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starshideurfics · 2 months ago

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Little Steve who gets lost on a shopping trip in Chicago once. He’s bored and wanders towards a window display while his mommy is at the perfume counter, everything is so neat and perfectly in place. By the time he turns around, he can’t see his mommy anywhere.

Steve takes a deep breath and starts walking, ready to go looking for her, only to realize just how big the department store is. He’s overwhelmed and ducks into the middle of a clothing rack, curling up into a little ball, his lip wobbling as he makes peace with the fact he will have to live at the department store. He knows there’s food there because they already had lunch, and they walked past a whole department full of candy. There are little beds in the home department that will be just the right size for him, even if Mommy always says he shouldn’t climb on them and not to embarrass her. There’s even a giant teddy bear in the toy department, so really, living here won’t be so bad!

“Steve! Stevie! Oh my god! Steven!”

Steve perks up. That’s his mommy. He crawls out from under the rack, through a curtain of suit coats.

“Mommy!” He runs to her and she crouches down to pull him into her arms.

She cries as she holds him and apologizes, words more for herself than for Steve. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I thought you were right next to me. Oh god! What if something had happened to you?”

He gets a new toy truck, a nice one with working doors, and Mommy holds his hand the rest of the trip. They get ice cream. It’s the best day ever, and Steve was only scared for a minute.

A month later, Steve is bored at home. Daddy is in his office and Mommy is on the phone.

Every time he tries to talk to Mommy she says, “Not now, Steve. Mommy’s busy.” Daddy’s office door is locked.

So, Steve decides to run away. If he’s missing, Mommy will want to find him and hold him close. He puts on his shoes, carefully tying the bows on his laces, and leaves.

The sliding door into the backyard is quiet as he closes it behind himself, and he sets off with a determined gait.

Steve makes it far enough into the woods that he can’t see his house anymore. Then far enough that he comes out on a field that he doesn’t recognize. Another little boy is in the field, very focused as he stares at a patch of clover. “What are you doing?” Steve asks as he approaches.

“Catching moths!” The boy points to an open mason jar with leaves and twigs inside, then to the clover, a handful of white and yellow moths among the plants. He smiles at Steve, a gap where one of his baby teeth has already fallen out, then turns back to the clover, taking slow steps and crouching, trapping a moth between his cupped hands. “Can you grab the jar?”

Steve does, holding it carefully as the older boy places the moth inside, holding a hand over the jar’s mouth. “Thanks! My name’s Eddie, what’s yours?”

“Steve.”

“Wanna help me catch some more?”

“Yeah!”

Together, the boys catch a few more moths (Eddie catches all of them, Steve keeps scaring them by moving too fast). Eddie puts them in the jar, closing the lid, holes already punched in the metal, and they watch the little insects walk along the twigs and languidly flap their wings. Then Eddie unscrews the lid, giggling as the moths fly away.

“Why’d you do that? We worked so hard!”

“Moths can’t live in jars. Mama always says I can look but I can’t keep ‘em,” Eddie answers with a smile. Then Steve’s stomach growls loudly, and Eddie looks up to see how low the sun already is in the sky. “I’m hungry too. It’s almost dinner time, so we should head home.”

“I don’t know how to get home,” Steve says softly, suddenly realizing he got pretty turned around in the woods and home could be anywhere.

Eddie takes Steve’s hand. “That’s okay, you can come with me!” Eddie knows exactly what to do, leading Steve with all the confidence of a six-year-old, ready to start 1st grade next month. They quickly arrive at the trailer park, Eddie knocking at a door before walking straight inside, tugging Steve after him. “Uncle Wayne!”

“Hey there, Bug, who’s your friend?” Eddie’s uncle is tall, with kind eyes. Even if Eddie hadn’t brought him there, Steve’s pretty sure he would like Uncle Wayne.

“This is Steve.”

“Steve’s folks know where he is?”

“He doesn’t know how to get home.”

“Ah, shhh—” Wayne winces, cuts himself short, and Steve’s pretty sure he was gonna say a bad word. “Steve, do ya know your phone number?” Wayne asks, crouching down to be eye-level with the boys.

“No…” That’s a lie. But he needs to make sure Mommy and Daddy are worried about him. If he gets sent home too soon, they’ll just be mad.

“Your address?”

“No.”

“How about your last name?”

Steve just shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes. He had so much fun with Eddie, and now everything is falling apart. He should have stayed home…

Wayne ruffles his hair. “It’ll be okay, kiddo. We’ll get you home.” Steve’s stomach growls again. “How about we have a snack? Everything looks better on a full stomach.”

Eddie is still holding Steve’s hand, and brings him over to the little table, letting go so they can climb onto chairs. Wayne gives them chocolate-covered mini donuts and orange soda, asking them about their afternoon, Eddie doing most of the talking.

Then the phone rings, and Wayne answers. “No, he’s here, Bets, Eddie’s with me. — What?” He turns to look at the boys, staring at Steve, before continuing, “Nope, you saved me some trouble. You know Eddie, he picked up a stray. — Pretty sure it is. Yep, I’ll drop Eddie off after.” He hangs up, smiling again. “Hey, Steve, I think I know how to get you home now, so don’t you worry.”

Wayne loads the boys into his truck. He drives the backroads, quickly arriving outside Steve’s house, his mommy throwing open the door when she notices their arrival. “Thank you,” Steve says quickly, scrambling out of the truck and running to his mother.

She holds him close and cries, yells her thanks. Steve waves goodbye to Eddie as he is carried inside. Mommy kisses his hair and tells him he isn’t allowed to go outside without telling her, that he scared her half to death.

Steve just hides his face against her shoulder, snuggling close.

When Daddy gets home he yells, scolds Steve for causing so much trouble, for scaring Mommy and making them call the police. He gets a spanking before be sent to his room for the night.

Steve never runs away again.

#steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #Just a couple of babies #ready for friendship #craving affection #angst

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aurumalatus · 1 month ago

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𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝟐]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.6k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection, mentions of abuse/alcoholism

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

↢ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗔𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗦 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘

Summer brings longer days and sunrises that spill like molten gold over the horizon.

Kinich sits by the river to watch, washing clothes in the bubbling water and listening to his mother hum nearby. Her voice is lovely like this, carried lightly along the wind, part of her he wishes he would’ve inherited. She has these rare moments of peace sometimes, when she’s among her crops and the weather is gentle, where she’s temporarily able to forget about the house-shaking fights from the night before. Kinich tries not to disturb her in those times; mostly, he learns just by watching her.

His father, on the other hand, stays out later every day—longer days mean more time to gamble, and Kinich is often left yawning by the time the front door slams open. Their Mora pouches grow tighter and tighter, and his mother stops bringing him to the market with her.

One day, she stops going at all.

Then, she stops humming.

Kinich gets used to having the same meals every day—he eats Grainfruit so much that he gets sick of it, and vows that once he has the option, he’ll never eat it again. He stops thinking about making friends and starts thinking about his own survival. When he has some time, he finds ways to make his own fun anyway; he harvests plants to weave into rope, then makes his own swings on the trees nearby. He finds that he likes the feeling of flying through the air, though he hasn’t quite gotten advanced enough to do any true climbing yet.

Every so often, Kinich thinks about the tribe. He can hear them occasionally, on nights of celebration—the firelight and vivacious laughter pierce the night, even all the way out here. He hasn’t gotten the chance to visit the main village in a while, and courier visits are infrequent, not that his parents receive much mail anyway. Perhaps a mountain of bills, if nothing else.

In even rarer moments, he thinks of you.

It comes on days when his mother locks herself in her room and his father disappears for hours, the quiet desire for companionship. He feels truly stupid even pondering it, but he wonders how you’re doing sometimes. He wonders if you ever learned how to make flower crowns, and if the other kids in the tribe are being nice to you again.

He wonders if you’re alone, and sometimes, he wonders if he could be too.

“Yanta passed away,” his mother murmurs one day, cutting up a Grainfruit. Kinich’s stomach lurches at the thought of taking another bite of the crop, but he says nothing; he never complains to his mother. Instead, he stands beside her at the kitchen counter on a short stool, carefully grinding grain into flour. “The courier came by today and told me.”

For a moment, Kinich says nothing. Observant as he is for his age, he gauges his mother’s expression—she’d known Yanta a long time, after all. But she doesn’t look sad, at least not truly. Instead, she just looks…resigned.

“I’m sure she’s in a better place now,” he manages to reply.

His mother smiles bitterly. The knife cuts through the soft fruit with too much force, blade hitting the cutting board with a loud thud—Kinich nearly flinches at the sound.

“I’m sure she is.”

They lapse back into silence, and his mother stares out the kitchen window, wistful. He tries not to think about that too much, because he’s unsure how to feel about the implications.

(He knows she’s thinking about somewhere far away, but he wonders if he’s in that vision, too.)

Kinich learns that the price of his mother’s smile is his own usefulness—she smiles when he brings home larger harvests. When he can contribute, she ruffles at his hair and tenderly takes the basket from his hands. He finds that he likes that feeling—being useful, being needed. It’s the reason why he works so hard, the reason why his small hands form calluses, skin turning rough from labor.

A commotion sounds from outside—his father is home. His mother places the knife down immediately, moving on pure instinct. She takes up the cloth by the sink and wipes down her hands. It’s a pitiful thing, full of holes and threadbare from years of use. Kinich thinks he should weave a new one the next time he has a chance; the thought that it might please his mother makes his chest warm.

“Go to your bedroom,” his mother orders, hurried. The flour sits on the counter, forgotten, only half-finished. He looks at it longingly, even as his mother pushes him out of the kitchen.

He just manages to slip into his bedroom by the time the front door slams open, nearly flying off the hinges. Kinich’s eyes flutter shut, lips pressed into a thin line—the losses today must’ve been worse than usual.

“Don’t slam the door! Kinich is sleeping,” his mother argues. There’s a series of groans and squeaks—his father is stumbling into the furniture again, probably making a mess. “What’s got you so upset already?”

“It was the damn orphan kid,” his father slurs, spitting on the floor. Kinich silently seethes in disgust. “She’s always running around our fucking property, guess since she’s got nowhere else to go.”

Kinich isn’t sure who his father is referring to, but it doesn’t really matter anyway. The screams outside the door grow louder, until it feels like the walls of the house will fall from the noise. If he were any younger, he might’ve folded his pillow over his ears in an attempt to block out the noise. He’d stopped doing that years ago, though, having grown used to the chaos.

His mother screams and cries until the daylight disappears completely, and his father yells and inflicts as much damage as he can—both to the house and to his wife. Kinich pretends to be asleep the whole time, grip tight on his blankets. It’s not until the moon rises in the sky, watchful, that his parents tire themselves out, retiring to bed with fresh bruises.

It’s quiet, at least for a bit.

The next day, Kinich rises with the sun.

His mother is already outside, and his father is…somewhere. It doesn’t really matter where the man is, only that he isn’t here, and Kinich can enjoy the fleeting peace. The routine comes easily to him in the mornings—he sets about rearranging the scattered dining chairs and dragging the table back into place. It’s a useless endeavor, he knows, considering they’ll probably end up downed again by tomorrow. But there’s something about these small victories, in which he can pretend his house is normal for the day—where he can pretend it’s just him and his mom.

He cleans quietly, humming to himself, then decides against it—it doesn’t sound like when his mother does it.

She comes back inside a few minutes later, not sparing him a word. It makes something sting in his chest, the lack of recognition—he’d hoped she would praise him for tidying up, or maybe ask him to help her harvest. Still, he continues cleaning, grabbing a broom to sweep up the remnants of things his parents had broken in anger. He sweeps up smashed bottles, careful to avoid the glass, before stopping at the mess under the counter. He pauses.

For reasons he can’t explain, the sight makes him inexplicably sad:

The bowl of half-ground flour, shattered into a thousand pieces and flung across the floor.

When the air cools and leaves begin to fall from the trees, a ghost appears in the forest.

Kinich first notices it one morning after he goes outside to water his crops and check on their growth. The forest leaves are still full-bodied by this time, but they’re turning; as he walks, the emerald ceiling turns to deep reds, burnt oranges, and pale yellows. Yesterday, the breeze was gentle, but today it nips at his skin—he pulls his thin jacket tighter around himself.

He’s not a superstitious or fearful person by any means. He’s grown used to being alone over the years, and the creaks of the house and the whispers in the forest don’t scare him like they used to.

Still, he’s inclined to admit the chill that runs through his blood when he finds the small bag of berries awaiting him.

It’s placed in such a specific location that he can’t help but feel it’s meant for him—a stone that marks the perimeter of his garden plot. There’s no note, though he checks thoroughly for one, nor any indication of who it might be from. The thought makes him a bit uncomfortable—no one from the village usually comes through here. He tries to pretend it doesn’t bother him, but he finds himself rushing home after the fact.

