will help. I’ll be careful. More than careful.”

It takes a few moments, and some adjustment, before you’re finally able to settle over his face. Your heart starts to pound a little faster when Arroven opens his mouth, those dagger-like teeth flashing in the dim light. His hands are strong though, curling around your thigh and bracing your hip. He’s too tall for you to do more than help balance against his chest, though you can see that he’s still wonderfully hard, and his cock is starting to leak. You’d love nothing more than to take him in hand, to taste him, but then Arroven nips your inner thigh, and you stop paying attention to his cock and start focusing on sensation. Your fingers curl at the first hot swipe of his tongue, pressing a little hard into the ventral scales over his chest, and the next slow lick has your eyes falling closed.

It’s not easy to stay steady, to keep your arms and legs from quivering the longer he licks and slurps. Arroven sucks small kisses over your thighs and the left cheek of your ass, his teeth only ever the barest pressure on your skin. His horns graze you, but he’s true to his word in keeping you balanced. The texture of them against your skin is just something more to feel, to enjoy as he tilts his head this way and that. Pleasure builds, faster by far than the magic that built in your veins, that left you aching with the need to come to the city. If that ache had been anything close to what you’re feeling now, warm, and slick, with the heady pressure of Arroven’s fingers on your skin, you would have picked up on the breadcrumb trail a lot sooner.

“You’re go- going to push me over the edge,” you warn with a gasp, legs starting to tremble. He moves you in response, starts to rock your hips so all he has to do is stick out his tongue, but your hands are shaking now too, cluing him into your urgency. Arroven shakes his head from side to side, a little wild, the plugs in his earlobes clattering against his horns with every shift. You bite down on your lower lip, orgasm rolling swiftly over you and nearly choke on the curse that wants to leave your mouth. He keeps you there, aching and weak, until you pat awkwardly at his chest, releasing you reluctantly with one last obscene noise of satisfaction.

You sit next to him, still a little unsteady and grin down at his pleased, messy face. “Now, unless you have any other lovely thoughts to share - your turn?”

His rough sounding “Please,” has your libido jumping back into overdrive, but it’s safety that has you slipping off the bed to dig out a bottle of lube from your things. He’s half pushed himself back up when you come back to the bed, resting on his elbows, fingers twisted gently into the blankets. His wings are partially stretched out now too, one of them reaching all the way to the end of your bed.

“Are your wings alright?” You ask, wondering if you should throw away the idea of climbing back into his lap, lube already pooling in the palm of your hand.

Arroven smiles again though, waving away your worry. “Tense,” he offers, as explanation. “I was more focused on you, but they’re good. I promise.” His cock bobs as you approach, and then he lays back down, irises vanishing into the ether of his pupils.

“If you promise, I suppose I’ll let it go.” You close the lube, only a bit ungracefully, and toss it to the side, climbing back onto the bed and straddling his thighs.

Your first wet squeeze of his cock has him whimpering, your hand barely fitting around him at his thinnest point. When you stroke, he bucks nearly unseating you until he claps his hands onto your thighs, muttering a hasty apology. Despite being tempted to laugh, you narrow your eyes, squeezing him just a little harder. “You don’t have to be still, but move a little slower for now, hm?”

“Of course,” he rushes to say, and then his jaw goes slack when you press him against you. “Oh,” he breathes, nails pricking your skin as you hold him in place. You rub yourself against his cock, up and back down, a slow undulation that makes you tense, still sensitive from your earlier orgasm.

And then you straighten, pressing the head of his cock into you. The first slow stretch of him inside you echoes the steady ache of magic, has your breath rushing from your lungs in a gasp. “Fuck,” you breathe and then glance at Arroven’s face. His head is tilted back, mouth open to reveal all of those sharp teeth, and his eyes are closed tight. You think he might be keeping himself from looking at you, might be trying to stem the urge to buck again, to move at all. You tilt your hips and press yourself down though, wiggling, and then Arroven is cursing. You don’t recognize the language, but you understand the sentiment behind it, the pleading tone that softens the edges of the words. It’s hard to concentrate, to keep yourself from getting distracted when all you want to do is sink down every inch of him and then just lay on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “Too much?” You manage to ask, but all Arroven does is shake his head and then carefully ease his grip on your thighs, stroking down to your knees and back up. Your legs, among other things, are definitely going to ache after this.

You ride Arroven until he’s a shaking, breathless mess, until he can’t help but tense his thighs every time he bottoms out, and you can barely stay up. You reach up, fingers just barely brushing his chin to make him pay attention. “Fuck me,” you command and his wings stretch to either side with force. You nearly scream when he starts fucking into you with purpose, and as lovely as your neighbors have been, you have the feeling they’re going to complain at some point. Every thrust has you tightening up on reflex, still shaky from your earlier orgasm, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself upright. A few moments later and Arroven arches as he comes inside you, clutching tightly to you until he’s finished, breath deep and rasping. You don’t wait. Carefully you flop down next to him, smiling tiredly against the blankets. You’re not sure your legs will carry you for the next hour or so, but it’s hardly something to complain about.

“Do you give all newcomers to the hoard such a.. Vigorous welcome?” You ask, laughing, your voice rough, not really expecting him to answer. Even though he’s clearly a little more comfortable, even though he’s been clinging to your skin and he looks wrecked by all the activity. Arroven nearly chokes.

“No,” he says immediately. “Moments like this,” he murmurs, reaching out for you, ventral scales on his palm smooth over the apple of your cheek, “moments like this are few and far between.” There’s a low rumble of noise from him when you roll close to brush another kiss over his lips, eyes fluttering closed. It’s all you can do not to laugh again, not to quote the poem at him or interrupt the soft moment. It still sits in the back of your mind though, sweet and lilting.

the city is hoarding hearts

it draws them in, with coin, with art

reflects their dreams on mirrored glass

sings siren songs to catch them fast

the lights?

they gleam, they glitter, bright

it steals a piece, with every sight

roots get worn

they split, they splinter

'but i'll keep you warm, in the depth of winter'

the city whispers, it cajoles, it cries

it'll sink it's talons into your thighs

it tears, it scrapes, it batters the unwary

but oh, the love it gifts, to those who tarry

the city promises, you'll be most adored

so can you, will you, join the hoard?

#exophilia #dragon boyfriend #dragon x reader #monster fucker #monster lover #d.darling writes

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imherongraystairstrash · 4 years ago

Note

Hello there you beautfiul blog user and writer! If you are open to accept prompts or to get ideas to future fics may I suggest a fic of lil Christopher Lightwood and when their parents found out he needed some glasses? I love how well you write him

Hello beautiful Anon!! Thank you so much for the request! It's called August for literally no reason whatsoever, btw. Anyway here’s little Kit getting his first pair of distance glasses (as a user of said glasses, I’m drawing from personal experiences).

August

Characters: Christopher Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood & Cecily Lightwood/Herondale

...

“Good, Kit,” Gabriel said from where he was kneeling beside the small boy.

His son smiled up at him with wide, blue eyes—that looked lilac purple in the sunlight—and put down his bow. “Did I get it in the centre?”

“Almo—” Gabriel furrowed his eyebrows, “What do you mean? Can’t you see the target?”

Kit squinted his eyes. “A tiny bit. But I can’t see the arrow.”

Gabriel’s confusion grew. “Son,” he said, standing and walking a couple of metres away from where he was standing. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.”

Gabriel was indeed holding up three fingers. “Hm.” He said. “I guess you couldn’t possibly need new glasses.”

Christopher shrugged.

“Perhaps your current glasses are interfering. Here, take them off.”

Kit obliged. He looked at the arrow and fumbled with the string, trying to see where the arrow’s tail was.

“Papa, I’m getting dizzy.” He said.

“Oh, then never mind, put them back on.” Gabriel said, quickly, not wanting Christopher to get a headache.��

Once Kit adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, both of them stood there, thinking about what they should do.

“Can we just continue training?” Kit asked.

“Yes,” Gabriel said, a relieved smile on his face.

…

“Are you teaching our five-year-old son how to shoot a bow and arrow?” Cecily asked from the doorway, a while later.

Gabriel glanced at her momentarily and nodded.

Cecily leaned her hip against the doorframe and crossed her arms. “Is he good?”

“His form is exceptional, but he can’t seem to shoot it to the center.”

“Well,” Cecily said, walking inside and kneeling down beside her son. He did, in fact, have perfect form, something he somehow must have inherited from his father. “He doesn’t have to excel at it.”

“Of course not.” Gabriel said. “I’m just confused.”

Kit shot the arrow and skipped over to the target. “It’s closer!” He said turning to his parents excitedly.

“Wonderfully done, Kit bach,” Cecily said, smiling widely.

Gabriel sighed at how naturally Cecily could speak to their children and encourage them. Whenever he tried it, he felt awkward. Will sometimes teased him at times over how he couldn’t train children. Cecily told him to just treat them as though he were training adolescents or adults, that his children won’t think anything of him being less enthusiastic.

“Why is he walking up to the target?” Cecily asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“He says he can’t see it well.”

Cecily craned her head to look at him. “He probably needs glasses.”

“He already has glasses.” Gabriel pointed out.

“Other types of glasses, you nitwit. Ones for long distances. Didn’t that cross your mind?”

“It did! I even checked to see if he needed them.”

“How?”

“I held up some fingers and he could see them just fine.” Gabriel said, defensively.

Cecily gave him the you’re-a-fool face. “Of course he can bloody see your fingers! That’s not a proper test as to whether he can see or not!” she said, exasperated.

“Then how do we test it?” Gabriel asked.

Cecily set Kit’s bow and took hold of his hand, pulling him along. “We leave it to the experts.”

…

He has Myopia as well as Hyperopia. I’d even say he is more nearsighted than farsighted.

“What does that mean?” Gabriel whispered to Cecily.

“I don’t know,” Cecily mouthed.

Brother Jeremiah looked into Christopher’s eyes, and Gabriel had the urge to go to his son and spare him the sight. Christopher shifted from where he was sitting, trying to look at his parents. Jeremiah put a hand on his chin to keep his gaze on him, so that he could see his eyes better. Cecily took Gabriel’s hand as if to say, calm down; he’ll be alright.

Gabriel squeezed it back and watched as Jeremiah closed the lids of Kit’s eyes and hovered his fingers over them.

He must have told Kit to open his eyes, because suddenly they flew open.

Gabriel didn’t understand the procedure The Brothers used for checking eyesight. All he knew was that after a while, Brother Jeremiah took Kit’s glasses and turned to Gabriel and Cecily, waiting for one of them to follow him.