The gifts don’t stop coming.

It’s always inconsequential, little things like cheap candies and leaf whistles left on stones. They’re placed in very particular spots—areas around his crops, around his traps, or the trees where he usually sits to be alone. Kinich starts to feel like someone is watching him, and the shadows in the forest seem to loom a bit longer than usual. A collection of tiny trinkets and treats grows in the corner of his bedroom.

It takes three more weeks before he discovers that ghosts are, in fact, not real.

With the temperatures dropping, he decides to visit his crops a bit later than usual that day, when the sun is fully up and provides some semblance of warmth. The thought of the ghost still lays dormant in the back of his mind, but it’s less of a concern—after all, it doesn’t seem to pose a threat.

(And really, he can’t complain about having extra candy every now and then.)

He just about reaches the clearing when he spots a shadowed figure knelt over his crops. Initially, Kinich mistakes it for a wild animal—there’s no shortage of them around here, and they’re always interested in chewing at his plants. He readies himself to scream in an attempt to scare it away, but it suddenly moves in a way that is distinctly human—he freezes where he stands. Slowly, cautiously, he leans forward in the foliage to get a better look.

The figure rises just as his eyes narrow on the small object now laying on the stone.

It’s a crown, woven with jade and gold flowers.

“It’s you,” he breathes, mostly out of shock. You jolt like a deer in the headlights at the sound, eyes wide, and there’s a beat of silence before you turn and sprint away. Truthfully, Kinich considers himself a smart kid, but even he feels dumbfounded by the whole situation. It takes him about another second to start chasing after you, an impromptu game of tag with no clear objective.

“Stop!”

You’re quite swift for a child, but Kinich is faster, knows these woods better; he catches up to you with ease, and his fingers wrap around your wrist in a fashion that reminds him of when you first met. This time, you try to break out of his grip, but it only makes him hold tighter. In a panic, your ankle catches on a tree root, and that’s all it takes for both of you to go tumbling down.

Kinich hits the ground hard, tangled in your limbs, and he groans when his shoulder skids in the dirt—instantly, his mind is assessing the value lost in the event of an injury. If he gets hurt, how will he pay for it? How will he hunt? How will he harvest?

The thought just makes him angrier as he straightens to his feet, unsteady and brushing grime off his clothes. You’re a bit slower to rise, still on your hands and knees—Kinich pulls you up by your collar instead, lips curled into a snarl.

“Why are you running from me? Why are you leaving these things?” The words come out in a hiss, frustration boiling over. “Why are you doing this?”

You tear out of his grip, looking just as indignant.

“Because Chief Wayna said you’re lonely!”

Nearby, birds flock away from the noise, a rush of darkness flying overhead.

Kinich flinches at your words—he’s not even sure if it’s true, but the notion of it sends a pulse of lightning through his heart. Lonely? He turns away, fists clenched.

“Well, he’s wrong. So you can go back to the village.”

“I don’t think he’s wrong,” you say, arms crossed. “You’re the only kid out here, right? That would make anyone lonely.”

He thinks of his parents; on an average day, it’s true that they don’t talk very much. But that doesn’t make him lonely—in fact, he thinks he’s doing just fine by himself. Thinking of friends and other things makes him less useful to his mother, and he despises that thought.

“You don’t even know me,” he argues, eyes narrowed, and you huff.

“I don’t. But that’s why I’m here,” you say. Kinich watches as you squat to the ground, thumbing over the thin petals of the flower crown. “Because I want to know you. I want to be friends. Is that so bad?”

He rolls his eyes. “There’s plenty of other kids in the village. Go play with them.”

You’re more stubborn than you let on, he realizes. Because even as he explains every reason why you shouldn’t be here, your feet remain firmly rooted in place, a pout written over your lips.

“I don’t want to play with them. I want to play with you.”

He’s not sure why the words hit him as hard as they do—you’re just a child who wants to play. Maybe you’re bored with the other kids, or maybe they still don’t like you, but it’s not like you’re coming to him out of genuine necessity.

(Distantly, he reminds himself that he’s a child too. He forgets that sometimes.)

“...Why me?” he probes, tentative. “Why does it even matter to you?”

You seem to sense that a crack has formed in his resolve, and your expression softens. The wind rushes by as you outstretch one hand, holding the flower crown out to him—an olive branch.

“Because you’re the one who offered to help me back then,” you say, nearly a whisper, “and that matters to me.”

For the second time since he’s met you, Kinich finds himself genuinely speechless. He’s not a talkative person to begin with, but it’s not out of a lack of things to say—it’s out of a lack of necessity. There’s no need to speak in the life he lives, only to move. To survive. But here you are, latching onto him simply because you want his company.

I don’t need friends, he thinks desperately.

Before he can stop himself, he gently plucks the crown from your hands.

You smile.

In the next few weeks after that, Kinich lets you come around, if only for a few hours.

The forest clearing becomes your meeting place—he learns a lot about you among the crunching leaves and bare trees. He learns that you’re an orphan, that your favorite season is spring, that you think his eyes are pretty. You don’t tend to think before you speak, only saying things as they come to mind. In a lot of ways, you’re his opposite.

He’s not sure what the feeling is that takes root in his chest.

Next, he teaches you what he knows. You had suggested it offhandedly one day, that he might teach you how to weave—that maybe you might be able to do something more complex than flower crowns. He had been a bit hesitant—he doesn’t consider himself an expert, after all—but relented after you asked over and over.

(He always seems to relent when it comes to you.)

He finds that he likes the way your eyes sparkle when he teaches you something new, or when you successfully try something for the first time. You’re overjoyed when you weave your first rope, when your traps come back full, when your first plant finally blooms. Kinich merely watches, a warmth permeating his chest. He starts to crave your company, the way you cling to him, the way you need him. Soon, he starts to think that a small part of him might have needed you too.

Despite his willingness to spend time with you, he’s quite strict with your time—once the sun dips, he’s quick to send you off.

“Go home,” he says, looking pointedly toward his house. He’s always waiting for something. “And don’t let anyone see you.”

You never disobey, mostly because you have no reason to—ascending the mountain in the dark is difficult anyway, and you don’t want to overstay your welcome.

And though his house still shakes and rocks with screaming every night when he returns, Kinich finds it a bit easier to sleep when he thinks of meeting you the next day.

Kinich’s mother disappears on a winter night.

Something startles him awake, and his eyes slide open to see the moon hanging over the inky sky. It’s uncharacteristically quiet, save for the subdued snoring of his father passed out on the couch. At times like these, Kinich misses the warmer months; the river outside has long since frozen over, and he sometimes relied on its steady bubbling rush to put him to sleep.

These days, it’s too cold for you to make the trip down the mountain. The ice makes it far more dangerous to make the descent, and even someone as stubborn as you wouldn’t risk it. Kinich thinks he finally understands what loneliness means.

Winter also means more time spent inside, and forced quarters with his father. The weather seems to take a toll on the man—he skips work more and more these days, citing an ache in his bones. Kinich’s mother works longer days now, desperate to feed them all. He helps as he can, setting traps in the forest to catch wild game, but it’s not enough sometimes. Some days, he sleeps with his stomach empty.

He sits up in bed, slow.

He’s still short enough that his feet barely dangle above the ground when he swings his legs over the edge, wincing when he first makes contact with the cold floor. It had been snowing when he had first fallen asleep, cheek stinging from the force of his father’s hand. Outside, a blanket of white is settling, still undisturbed by human interference. His footsteps are light, trained from years of practice.

The door creaks open, millimeters at a time, lest he accidentally wake his father. He peeks a single eye out of the crack, observing how the man lays draped over the couch. Several bottles of alcohol lie vacant on the table, emptied down his father’s throat in one of his fits of rage. He’d lost more Mora than usual today—Kinich’s mother had been the unfortunate scapegoat for his anger, and Kinich as well when he came to her defense.

He slips through the opening in the door, agile, creeping past his father’s sleeping form and into the kitchen. It’s still a mess, as a result of earlier. One of the cabinet doors sits unlatched at an awkward angle, evidence of the fight. Kinich’s fingers twitch to fix it, but decide against it; it would make too much noise, and the cabinet is bare anyway.

He moves on.

His mother’s bedroom—technically his parents’ bedroom, but the two haven’t slept together in years—is half-visible through a crack in the door, but it doesn’t look the same as he remembers. The bedsheets are smoothed down, his mother nowhere to be seen. He glances out the window again—there are times when she awakens in the middle of the night to take walks, craving temporary silence, but the notion seems unlikely with the current weather.

Kinich eases the door open quietly, exposing the disaster to his eyes.

His mother’s things are strewn about the room in various states of disarray—someone had left in a hurry. The bed frame also sits crooked, revealing a loose floorboard beneath that had been pulled aside. The perfect place to hide something, whether it had been jewelry, Mora, or something else.

A seed of panic plants itself in his stomach.

He rushes over to the front door, tripping as he goes—he slams to the floor with a cry. A hand slaps over his mouth in fear, eyes flickering over to his father. The man turns over, but doesn’t awaken, so he scrambles to his feet, finally seizing the doorknob and throwing it open.

Nothing but a starless night awaits him outside—a burst of freezing air surges into the house, but Kinich doesn’t feel it at all. Instead, he stares out into the snowy landscape, gaze following the trail his mother had left behind.

Shallow footfalls leading away from the house—leading away from him.

Kinich is not ignorant; even young as he is, he understands the situation instantly.

His mother had weighed the value of her son and the value of her freedom, and he had not been the final choice.

That night, Kinich doesn’t cry.

Instead, he creeps back into bed, deathly quiet in his footsteps and wincing when the door creaks. A shiver runs down his body; teeth chattering, he slides beneath his thin blanket. His father doesn’t stir, and for once, Kinich doesn’t care. He doesn’t feel anything at all.

For a few minutes, he tosses and turns. It doesn’t help—the dread settles in all the same. There are too many questions and not enough answers to placate him. He thinks of his mother and her smile.

Distantly, he wonders if he can blame her, or even hate her. If he weighed his options, would he have made the same choice? If he had been more useful, would she have stayed?

What more could he have done?

As he falls back to sleep, Kinich wonders how long it will be until spring comes again.

#genshin impact x reader #kinich x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #kinich #genshin impact #kinich x you #adeptus ink

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starlightervarda · 11 months ago

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I can't sleep so Star Trek TOS/SNW dashboard simulator

🪆 chekovsgunman Follow

to this day I can't understand why they're called the Three Musketeers if there's FOUR of them? Did Dumas just forget his own main character???

🪴 plantdad Follow

You've got to be kidding me

🪆 chekovsgunman Follow

I know right? A mistake like this would never happen in Russian literature!

5,324 notes

🩺 therealmccoy Follow

After months of taking care of everyone else on this giant tin can I really earned this shore leave. Now I get to drink, relax, flirt with some lovely ladies and sleep until noon 😎 Just what the the doctor ordered!

🩺 therealmccoy Follow

Update: A fucking purple tree ate five crewmen. Again.

955 notes

🖖 iamspock Follow

Despite being among humans for close to a decade, I still find their tendency to overcomplicate and avoid aspects of social situations to be confusing at best and infuriating at worst. So much time is wasted on tedious matters such as who gets to 'make the first move' or 'not come off too strong'.

For example, everyone aboard my vessel is keenly aware of Lt. Uhura and Engineer Scott's 'budding romance'. But their need to extend their oddly avoidant courtship ritual, rather than outright state their interest in one another, is pointless, as well as frustrating to witness.

Why do they do this? Why not 'get it over with', as they say?

I encourage answers from all cultures, human or otherwise.

💅 janicethemenace Follow

I'm sorry Scotty and Nyota are WHAT

💉 xtinechapel Follow

DELETE THIS

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

SPOCK NOOO HE DOESN'T THINK OF ME LIKE THAT 😭

🔧 scott-free Follow

But I do! I thought you knew and were just being nice about it!

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

DMing you rn 😳

🖖 iamspock Follow

You're welcome.

24,103 notes

🌟 j_tiberius_k Follow

PSA: If you visit Antares VII, stay clear of any yellow plants, their pollen can have some...inconvenient effects on the biology of humanoid peoples.

My XO and I suffered through troubling symptoms until it was almost too late. Thankfully, we figured out a cure in time.

🪴 plantdad Follow

I can only find info on the symptoms. What was the cure? 👀

🌟 j_tiberius_k Follow

Do I really have to say it?

6,322 notes

💊 mmmbenga Follow

The galaxy if Klingons didn't exist

⚔️ glorytotheempire Follow

Wow. Humans are openly advocating for our disappearance yet Klingons are the bad guys? I thought your federation stood for peace.

💊 mmmbenga Follow

Cry harder you genocidal wrinkly-faced bitch I hope your planet gets sucked into a black hole

#If you think a joke is on par with what they do then book an MRI because you might have brain damage #fuck Klingons and anyone that sympathizes with them

35,007 notes

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

So I can either skim through this asteroid belt on Warp 2 for 3 hrs or on Warp 5 for 15 mins

🚀 mitchiemitch Follow

Erica no! That's not how navigation works!

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

FLOOR IT???

🚀 mitchiemitch Follow

ERICA NO

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

HOW ABOUT WARP 7 FOR 15 SECONDS?

💖 ofmanytongues Follow

ERICA YOU'RE GOING TO CRASH THE SHIP

😎 ortegaaaas Follow

I AM GOING TO HARNESS LIGHT-SPEED TO ZIGZAG THROUGH THE VOID

🚀 mitchiemitch

ERICA P L E A S E

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🐴 sirsilverfox Follow

I know some species are very private, but you'd think they'd share the important stuff, esp when we should trust each other by now.

How are we supposed to enjoy my weekly dinners if you all don't tell me what to watch out for :/ This is the third time this happens to the same person and I had to get the answer why from our CMO

💫 numerouna Follow

Wait what did I miss while I was gone

🐴 sirsilverfox Follow

Spock got wasted on my chocolate fudge cake and hit his head on the counter ://///

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fudgechocolatepuff · 3 months ago

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a lovebirds bloom! 🌷 pt.i

keigo t. x fem. reader | wholesome fluff :)

pt.ii of a lovebirds bloom

summary ⋆ ꪆৎ you with an unoccupied life intertwine paths with the fastest and busiest hero, where you both catch a break in your tranquil flower shop. lots of love in the air begin to unfold ꪆৎ

In contrast to the big city where everyone bustled to work in a hurry and longed for a minute more at home, you were met with a life you found quiet, but quite easy.

Fortunately, you were able to nag yourself a lovely position as a florist in a small flower shop tucked away from all the chaos that the streets carried.

You took your current job to be a gem, considering you had a never-ending obsession with flowers and bouquets since you entered high school that thankfully you kept as you approached your 20s.

Despite the fears that others had about these small jobs like lower compensation, you found peace in such a laid back and natural environment, an escape from the worldly problems that awaited you when you flipped the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’.

Of course, you were aware that the shop wasn’t very popular among those in the city, and you didn’t exactly “make bank” like you had intended to as a teen, but you still enjoyed the connections you made with your boss, your other 3 co - workers, and your clients.

Due to the lack of popularity of the flower shop, it wasn’t normal that anyone of high status ever visited. They’d always be too busy with their inquires to bless you with their presence or had their assistants do it instead.

Until one day when you were browsing through your laptop, choosing and buying flowers from suppliers when you heard the jingle of the door bell ring faintly in front of you.

If there were anyone you weren’t expecting to walk in the shop to browse through the supply of plants, you definitely weren’t ready to see the number two hero in the country waltz through the door.

You stopped scrolling through the page you were on and stared at the hero, observing his movements in awe.

Out of all of the training your co-workers drilled into you, you had no idea how you were going to confront the winged hero.

Um, Hello?? Hero Hawks?? What brings you in our flower shop that’s literally the size of a dormitory room?? On a random sunday afternoon in the beginning of march?? What the flip??

The air of your workspace became too awkward for you to breathe in.

Gosh, it was just so random that such a well known hero like him would be in such a small flower shop like the one you worked in, the comparison was mortifying.

You knew that pro heroes existed, sure, but making interaction with them seemed like talking to someone of higher class.

Well, maybe it was like literally talking to someone of higher class, but in a scenario like this, it was 1000x more intimidating.

You watched his eyes as they glanced every few seconds in the ‘solid tones’ from the ‘pink’ selection to the ‘red’ selection, and then to the ‘baby blue’.

You weren’t the best analyst, but you quickly recognized the lost gaze he held in his eyes as he searched without a clue what he was even looking for in the first place.

It was kind of cute to see him so concentrated on some silly flowers.

Hawks then turned his head toward you and caught the admiration in your face, returning a gentle smile that made you mentally curse yourself for letting him catch you drool at him as if he were a masterpiece of art.

His revealed toned arms crossed against his chest definitely were a piece of art no doubt about that-

“ ‘scuse me, but could I steal you away for a minute? I jus’ need some help… doing all of this I guess,” the hero chuckled to you, his hand ruffling through the winded locks of his hair.

Your knees shook at the warmth of his voice and his boyish laugh that you almost ignored the initial request all together as you treasured his being.

You swear his presence was a mesmerizing haze, leaving you dumbstruck for a few moments.

“Oh… oh! Yes, yes! I’ll be right there!” You exclaimed to him as you snapped out of your lovesick daze, skipping out from behind the register counter to resolve his flower fiasco.

You stood to his side, looking up at him with your hands clasped behind your back. “So, how can I help you today, Hawks?”

His hesitation and ‘ah..’ that dragged out of his mouth revealed to you that he didn’t know how to start with his little issue. Poor him, you thought. Might’ve been a bizarre story for all you knew.

You assured him that you could help no matter how peculiar the situation.

Honestly, you wouldn’t mind if you had to stand there all day to listen to his melodic voice.

He put his hands in the fronts of his pant pockets as he began to explain,

“Alright, so, ya’ see, today happens to be one of my friends’ birthday, Mirko, I’m sure you know who she is, and ah.. I kinda forgot ta’ get her a present—hero duties and all, ‘course I’d forget, right?”

You nodded your head and hummed letting him know you were listening to his story.

He scratched the back of his neck as he continued,

“Only thing I can think of getting her right now are flowers, I know she likes them, but I dunno the first thing about flowers. You get where I am in this situation?” he smiled nervously, hoping you’d understand.

“Yeah, I have an idea,” you giggled, your hand making its way to cover your mouth as you poked fun at him, “kind of crazy how you would forget such an important birthday like that though.”

The hero put his hands up in defeat, “You got me there. That’s bad on my part, but at least I’m trying to salvage this,” he joked. “I’m just hung up on what to get her, I can’t picture any color, any theme, nothing.”

He turned to fully face you and tilted his head a bit to the right, a cheekier grin tugging at his lips. “Thankfully though I’ll be saved by the cutest florist who I’m sure will get me hooked up on the best selection of flowers.”

You felt your teeth suddenly grind against each other with a sharp breath you took in following after, making Hawks laugh at your stiffened reaction.

“So, what combination do you think would go well for today’s occasion?” He awaited your response with an owl-ish blink, crossing his arms again in anticipation.

Shaking off the embarrassment pooling in the core of your stomach, you took a moment to think.

‘Mirko.. although she appeared as a tough fierce woman, you personally believed she’d appreciate something elegant and light. (It made even more sense to you since the spring season would begin to bloom this week.)’

“I was thinking of something simple. Um, perhaps a pair of white roses and lavender baby’s breath..?” You searched Hawks’ eyes for any sign of approval, to which a glint in his eye shone as he looked back at you.

“I trust your judgment to whatever selection you make for me. I already know that I’ll leave this shop saved.”

His caring attributes and words were hypnotizing you as a timid smile curved at your lips and you held back the urge to utter an “awww.”

“I’ll get them wrapped up for you right now, it shouldn’t take too long.”

You still couldn’t fathom the fact that Hawks was literally the only one in the shop with you, it didn’t feel real, more like a dream where everything around you would turn into clouds and the two of you would levitate towards eachother until your lips met-

snip snip!

Hawks’ knuckles knocked rhythmically on the counter as his leaned figure watched yours snipping the stems of snow white roses.

He couldn’t help but let his eyes linger over your delicate fingers, handling the plants so well. He bet your touch was as gentle as a feather.

What was he thinking.

Hawks felt his heart tighten. He wasn’t sure if it was out of flattery, but his pinkening cheeks told him otherwise.

He should stop by this place more often.

He gulped down his thoughts, pupils looking up at you showing off your work to the hero.

The boquete was decently sized, definitely not small. The flowers were spread out and mixed evenly making the colors appear vibrant. From the stem up, the plant bunch was wrapped in a lovely baby pink sheet.

You extended your arm to his face, obliviously poking him in the cheek with the flowers as you finalize your final touches with a little ‘shift’ here and a ‘shift’ there.

“It’s not the best I’ve whipped up, but I hope this is good enough for Mirko.”

Standing up straight, Hawks took the boquete out of your hands, ever so slightly making sure to brush his fingers against yours, transferring the jolt of electricity from his body to yours.

It would be criminal to ignore a gesture like such. Who were you kidding—it left your beating heart throbbing, yearning for more contact. You had to keep it professional.

His hawk-like eyes stabbed daggers into yours, releasing a spell that couldn’t let you look away from the man in front of you.

“Knew I could trust you. Cutest flowers I’ve ever seen. They’re perfect.” he insisted, face not faltering one bit as he kept his eye contact with you—not looking away for a second—and craned his head the tiniest bit to the right to steal another flustered smile from you.

You hoped that he wasn’t talking about the flowers.

The three seconds that you and Hawks took engulfing each other in the moment felt like it lasted three years.

Yes, it was cliché, no need to yell it in your face, but it was nice. For both you and Hawks.

You had a delightful change of pace in your uneventful days, and with the most gorgeous man your eyes ever laid upon? Come on, you had to enjoy this.

You were a lovely girl to be around, really. Something about your personality just felt soothing after all the mental and physical wounds he endured throughout the years.

He couldn’t just leave it all here though. He was no casanova—quite the opposite, actually—but he knew you two had some sort of connection.

Hell, maybe he was delusional about this, but he couldn’t care less. He felt his stomach sink whenever he looked back at you, depicting whether it were butterflies or not.

He cleared his throat. “Well, thanks for the flowers, sweetheart. I better move along now, duty calls. How much do I..”

“Oh..! No, no, don’t worry about it, it’s on me this time,” You stimbled an awkward, but sincere smile as your fingers subtly fidgeted with a strand of your hair, gliding up and down the piece.

Hopefully the ‘understanding’ sprinkled into your smile would console him of his awkwardness. Even you could see it, and that was saying something.

The winged hero returned a soft grin to that, muttering a “thank you.” as he made his way to the door, his hand hovering over the handle.

He turned his head back to look at you, capturing your image in his mind so he could replay it over and over when he made his leave.

Raising your hand to wave him goodbye, you wondered when the next time you’d see him would be, or if you would ever even see him again. It felt bittersweet.

“Come back again soon.”

“I plan to do so.” He professed, pulling the door open and taking a few steps out the shop before he took off into the city, leaving you shocked and still in the shop by his bold remark.

If anyone were to be zipping through the winds at a decently fast speed, it’d be normal to be a bit cold.

But in this case, the winged hero was warming up the more your shop came out of view. He whipped out his phone from his pocket and opened his “imessage”.

hawks:

i think i just met the love of my life. and kind of ruined it sent 1m ago

rumi:

you dumbass. sent just now

a/n: longest and might be the corniest thing i ever wrote, cute tho! last part was kind of a joke, idk if hawks would acc text ppl like that. lmk if i should do another part! love uuu! 💗

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xrenjunniesx · 7 months ago

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piggyback rides

bf!mark

word count : 488

you feet were growing beyond tired and sore but you couldn’t stop walking now. you and mark had been walking around for hours at this point, going to all kinds of stores and small events around the city. It’s been hours since you’ve sat down and you’re exhausted to say the least.

it was rather peaceful among these streets you walked along. the trees hung over the path, providing shade from the harsh sun.

you were beginning to walk slower, stomping your feet in order to keep yourself going otherwise you would stop and give up.

“you okay baby?”

“I’m so tired mark, my feet are killing me.”

he frowned, placing his hand on your back to provide some comfort as the two of you continued to walk.

“we’re so close to the restaurant but I can’t..” mark was suddenly in front of you, leaning down and reaching back to tap your hip.

“here, get on my back quickly.”

“what-“

“hurry up baby”

you cheeks burned up but you couldn’t deny the offer any longer. you quickly hopped onto his back, wrapping your legs around his waist. he held onto your legs before he stood up a bit straighter and began to walk as fast as he could down the street.

“this is embarrassing.” you whined, resting your head next to his. you hear his faint quiet laugh. he was clearly getting tired too, judging by his heavier breathing, but he continued to carry you.

“we can sit over there” he let go of your leg for a brief second to point towards a garden area that was in front of a grand building. it had a small bench that was surrounded by green plants and a few flowers.