Cecily used Gabriel’s knee to get up and went with Brother Jeremiah to get the glasses fixed while Gabriel stayed with Christopher.

Gabriel walked over to his son and sat down next to him.

“Well, son, I’ll admit that I have no idea what’s wrong with your glasses.” He said with a half smile.

“I can’t see far away.” Kit said. “Myopia means my eyes are curved differently, so they can’t focus the light normally. So, I can’t see from far away as well as up close.”

Gabriel turned to him, surprised. “How did you know that?”

“Uncle Henry explained it to me.” He said, shrugging. “I wanted to know why I needed glasses in the first place.”

Gabriel ruffled his hair. “You always know the right questions to ask, don’t you, ducks?”

He didn’t know how he ended up with a son like Christopher, who had such a sharp mind at so young. The reason as to why some people needed glasses had never crossed his mind, but Kit’s mind seemed to always be working, questioning why things and people were the way they were. Some people thought that Christopher was absent-minded, but Gabriel knew that it was because his brain was constantly working, not engaging in the current conversation, because it paled in comparison to what he was thinking about, or because there were too many things going on at once.

He looked at his son, who was looking up at him with wide eyes and his head tilted to the side. He looked like his beautiful mother in that small gesture.

“Can you even see me?” Gabriel asked, with a smile.

“Not really. You’re a little blurry.”

“Blurry.”

“A Papa-looking blur.”

Gabriel laughed out loud as Cecily came inside.

“We’re in luck,” She announced. “The Brother’s have temporary glasses with Christopher’s exact prescription that he can use while his are being fixed.” She came over with said glasses and carefully put them on Kit.

They immediately slipped down his nose.

“I think they’re a bit too big.” Gabriel said.

“Well, it’s that or he doesn’t see.” Cecily said, laughing.

…

“Do you like Kit’s temporary glasses, Cecy?” Gabriel asked, knowing perfectly well that she adored them.

“He is the most adorable little thing that’s walked the planet.” Cecily said, glancing at Christopher, who was lagging a bit behind them, staring at the witchlight stones as they passed by them, walking out of the Basilias.

“Enjoy it while you can,” Gabriel said, opening the doors for the others to go out, “next week he gets his actual glasses back.”

“Don’t remind me,” Cecily said mournfully.

Gabriel held out his hand for Christopher to take, and was surprised when he didn’t take it.

Gabriel looked down and realized that he wasn’t even there. “Kit?” he asked.

Cecily and Gabriel both stopped and turned around. Christopher stood frozen a couple of steps behind them, his jaw hanging open as he stared up at the trees.

“What’s the matter, Kit?” Cecily asked.

“I can see each individual leaf.” He mumbled. “If I wanted to, I could count them all!” He looked up at his mother with a huge grin on his face.

Cecily had always had a soft spot for her son, but with the oversized frames on his small head, the bridge slipping down his nose occasionally, Cecily felt her heart melting.

“You could,” she said, holding out a hand for him to take. “But then you’d miss all of the other beautiful things you can now see.”

Christopher took her hand, casting a long look at the tree before following her.

There was a slight skip to his step as he looked around, taking in the world, his gaze always returning to the trees, which seemed to be the most fascinating revelation.

“Are you going to go back home and practice archery with your father?” Cecily asked.

Kit nodded happily.

Cecily didn’t think Gabriel really understood that Kit only really liked archery because it was time he could spend with his father. He was always nervous in anything that had to do with fatherhood, terrified that he’d end up like Benedict.

Cecily had told him time and time again that his children will love him unconditionally, unless he gave them reason not to, but she also knew that it was hard for Gabriel. His relationship with his father was a mixture of love and abuse, the line between the two becoming so unnoticeable, that Gabriel had a hard time telling the difference.

Cecily had faith in him, however. Especially as she looked at Gabriel and Kit in front of her, the latter sitting on the former’s shoulders, taking his glasses on and off, comparing the way he could see without glasses and the way he could see with them on.

Christopher turned around. “Mama, I can see the entire world!” He held his arms out wide, a wide grin on his face, as though he were presenting its beauty.

Cecily laughed and put a hand on his back, “Yes, bach, the world is a beautiful place, isn’t it?” She looked at Gabriel. He took her hand, kissing the back of it and let their interlaced hands swing between them as they walked back home.

...

Tagging: @tsccreatorsnet @atla-lok143 @rinadragomir @youngreckless @autumnangel20 @julemmaes @cupcakesandkittens @no-scones-allowed @fictionally-fantastic @stxr-thxif @writeforjordelia @itsdaughterofthemoon @jordeliasupremacy @cordelia-cardale @will-effing-herondale @axoloteca @heronstairs2014 @ilovemanicures

If you want to be on my tag list, or if you changed your url recently and your not in the tag list anymore, let me know! Also, if you want to be removed, send me a dm! I won’t be offended in the slightest :) Oh, and if you asked to be on the tag list and you’re not on it, please tell me (I’m very absentminded lol).

#christopher lightwood #gabriel lightwood #cecily lightwood #cecily x gabriel #tsc #gabrily #tlh #tlh fanfiction #tid #tid fanfiction #tsc fanfiction

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years ago

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.9}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 1.5k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

A glimpse into the eighth week of travels (or the third week of August):

"I told you this was a terrible idea!"

"No you didn't!"

"Well, I should have!" Snape hissed quietly and rolled his eyes, but the painfully loud roar coming from the creature that was currently creeping up on them made him drop the annoyed act in but a second.

While it had been rather easy for Robin and Snape to enter the huge system of caves and tunnels they found themselves stuck in now, and even easier to gather the crystals they had come to Sweden for in the first place, the gigantic bear-like thing standing in front of them obviously hadn't taken too kindly to them intruding in its home. Or perhaps it just hadn't found anyone stupid enough to wander into its trap quite so deeply in a while.

"We're still too far underneath the ground to apparate out, right?" Robin whispered in badly suppressed panic, not daring to take her eyes off the creature in front of them that was effectively blocking their only exit.

"Unfortunately…" Snape replied just as distractedly, while both he and Robin slowly backed up into the tunnel they had just come from. It only led them down further into the caves again, further away from the exit. Damnit, things had gone so well up to this point… They had just been on their way back outside when this enormous creature had appeared in front of them out of nowhere. Silent as night, fast as light.

It came approaching them just as slowly as they were backing up now, but the coiled muscles that were visible under the short fur told Robin that it wasn't long until it would pounce. And then there wouldn't be any time left to think of a spell that might have saved them.

If she had learned anything from her years of classes on magical creatures, it was to never just use a random defensive spell if one didn't know what kind of creature they were dealing with. At least not if there was any other choice. Since neither she nor Snape knew what the thing in front of them was though, they were left with the only other choice currently available to them: running. And they only had one way left to go.

"If we can get to the gap in the wall a good hundred feet down the tunnel, it won't be able to reach us anymore. The space is too narrow." Robin breathed in a tone as calm as she could manage with her heart racing like it did. "Then I can look up what it is and how we can get past it. I have a few books in my backpack we'll have to check."

"But we will literally be stuck between a rock and hard place then, in a space we might not get out of again! That really is a terrible idea."

"You have a better one?" She huffed, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes. No answer. "Thought so. Now, it would be faster than us at a distance like this… Can we distract it somehow?"

"You can distract anything if you know how to." He replied, but went straight on instead of making her guess like he usually enjoyed to do. "It lives here in darkness… A very bright light should irritate it for a moment."

"Are you guessing or do you know that for sure?"

"It is an educated guess."

"Great…" Robin took a deep breath, then released it again slowly to calm down her body enough to function. "Let's hope we're both right, then."

"What?"

"We run." She whispered while drawing her wand out of her sleeve. Then, fast as lightning itself, she sent the brightest possible light directly at the beast in front of them, a broken second before grabbing Snape by the arm and dashing off down the tunnel. Neither the beast's furious roar stopped them, nor the sound of thundering footsteps echoing through the space behind them with a shocking pace that came closer by the second. Stopping meant dying, and Robin had no intention to do either.

To their luck, the crack in the wall she had seen wasn't as far away as estimated, barely 80 feet from their original position, and it took them only a few painfully long seconds to reach. Robin didn't hesitate to squeeze herself through the narrow gap and pull Snape right with her, even if it meant they were both pressed against the opposing walls, and even more pressed against each other. Well, better embarrassed than dead. They managed to get a few feet away from the opening before the crack became too narrow, but going by the size of the animal that had arrived outside their awfully tight prison by now, they would need as much distance to it as they could get. Even if that left them pressed together chest to chest, with hardly enough space to breathe at the same time.

Safe from the immediate danger for now, Robin closed her eyes and let her lead drop back against the wall as she tried to catch her breath. It had been sheer dumb luck that the crack had been wide enough for them to fit in… but they had, so she wouldn't waste precious nerves on wondering what could've been otherwise. At least she'd had the brains to take off her backpack before squeezing in here, or it would now be stuck between her and the wall. Much like she was stuck between the wall and Snape. Honestly, this was a highly dangerous situation, could her pathetic touch starved body please not react to it like that?! Bloody hell, being human was stupid sometimes. She had an angry bear-like thing reaching for them with its gigantic claws a good few feet to her left… and all her brain could focus on was Snape. How oddly comforting and exciting at once it was to feel his chest heaving against hers. How neither of them knew where to put their hands without being an awkward mess. How close his face was above hers.

Good gods, Robin! Danger! Angry bear! That stupid little thing called brain; use it, idiot! She took another deep breath to calm herself down from either distraction, but it left her with too little air and too much of his scent. He smelled like rain and sunshine at the same time, coloured beautifully by a hint of timeless depth and delicacy. Oh bloody hell… who was choosing to torture her like that today? Changing strategies, she decided to breathe through her mouth instead, which at least solved one of her problems.

"So… that worked." She got out after a moment of finally being able to calm down indeed.

"Apparently."

"Is this the kind of thing you meant when you said I might run into trouble, at the beginning of the holidays?"

"Not precisely, but it makes for a better reason than the original one, so I might as well say yes."

Robin had to snort at the comment, and she couldn't believe how he managed to make her laugh even in a dire situation like this. He probably hadn't meant to, but it was quite the astonishing achievement nonetheless. One only he seemed to be capable of these days. At the very least, it helped calm her mind back down to a working pace now.