“you can put me down now, I can walk there.”

you say, but he ignores your words and continues until he was right in front of the bench. he slowly lowers you until you stood on your own two feet. the both of you practically collapse onto the bench.

“I didn’t realise how tired I was until just now.” he said, breathing out heavily. you felt bad but you still giggled at him.

“thank you for carrying me” you say, turning so your body faced him. you placed a hand on his chest and smiled, “it was very kind of you, baby”

he laughed at your words, lifting his own hand up to where your hand was on his chest. he wrapped his hand around yours, holding it tightly.

“should we just call an uber and go home?” he suggests, looking at you for your approval. “didn’t you want to visit that restaurant though?” you say, but he shakes his head, “not anymore. I’m literally about to fall asleep on his bench. we’ve been out for way too long.”

you smile and take your phone out, getting a uber ready. “let’s go home and order take out.”

#nct dream #nct dream imagine #nct imagines #nct #nct dream imagines #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct mark #mark lee imagines #mark imagine #mark imagines #mark lee

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dailyadventureprompts · 13 days ago

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Thirsting Grail, Outergod of Wants and Wounds

Artsource

Adventure Hooks:

While travelling the party encounters a once famed surgeon who seeks their help in undertaking pilgrimage to the distant shrine of a death god. When pressed on her motivation, she reveals that through some curse or divine act of cruelty, those she operates on can never die, but also cannot heal.

There is a tree that grows in the ruins of the old braon’s castle, said to have sprouted from the chopping block upon which he had his wife’s lovers executed. The tree grows no leaves, only flowers, and it’s said that if you make a tea from its blossoms, you will receive a vision of your one ture love. Beings of woven thorn are said to guard the tree, but there are those who would pay desperately to drink of its boughs.

A once peaceful kingdom dissolves into a generations long civil war, any hope of peace drowned beneath a tide of violence, ruination, and grievance that none can hope to escape.

Among the outergods there are none more eager to engage with mortals than the entity known as Thisting Grail. It is a thing of violence and appetite, and seems all too eager to lend its power to those most likely to misuse it, whether they sought it’s aid in the first place or not.

Scholars and madmen have long debated the Grail’s motivations, what goal or ideology it is trying to achieve with the visions and often horrific miracles it bestows. In truth, Thirsting Grail has no goal beyond the pursuit of violence and longing, it is a means without an end, ready to lend itself to any cause that would make the world a bloodier, hungrier place.

The god is formless, an ocean of boling blood that takes on the shape of whatever “vessel” its followers imagine for it, borrowing their cultural iconography and birthing itself anew each time. There are litanies of these avatars, hundreds more likely forgotten by history; blood saints and baleful red stars and heart hungry blades. Perhaps because of blood’s ubiquity in ritual and occult practice the Grail’s influence can “seep” its way into the worship of other entities, divine or demonic, and it’s not unheard of for otherwise upstanding and dogmatic worshippers of banal gods to accidentally begin practising the grail’s bloody rites.

Sanguimancy and other forms of blood magic are the most obvious of Thirsting Grail’s gifts, but it has other more esoteric offerings: smoke from sacrifices or incense mingled with the formless god’s essence can grant visions of desires made manifest, though often twisted through a disturbingly carnal (in both senses of the word) lens. All too often worshippers ( and the cult leaders that encourage them) see these visions as prophetic, leading to the outergod being sometimes called “the mother of truth”. It can also manifest the objects of desire: succulent fruits, unearthly lovers, weapons of inordinate power, but there is something fundamentally wrong with these creations as they cannot grant true satisfaction, and often leave those that partake of them wanting more than when they started.

Those who fall prey to Thirsting Grail’s influence can become warped as their own veins become polluted by the entity’s ichor: becoming feral creatures of endless cruelty and appetite, or having their wounds open wider and wider until there is nothing but wound remaining of their swollen flesh. Those so overtaken grow and warp and merge with others until new horrors are birthed from them, a permanent seedbed of

Titles: Mother of truth, formless mother, font erubescent, the bloodstar. Symbols: A red grail or fountain, cultural iconography stained with blood. Signs: Wounds that bleed but do not heal, plants overflowing or cracking open to expose their innards. Unsettling red dreams. Worshippers: Those with bloodstained hands be they doctors, butchers, or murderers. Vampires, occultists, and other sanguiphiles. Instatiable gourmands and unfulfilled lovers.

Inspiration: I wear my influences on my sleeve with this one. I’ve been turning the Elden Ring mythology over in my mind for some time partially because I think there’s a lot of fun ideas there but also because I felt like (in typical Fromsoft fashion) there wasn’t enough shown to really scratch my itch for discovery.

The formless mother/bloodstar was chiefest among these elements: A killer aesthetic with lore that was a little too thin to use as inspiration. After a while that thinness turned into a feature, the idea of an eldritch entity of pain and violence that conformed to the needs of those who worshipped it, granting power to those who would go out and make the world more violent and painful. I liked the idea that “mother of truth” was a misnomer, and that cultists would ascribe meaning and intent and iconography to a god that didn’t care one way or another.

Another strong influence is the Grail from Cultist Simulator/Book of hours ( SERIOUSLY, play book of hours you fools), an eldritch entity/aspect of reality that presides over hungers and births be they literal or figurative. The Blood + Mother connection was obvious here, but the Grail provided some more texture and esoteric aspects to fill out my version’s storytelling potential.

#I have a policy against using AI art here but you always run into trouble when things get especially goopy.#deity #outergod #divinity: blood #divinity: violence #thirsting grail #book of hours #eldin ring #d&d #dnd

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villainscharm · 4 months ago

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a witch’s touch | benjicot blackwood x witch! fem reader

: What would your lords think now when they hear rumours of what their fearsome lord Blackwood did to the captured witch?

: They won’t be hearing rumours of me when I will be making the entire fucking Raventree hearing it by their own ears.

a/n : in this story he will be lord of Raventree Hall, therefore I will be calling him Benjicot here. (characters are of age)

rating : explicit. mdni !!

words count : 3k.

warnings : smut. oral sex (f receiving). p in v sex. religious beliefs/witches seen as evil. slight use of seduction magic. fancast benjicot. also not really proofread.

“My lord, we’ve been informed of a crossing from Bracken land to ours,” a knight rode hurriedly to the training yard, where his lordship usually was. Benjicot spent most of his time here with his fellow lord Tully, but today seemed to be only just himself. “A strange woman dressed in a black cloak disguising herself. We’ve caught her now,” the knight continued as his lord’s attention shifted from the sword to himself.

“Is she a Bracken? I did not know their lords are fool enough to let their lady wander into the wrong place.” Benjicot raised an eyebrow at him. It was known that the Blackwood and Bracken were never at peace. Such things as going between the border as one pleased could cause fatal damage to either houses. While sons were warned not to cross them, daughters were locked within the walls of their home. Benjicot wondered if this woman they caught was some craven lord’s daughter. If so, he must be shitting himself as of now.

“We’re not sure, my lord. She would not speak,” the knight answered uncertainty. “Where is she now?” if the woman was actually a Bracken lady, she must be hosted well as her title – even in Blackwood land. When the knight told him that she was still held at the border. Benjicot ordered her brought to the Raventree Hall at once, and let the servants know to ready her chamber, also guarded.

When the realm was at war, nothing was worth the risk. Especially when both houses stood on opposite sides of war. House Blackwood had pledged their loyalty to queen Rhaenyra. While house Bracken pledged theirs to king Aegon. The usurper. Benjicot had called him.

While Benjicot went to change himself into more proper clothing, the lady was brought inside. But before he could go to the hall where she was held, an old lord approached him. “Forgive me my lord, I assumed you were going to meet that woman in the hall?” the old lord said carefully in a low tone, “Yes, I am. Has she spoken yet?” Benjicot asked him as they both walked together. “Not yet my lord, but I may know something of her,” this time Benjicot casted him a questioning look, waiting for the old man to continue his sentence. “This lady, they say she’s a witch my lord,”

Benjicot’s eyebrow frowned further at that, “A witch? and who are they exactly my lord?” he pressed, his old lord no longer held eye contact with him. Afraid of admitting his beliefs of rumours among the people of riverlands. “When she was caught, they found numerous kinds of plants and herbs inside her bags. She refused to let it be taken from her.”

“Herbs,” Benjicot almost scoffed, “You’re telling me that carrying herbals simply means one a witch, my lord?” The old lord said nothing as he lowered his head. Benjicot shook his head as he walked past the old man, marching through the hall where the lady was held. As the large wooden door opened, there she was. Stood in the middle of the large hall by herself, with one knight guarding behind her of course. Her cloak still hung over her shoulder, covering most of her face. Benjicot approached closer and tried to take a look at her face. Eventually the woman noticed his stare and lowered her cover.

When he finally saw her face, his jaw slightly agape. There stood the woman before him, though her face was covered in some dirt as of now. Benjicot could not deny her beauty beneath the dust. Is this the woman who was called a witch? But how could he know? Witches tended to be seductive and stayed pretty by their magic.

“Do you know who I am?” Benjicot began, carefully studying her face. The woman cleared her throat before answering. “That I know, your name is Benjicot Blackwood,” her voice came out so dry that Benjicot almost forgot the state of her now. He made a note for food and water to be fetched to her after the conversation was done – if she remained breathing. Her gaze low, not because of fear, but of uninterest. “A witch, my lord, we covered her eyes when she’s brought here!” the guard behind her spoke abruptly, so eager for his lord’s command to rid her off. Earning a questioning look from Benjicot. This was the second person who told him about the woman in front. Although he was raised as a religious man and well aware of darkness outside. He found the situation hard to believe as there was war going on. An encounter with a witch was the last thing that could happen in his opinion.

“I can see the bloody sigil on your cloak right now if you're wondering,” her head shot up, her gaze filled with annoyance. Then her eyes locked with the young lord, “My lord,” she spat. Benjicot almost stopped feeling bad for her dry sore throat. But to be honest, he was impressed. Though he did not try to hide that by the curve on the corner of his lips. His gaze flashed to the guard behind her, who was now lowering his head in embarrassment.

“Who are you?” Benjicot asked again, stepping back to sit on the large table. Her face was blank as she gave him no answer. “I’ve been told that you are a witch. Are you?” Benjicot pressed further for an explanation. “I am a woman, my lord. And I am no good to you,” her gaze found him. Benjicot suddenly rose from his spot. Straightening his posture, he approached the so-called witch and circled her carefully. “You expect me to believe that and let you go easily?” he was getting tired of her indirect answers. If she wasn’t a woman, he would have the guard threaten her with a blade for any answer he wished by now.

“I can tell you that I am not a Bracken nor any threats towards you and your men. And I am not a scheme or bait from your enemies in this war,” she spoke more clearly now. Her demeanour changed as she tried to reason with him, and hopefully to be set free sooner or late. “My men found you near the border between Blackwood and Bracken land, how do you explain yourself then?” Benjicot stopped before her, his stare pierced through hers as if it would burn if they kept it too long.

“I went into the woods to find some herbals as you know. The woods are infinite, I could not tell which land is whose and which is not,” she explained. Benjicot found her reasons make sense while he nodded. “I see. And where are you heading to with your herbs?” Benjicot stepped closer, studying her face once more. Ready for her truth or her lies as she would. “To my home, my lord. I am a healer. Times like this are tough, people fall ill and many are injured. The cause of this war,” her last sentence was quiet but not unheard by the lord of Raventree.

Benjicot paused and considered her response briefly. He quickly gazed down to her lips, it was still – not quivering. He believed her. “Very well then. I will let you go – but in the morrow. It’s getting late for you to travel alone,” Benjicot nodded at his guard as he turned to lead the lady to her chamber. But before he could leave to attend to other lordship matters, she quickly grabbed him by the shoulder. Her fingers made a light contact to the skin on his neck, and he faintly heard her voice whisper.

“Then I am grateful for your kindness, my lord.”

While Benjicot was tempted to meet the lady again after supper, he could not yet – due to important matters of war that caught up around him. But he made sure to remember to give her a visit when all was done. In the meantime he had the servants fetch her food and water as he noted, along with clean clothing for her to change into. By the time everything was done planning and discussing, it was already midnight. Benjicot dismissed his lords as the hours grew dark. The rest of the matters shall be continued by morrow. But before he went to do anything, he had one more encounter to get done.

As Benjicot strolled through the hall of Raventree towards the guest chambers where she was, his mind wondered. For some reason, he found the presence of her clouded his mind. Her face, her eyes, her voice. He had shared merely ten minutes with her but somehow she stuck in his mind. As if bewitched. The way she held herself as she spoke. Her spirit was hot and strong as wildfire, spreading all over his mind. Benjicot barely made it through the meeting without barging out to her right the second. She was very intriguing. Whenever he looked into her eyes he found himself being drawn closer, as if it was an invitation.

What have you done to me?

He would hold her face in his palms, searching as he got lost in her eyes.

Would she smirk at him and laugh devilishly? or would she play naive and look at him doe-eyed?

Either way he was doomed.

When approached her chamber, he simply nodded to the knight who guarded her door, signalling him to depart his position for the night. As the man bowed slightly and left, Benjicot knocked lightly on her door. “What do you need?” what do you need? she called, not who are you? Benjicot smiled to himself at her strong-willed nature he had just discovered. “It is me. May I come in, my lady?” Benjicot waited patiently for her permission before entering, which she eventually gave.

“How are you settling in?” Benjicot began as he closed the door behind himself. His eyes observed the surroundings of the room. He saw a dress she once wore on a desk nearby, along with other clean dresses he had fetched for her. “Fine, my lord. I am grateful for your hospitality. Even though your lords disagree with my presence,” she gave him a soft smile, which Benjicot returned one for her. He fazed out for a brief moment at her smile. For once since their encounter, she did not seem to be as relaxed as she was now. The woman who stood in the middle of the hall, who publicly called his man out for being stupid was now trolling jest with him.

“They also told me it was not good for letting you stay here overnight,” Benjicot said, earning a light hum from her. “But I couldn’t let you go after dark. Too much danger out there,” he added. And the smile of the woman before him only grew wider. “Trust me, my lord. There is no danger as fatal as a witch,” she sat down at the chair in front of the fireplace, offering the young lord a seat next to her as their conversation continued.

As he sat down, Benjicot could not help but let his eyes wander to her face. Since the dirt was washed off during her bath he assumed she just had, he only found her beauty even more. Her hair cleaned and no longer was covered beneath the cloak. She let it fall free, still damp for a little from the wash earlier. Then his gaze lowered to the dress she was wearing. A thin white nightwear they had in the cabinet. So thin that it barely gave her any warmth – or covered any part of her breasts. Especially the slight wetness of her hair that had soaked up upon her top. Benjicot silently cursed himself for intruding on such a thing. She noticed his eyes were no longer to her face, and could not help but tease the young lord furthermore by adjusting her position in her seat.

“Has nobody told you that it’s rude to stare, my lord?” she asked with a small curve on the corner of her lips. Benjicot only returned her smirk as he replied. “Forgive me, my lady. But I couldn’t help but wonder how they are calling you a witch, when you clearly possess the beauty of an angel?”

Unexpected. She had not hoped the young lord would give her such compliments. Of course, her touch and her spoken words had seduced him since. But she could feel how true and genuine his words were when his eyes were practically lost in hers. His feelings were true that it broke her spell. The spell she casted only to have him favour her. At a loss of words, she leaned closer to Benjicot. The position gave him a closer and clearer look at both of her face and her hardened nipples underneath the thin fabric. Benjicot felt his mouth dry at the sight.

“If a witch is what I am. Are you afraid of me, lord Benjicot?” hearing his name from her lips was like a challenge. He brought his hand to cup her jaw, bringing her closer to his face. “Why would I be? I faced battles fearlessly. They called me Bloody Ben for a reason. If a witch is what you are, then I am ready for sacrifices,” his lips brushed against hers, not giving in yet. “My name. My house. My worth. I will be yours wholly. My heart, my soul. You may use me as you wish and I’ll worship you with every breath I take.”

Then he kissed her finally, finishing his sentence. Her hands immediately went to pull him closer. The kiss was hot, burning and dangerously good. Their tongues danced as the burning kiss continued. Benjicot felt doomed when their lips touched.

This is it then. I’ve tasted poison and I am doomed for it. Unable to escape, unable to be forgiven.

“Have you bewitched me, hm?” Benjicot pulled her upon his lap as their kiss barely broke apart. She instantly grounded herself on it, earning a low groan from the lord beneath her. “If I did, would you curse me?” she panted out, his lips trailed down to her neck, leaving marks and wet from his lips.

“I would tell you it is no use to bewitch me with your spell when I am already madly with you,” his hands wandered on her back as her soft moans fell out of her soft lips, as sweet as honey for him to taste. “What would your lords think now when they hear rumours of what their fearsome lord Blackwood did to the captured witch?” her voice low as if a whisper. Benjicot let his hands slide up beneath her dress, which he eventually ripped apart, making her yelp in surprise. “I was hoping I could keep that one!” she laughed breathlessly, kissing Benjicot on the corner of his scarred lips. “I’ll give you all of it if you wish. And to answer your question–” Benjicot lifted her up suddenly, carrying her to the tidy-untouched bed before dropping her softly.

“They won’t be hearing rumours of me when I will be making the entire fucking Raventree hearing it by their own ears,” with that his lips crashed hers once again, with passion, with fire, with burning desires, with every bit of a man he was. If a witch she was, then he was ready to be damned. His kisses travelled down to her breasts, where he kissed and sucked on it with all affection, teasing her pretty buds until they perked up. To her stomach, where it fluttered with butterflies insides – and down, down, down until he reached her core. Benjicot planted soft kisses on her skin as he gently spread her legs apart. He looked up at her once before dipping his head into her core as eager as ever.

“Fuck— Benjicot! Please,” and when Benjicot Blackwood thought hearing his name being called out by her was pleasing. Hearing her cry out for his name was like he had gone to heaven and back – back here right between her folds as his tongue worked its way to please her – and gods, how eager was Benjicot to hear more of it.

He devoured her with all his might, licking and sucking it until his breathing became hot. And she thought she was going to run out of breath because of him.

Him. Him. Him.

All she could think of as the pleasure started to build up inside of her. While Benjicot noticed the breathing in her changed, he inserted his index finger inside of her, his tongue teased at her bud. And by how she reacted, he could tell it was a good idea. Her walls clenched around his finger, pulsing and throbbing only for him. Benjicot could not help but groan at the feeling as he could tell she was near her peak.

“Enjoy yourself are you, dear? I could feel it,” he shot his head up briefly to look at her face. Brows frowned, her eyes closed as her pretty voice called out for his name. Begging him to bring her to release, and he obliged just so.

When she came down from her high, she could not think nor say anything. Benjicot then pulled himself up to her face. She could see the glisten of her own wetness coating his lips and chin. The sight was lewd, but neither of them seemed to care as their lips touched. Benjicot pressed himself close to her while her hands started to unbutton his tunic off, leaving his muscled chest bare at her sight. She noticed the scars on his skin. All of it from battles and reminders of his victory as he still breathed above her.

She would save him, if any of it went wrong.

Benjicot took one of her hand and pressed it on the bulge of his breeches. His voice low, dangerous when he whispered in her ears. “Look what you’ve done to me. Could you feel it? My pain, my cock aching for you.” She moaned at the feeling. Benjicot was frustratingly hard above her, and that knowledge fed her with pride. “No, my lord, I could not feel it. You might have to show me then,” her voice matched his and herself matched his nature. Benjicot was sure that the lady beneath him would be the death of him.

Even if he did, only she could save him.

Not wasting any more time, Benjicot unlaced his breeches with help from her. He reached down and grabbed at his cock as he teased her entrance with his angry-red tip. She whined at the sensation, so eager for him as her legs spread wilder on its own, ready to be taken by him and only him. And both of their pleasured-moans matched when he finally entered her.

“Fuck—,” Benjicot groaned, feeling her tight wet cunt throbbing hard around his cock. He gave her a brief moment to adjust to his size. When she gave him a light nod, urging him to move, his pace started soft and slow then eventually hard and fast as he was growing impatient. His dark-lustful eyes watched her face, the way she frowned lightly and eyes almost closed but kept looking at him still. How her cry went high-pitch when he stroked her insides with his every move. With one hand holding her hip, he used the other to hold her face. He wanted to look at her, her witch beauty which possessed his mind.

Grabbing onto his broad shoulder, her nails dug into the skin of his back with overwhelming intensity, leaving trails of red marks down his back. Benjicot moaned at the feeling, pure euphoric rode along the burning pain. He found himself enjoying it more than he should have had. “You’ll be the death of me,” his praise came out as a dark growl in her ears. Rewarding him with the feeling of her sweet cunt clenched around him. “I would rather not be that, lord Benjicot,” she hummed, “They would curse me if so. The entire Riverland will put me at the stake and burn me to the ground— until I’m all but ashes,” her voice low and sweet, music to Benjicot’s ears, he savoured every moment of it.

“If they dare so, I would rise up from death to defend you. I will put all of them to the sword. Sentencing them to meet with the Strangers themselves,” Bloody Ben indeed he was, even death. He worshipped her heartily. He was known as a strong-headed man who bowed to no one. But for her, he was more than ready to give all of his for. Benjicot Blackwood was truly at her mercy.

“Please, Ben..”

His pace quickened as he felt his high approaching. Benjicot could feel hers too, by the way her perfect cunt tightened around him so gracefully and her sweet voice called out for his name. “I want you, Ben, please.” He let his finger reach down to her core and rubbed on the bundle of nerves to help her reach climax. Her eyes glossed in pleasure, her breathing hot and fast. Benjicot kissed her cheek, whispering sweet praises in her eyes as her moans grew louder and her orgasm near.

“That is, my darling girl, come for me— fuck! you feel so good. So perfect for me.”

With a sweet-pleasured cry of his name from her, she finally came. Her cunt wet and tight around his cock, milking him with all its might while he felt his own orgasm hit. Benjicot grunted out her name like prayers on his lips as he spilled himself inside of her. His seed coated her walls until it became too much and leaked down between them.

Benjicot slowly pulled his softened cock out of her and she whined at the loss of contact. Both wished they could stay like that forever. Carefully, Benjicot reached for her ripped nightgown to clean up the mess he left between her legs before throwing it on the floor when finished, and dropped himself beside her.

“Are you alright?” he asked with his arms wrapped around her as she moved closer, their skin covered with a thin layer of sweat as he mindlessly stroked his fingertips on her scalps. “More than ever,” she replied with a pleasing smile on her face before he kissed the crown of her head assuredly. “Happy that you are.” Benjicot felt her soft lips on his shoulder then, her kisses planted all over the scars on his chest and her fingertips gently stroked ones on his back that she could not reach.

“An overnight is no good idea indeed,” Benjicot started, earning a questioning look from the woman in his arms. “So I will let you stay longer than just one. How everlong as you wish,” he flashed her a smile, welcoming under the care of himself. “As I wish, lord Benjicot?” she teased him with a small tucked on the corner of her lips. “How about I then?” Benjicot kissed her, pulling her closer to the warmth of his hold. As they both laid there, comfortable silence surrounded, Benjicot eventually found himself drifting away with her breathing sang him to sleep. But before he was completely out, he could hear her faint voice whisper to him — of what he could not tell.

When morning came, Benjicot found himself alone in the bed. The spot next to him, where his lady once lay, now empty. As he reached for his breeches on the floor he noticed the skin of his own hand. Flawless with no scars as well as those ones on his chest and his back. Though, only fresh red marks which trailed down still remained — a reminder of their once shared intimacy.

#villainscharm #villainscharm’s fic #benjicot blackwood #bloody ben #davos blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader #davos blackwood x reader #house of the dragon #house blackwood #blackwood

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merchant-wizard-and-jerry · 7 months ago

Text

(This is going to be linked as the card drawing post from now on)

*Warning all effects are permanent unless stated otherwise wise and all effects can’t be undone by undoing the magic*

(This means that if your arms turn to metal, you can’t revert the spell that made it happen, because the armed in the eyes of the universe are naturally metal now, but instead can convert the metal back into flesh like you would do if the arms were always metal.)

(The lore reason why is the supreme being made it…. Aka I am the writer of this story and deck and I say no you. (In a joking manner if you or a love one rolled something you don’t want to happen tell me and we can work out a solution))

(List of effects)

TP who TC Gains partial divinity

TP who TC can ask one question to the universe and gets a true answer

TP who TC is immune to all undead for 24 hours

TP who TC can ask one request of the Flock of seagulls

TP who TC gains absolute mastery of there most proficient skill

TP who TC gets there perfect ideal of a follower summoned, the follower is made of stained glass

All people who wants to attack TP who TC becomes completely peaceful

TP who TC has the vision permanently enhanced by 4x

TP who TC brain grows 10x as fast and smart for 1 hour

the next good effect drawn from TD is doubled

TP who TC has everything blue that there touching enchanted randomly.

TP who TC gains a skeleton key

TP who TC has there mind gain armor, it helps reinforce there mind’s processes and also help ward of wind magic form effecting it

TP who TC has a calming aura for 1 week, anyone within that aura has their emotions calmed.