"I better get us out of here, huh? As much as I enjoy being stuck with you, it's getting a little hard to breathe." She said before she thought better of it, and then could only hope that he would put it off as humor in return. Either way, she went to pick up her backpack from the ground where she had dropped it, trying to somehow get a hold of it without being able to turn around or bow properly.

"Will you stop moving already?!" He grumbled after a few seconds of her struggling to reach down far enough and thereby pushing him into the wall even further, but Robin ignored him until she finally had a grip on the leather bag.

"Sorry, I didn't have a more spacious gap in the wall to offer." She rolled her eyes, then pressed her bag against her hip with one arm and reached over both their chests with the other to summon out her books. "Help me find that beast out there in the paperwork and next time I'll make sure to find us a space to get stuck in that's more to your taste."

"Don't be ridiculous, this one is perfectly fine." He objected in an instant, and Robin quirked an eyebrow at him with a humored smirk while he seemed to realize what he had said, and rolled his eyes in return. "Just find the creature in the bloody books, will you?"

"Give me some light and I will."

______________________________

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daaziscoolbesties · 3 years ago

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i yearn for one(1) thing only, and that is to have a nice, simplistic, cartoonish artstyle. an artstyle that doesnt rely on anatomy, but the "movement" of the drawing, if you get what i mean.

i dont want realistic proportions and traditional colors and basic poses and gradient shading, i want funky lil dudes in funky poses with funky styles littering my sketchbook :( but alas i havent figured out how to develop that kind of style yet, my brain wants anatomy to look nice but also i dont want to draw eyes. i dont want to take time out of my day to learn how to draw lips i want to draw a line that extends past the characters face. i dont want all my characters to have pointy chins with curved cheeks i want their heads to be round and friend-like or full of sharp edges depending on their personalities and styles. i want to give them all not-quite human ears, blob feet, simple faces, but at the same time i want enough detail to convey the story or emotion im trying to tell.

ive spent so much time recently agonizing over how to use 3d model websites, using real-life references and tracing over them for practice, color-picking from real images to try and do realism and failing miserably, but you know whats easier than that? funky little dudes. little dudes who do not care if their legs are too long or their hair is too bouncy. i dont want my characters to look human.

ive spent enough time on the artfight website to realize that most people who classify their characters as "human" have the most basic ass designs (no offense to people who like basic human designs its just not my thing) or its like dnd-medieval style outfits which i cant draw for the life of me (ive tried). again no offense to people who actively enjoy and draw characters like that. i just need my dudes to have that certain,,, off-ness to them. tails are cool. wings are swag (especially if they arent even like,, fully attached,, ), elf ears are so wonderful to me no matter how much theyre overused, horns are so much fun to draw, and colors!! i have no knowledge in the color theory department so this works great for me!! the only thing i really know is dont shade with black, other than that i just colorpick from references usually but i dont want to do that!! i want the colors to hurt people's eyes but in a satisfying way. like the character's design is so nice to look at that you dont mind your eyes hurting a bit. like how im enjoying writing this post even though its 2 am and the brightness on my computer wont go any lower.

and then another thing ive noticed from being on the artfight website is that a lot of people classify their characters that are anthro/have anthro features under humanoids/monsters. like i made a google form to find some people to attack and someone sent me in a character with some sort of animal (wolf? idk) arms and legs. like dude!! peak character design i love her. but me personally? i cant draw that shit, its so hard for me. i tried a while back and its just Not my thing. nothing against furries i just. cant. and i dont want to either.

and i got another submission that i accidentally deleted that was like full anthro/wolf-like like my comrade,,, i cannot draw animals what makes you think i can draw an animal who acts like a human lmao. i can do like. very basic tails, and also animal ears but i cant do the arms and legs and such i just dont know the anatomy, and i know i was talking about how i dont want to care about anatomy but i feel like for anthros you really do need to know at least basic animal anatomy so you know how the limbs look and shit and i dont have that knowledge and dont feel like gaining it.

and then there were some submissions that i absolutely adored. there was one that like, was vaguely human shaped but definitely was not a human. they had a dark-ish lavender colored skin and horns and tusks and like goat ears and a sorta fluffy tail with spikes on it and they had wings and such and they were such a pleasure to draw i love them. and they had a fairly simple outfit too, nothing too complicated. and then i also enjoy object head characters, theyre so neato to me. i got one of those and i really wish i had the motivation to work on it cause it looks so fun.

i want to make funky characters but id have nothing to do with them because the only book i ever tried writing (key word tried - never got past planning it out) had strictly human characters in it, and most of the books i read are humans/humans with powers in situations specific to them so id have no idea what lore to make with the dudes. assuming i have the motivation to make lore and backstory because honestly i just really enjoy character designing its super duper fun.

(side note a song about trucks doing the deed came on just now and its interrupted my flow, apologies).

i only have three actual characters right now. one is an original roleplay oc whos design is literally athletic shorts, an oversized long sleeved grey sweatshirt, long purple hair, and demon horns. the second one is my persona whos design some sorta medival knight outfit kinda thing? but not ugly it looks really cool (idk one of my friends designed it bc i won some contest from him but the drawing was on a super small scale so idrk the details,,,) with a plague doctor mask and crown, and shoulder length wavy brown hair, dyed bright pink at the end. and then my last one im not too comfortable using other places because theyre a character my friend is using in the story hes writing, and thats really the only place theyve been used. but theyre easily my favorite and im already writing a ton so ill talk about them too.

they're a sorta elf species thing from another planet, with pale green skin and pointed ears. they also have a tail, its like,, super thin, but with a feathery bit at the end. probably not the texture of a feather but i dont know how else to describe it. they have short, curly, almost-draco-malfoy-blonde hair that when it gets too long they can put in a man bun. their eyesight is kinda shitty so when they got to earth, they were exploring some supply closets around the airship. drop off area. thing. like airport but for rocketships and also fancier. yeah. they were exploring that area and found a nice big pair of round glasses with grey frames. and they also found a cowboy-style hat and a sharpie so they wrote their name on the underside of the brim of the hat and stole the hat and glasses (but left the sharpie in the supply closet).

yeah theyre my favorite, my absolute beloved, my child, so cool. i want more characters like them but with maybe a bit more snazzier designs. theyre super cool and all but they could have more pizzazz if they werent in a story where its too late to give them more pizzazz. i just want to be able to give my characters thigh-high boots with a bunch of buckles and fluffy hair with tons of accessories crammed in and abnormally large and long ears that can harbor many piercings and horns that can hold rings on them and special little details on their outfits like who knows what but i dont have any characters to do that too, so i have to make them from scratch, which is always hard especially when you have artblock.

and i also have like 17 characters i need to fully draw, line, and maybe color for artfight before august 1st. so i dont know. i have many things to do and plenty of time to do it but instead i spend my time halfway watching repetitive youtube videos that get boring or sleeping all damn day because i stay up too late doing things like this or i just do nothing at all and its tiring and frustrating but i also feel nothing about it like theres no consequence if i dont do it besides you know. not doing it, not gaining that experience, not making something i enjoy.

so i should do it but i dont for whatever reason, i think its called executive dysfunction but im not sure. this post started out very differently than it ended and i said somewhere up there that i was writing this at 2 am but now its almost 3. this is so many words why couldnt i have put this energy into something productive

#long post #sorry its so messy but like i said its almost 3 am and i dont want to go back and format all this #i might come back and make it look nicer in the morning #maybe not who knows #i just checked and this is 1.5k words what the hell

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useless-slytherclaw · 5 years ago

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MIDCO headcannons

that literally no one asked for (Generally I use Cobra and Midnight, but if it refers to them only after they join Crime Sorciere, then I use Erik and Macbeth)

Who is the most affectionate?

It’s actually both of them, but only when no one can see them.

Most common argument?

Midnight falls asleep random places and Cobra leaves him there because he’s tired of carrying his boyfriend’s sleepy ass around. (esp after the Oracion Seis Arc when Midnight doesn’t have a carpet anymore)

Who apologizes first?

It’s usually Cobra, but Midnight will let Cobra hear that he’s sorry before he’s willing to say it.

Favorite (non-sexual) activity to do together?

When they were still in the Oracion Seis they would always train together (magic and hand to hand combat)-- they still do. They watch movies and play video games, but Macbeth usually falls asleep part way through. So Erik watches the movie and pets Macbeth’s head.

Who drives and who rides shotgun?

Racer drives!... But when its just them Midnight drives and Cobra curses the day someone invented cars

Who is most likely to carry the other?

Cobra because Midnight is asleep again

Nicknames?

Cobra calls Midnight M (Is it Macbeth or Midnight, its just M). While they were still working for Brain they didn’t really use any pet names (two reasons: they are convincing themselves they are too badass for feelings and because they dig their codenames too much). Generally they use something chill like babe. Sometimes Erik calls Macbeth ‘love’ because he knows that it makes Macbeth melt. They also rotate through stupid and embarassing nicknames to mess with eachother.

Macbeth: “Hey there baby cakes” Erik: “Absolutely not.”

Erik: “What was that princess?” Macbeth: “I might actually stab you.”

Who proposes?

Erik! But he only does it when he’s 100% sure Macbeth with say yes (he probably overheard Macbeth day dreaming about it)

Who sings along with the radio?

Midnight does and Cobra pretends its not adorable as shit

Who worries the most?

Cobra worries because he knows that Midnight is actually soft behind his psychopathic exterior. Midnight has 100% faith that Cobra can do anything.

Who always wants to take selfies with the other?

Midnight wants to take all the selfies and Cobra acts like he wants none of it.

Who likes to playfully tease the other?

Both! They’ve been friends since forever and have no limits to teasing each other

Who has the weirdest taste in music?

Midnight, I mean, of course. Cobra doesn’t even ask questions anymore.

Who remembers what the other always orders at a restaurant?

Cobra doesn’t need to remember, because he can hear it. Midnight actually remembers what it is though.

Who is embarrassed to take their clothes off in front of the other?

What embarrassment? Honestly, they probably saw each other naked before they even got together in the baths at the guild hall. When they got together they were both confident and cocky and thought they were the shit, and if they were embarassed they refused to admit it.

Who tops?

Usually Cobra, but not always, and Midnight is the brattiest bottom ever.

Who initiates kisses?

Both of them. Sometimes Cobra doesn’t because he doesn’t want Macbeth’s lipstick on his face.

Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

Before they were arrested, I don’t think they held hands much. After, Macbeth. He’s clingy, and Erik pretends like he doesn’t enjoy the fact that Macbeth is hanging on to him.