TP who TC arms turned to metal (I forgot to say, for 1 hour)

TP who TC splits into five identical clones 1/5th the size. Each have a randomly selected 1/5th of TP who TC’s powers. At the point of them splitting is when there memories split. Each will grown to normal size over the span of a week. Once one dies, its powers and memories are randomly split among the remaining clones (of that batch). Each clone can split but the above side effects still apply.

TP who TC is recognised as a minor noble in the nearest nobility system

all eyes in a 1 mile radius of TD glows gold for a year

TP who LC gets magic equal TP who TC's magic capabilities for 1 spell

TP who TC can see how corrupt anyone is

TP who NC has there card effect double

TP who HTC has the ability to identify any living thing’s clade

TC turns into, upon being drawn, a random minor magical item. TP who TC will be registered as that item's true owner, that ownership will either be passed to a designated person or person with their best interest in mind upon death of the previous owner.

TP who TC can identify if it’s safe to drink any water they see

TP who TC gets 10 currency

TP who HC has control over a small company of knights

TP who TC gains scales for 1 hour

TP who TC begins to be observed by a god

TP who TC will have all cuts immediately scab over for the next month.

TP who TC is turned into an animal chosen by TP who NC for 4 hours. TP who TC keeps their mind, unless this card is drawn again in the same time and the same animal is chosen. If it is picked again but with a different animal, TP who TC will hybridize as both animals.

TP who TC has the effect they last were under that was triggered by a card reapplied as if they drew it again.

TP who TC chooses a person who will NC

(Automatic custom card)

TP who TC has there element shift one element, this effect either last 1 year or until TP who TC comes to except one lie they believed was true was a lie

A random seed in a 1 foot radius around TP who TC will grow to complete maturity. If there is no seed, a seed will from that when planted will grow a perfect replica of a random card with the magic effect at 1/10th efficiency

TP who TC plays a game of 20 question, if you win, you get a clue finding spy glass. If you lose you lose an eye.

TP who TC next spell will go wild

all water in a 30 foot radius of TD turns into wine

TP who LC has its effect happen to TP who TC

TP who TC has the direction they move relative to gravity altered by the person who NC

TP who NC has TP who LC effect added to theres

TP who TC becomes the target of tempest the clown. Tempest is a weather demigod who wishes to bring joy to kids by showing them weather phenomena… up close.. at full scale.

TP who NC will gain the ability to know where you are at all time

TP who TC will be transformed into a computer software sprite on a piece of digital hardware. The card is transformed into that piece of hardware. Both effects last for 1 day

TP who TC has all there hair light on fire, they are not armed nor is there hair

TP who NC can choose one of TP who TC’s skills to lock for 1 hour

TP who TC experiences 1 years worth of advanced mutation that would be handy in this situation

all grass in a 3 yard radius of TD turns into a fungus based alternative

TP who TC will lose all their hair and have it regrow in a 24 hour period

TP who TC will have all open injuries and non-sensory body holes (peircings, behind, belly button, etc) transformed into functioning technology ports

TP who TC is swarmed by pollen

TD loses its magical effect for 10 minutes

TP who TC gets struck by lightning

TP who TC if they have a scarred over stump it grows cactus spines making it impossible to restore, if not you are immune to cactuses.

TP who TC loses their sense of smell for 10 min

in a 1 yard radius around TP who TC rain will clouds form and rain for 1 week

TP who TC becomes a telepathic potted plant for 1 hour. TP is completely immobile, but still conscious and is able to talk to anyone nearby via telepathy. Any person who touches TP is affected by magic: (Roll 1d4 to decide the effect given) 1. Becoming a telepathic potted plant without other effects. 2. Being fully healed and restored as if they drank a powerful healing potion 3. Clothes are replaced by plants equivalents made from leaves, grass, flowers, moss, and other plant materials. These new clothes do not cover up well and ordinarily resemble Druidic clothing, but also resemble the clothes they were previously wearing. Depending on the magical power or significance of their previous clothes, they may be possible to recover via summoning magic. 4. A large tree appears nearby and they are temporarily transformed into a dryad linked to that tree for one day.

TP who TC becomes a potted telepathic plant for a year

TP who LC attacks you

TP who draws TC loses the ability to understand speech for 1 hour

TP who TC loses all of wealth

TP who TC has there most prized possession trapped in this card for 1 year or until they tell someone a deep secret

all events that took place in the last hour reverts in a 20 yard radius of TD

TP who TC Dies

TP who NC will gain control of your body for 1 minute

(List of terms)

The person (TP)

The deck (TD)

Drew this card (TC)

Drew last card (LC)

Draws next card (NC)

Holds this card (HC)

(Rules)

You can ask pay for a card with 10 currency

When you pay you can specify out of character whether you want a random card or if you want me to make a new one for you to draw that will be added to the deck

If I make a new one I’ll add it to the list

Also if the card calls for good or bad it is referring to thirds, the first 1/3 is good, the last 1/3 is bad and the middle in neutral, round down and give the neutral the extra cards.

If you pick random, roll for me out of the numbers and tell me what you get

#wizard island island #wizard tumblr #wizard posting #wizard #wizardposting #wizard blogging #wizard shit #magic shop #thank you

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mediumgayitalian · 8 months ago

Text

———

Twenty minutes later, Solace hurries out of his cabin in cowboy boots.

And jeans.

Nico gapes at him.

“Go go go go go, questions later,” Will hisses, herding him behind the Apollo cabin. “We are on a time limit, we gotta —”

“You’re wearing close-toed shoes.”

“Yes, yes, sometimes I wear the clothes that I own. Wild. Let’s go.” Will tugs, uselessly, on his arm, but Nico’s half-certain his jaw has taken root in the ground, cementing him in place, because what the actual shit.

“Solace, you wore flip-flops to the snow-smothered bus stop in January. I thought you had, like, a condition!”

“I do have a condition. It’s called You Are Not Hurrying, Death Breath, let’s go —”

This time when he pulls, Nico stumbles after him, ducking under windowsills and inching around flower gardens. Every time someone so much as looks in their direction, Will plants both hands on his chest and shoves them into a corner somewhere, craning his neck to watch until they move on. Every time he does, another piece of Nico’s soul breaks away from his body and descends into hell. There is an actual trail of bones and tilled earth and dead grass behind him. Will doesn’t need to worry about being stealthy — the death aura of Nico’s dignity is large enough to scare off anything within a four mile radius.

“In here!”

Undeterred by the death aura, for some reason, Will seizes his bicep and shoves him in a crack between the Hypnos and Dionysus cabins. He slips in a millisecond later, crowding him against the warm bricks, forearm pressed awkwardly next to Nico’s head.

“Hnggh,” Nico gasps, mournfully wishing his last sliver of self-respect goodbye. Rest in fucking peace. “Do you have to be so — close, Will, gods —”

“Shhh!”

“If you shush me again I am going to rip your throat out —”

“Go, go, go!”

Yanked forward again, Nico doesn’t have the time to finish his threat. This time, at least, they sprint the final stretch to the shed without any more hiding and shoving.

Thank all the fucking gods. One more second of Will’s stupid torso — since fucking when does he wear polo shirts, huh, what the shit fuck is up with that — pressed against his and Nico’s bronchitis was going to come back. And this time he’s going to succumb to it.

“Okay,” Will says. He stands in front of a tarp-covered lump, gripping one side and jutting his chin out at the other. “On three, we tear this off and start pushing. We need past Thalia’s tree in under thirty seconds. Got it?”

“No,” Nico says stubbornly, “you still haven’t explained what the rush is —”

“One two three go!”

Will, unfortunately, has been tricking ADHD teenagers into doing things they don’t want to do for years, so Nico’s ripping off the tarp and shoving the chariot out of its stall faster than he can register what he’s doing. He practically sprints to keep up with Will, chariot wheels creaking happily as they rush over stones and sticks and forgotten weapons.

“We’re leaving now, Chiron! Bye!” Will hollers, moving too fast to give him a second to respond. Luckily, Chiron is similarly busy, galloping after a speeding Harley without more than a backwards wave and a sharp don’t die, please!

“That dynamite I gave Harley’ll only keep everyone distracted another thirty seconds,” Will mutters, ignoring Nico’s alarmed the fucking what you gave Harley, “so we need to move, let’s go.”

“Will — slow down a half fucking second, Christ, not everyone is seventy percent leg — we don’t even have pegasi!”

“Will you keep it down.” Will looks back and forth, eyes wide, like he’s worried someone is going to pop up with a pack of the winged animals. “Just — stop asking questions! We’re almost home free!”

“You’ve gone insane. It’s finally, actually happened, after all these years, who woulda thought, fully bonkers at age sixteen —”

“Oh, shut up.”

Muttering his complaints, Nico helps him push the infernal chariot down Half-Blood Hill. Among his grievances, he makes it abundantly clear that 1) this is stupid, 2) he did not agree to physical labour, 3) he would not have agreed to come if he had known about the physical labour, and 4) this is stupid.

“Just a few more yards, then we can —”

“Okay, no, that’s it.” Nico lets go of the chariot, letting the wheel dig into the soft ground and send the whole thing halting. He meets Will’s pout head-on; arms crossed, jaw set, foot tapping, refusing to give into those big blue eyes.

“C’mon, Neeks.” A faint explosion sounds off in the distance. Will’s eyes get more pleading, more hopeful. “We won’t have much time after the diversion wears off…”

“You have three seconds before I turn the hell around, Solace.”

“Please?”

“One.”

He pushes uselessly at the chariot. It spins a sad little circle without someone pushing the other side. “Neeks!”

“Two.”

“Alright, fine! Help me push again and I’ll explain on the way down.”

“Much easier when you just do as I say,” Nico grumbles, starting to push the stupid (horseless and therefore useless) chariot again. “Isn’t it?”

Will, predictably, rolls his eyes, although he can’t quite help the smile that pulls at his lips. Nico tells the butterflies that go buck fucking wild in his stomach to go to hell. This does nothing.

“How much do you know about the chariot?” Will asks eventually, after a couple minutes of shoving the stupid thing past a deep trench in the soil, leftover from the war. (Nico is going to set the fucking thing on fire. It’s a flying chariot — shouldn’t it be lightweight? Why is he suffering?) They’re nearly three quarters down the hill, and it takes everything Nico has not to risk it all and shadow travel the last couple dozen feet. Yeah, it might kill him, but then his problem would immediately go away. Tempting does not begin to cover it.

“Uh, big source of drama, right? Apollo and Ares worked together to seize it, argued over who got to keep it?”

He cuts a careful glance over to Will, well aware it’s a sensitive topic. He knows the question isn’t a trap — Will would never do that to him — but it’s probably best to tread lightly. As far as he’s concerned, this is a sore point that’ll take more than a couple years to heal.

Luckily, there’s no tension to Will’s face. “Mhm. I wasn’t there for much of the planning, ‘cause I was busy in the infirmary and also, like, twelve, but it took a lot of time on both sides. When Michael and everyone seized it, though, it glowed gold.”

“…Ah.”

Will snorts at his awkwardness, nudging his shoulder. “Yeah. Sure made it hard for the Ares cabin to claim, as dicey as it may be. Here, help me park it on the side of the road.”

There’s a thatch of weeds and undergrowth separating the road from the base of the hill, so dragging the chariot over is a struggle and a half. Nico can’t help but think that this task would be very easy if the chariot was harnessed to a couple pegasi and flying over the fucking thatch, as it is meant to do. When he voices this very valid thought, Will does not respond.

He does walk into a thistle, though, so Nico feels considerably better about the whole ordeal.

“The thing about the blessing —” Will grunts, yanking the chariot onto the gravel shoulder with one final tug — “is that it’s not that big of a deal. My dad blesses shit all the time. Our cabin is blessed. The infirmary is blessed. Hell, half my scalpels are blessed, and I throw those things out all the time ‘cause they’re dangerous when they get dull. Just because my dad blessed it doesn’t mean we actually have to keep it.”

“Okay…” Nico says slowly, “then why was it such a big deal?”

“The blessing on its own wasn’t.” Will’s voice gets fainter as he lowers himself onto the pavement, dragging himself under the belly of the chariot. Nico is confused for a full three seconds before a particularly rough patch of asphalt snags Will’s shirt and drags, and wow, are those jeans low rise. His throat is suddenly very dry. “Blessing a chariot on the other hand…”

Will makes a dorky little noise of success, crawling back from under the chariot. When he resurfaces, he’s grinning, carved piece of wood the same material as the chariot clenched in his hand. There’s soot smeared across his left cheek, his curls have tangled themselves into more of a mess than usual, and there are three separate scuff marks on his nice jeans.