Who kisses hardest?

It’s Cobra, but Midnight loves it.

Who is the most ticklish?

It’s actually Cobra and Midnight is merciless

Who brings an animal they found home?

COBRA, they have ~300 snakes and lizards now

Who holds the umbrella for the other while it’s raining?

Midnight just uses his reflector magic to move the rain away from them. Umbrellas ruin their aesthetic.

Who tries to playfully embarrass the other in public?

Midnight. I imagine that he thinks of sexually explicit things and makes sure Cobra can hear him. Cobra’s embarrassed even though no one else can hear.

Who kills the scary bugs?

Cobra takes the bugs outside because Midnight hates them and Cobra doesn’t want to kill them

Who asks the weird questions at random in the middle of the night?

Midnight... he’s most awake at midnight and prone to asking strange questions anyway

Who hogs the blankets?

Cobra because Midnight doesn't care about the presence of blankets... or pillows... or even beds

Who wakes up first?

Obviously Cobra

Who wants to stay in bed just a bit longer?

Midnight stays in bed for more than just a bit longer

Who always makes coffee for the other each morning?

Cobra makes coffee and usually leaves some for Midnight, but Angel comes and drinks it before Midnight wakes up anyway

Who cries during certain films or when reading sad books?

Before their imprisonment, neither? they are trying to be badasses. After? Let’s be real, it's Macbeth. Erik hates sad films and books.

Who gets scared during horror films?

They both love horror films. Midnight practically takes notes to use for his Nightmare spell

Who cuts the other’s hair?

Surprisingly, Cobra cuts Midnight’s hair for him.

Who says “I love you” first?

It's Cobra, but it's only after they are free from their seven-year imprisonment and he already knows that Midnight loves him because he can hear it.

Who tells their friends/family about their relationship first?

Probably Midnight; but he doesn’t tell them so much as do something like sit on Cobra’s lap or kiss him in front of everyone. But, The Oracion Seis have been guessing since before they went to jail, but they had no proof. Jellal is blindsided and very confused.

What do their friends/families think of their relationship?

Richard and Meredy SUPPORT LOVE. Sawyer and Sorano support it, but are merciless in their teasing. Jellal isn't against it, but he thinks that crime sorciere should focus on penentance or something. Kinana is so happy that her best friend/brother has someone to love.

Who is more likely to ask the other to dance with them?

Midnight, but definitely only after the imprisonment. Cobra acts like he doesn’t like to dance in public, but he doesn’t mind if it's just them.

Who cooks best?

Probably Cobra because Midnight falls asleep if it takes more time than making a bowl of cereal

Who wears the other’s jacket?

Generally neither, they each have their own wardrobes and don't really share. Sometimes Midnight will co-opt Cobra’s pajamas because they smell like him though

Who uses cheesy pickup lines?

Erik does it sometimes because he thinks its funny; Macbeth doesn’t find it funny

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ears at inappropriate times?

MIDNIGHT. He doesn’t even have to whisper it, he just makes sure he’s thinking it close enough to Cobra.

Who makes the other laugh the most?

Cobra makes Midnight laugh the most. He’s much more likely to make jokes. He also mocks Jellal and teases the rest of the Oracion Seis, which Midnight finds amusing. Midnight has the type of deadpan sarcasm where most people can't tell if he’s horrible or making a joke; Cobra thinks it’s hilarious, but Midnight doesn’t do it as often.

Who needs more reassurance?

It’s Midnight. Cobra can hear how dedicated Midnight is to him, so he doesn’t need to be reminded. Midnight is always worried he’s not good enough. When he lost to Fairy Tail, he was worried. When he found out Brain just wanted to use them as pawns it got worse. He’s used to Brain’s affection/interest in him being dependent on his skills/abilities, so he gets worried every time he makes a mistake or loses a fight (like to Jellal or against August).

Who would have to bail the other out of jail?

Cobra has to bail Midnight out of jail, but only because Cobra heard the knights coming and managed to escape. They were both in on the crime.

What would be their theme song?

Stardust by Gemini Syndrome or Breathe with me by Nomy. I think most love songs are too light for this couple. They have a lot of trauma and a lot of grit between them and the song should reflect that.

“I know this place, It smells like innocence lost, We left the traces of the sins we bought… It's no mistake, You are perfect, You are perfect in my mind”

“I need you close now to save you, I feel your guilt in your breathing… When you're in the dark, When you are alone, There's no one else for me, There is really nowhere else I rather be”

Who would sing their child back to sleep?

Neither of them want children. They’re terrible with children, no one let them near children please.

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Mostly they go about their day to day lives. But Cobra is constantly straining his ears for a sign of Midnight though. And Midnight gets slowly crankier and crankier the longer they are apart.

Who worries about what they look like when they’re older?

They both do, but Macbeth is worse. He cares what he looks like more than Erik does (Erik does care, he just pretends like he doesn’t).

Who eats the others uneaten pizza crusts?

Cobra does. Probably whatever else Midnight abandoned when he went for his nap. Finders keepers.

Who would throw the other into a pool?

Neither. Cobra’s not trying to die for ruining Midnight’s look and Midnight’s sleeping like a cat in the sun.

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thejollyroger-writer · 5 years ago

Text

To Serve and Protect - Chapter 5

SUMMARY: Detective Killian Jones has been investigating a stalker-turned-murderer for months by the time he goes home from the bar with Emma Swan. But when he thinks he sees the very man in question outside her apartment, can he separate his feelings for her and his need to keep her safe?

TRIGGERS: well, this is a fic about a serial killer. mentions of violence and death, with some physical violence/whump. as always, if you need me to discuss this further for you to be comfortable, message me. – rated teen

Prologue // Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4 // Ch. 5 on AO3

a/n: another Monday, another chapter, another cliffhanger?, still no baby.

-- -- -- --

Graham shows up first, quickly clearing the two flights of stairs that lead to Killian’s walkup apartment. The first thing he notices is the open door.

The second is the emptiness in the space at the top of the steps. Emma’s not there, only a few bags of groceries and a bottle of wine.

Jesus, what’s he going to tell David — but he pushes the thought down with a gulp, not even allowing his brain to go there.

“Jones!” he calls out, turning his attention towards the half-open door. “I’m coming in!” And for a moment, the whole world stills, only silence greeting him on the other side. And then:

“Oh, Graham, thank god.” Emma’s voice comes from across the room, half-shrouded by the couch. He catches his breath closing his eyes for half a second. “Did you — are you —” He doesn’t even know what questions he’s trying to ask, but they’re not coming out either way, so he snaps his mouth shut before crossing the room to where Emma is kneeling on the floor.

There’s blood. There’s a lot of blood, actually, something which has long since stopped bothering Graham. But seeing Killian Jones passed out on the floor, a blood-soaked light blue towel pressed against his shoulder, makes his stomach churn. Sure, Killian can be a pompous asshole, he sometimes doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, and he’s been known to defy an order or two, but Graham would still place him on the short list of his friends.

“The stalker’s dead in the kitchen,” Emma says, her eyes never once leaving where she’s putting as much pressure on Killian’s gunshot wound as she can. “At least, I’m assuming it’s the stalker. And I’m assuming he’s dead, given that there’s been no movement or sound from over there since I came in.”

Graham nods, changing his course to check on that, first. Sure enough, behind the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, there’s a dead body, a bullet in his chest and one just below his neck. Of course Killian would manage two almost-perfect shots while he’s getting shot himself.

“Yeah,” Graham confirms, pressing his fingers against the man’s neck even though there’s no way he could still be alive after those two shots. “He’s dead alright. How’s Jones?”

Emma sighs, but before she can answer, Henry calls to them from the hallway: “Jones! Miss Swan! I’m coming in!”

“We’re clear, Mills,” Graham says, meeting the young man at the door, and they share a nod before both holstering their weapons. “One DB in the kitchen, and Jones is unconscious with a shoulder injury but still alive.”

“And the ambulance?”

“On its way,” Emma says. “A few minutes passed between when I called you and them, so they should be here any minute.”

As if on cue, the two paramedics push their way into the apartment.

“Sheriff,” one of them says gruffly, sharing a nod with Graham.

“Booth. Officer Jones is behind the couch. And there’s a DB in the kitchen.”

“DB’s are your jurisdiction,” he half-jokes, but rushes to where Killian is lying on the floor. “Emma,” he says, kneeling next to her on the floor, and Graham notices the way a soft blush rises to her cheeks.

“Hey, August.”

“You did a great job with the towel. Probably saved his life.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles, letting August take her place at his shoulder, and she reaches out to sweep Killian’s hair off his forehead.

“I’ll take it from here,” he says, but Emma is already pushing herself off the floor and wiping her hands on her already-bloodstained dress.

“I’m… gonna change,” she says, her voice still soft, and she doesn’t meet anyone’s eye before she turns back towards the bedroom.

“You can take all the time you need, Miss Swan,” Graham says, and she stops but doesn’t turn towards them. “I’ll wait for you and you can ride to the hospital with me.”

But she’s already shaking her head. “No, I’m going with him.”

It’s not a question, but Graham still turns to August who confirms. After finishing his current task, the paramedic meets his eyes, nods with a shrug, and goes back to what he’s doing.

She told herself she didn’t need to know. She even told Killian that, if given the choice, she didn’t want to know. But now that the choice is here, literally, dead in Killian’s kitchen, she can’t stop thinking about him.

Because what if he is someone from her past, as improbable as it is? What if all of this was because of her?

She takes a deep breath in and holds it, pausing from trying to wash Killian’s blood off her hands to look at herself in the mirror for a moment before releasing it. From what she can tell, though her dress is ruined, none of it soaked through to her bra, which she only thinks about since she doesn’t know if she has another here to change into.

Anything to keep her mind off of what happened in the last ten minutes.

It doesn’t all come off, the blood staining her hands and her arms, but she does her best. It’s a warm day, but she has no idea what the temperature in the hospital is going to be like, so she opts for leggings and a plain white v-neck, but before she leaves the bedroom she pulls a blue and white flannel shirt from Killian’s closet overtop.

She is silent as she crosses the apartment, her arms crossed over her chest to make her as small as she can, but she’s made up her mind.

“Emma, are you—” Graham starts, turning away from where they’re moving Killian to a stretcher, but when she doesn’t stop, her path clear, he crosses the living room and tries to stop her. “I don’t think you want to do that.”

“No, Graham,” she says, shaking her head as she pushes past him and into the kitchen. “I’ve made up my mind, I need —” She swallows, stepping around the counter, but her attention is still on Graham. “I need to see him, I need to know.”

When she does turn her eyes down towards the body on the floor, though, everything stops: her words, her mind, her heart. Her breath catches in her throat. She might throw up — hell, she might faint. She needs—

Air.

Deep breaths. Slow movements. The balcony. Fresh air.

Holy shit.

“We’re ready to go here, Miss Swan, if you still want to come with us.”

But she knows she can’t. She can barely breathe, nonetheless make it down a flight of steps, so she shakes her head. “No, I — I’ll go with Graham. We need to talk to David.”

Though Graham offered to pick him up at the tavern, David insists on meeting her at the hospital. Between the slow night and the fear in Emma’s voice, he leaves almost immediately, much closer to the hospital than Killian’s apartment, but Graham and Emma still beat him there in the sheriff’s cruiser.

She’s a mess. An absolute mess, pacing in the waiting room, unable to stop moving — her feet, her hands, her mind, everything moving a mile a minute. Graham tried to get her to talk on the way there, but she couldn’t do it, wasn’t able to explain anything with David there. (Odd, he thought, but she’s certainly in a state of shock, so he doesn’t question it.)

It only takes David a few minutes longer than them to get there, but she spends them trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, trying to figure everything out.

It doesn’t help, though. If anything, it just makes her head spin faster, dizzying her to the point where she needs to sit down for a moment — a moment that finds a quick end when David finally walks through the doors. It’s obvious by both his crazed expression and the amount of his hair sticking up in different directions that he’s been worrying about her since she hung up the phone, which doesn’t surprise her, but there wasn’t much she could do about it, since she couldn’t fill him in over the phone.

He greets Graham first, sharing a handshake with him before wrapping his arms around Emma. She’s always thought that was part of the reason she got along with him much better than James, even though she’s much similar to his gruff, silent personality. But David always seemed to understand her, was there for her emotionally the way no one else ever tried to be, and he truly has been pretty much her only best friend until Ruby came home to Storybrooke a few years’ past.

“Emma, please, tell me what’s going on,” he says after a moment, the silence of it all finally getting to him.

So she does. She fills him in, letting Graham give a little background on the stalker case after she talks about going home with Killian that first night. She doesn’t share anything that doesn’t need to — he is still her brother, and she would be okay if both he and Graham just assumed that she and Killian’s relationship had never gotten physical. She sums up the past few weeks quickly, seeing him throughout the day, spending nights between their apartments, everything he needs to know, until she gets to earlier that night, to standing in the hallway helpless as she hears the gunshots, to hoping that it’s safe for her to go in even though all that greets her on the other side of the door is silence — and how she found Killian on the floor behind the couch with a bullet in the shoulder and the stalker in the kitchen, how she called 9-1-1 and they talked her through finding a towel and putting pressure on the wound until the paramedics got there.

At the end of it all, David sighs from the seat he decided to take next to Graham, even with Emma still pacing between them and Henry, now seated on the other side of the small aisle. “So everything’s okay, the stalker is taken care of and now we just have to wait for Killian to get out of surgery.”

Emma shakes her head as she whips to face him, movement enough to make her vision go blurry for a moment. “Everything is not okay, David,” she says, which grabs the attention of both men. “It all comes back to Neal.”

“What?”

“The stalker. It was Felix.”

Graham stands up, running his fingers through his hair. This is beginning to be too much for him. “Wait, you— you know the stalker?”

At this, Emma nods, sitting in the seat he just stood from. “After I graduated from high school, I needed to get out of Storybrooke, but you already know that. So I went to Boston, and that’s where I met Neal. I got into the wrong crowd almost immediately, and he was — well, he was in charge of it. I knew he was older than me, but I never cared about how much older. I was seventeen and stupid and I though he was the answer to the thrilling life that I thought I needed. And I thought I loved him, which blinded me to what he was really doing, which was serious crime on top of all the gaslighting and manipulation towards me in particular. He would be out all night, come home all bloodied up but happy, and told me I was insane when I tried to ask him about it. Plus he had all this money, which he said came from his dad, who was apparently the ambassador of something, some kind of Boston big shot, so I shrugged off the fact that he had so much money.

“His best friend was this guy named Felix, who was even more terrifying than he was, covered in scars and tattoos and he had a violent past, though Neal convinced me it was all in the past even though he was apparently wanted for murder or something near the end, which was when I found out what they were doing, what they had been doing the whole time we were together. But I was young and stupid and I thought I was in love, so I shrugged it off, especially when he talked about running away from it all, leaving behind his life in Boston that required so much from him to somewhere quiet, where we could live in peace after one more big grab. That’s what he called it. And I believed him.

“We were supposed to leave that night, so I met him at his father’s mansion, everything packed in my car. I just needed him to come home. But it was a set up, and they called the cops and claimed to have me under citizen’s arrest, though I wouldn’t have even had anywhere to run had I tried. I was seventeen, an orphan, technically family-less since Ruth had never finalized her adoption, so I went to prison until my eighteenth birthday and then came home. I’ve been trying to forget about Neal and his cronies for ten years, and since Ruth passed a few years ago, David is the only person that knows what happened in the year and a half I was gone, except that little bit I’ve told Killian over the past few weeks but seeing Felix’s face tonight, even seeing him dead in Killian’s kitchen, brought it all back.”

David, who wrapped his arm around her shoulder near the beginning of her story, pulls her in closer, an awkward hug at an awkward angle, especially with the arms of their chairs between them, but it calms Emma nonetheless.

“I don’t think it’s over, though,” she says after a moment, voicing the fear that has chilled her since she recognized the body in Killian’s kitchen.

Graham is still trying to wrap his head around it all, and this certainly doesn’t help. Both he and Henry look back up at her. “Why? What?”

“Everything Felix did, he either did because Neal told him to, or because he was trying to impress him. So if Felix really is behind all this, as you seem to believe he is—”

“He matches the sketches that some of his victims have given us, he’s definitely the stalker,” Graham cuts in, needing to have some semblance of control over the situation.

Emma nods, but continues. “He either did it because Neal told him to, or he did it for him. Either way, I can’t help but think that wherever Felix is, Neal can’t be too far behind.”

“Fuck.” The word slips through David’s teeth, sounding foreign to Emma in his voice, but it’s fitting.

“So you think this Neal guy might be here in Storybrooke?” Henry asks.

Hearing the words spoken out loud makes Emma want to scream, or cry, or curl up in a ball on the floor. Or all three. But that doesn't change the fact that: “Yes. Or he will be soon. He may even be listed as Felix’s next of kin.”

She doesn’t like making plans without Killian, since he has been so integral to her and her safety for weeks now, but hearing Graham and Henry trying to piece a plan together, one that involves police escorts and uniforms stationed outside David’s house — the only safe place for her to stay, obviously — begins to calm her still-pounding heart.

They sit in silence for a while, each of them still trying to fit all the pieces together in a puzzle that seems totally impossible, but it’s not long before Dr. Whale comes out through the doors, a smile on his face that clashes with the tension in the waiting room.

If he senses something is off, he ignores it, spreading his arms wide in what can only be described as a welcoming gesture. Understandably,all four of them in the waiting room ignore it.

“I have good news, and I have good news!”

He’s much too happy for them. Graham rolls his eyes, as he does multiple times every time he has to deal with the doctor.

When only Emma and Henry physically turn their attention towards him, he tones the theatrics down a bit, which might be all that he’s capable of. “Since it was a low-caliber bullet, it didn’t pass all the way through, stopped by his shoulder blade and the muscles around it. Normally we’d worry about irreversible nerve damage to his hand and arm, but since he already has a prosthetic, that's no concern to us and he should heal just fine, with some minor physical therapy to fully regain use of his shoulder.”

“Can we see him?” Emma asks, her voice noticeably quieter than normal, making her seem smaller. Weaker.

Dr. Whale purses his lips, his eyes turned to the floor — avoiding meeting any of their gazes. “He’s not awake yet from the anesthesia, and probably won’t be until morning.”

“Besides,” Graham starts, practically cutting him off. “You should get some rest tonight. Tomorrow I’m going to need to take formal statements from both of you, a lot of paperwork and a lot of formalities. It’ll probably take most of the day.”

Emma sighs. “We’re supposed to meet with Mayor Mills tomorrow to go over a few cases.”

Everyone in the waiting room, including the doctor, watches in awe as Graham blushes, a soft smile gracing his face. “I’ll take care of Mayor Mills for you, don’t worry.”

A shocked silence takes over the waiting room. David laughs.

Dr. Whale clicks his tongue. “Well. Mr. Jones will be ready for visitors in the morning,” he says, then turns away from them and pushes back through the double doors he came through.

David barks out another laugh, breaking the silence that has built around them, slipping his arm around Emma’s shoulder. “It appears our boy here has developed himself a little crush.”

Graham rolls his eyes, but his blush deepens nonetheless. “For your information, Nolan — not that it’s any of your business anyway — it appears that she returns my ‘crush,’” he says, putting his own air-quotes around the word. “And she and I have been on a few dates as our busy schedules have allowed.”

Henry covers his face with his hands. David, apparently, can’t stop laughing. Emma’s not even sure how to feel, but can’t keep the smile off her face.

Graham shakes his head. “Let’s get out of here, alright? The smell of antiseptic is upsetting my stomach.”

She was worried about not being able to sleep. It was much easier to convince herself that she was safe when she could feel Killian beside her, when she knew that if anything did go wrong, he would be right there to protect her, either from the ghosts in her mind or the ones that had recently manifested in the real world. But she can’t get rid of them, the memories of Neal from ten years ago and the nightmares that have plagued her since, not to mention the memory of Felix dead in Killian’s apartment. Sure, Graham told her not to, and he was probably right, but she had to, had to know. Did it make anything better? Questionable. In some ways, it definitely made it worse, the shadow of Neal hanging over her more than ever before.

She can’t do this, though. Every time she closes her eyes, she’s met with Felix, or Neal, or one of his other cronies, or something from those long few months she spent in jail. Sighing, she pushes herself out of the bed, making her way to the guest bathroom as quietly as she can.

She turns on the faucet, needing some sort of sound to stop the ringing in her ears, the screaming in her head, and it almost works. Splashing the water on her face helps a little, too, helps calm the pounding of her heart. She runs her fingers through her hair, fisting some of the strands. For a moment, she thinks about showering again, even though she stood under the spray for far too long when they got home from the hospital, but she fears that nothing will make the nightmarish pictures on the other side of her eyelids disappear.