Nico ducks his head, hiding a smile. What a dorky loser. Even dressed up as he is (boy, has Nico fallen low, if he’s calling jeans and cowboy boots dressed up), he still manages to look like…Will.

A really, really hot version of Will, but. Whatever. Details.

“The hell is that?”

“This,” Will says grandly, feeling around the wall of the chariot until he finds a specific spot, “is the reason my brother gave a fuck about a dumbass chariot.” He sticks the edge of the wooden tool in a tiny groove, wedging it open to reveal a hidden panel and a small, golden button. Nico meets Will’s grin with raised eyebrows, impressed.

“What do you know about Michael?”

“Uh, not too much.”

“You think he, in any reality, would have had that much interest in a hunk of wood?”

Nico had scarcely met him more than a couple times, but Michael Yew made an impression, that was for sure. For someone who was shorter than Nico when he was ten years old, he sure took up a lot of space. In the few times Nico remembers seeing him, he’d been concerned with his bow, his camera, or showing any given person who so much as blinked at him wrong just how quickly he could turn their ass concave. If Nico is correct, actually, the one time he and a pegasus had been in the same vicinity, they’d hissed at each other. Nico didn’t even know pegasi could hiss.

He tries to find a delicate way to say this.

“He seemed more interested in other endeavours,” he says politely.

Will laughs loudly. “He would rather shove an arrow in his eye than race a chariot!” His bright smile is impossible not to match, and Nico is relieved to find him totally comfortable, relaxed; hell, even excited. Usually, any talk of his siblings, even fond, makes him quiet. He’s glad for this change, however unusual. “Man, I loved my brother more than anything, but he was the most ornery motherfucker I’ve ever met in my life. He taught me every swear in every language by the time I was nine, just because he knew it would drive Lee batty. He didn’t care about some spoil of war.”

He smirks, wide and devilish, and Nico’s knees go weak. Dimples like that should be illegal.

“He was smart, though. And he figured, if dad’s blessing made this chariot anything like his own…”

He reaches out and presses the golden button with his thumb, letting go and standing back once he registers a faint click. After a couple seconds, the chariot begins to glow, soft at first, then brighter, then Nico has to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid the stinging burn, and then when he opens them, it —

He gapes. Will grins.

Where the chariot used to be, is now a shiny, brand-new, black and yellow motorbike, two helmets gleaming on the sparkling leather seat.

“…Then it might be a little more than some lousy chariot.”

Without waiting for Nico to pick his jaw off the floor, Will rushes forward. He tosses one of the helmets to Nico — which he barely manages to catch, still working on processing what the fuck just happened — and tucks the other under his arm. Nico happens to notice how his biceps flex with the action, and then vows to have his father bankrupt the entire polo shirt industry, because he can never be caught lacking like this by any mortal soul. It’s humiliating.

There’s a click as Will unlatches the seat, lifting it up to access the compartment under it. He pulls out a bundle mass of black fabric, and with a flick of his shoulders reveals it to be a fucking leather jacket and oh, gods, Nico takes back the polo shirt complaints, he can live with the polo shirt. This is too much. This is —

“Any time you’re done ogling at me, you can climb on,” Will calls out. He doesn’t even have the good grace to look in Nico’s direction, instead sliding on the seat facing resolutely forward, amused smirk on his face. And because he wants Nico to die, actually, he straightens his jacket, making sure it fits his shoulders right (by the gods does it ever) brushes his hair backwards (there is no genuine reason for someone’s hair to actually shine in the sunlight) and slides his helmet on. When he finally does look back in Nico’s direction, through his raised visor, the combined sight of his sparkling blue eyes and the cut of his face under the angular helmet actually gives him tachycardia.

“I hate you,” Nico croaks. “Not joking.”

Will throws his head back and laughs, baring his long, tanned throat. Nico follows the bob of his adam’s apple like Tantalus does the forbidden fruit. It’s horrible, and what’s worse is that Will is visibly preening like the fuckin’ peacock he is. Someone should remind him he’s basically a dressed up turkey. Or something. Nico’s brain is operating at twenty percent capacity, his ability to metaphor properly is a secondary concern.

“Just get over here, you goober. We’re on a time limit, remember?”

Shoving his helmet on to hide his flaming face, Nico does, sliding on with a healthy four inches of space between them.

“Mm, not gonna work, ParaNorman. This thing’s enchanted, we’ll be going well over a hundred. Hold on properly.”

Praying to seven different gods for strength, at once, Nico scooches the agonizing few inches closer.

“Hands around waist, Death Boy.”

“I’m fucking — I’m getting there, you asshole, gimme a goddamn second.”

“Do you need help?”

“I need you to shut the fuck up so I can focus.”

Maybe it’s the healer in him, or maybe there actually is a god looking out for Nico and they decide to have mercy. Maybe it’s a third option. Either way, Will reaches back and wraps his callused hands around Nico’s wrist, tugging them gently forward and resting them on the narrow curve of his hips. Nico holds them there, along with his breath, until some of the panicky tension starts to loosen in his chest, and he relaxes forward, resting his chest against Will’s back.

“There,” he says quietly, humming with approval when Nico’s arms link properly around his waist. He squeezes his clasped wrists once — a silent you good? — and waits for Nico’s minute nod, face buried in the back of Will’s neck, before starting up the engine, revving it twice before leaning forward, body flush to the bike. Nico can practically feel his grin, it’s so clear in his mind’s eye, in the delight thrumming through Will’s entire body, that he can’t help his own smile, too, can’t help but feel the thrum of the machine, the sharp smell in the air. He tightens his hold and Will lets out a loud, whooping laugh.

“Let’s ride, baby!”

With a push off the ground and a twist of a thrusters, they’re off, leaving behind only the echo of the roaring engine and the joyful, startled sound of Nico’s shriek.

———

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vanteguccir · 7 months ago

Text

── ୨୧ !　𝗖𝗢𝗭𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗦𝗦, 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N's cozy cottage becomes a refuge for Matt, but it's not just the house that encloses him, but who's inside; OR, where Matt and Y/N are in love, but afraid to confess. Until one day.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, by @mattscurlygirly

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Los Angeles was buzzing with life when the triplets moved there, looking for new opportunities for their YouTube career.

It was a sunny day, the day after they settled permanently in their own home, when Matt found himself wandering around the local market, on a somewhat clumsy mission to buy fruit and vegetables for a Wednesday video that Nick had come up with. He wasn't exactly an expert in grocery shopping, and the confusion of colors and smells left him a little lost.

It was then that he saw her - Y/N, standing in the middle of the fruit stands, examining a pile of apples with a serene smile on her lips. She radiated a calmness and natural beauty that instantly caught Matt's attention.

With an inexplicable impulse, Matt approached her, determined to overcome his usual shyness.

"Hi, excuse me." He began, nervous but determined. "You seem to know what you're doing here. Can you help me pick some fruit?"

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting his in an instant. Her smile widened when she noticed his hesitation.

"Of course!" The girl responded, kindly. "What do you want to get?"

What started as a simple exchange of words quickly turned into a lively conversation. Matt discovered that Y/N was a plant lover and an avid supporter of local agriculture. Her passion was contagious, and he found himself sharing more stories about his own life than he expected.

When it was time to leave, Matt found himself reluctant to leave her.

"Hey, do you want to go out sometime?" He asked suddenly, his courage increasing with each word.

"I'd love to. Why don't you come over to my house on Saturday? We can do something together." Y/N smiled, her eyes shining.

Matt agreed immediately, feeling a bubbling excitement in his chest. He couldn't explain the feeling, but he knew there was something special about Y/N from the moment he saw her.

A week later, Matt was standing in the doorway of Y/N's house, his heart beating a little faster than normal while waiting for her. When she opened the door, her warm smile enveloped him almost instantly, dispelling all his worries.

As soon as the boy entered her home, he was immediately captivated by the warm and cozy atmosphere. It was as if he had found a refuge amidst the chaos of the city and even the crazy acceleration of his home.

Over the next few weeks, Matt found himself returning to Y/N's house more and more frequently. He couldn't resist the feeling of peace he found there, nor her company.

Gradually, his feelings for her intensified, but he was hesitant to confess. He was afraid of ruining the friendship they had built - and one of the only true ones he had created in the crazy city of LA and among so many celebrities -, and even more afraid of being rejected.

Little did he know, she felt the same way.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The gentle afternoon breeze danced across the fields around Y/N's small home, whispering secrets among the leaves of the trees and caressing the petals of the flowers in her garden. The golden sun cast its rays through the windows, painting the interior with tones of warmth and coziness.

Inside the house, Y/N was busy watering her plants in her kitchen, an activity she considered as essential as breathing. Her refuge was a veritable green paradise, with foliage that hung gracefully from shelves and vines that snaked up the walls.

The sound of soft knocks on the door in a rhythm already very familiar to her took her out of her reverie, and a smile immediately formed on her lips.

"Come in, Matt!" She called, letting out a nasal laugh at his sudden appearance in her home as she continued to water her plants.

Matt opened the door with a wide smile, his blue eyes shining beautifully in the sunlight.

“Hey, Y/N.” He greeted, entering and closing the door behind him. "How are you? I couldn't send you a text yesterday. We finished recording during the night."

"Better now that you're here." Y/N responded with a playful smile, turning her watering can over and throwing some water towards him.

"Hey, I came in peace!" Matt feigned horror, quickly dodging away, watching the droplets fall on the floor.

"You always say that." Y/N teased, laughing as she put the watering can back in place. "Come on, I made pie. Your favorite."

Sitting down at the kitchen table, they began to talk while eating, as they always did when they were together. It was that easy with Matt. The words flowed effortlessly, and the silence was never uncomfortable.

"Oh, I brought you something." Matt said, taking out a small package from his backpack and placing it on the free space above the table.

"What is it?" Y/N raised an eyebrow while finishing chewing the sweet in her mouth, curious.

"Surprise." Matt replied in a whisper, his smile widening.

The girl opened the package carefully, revealing a pair of small, colorful flower seedlings. Her eyes instantly lit up, rising to his face as a smile gradually grew on her cheeks.

"Matt, they're beautiful!" She exclaimed, holding one of the seedlings gently. "Thank you."

"I knew you would like it." He pressed his lips into a thin line in an attempt not to smile like crazy, watching her tenderly, his eyes traveling from her eyes bright with joy to her wide and excited smile.

With Y/N's help, they prepared pots for the new plants, sharing laughter and lively conversations as they worked together. It was crazy how Matt found an immense interest within himself in plants. It wasn't news that he loved nature with all his being, but Y/N awakened something different in him.

As they worked, their fingers occasionally touched, sending subtle shivers down their spines. It was nothing new for them - there was always electricity in the air when they were together, a gentle tension that they both recognized but chose to ignore.

As the sun began to set, they finally finished planting the flowers, admiring their work with satisfied smiles.

"They're perfect." Y/N murmured, looking at the flowers fondly and clasping her hands together in front of her body in admiration.

"Just like you." Matt said softly, his eyes meeting hers.

A familiar warmth spread through Y/N's chest, and she looked away, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. Matt always had a way of making her feel special, even with the simplest compliments.

"You're so silly, you know that?" She said, trying to hide the emotion in her voice.

"But it's true." Matt insisted, his smile never wavering.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

It was Friday night, the perfect time to escape the routine and get lost in the city's bright streets. Matt parked his car in front of Y/N's house, feeling excitement pulsing through his veins. With a hint of anticipation, he pressed the horn twice in succession, a sharp sound cutting through the stillness of the air.

A few heartbeats later, the door opened and Y/N appeared, observing the car for a few seconds before bending down slightly, looking at Matt in the driver's seat with a mixed expression of surprise and confusion.

"Matt? What are you doing here?" She asked with a frown, her voice thick with perplexity. "Oh my, we had no plans for tonight, right?"

"No, we didn't. But today's video was too stressful to record, and while I left Nick and Chris at home, I thought it would be a good option to drive around for a bit, I needed to clear my head. But it's no fun alone." Matt shrugged, smiling small and raising his right eyebrow, his expression brimming with expectation.

Y/N arched her own, but the mischievous glint in her eyes indicated that she was interested. She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips.

"Why not? I'll get my jacket."

Matt watched as Y/N ran back inside. He knew there was nothing special about just driving around, but the simple idea of spending more time with her was enough to make him happy.

When Y/N returned, he stretched his upper body across the car's console and the passenger seat, pulling the inside handle and pushing the door open, adjusting his posture again and watching her get in and sit down next to himself.

Matt quickly turned on the car after making sure she was comfortable, leaving the familiar streets of Los Angeles behind.

As they drove through the city, they talked and laughed like they always did, the radio playing Y/N's favorite playlist in the background at a low volume, letting the night guide them wherever they wanted to go.