But she has to try. So she shuts off the water, turning away from the mirror before she can meet her own eyes, and leaves the bathroom, deciding instead to try sleeping.

And it almost works. She drifts off quickly, somehow, but it doesn’t last for too long before the piercing ring of her cell phone cuts through the silence of the house.

Graham Humbert, the screen reads.

Well, fuck. Her mind begins to race immediately, but it’s racing in circles around one main point: Neal Gold.

“What? What happened?”

“Emma, relax, please,” he breathes, though his own inability to do so is prevalent in his voice, even over the phone. “Killian is fine, he wasn’t hurt, but there’s been — there was an attempted attack at the hospital, and we got him. But Killian wants you here, just in case there’s someone else here. Henry’s waiting for you outside David’s.”

“Okay.”

“See you soon.”

But then it hits her: “Wait!” she says, hoping it’s not too late, and Graham hums. “You said you got him, but who was it?”

“Oh,” he says cooly, as if his next words aren’t going to rip her world apart. “It was Neal. Neal Gold.”

-- -- -- --

tagging: @shireness-says @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @darkcolinodonorgasm @profdanglaisstuff @stahlop @teamhook @snowbellewells @carpedzem @pepperspotts @imlaxdris71 @gingerchangeling @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @scientificapricot @resident-of-storybrooke @ultraluckycatnd @itsfabianadocarmo @galadriel26 @jennjenn615 @therealstartraveller776 @nightskylover @xarandomdreamx @kristi555 @nikkiemms @vvbooklady1256 @withheartfulloflove – if you want to be added or removed, please let me know

#my writing #wordsbymeganmichael #cs fics #my fics #captain swan #the detective fic #killian jones #emma swan #answers? you want answers? WELL #you get this instead

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danwhobrowses · 4 years ago

Text

America, We Need to Talk

For some reason in these past years the concept of ‘Reason’ and ‘Sense’ has departed your country, I’ve hissed, I’ve simmered, I’ve hit my head against the wall hoping that in the end IN THE END the collective mass of the American People will open their eyes, stop making excuses and realise that for 4 years, America has not become ‘Great Again’ I’ve resisted the urge to unload many a time, but news that Donald Trump is to be nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize is just too much, because this is literal horseshit. For some part it feels like they’re only trying it just so Republicans can force a rhetoric as if Trump did a better job than Obama - who won in 2009 for easing religious tensions, preventing Nuclear Weapons distribution and profiting, working towards fixing climate change and assisting with the UN - as people die of COVID, cities burn and violence against peaceful protests continue to ravage your country.

I have to say that again, Ravage, because I feel as though some people are blind to the matter at hand. Donald Trump will say something and his cult of followers will believe it, when someone disagrees and presents evidence it’s deemed irrelevant or forged, if a Democrat says something on the contrary they need a full powerpoint presentation to prove it, somehow this mentality has poisoned the American society when the louder people will say something in confidence only for the rest of the world to read and think it’s one of the dumbest shit they’ve ever read. This isn’t just coming from a Brit, this is coming from family in Chicago, a co-worker who moved out of America and worked in the army, Italians, Greeks and someone who was in Hong Kong during the riots. The people who believe in Democracy, Majority Vote, Free Healthcare, Fair Wage, Equal Rights AND international peace that doesn’t look towards World War Fucking Three look at your country in shame because the state of your leadership and how it’s been allowed to continue with ridiculously boneheaded and stubborn reluctance to see the truth. So let’s start with the boiling point shall we, a Nobel Peace Prize Nomination? Have you learned anything from the last year? Or has the far-right got the prize so by the balls that this nomination is used as a cheap add-on to coincidentally peacock the Trump administration in its build to an election. The nomination to Trump has been cited to be in favour of the following things; Israel-UAE relations (aka ‘Saving the Middle East), Serbia-Kosovo deal (aka ‘Saving the ‘Middle East’’), Inter-Korea relations and likely the support of Jerusalem and Hong Kong, and in face value that may sway the common person who knows nothing about these deals. But a simple amount of research cuts most of these at the legs. Let’s talk Serbia and Kosovo, since it’ll directly involve Israel, relations were tense but they have not been at war, they are peacefully not talking to each other. The media will have you think that Peace has been brokered by Trump only in this but in reality Serbia still refuses to recognize Kosovo’s independence, the tensions are still there you can just travel there now. This is an agreement that’s been build up since the economic and trade agreement in 2013. If that year isn’t surprising you that is 3 years before Trump was elected, when Barrack Obama was in office - Republican Public Enemy Hillary Clinton was at the forefront of that when she was Secretary of State. So no, Trump hasn’t saved the Middle East by this deal, mainly because Kosovo and Serbia are in Europe, they have been part of the EU for quite some time and the deal is already jeopardized since Serbia won’t build an embassy in Jerusalem if Israel recognize Kosovo as independent - which was part of the original deal. Also for all the Republicans’ use of ‘fear by Communism’ to slander their opponents they sure love to rub shoulders with countries also rubbing shoulders with Russia and China. So this segues into Israel-UAE, the Arab Nations have mainly been reluctant to recognize Israel as independent. On the 13th August a deal was struck called the Abraham agreement establishing Diplomatic Relations. Except, this was in the making since 2012 and only delayed to help progress Israeli-Palestine conflicts (which Trump’s actions with Israel led to Palestine cutting ties with the administration and his ‘Peace Plan’ falling apart 3 years after announcing it). UAE and Israel had been in conversation before Trump was signed in, but only made headway when the FDD - already funded by the UAE - took over. For 3 years USA did little for the relations, UAE and Israel doing it themselves, it’s only now do the US mediate a peace agreement, which meant that Trump didn’t really do much in terms of convincing both sides, he just made sure things didn’t get out of hand - which was never close to happening since there is little tensions. It was Kushner who requested the meeting and Mossad also had a huge part in it. Also I want to add that the US are only buddied with these two out of fear of Iran - you know, that country that Trump almost goaded into war in January after bombings and the death Assassination of General Soleimani who helped the US in the wake of 9/11 track and hunt down the Taliban, as well as fighting ISIS, how peaceful was that? The Middle East is still in Civil and Proxy Wars, no saving has been done there, the US just were there for Israel and UAE to confess that they’re friends. Which leads me to Korea. The Olympics helped more than Trump did, a shared effort where both countries had to travel and accommodate each other. Tensions may’ve eased in 2016 but they were far from resolved and in 2020 not much is better. Korea still antagonize one another and the North still antagonizes the US, any ‘peace’ the Trump Administration will claim to towards Korea faded quickly. And finally, Hong Kong, the US may be supportive and rightly so but this is again fear of Communism, it should’ve happened sooner but the US was hoping for that big and meaty trade deal with China. And this isn’t months I’m talking about it’s years, the proposal first took place after the Umbrella Movement...in 2014, it was annually brought up in Congress but postponed until the Senate decided to. And after Trump signed it he said he might veto it in favour of the China trade deal

“We have to stand with Hong Kong, but I'm also standing with President Xi: he's a friend of mine." - Donald Trump, November 2019

So really, this Nobel Peace Prize is the product and efforts of other people that set events in motion that Trump was there just to sign his name on. Meanwhile, in the country he is President of, the COVID Death toll has officially risen to 190 Thousand. 20% of COVID deaths are in the United States. Tear Gas/Pepper Spray - which is a recognized chemical weapon not allowed to be used in warfare - is used by Trump Supporters along with paintballs to attack peaceful protesters and Trump calls that peaceful because ‘Paint is not bullets’ - as someone who has been hit with Paintballs from safe range, they will hurt like a bitch and if you don’t wear protective gear they can do enough harm to crack and sometimes even break bone, the asthmatic co-worker I aforementioned that was in Hong Kong also notes that Tear Gas is awful, it may not kill you but it is far from peaceful. In the same breath Trump refuses to condemn a 16 year old carrying an AR and shooting someone in the head. He has also refused to condemn Epstein’s financier Ghislaine Maxwell and ‘hopes that she’s well’...the sex trafficker, but when you mention late Civil Rights leader John Lewis and his words are ‘can’t say one way or the other...he didn’t come to my inauguration’. This is your leader. The embodiment of the standards the country upholds itself to, it baffles me and many many others that the American People Chose a racist, bigoted, misogynistic, careless, self-important, naive, power-mad, severally-bankrupted, reality tv personality man-child, who is also intending to use US Taxpayers money to cover lawsuit fees against him alongside all his other golf trips. The man literally said that no other president has done more for Black People than he has, this is while he profusely condemned Kaepernick taking a knee to protest Police Brutality against Blacks and POC only for years later the world support it as BLM protests still happen because action has not been taken. We’ll also see what happens on the 14th regarding the Felony Hearing of the officers in Buffalo who pushed over Gugino and gave him a brain injury which he is still rehabilitating from after Trump tried to sell him as an Antifa member. Just in case you’re unaware, antifa stands for anti-fascist but Trump will paint that again in ‘Fear of Communism’. If you actually look up this stuff, the web of Trump’s lies unravel, and yet people just forget about. The man is a pro at gaslighting I’ll give him that, I mean leaking e-mails that condemned Clinton right at election time was some cutthroat stuff, but a man who needs to rely on preying on xenophobia, paranoia, fear, racism and invests mainly on smear tactics and dismantling, is not someone who can lead a country to prosperity, the amount of leeway this man gets from his supporters just hurts my head. So let me ask you America, truly, what is it that you want? Because it can’t be this, can it? Protests, Riots, people refusing to wear a simple face mask to limit the spread of a deadly virus because they think it’s a fake thing that the entire world decided to get in on with WHO just to spite Trump? Teenagers carrying guns? Refugees refused asylum and kept in cages? Do you want to keep spending your savings just to go to the doctors? or do you think that ‘Patriotism’ is blindly defending your country’s flaws and clinging to archaic and outdated thinking because centuries ago your country prospered in it? I’ll tell it to you straight: America is not the greatest country in the world, it hasn’t been for a long time. I don’t know what your history books tell you; that Native Americans were fine with slaughter, that the US won WW2 with the military might they always had, that Vietnam was a moral victory, but the present day should tell you that your country is a mess, and the man who has been at the helm for 4 years will not fix it in another 4. There’s only so much of Obama’s policies he can plagiarize as his own; he has left the UN, left the Paris Agreement for cleaner air and energy and all his original campaign members have been arrested, an alarming amount of people associated with him are facing criminal charges - is that not a red flag? Don’t let your thoughts that as a patriot you have to support your country no matter what, true patriotism is not just the love of your country but the hope and strive to better it because you can love it but accept that it has flaws. I mean even I’ll admit that the UK has a lot of its own shit to deal with, doesn’t mean I hate where I live I just know it can be better. If this were anyone else, hell if this were a Democrat the Republican party would be booking them a flight to the other side of the world with the stuff Trump has done and let to continue on with afterwards, through him you went from the United States to an Absolute State and the rest of the world wonder if this will either lead to World War 3 or a Second American Civil War You don’t have to like Joe Biden, but he clearly looks like the lesser of the two evils here, and at least in 4 years time America under him won’t be on fire. If you still don’t like him someone new could be elected after, but right now you are on a downward spiral and need someone who can put you back into a stable place, that man is not Donald Trump. The man who wants to intercept mail-in voting and outcry its ‘risk’ of tampering when he himself voted by mail is not a truthful leader, the man who tried to cancel the World Health Organization when they simply asked to not call COVID a racist name that incited xenophobia after decrying cancel culture is not a moral leader, and the man who said that COVID would peter out and suggested injecting disinfectant into the lungs to combat it only to now suddenly buy out all the experimental treatment so that they can try and engineer a cure in time for the election campaign, is not a wise leader. All the stuff you see in these coming months is just an attempt to win your vote, for the most part it’ll be Trump stamping his name on something other people worked on for years and claiming that he did all the work. So make sure you actually check the truth of these things, research and fact-check yourself with valid, neutral sources. Take off the blinders, take a breath and actually see the full picture. And please, as well as not letting this man have the Nobel Peace Prize Don’t give this guy have a Second Term

#politics #political rant #let sense prevail for all our peace of mind

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lovenliterature · 4 years ago

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evermore thoughts

willow

I wasn’t sold on this on first listen but I really liked it on second listen with more attention to lyrics

video is also really lovely, big fan of that

really really like the difference in melody for the diff appearances of “life was a willow and it bent right to your wind”

favourite lyric: “I come back stronger than a 90s trend” - the look she does at the camera cemented this as my fave line even more

champagne problems

down as one of my faves from the start

love love love the narrative

proper late night with cider, melancholy vibe

kind of like a grown up/worse feeling august in terms of vibes?? as in like the experience described feels like a more intense heartbreaking august in a way

really like the conclusion too

favourite lyric: I really struggled to pick here but: “you booked the night train for a reason/so you could sit there in this hurt” for sheer visceral emotion, “dom perignon you brought it” for the way its sung, “How evergreen, our group of friends/Don't think we'll say that word again” and “she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred” for lyricism

gold rush

again, one i wasn’t super sold on the first listen, music and the vibe didn’t really interest me

first notes made me think of epiphany

but then i listened to it watching the lyric video and holy shit

now v appreciative of the melody and bass and the pace of the lyrics

really really like her embracing talking about jealousy

love love love the ending and beginning being the same holy shit

favourite lyrics: “at dinner parties, I call you out on your contrarian shit” and the way she sings “with your hair falling into place like dominoes”

‘tis the damn season

again preferred on second listen, wasn’t on the list of early faves

the best xmas late night walks vibe, walking through frosty streets at home between houses, embracing the only time you get to think, losing yourself in music and nighttime with freezing hands and cloudy breath

would’ve fit my 2019 xmas vibe too

melancholy and nostalgia

favourite lyrics: “sleep in half the day/just for old time’s sake” and “and the heart I know I’m breakin’ is my own”

tolerate it

god girl you deserve better

kinda like a sad last great american dynasty in terms of searching for approval

naive innocence taken advantage of

drunk in my garden walking round to try and forget my life kinda vibe

favourite lyrics: “i know my love should be celebrated/but you tolerate it” and “now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life”

no body no crime

holy shit did i sleep on this at first but oh my god its so good

start gives me show of hands vibes which is great

her husbands acting different and it smells like infidelity - just the way she sings this is so so fucking good

this is the easiest song to listen to and holy shit its just great

favourite lyric: “she said “that ain’t my merlot on his mouth/that ain’t my jewellery on our joint account”

happiness

“all the years I’ve given/is just shit we’re dividin’ up” - v v true, you have to rebuild your life after every relationship and taking it all apart is so much more sudden than building it up

like an alternative to the 1 which I LOVE

but also some parallels to this is me trying: “I hope she’ll be a beautiful fool..... sorry I didn’t mean that” vs “my words shoot to kill when I’m mad”

the whole bridge is iconic - “I can’t make it go away by making you a villain” - in the short term, anger at an ex can help, but eventually you have to move on, and its easier to accept that there was good in the relationship after a while, and it makes looking back on it better

“no one teaches you what to do/when a good man hurts you/and you know you hurt him too” - blame on both sides is much harder to take and grieve and its hard to know how to cope with that. it also makes advice more complicated because there isn’t much you can say to help

favourite lyric: “both of these things can be true” - always love duality and nuance in literature and its nice to hear it acknowledged in a climate of binary oppositions and no shades of grey

dorothea

nostalgia for the future

now prob my most listened, gets stuck in my head and one of the few i do listen to in isolation - like august

Reminds me so much of Ella - each other’s history, not each other’s whole future but in there somewhere

again sapphic vibes, real strong esp because of the ella vibes its the whole in between romantic and platonic affection

“hey dorothea, do you ever stop and think about me” - that’s the way I think of people I love esp ella and people from that era of my life, and anyone where its kinda open ended or just grown apart

favourite lyric: “and damn dorothea, they all wanna be ya”

coney island

instant fave - marked down from first listen and probably still one i actively look forward to

much like with exile, the male vocals GOT me

“did I shatter you” that line broke my goddamn heart

favourite lyrics: both for the sheer feelings of the vocals and the lyricism “were you standing in the hallway/with a big cake, happy birthday/did I paint your skies the darkest grey” and “and when I got into the accident/the sight that flashed before me was your face”

ivy

the way she sings goddamn could be the whole fucking song its so beautiful

“my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand/taking mine, but it’s promised to another” - the passive here is great

“he wants what’s only yours”

the trilogy of these lyrics “what would he do if he found us out?”, “he’s gonna burn this house to the ground”, “and drink my husband’s wine”, the recklessness, the drinking his wine like a secret defiance

“my house of stone/your ivy grows/and now i’m covered in you” - fucking hell this is the best imagery - even with the strongest walls and foundations, the love crept through and grew inside her til she was covered in it

favourite lyric: quite literally just the words “oh, goddamn”

cowboy like me

“dancin’ is a dangerous game” - hell yeah I get so many feelings from this, it just reminds me of the intimacy of dancing and the feeling of swaying in someone’s arms

“and the skeletons in both our closets/plotted hard to fuck this up” - both like active interference of exes or just simply trauma, unresolved issues

“forever is the sweetest con” - believing hurts and everything ends but its worth it for the time you have

favourite lyrics: “now you hang from my lips/like the gardens of Babylon”

long story short

first notes make me think of between the saltmarsh and the sea even though its SO different but also a bit like august idk why

“if the shoe fits walk in it/til your high heels break” - i just love the imagery of this line

“fell down the rabbit hole” - living for this line and the wonderland vibe

“but if someone comes at us, this time i’m ready” - the vibe of like not looking for a fight but defending what you love

favourite lyric: “past me/I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things” - YES BITCH also the energy I give to past me and future me gives to me now or “long story short I survived”

marjorie

another song I come back to on its own

this is the exact wistful vibe i look for in calm ish songs, can be sad, can be happy depending on a mood and this is perfect

the video is incredible and marjorie providing the backing vocals made me cry also it being in the same place on the record as epiphany was on folklore

“never be so polite/you forget your power/never wield such power/you forget to be polite” - love the use of wield, it also feels like the medium women try to find between being a “bad bitch” and being ladylike, but not a medium society will accept bc fuck that, the exact way THEY wanna do it instead

really the song i needed after the year of so much grief, and i know it’s gonna bring me comfort when grandma goes, especially the line “what died didn’t stay dead”

favourite lyric: “watched as you signed your name: marjorie” - the way this is sung will literally stay with me forever, its like a legacy in one line

closure

again, instant fave

the vibe of you don’t owe someone shit just bc they feel guilty is so good

“yes I got your letter/yes I’m doing better” “I know that it’s over” - I’ve moved on and I don’t need your permission for that or your well wishes thanks

Moving on doesn’t mean forgiveness

I just love the melody so much and its such a good song agh

favourite lyric: “I know I’m just a wrinkle in your new life/staying friends would iron it out so nice”

evermore

“grey november/I’ve been down since July” - most explicit pandemicy vibes i get, I was home and it was almost possible to just regard it as a normalish summer, looking after the dog and living at home and now its coming up to Christmas and I’m living away from home, our family is split across 5 homes in 4 cities and its fucking hard (not even sure if its that type of down but that’s how it made me feel)

“writing letters/addressed to the fire” - literally just picked up on this lyric and has kinda a dual meaning for me. 1 -feeling shit about things you create, putting in effort, just to throw it away. 2 - tactic for tackling anxiety, just getting rid of thoughts and releasing them from my brain

“Cannot think of all the cost/And the things that will be lost/Oh, can we just get a pause?” - again, v pandemicy and so relevant to the fam’s 2018-2019, we just needed a pause, we had to keep going and not process what we’d lost or we’d never carry on

such a good depression song

favourite lyric: “staring out an open window/catching my death”

#ts9 #evermore #my thoughts on music #music #taylor swift lyrics #taylor swift #my writing

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morgandria · 4 years ago

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Moon Musings

I am on day #!^* of One Of -Those- Migraines (thanks, March), so while I’m sitting here trying not to be miserable, you’re getting some moon stuff. I have a pile of random thoughts that are trying to coalesce themselves into a coherent lunar-focused project in the future, so the moon has been on my mind. In many ways, I miss the moon. I live on a street corner in town where two separate lights shine directly on my yard, and since they installed new LED lights there's no such thing as darkness at night. Even my backyard, which would be in the shadow of the house normally, is lit since the LEDs spill farther and brighter now, and my neighbours keep their back porch light on all the time. We won't even talk about the fact that out of the last 16 months, I think we had full cloud cover for about 14 of them. That's the reality.

So this is more of the woo side. This is UPG, 100%. I often don’t use traditional names for the different Full Moons - some of them don’t resonate, so I do what works for me. Secondly, my personal lunar lore behind the names I do use is all mashed up with a whole lot of synesthesia, and some personal experiences. So...if any of this works for you or entertains you, cool. If not? No worries. Do your thing, and I’ll do mine. I also live in Ontario, and always have, so my experiences and practices are absolutely rooted here. Weather patterns and seasons won't work the same elsewhere, so you need to work with what you've got.

January: Wolf Moon

I do use a traditional name for this moon, but only because I used to go howling with the wolves in the back 40 when I was a teenager. I used to be able to take long white walks in the fields when they were all lit up, and were fortunate to have some lupine neighbours. I love the sharpness of the night sky, and finding moments of silence and stillness. More practically these days I bundle up at home away from the ice and the cold and enjoy a good cup of tea when I can. The vibration of this moon's energy always seems to bring me insomnia, though. The colours I associate with January’s moon are white, silver, red, and a deep amethyst. Other things, more randomly: birch trees, the sound of cracking ice, the hissing of river reeds in the wind.

February: Storm Moon

There’s a tempestuous feel to February’s moon for me. It’s usually the month we get intensely cold. January is often a icy, thaw/freeze mess, but February always feels like the time when Winter decides it’s time to really throw its’ weight around with some serious storms. The feel of this moon’s energy is sinuous for me, sliding around and into everything, but also fierce. There’s something profoundly cleansing about letting a sharp winter wind pierce through to your bones and strip away all the gunk cluttering up your energy. My colours for this moon are grey and deep blues, like Prussian blue or steel blue. Other things: labradorite, blue tiger’s eye, and the smell of wintergreen,

March: Crow Moon

This is the moon when my crows come back to my neighbourhood. They usually move out around the start of December, and I start to see and hear them again around the start of March. Nothing about March in Ontario is spring-like: it’s either a solid mass of ice coating everything, or faded grey-brown and thick with mud. Ugh. I actually used to camp on March break as a teenager, but inevitably it ended up with a dozen frozen teenagers in a friend's kitchen having an impromptu Sunday breakfast while I woke up and wondered where everyone'd gone. (Stir-crazy kids in the sticks with nothing to do for a week do silly things.) Nowadays, I’d rather look up at the skies than down at the earth during this moon, and I choose to focus on my corvid friends because they make me happy. Crow Moon is somehow all aquas and peacock blues in colour, and mare’s tails in impossible blue skies, and the world smells once again of fresh, clean Earth, when the ice lets it through.

April: Seed Moon

Maybe the moon where (people who are better gardeners than me) start to get their seeds in the ground. I live in a snow belt, so I don't trust myself to plant anything until May. It's still not super warm, or even remotely dry, but there starts to be hints of things like warmer sun and breezes around the edges. Later in the month you get those days where pollen and snow can fly at the same time. There's no leaves yet, but you can see the buds getting fatter. I think of it as a "restful" time during the year, before summer gets really busy with family and friends. If we're having a good Spring I might get a day or two where I can actually get outside and tidy the yard some. I associate Seed Moon with the colours of soft buttery yellow and pale peridot green, which starts to invade around the rust-brown-green background. It's a citrine month, and also one where those little blue flowers come up in people's lawns.

May: Hare Moon

We don't have hares here. I wish we did - I used to see snowshoe hares in the country when I was wee - but I have rabbits, at least. And yet, this is not "Rabbit Moon". A hare is a different beast from a rabbit entirely. They have a fierce wildness that our Eastern Cottontails do not. And for me, the moon of May, the month of Beltane and the nuptials of the Lord and Lady, have a fierce, wild joy as the world finally explodes with warmth and light and leaves and flowers. I don't ever really trust winter is gone until mid-May. Hare Moon is emerald and violet and velvet, the shadow of leaves and sweet intoxicating aromas. There's something tactile about it - you want to run your hands through it, let it brush past you and run its' fingers through your hair.

June: Mead Moon

I sometimes also call this the Honey Moon. It is the sweetest time of the summer for me, before it's mind-meltingly hot. You get those gorgeous days that are still draped in gentle grey veils of rain on the growing, swaying green fields, and the flowers are growing tall and tangled - honeysuckle, clover, alfalfa and St. John's Wort. There are bees -everywhere-, and the very first of the summer fruits are coming ripe and I spend eight months of the year absolutely dying for the four when we get local, seasonal fruit. It's an idyll, before I'm completely sunbaked and dried out in the heat. Mead Moon is all sky blue and honey gold, saffron and ultramarine. It's warm sand and cold lakes, the smell of hay drying in the fields, and long drives down country roads to escape the concrete of town.

July: Satyr Moon

This month's moon is probably the time when folks in these parts get up to the most outdoor activity. I associate it most with a kind of revelry and hedonism - hence the 'satyr'. We get people taking their vacations, heading to the cottage, the campsite, and having their reunions and parties. Concerts, fairs, festivals...we have a lot to cram into a short time. The lilies in my yard finally have bloomed their brilliant orange, by the start of the month, and July is one long stretch of pure jewel-like greens, under bleached blue skies. This is the other month, like April, where everything feels like it's just poised, waiting to explode with the brisk business of harvest. For me, this moon is natural life in its' prime, and despite my dislike of intense heat and humidity I try to remind myself to enjoy it where and how I can. Satyr Moon is an endless mosaic of greens, a heady musky smell of wood and water, cedar and leaf, shadows and firelight dancing, and distant music everywhere.

August: Barley Moon

This moon is the first harvest moon, here, when the wheat is finally harvested and all that dust in the air makes it ripe and golden and warm. Haying season will sometimes give the moon a bit of a gold tint earlier on, but not those deep amber rises I adore in August. I am an August Virgo, and I adore the Barley Moon - I mean, I quite literally worship wheat. All the first fruits of harvest are peaking, there's SO much goodness in the fields, and yet I can feel summer slowing down, and gradually waning to a bronze-green glowing that I absolutely adore. The nature of daylight changes, subtly, and I try to catch onto every sunset and fix it into my brain, to save it for those white winter days when we haven't seen even the notion of sun for weeks. When we slide from the scorch of the dog days into long, gloaming evenings and cooler nights and the hints of colour on the leaves at the end of the month - heaven. Barley Moon is wheaten and speckled browns, endless golds, blackberry and peach, the smell of dry grass and fresh corn. It's countless toasted tomato sandwiches, far too much zucchini, and penetrating spears of bronze light through the trees as the sun slides away to let the fat amber moon rise up.

September: Harvest Moon

There's no stopping harvest. This moon is when -everything- comes down, and you have no choice but to get your ass moving. You try to get as much of it off the vine while it's best. I get very hobbity when Harvest comes, and I want to be living a simple life. I start to miss home, and rural life, and my family, a lot. It feels different than my youth, and it's...wrong now, somehow. These days it's more like Second July - it rarely cools off below 20°C., it's often stupidly humid, and can be much, much warmer. Our changing climate makes it feel like a month of dragging what I dislike most about Summer out, and it just feels unnatural. Add into that everyone still running around trying to pretend like Summer isn't ending, and I do not like it much for that reason. September always ends up cluttered and rushed, just too much going on in our lives for various reasons. I wish I appreciated it more, but I don't. But there are moments: the deepening indigo of September twilights, the movement of the birds (both those ready to move on and those snatching up all the food they can before the cold comes), the exuberance of goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace and asters. Harvest Moon is indigo and wine-red, the sweetness of a frost-touched grape, the musk of a yeast-laden apple's skin, and the first cries of the migrating geese.

October: Hunter's Moon

Hunter's Moon has two sides. From the start of October, until Thanksgiving, is gorgeous, brilliant leaves and bright crisp skies. It's deep blue waters reflecting streaks of smoke and high cloud. Any time after that, it can snow. It certainly will get wet and windy, at the very least. And then everything is grey, torrents of wine-dark leaves all with that sugar-sweet rot as they lie where they fall intertwined with the smell of the cold and everyone's woodstoves firing up. I cannot tell you how much this season refills my spirit. It's always been a hunter's moon for me. Various hunting seasons start (turkey, duck, deer, then into moose later in the fall), and I have many fond memories of delicious game meat meals with family well into the spring. It was a vital part of life, and always done with respect and thanks. Hunter's Moon is grey on grey, the edges of smokey obsidian and crimson-carnelian-red. It is antler and bone and slow-burning hardwood, the hissing of the corn stalks drying in the darkening fields.

November: Snow Moon

You'll see Snow Moons all over the winter calender, depending on where you live. For me, winter starts at Samhain, and it is inevitable that we have snow here very close to that date (whether before or after). It was true living on the Rideau, and it's still true over here in the Central Ontario snowbelts off Georgian Bay. November's is another two-sided moon: there's the gold, and the grey, The gold is of a clear day's sun through the last of the golden maple leaves clinging to the branches is clarion, of wetland reeds and cow corn still standing in the now-frosty fields. The grey comes softer than October, creeping softly across lawns and windows and the brown leaves curling on the ground, and as drifting veils of snow blowing in to cover the land in its' first lingering solid coats of white. I love the world's withdrawal into silence - I too, withdraw into myself and listen to inner voices. Snow Moon is white and silver (but also pearl grey and ash and brown) and the nights are long, powdery indigo, mounted by silent owl wings, iolite eyes set in silver frames.

December: Oak Moon

This last moon is curious for me, in that I do not know precisely why I continue to use this name. I like it - it has many associations for me in my Craft - but I guess I haven't thought much about it. Many oak trees do keep some or all of their rich tannin-brown leathery leaves through winter, though, and I do enjoy their song (along with the remnants of the leaves on our ash trees) in the wind... but that's not it. Neither is the whole Oak King/Holly King construct, which I don't really engage with. I have a strong connection with a particular energy, that of an aged, Green Man sage-type spirit that comes with this moon, so perhaps that's part of it as well. I suspect it will always be a bit of a Mystery, which I'm ok with. December's night skies seem curiously leeched of their blue hues, as the nights grow longer, a velvety black glittering blanket. Oak Moon comes dressed in the deep, rich colours of the Earth element - glossy evergreens, rich brown, deepest black, and is redolent of pine and cedar, and the flash of cardinals and blue jays at the bird feeder.

I don't know if any of that is useful, entertaining, or even intelligible. I hope at the very least, it prompts you to think about how you interact with the moons of the year, and the seasons, and how you perceive the world around you.

#lunar calendar #full moons #UPG #witchcraft #musings #personal #seasons #Ontario #i miss living in the country

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