Matt felt at peace next to her, her closeness filling him with a comforting feeling, his mind finally emptying itself of problems and all stress, and focusing completely on the girl he loved.

Suddenly, Y/N's favorite song started playing, filling the car with an infectious beat. Her eyes lit up, a scream of excitement escaping her lips followed by an excited laugh. Her right hand worked on opening the window on her side, allowing the wind to play with her hair.

Matt couldn't take his eyes off her.

As the girl sang at the top of her lungs, her eyes closed tightly, and a beaming smile opened on her cheeks, Matt felt like he was witnessing pure euphoria personified.

He was in a trance, his mouth slightly open, and his pupils almost completely dilated, his heart pounding in his chest.

She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

Matt tried to keep his attention between her and the road, making sure they were safe while Y/N gave herself over to the music and the night, the strong wind circulating through the inside of the car and moving the boy's fluffy hair.

His heart filled with warmth at seeing her so happy, and he knew without a shadow a doubt that he was right where he belonged.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

A cool autumn breeze danced through the tree leaves, bringing with it the comforting scent of dry leaves and spices. In Y/N's room, autumn-scented candles cast a soft, welcoming light, serving as the only source of living light, while the warmth of coziness filled the walls.

Y/N and Matt were cuddled up in the double bed under thick blankets, their bodies pressing gently against each other as they watched a horror movie on the television.

A bowl full of freshly baked and fragrant chocolate cookies rested on the girl's lap above the duvet, consequently warming her legs, both of their hands fishing for the treats from time to time.

The atmosphere was filled with the tranquility of an autumn night, Matt's favorite, but the boy struggled mightily to concentrate on the movie as his heart beat wildly in his chest.

The feeling of Y/N's warm skin rubbing against his made his own goosebumps, the natural smell of her hair filled his nostrils, leaving him in a state of almost drunkenness.

As the movie progressed, a scary scene appeared on the screen, causing Y/N to jump in fright and snuggle even more against Matt's chest.

The boy felt a shiver run down his spine almost automatically, and his heart beat even harder in his chest, so that he could hear it in his ears, the sound of the voices coming from the television becoming muffled to him.

When Y/N looked up with an amused smile on her face, ready to make a joke about the scare, she found Matt's eyes already fixed on her in a different way, a good one. There was something there - a quiet intensity that made her own heart race.

Her smile slowly faded, her throat swallowing hard at Matt's intensity.

Their gazes remained fixed for long minutes, or seconds, and before Y/N could find the courage to say anything, Matt raised a trembling hand, taking it to the apple of her cheek, caressing the flushed and warm skin lightly, his expression full of tenderness and emotion.

"Y/N." He whispered, his voice soft to the ears. "I need to tell you something."

Y/N's heart lurched in her chest, her cheeks burning slightly under Matt's touch, feeling anxiety and anticipation rise through her body like a shiver.

"What is it?" She asked just as quietly, barely able to contain the emotion in her voice, the movie already long forgotten.

Matt swallowed hard, summoning all the courage he had within him.

“I love you, Y/N.” The boy confessed, knowing that if he thought twice, he wouldn't say it. His eyes never leaving hers. "I love you more than I ever thought possible to love anyone. I would do anything for you, anything to have you."

Matt's words echoed in the room, filled with sincerity and vulnerability. Y/N felt tears threatening to overflow her eyes, a wave of heat flooding her chest.

She wanted to say something, express the whirlwind of emotions she was feeling, but words escaped her, and she knew that in that moment she had gained what her heart longed for most, having him for herself.

Then, in a moment of pure connection, Y/N leaned up, resting her hand on Matt's chest, and finally captured Matt's lips with hers, initiating a sweet, passionate kiss.

Their lips moved in perfect harmony, conveying all the love and affection they felt for each other. Y/N's free hand traveled to the side of Matt's head, playing with his curly hair lightly, as Matt brought his hands to her hips, lightly squeezing the covered skin between his fingers.

When they pulled away seconds later, Y/N blinked long and hard, her eyes shining with tears of happiness, a radiant smile lighting up her face.

"Matt, you are every flower I have ever admired." Y/N muttered, her voice cracking. "That means I love you too. With all my heart."

And there, on that autumn night, under the glow of the candles and the warmth of the blankets, Matt and Y/N could finally allow themselves to feel and love, without fear of rejection, because they already belonged to each other.

taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @jamiesturniolo @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @thebottledwatersupplier @soso-scarlettolivia @maryx2xx @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @iammattswife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

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wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 2 months ago

Text

Some of @render-me-usless' Fav Fics!

If you want to make me a list let me know in IM. You can do whatever you want, fave fics, fav tropes or even check out the pending asks page and fill one of those.

Where to Search for Snow by suburbanmotel

(1/1 I 8,954 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles and his Gigantic Repressed Feelings accidentally affect the weather. A lot. Like. A lot.

“It’s snowing, Stiles,” says Derek.

Stiles looks up. He nods. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

Derek looks at him. “It’s snowing, Stiles. In your bedroom.”

Stiles and the Seven Wolves by SylvieW

(1/1 I 10,421 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles is Snow White, Kate is the Evil Queen, and when Chris the Huntsman doesn't kill him, he runs off to live with seven werewolves.

Somewhere to Start by Lissadiane

(1/1 I 33,552 I Teen I Sterek)

Stiles has always known that he isn't quite human - the plant life that tends to sprout around him whenever he gets upset or excited gives it away. He's never really fit in among the regular people in Beacon Hills and is determined to wait it out, go to college, and find somewhere to belong. He's forced to abandon those plans, however, after he desperately agrees to enter into an arranged marriage to save his father's life.

An arranged marriage with an angry, sometimes furry dude with trust issues. It's all very Beauty and the Beast, without the singing candlesticks.

Waiting by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(2/2 I 81,018 I Teen I Sterek)

Not wanting to think on it too much, Stiles took a step forward and passed his hand between the bars, moving the bleeding side closer to Derek’s mouth.

“Not too close, he bites.”

Stiles snatched his hand away just as Derek had been about to lick at it. The snarl he got in response was not comforting.

“He what?” Stiles asked nervously, turning to Deaton.

The man looked a little amused. “Don’t worry, only if he doesn’t like you.”

“Well, he probably hates me, now!” Stiles insisted, turning back to Derek.

He looked extremely displeased.

Three Marks by sanam

(8/8 I 113,736 I Mature I Sterek)

"And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off— And suddenly it was done. Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt."

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

A Desperate Arrangement by mikkimouse

(25/25 I 115,506 I Explicit I Sterek)

"I'm sorry, I believe there's something wrong with my hearing," Stiles said. "Because I could have sworn you just told me you set up a betrothal agreement with the Hales. A betrothal agreement involving me. Me."

Scott smiled his easygoing smile and nodded, which told Stiles no, he hadn't misheard a damn thing.

After seven years of lengthy negotiations, the treaty between the Hales and the Argents has fallen apart and the two countries fell into war.

Months later, there's an uneasy truce, thanks to the intervention of King Scott McCall, but it won't last. In a desperate attempt to maintain the peace, the Hales sign a treaty with the McCalls to marry Prince Derek to Prince Stiles Stilinski, King Scott's brother.

In the history of the world, there have been many better ideas.

Black and Blue by charlotteinlace

(50/50 I 209,549 I Explicit I Sterek)

Stiles knows what he should be doing, finding a good Dom and seeing a few dozen therapists. But that shit can wait, right now he's got a gang to infiltrate and a murderer to find. A murderer who killed his father.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #submission #mates

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ms-snape · 1 month ago

Note

Jealous severus x reader? maybe involving lockheart

Title: Someone Like Me?

Warning: Angst, jealous severus, lockhart

Words Count: 3000+

Masterlist

---

The air in the Hogwarts greenhouse was thick with the scent of soil and herbs as Y/N moved gently through the rows of plants. She had always found comfort here, among the vibrant greenery and the soft hum of magical growth. Herbology was her sanctuary, and each day she poured her heart into tending to the rare plants and teaching her students how to care for them with the same tenderness.

It was peaceful, or at least, it had been until recently.

As of late, her tranquility had been invaded by a certain new presence at the school—Gilderoy Lockhart, the newly appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. His arrival had caused quite the stir, especially among the female students and even some of the staff, but for Y/N, his constant attention was becoming more than a little uncomfortable.

At first, she had thought it was just harmless friendliness. Lockhart had swept into her greenhouse on the first week of term, his toothy smile gleaming as brightly as the medals on his robes.

"My dear Professor Y/N!" he had exclaimed, clasping his hands together in a gesture that was all too theatrical. "I must say, you have the most enchanting little space here! It’s no wonder the students speak so highly of you."

Y/N had blushed, embarrassed by the attention, and murmured something about the plants deserving the praise, not her. Lockhart, however, had waved away her modesty with a laugh that echoed too loudly in the intimate confines of the greenhouse.

"Nonsense, nonsense! I can see that you put as much care into your work as I do into my own," he said, leaning in just a little too close. "You and I, we have much in common, I think."

She had smiled politely, trying not to shrink under his overly familiar presence. She wasn’t used to people being so forward with her. It wasn’t that she was oblivious—Y/N had noticed Lockhart’s flirtations—but she simply didn’t know how to respond. Confrontation wasn’t in her nature, and she didn’t want to create awkwardness among the staff. So, she had smiled, and tried to extricate herself from his attention as gracefully as she could.

But it didn’t stop there.

Lockhart’s visits to the greenhouse became more frequent. He would find reasons to come by during her lessons, interrupting her with flamboyant anecdotes about his supposed adventures. The students would giggle or roll their eyes, but Y/N found herself growing more and more uneasy. His compliments had become more pointed, more personal, always accompanied by a lingering touch on her arm or a too-familiar smile.

"Professor Y/N," Lockhart had said one afternoon, as he appeared at her greenhouse once more, his robes billowing dramatically behind him. "I was just telling the Headmaster how much we make the perfect team, you and I. Perhaps we should write a book together! Herbs and Heroics, don’t you think? It would sell like that." He snapped his fingers, leaning toward her again.

Y/N’s discomfort had risen, her hands twisting nervously around a sprig of dittany. "I—I’m really not a writer, Professor Lockhart. I don’t think—"

"Nonsense!" he interrupted, his tone dripping with charm. "With your knowledge of plants and my experience, we’d make quite the pair. Don’t you think?"

His hand brushed her shoulder as he spoke, and Y/N stiffened slightly. She gave a weak smile, hoping he’d take the hint, but once again, she found herself trapped by her own politeness. She didn’t want to upset him, didn’t want to cause a scene, but Merlin, how she wished he would leave her alone.

Across the castle, in the dimly lit Potions classroom, Severus Snape stood over a cauldron, stirring the mixture with precise movements, though his mind was far from the task at hand.

For weeks now, he had been watching. Watching as Lockhart fawned over Y/N, as he invaded her personal space with that nauseating smile and those absurd stories. It was infuriating. Severus had always been protective of Y/N—more than he would ever admit. They had worked together for years now, and though their relationship had never ventured beyond professional, he had long harbored feelings for her that he kept buried deep inside.

He had always told himself that Y/N deserved better than him, better than someone as broken and cold as he was. She was kind, too kind for the likes of him. So, he had never acted on his feelings, content to watch from the sidelines, to enjoy the small moments when they shared quiet conversations about rare herbs or discussed the latest potions ingredients she had gathered for him.

But now, with Lockhart constantly hovering around her, Severus found his resolve crumbling.

At first, he had tried to ignore it. Lockhart was a buffoon, and surely Y/N would see through his ridiculous posturing soon enough. But day after day, Severus watched as Lockhart showered her with attention, and worst of all, Y/N didn’t reject him. She didn’t push him away. She didn’t seem to be upset by his advances.

And that was what hurt the most.

Perhaps, Severus thought bitterly, she liked Lockhart’s attention. Perhaps she enjoyed the compliments, the flirtation. Why wouldn’t she? Lockhart was everything Severus wasn’t—charming, outgoing, and confident. And while Severus could see through the man’s facade, perhaps Y/N couldn’t.

Perhaps she was falling for him.

The thought sent a cold wave of pain through Severus, and he found himself withdrawing from Y/N more and more. It was easier that way. Easier to distance himself before he had to watch her fall into Lockhart’s arms. He started avoiding her, no longer lingering in the staffroom when she entered, no longer stopping by her greenhouse to ask for ingredients. He couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to watch her be swept away by someone so unworthy of her, and yet… someone she seemed to be accepting.

Y/N had noticed the change almost immediately.

Severus was avoiding her.

For weeks now, he had been cold, distant, and she couldn’t understand why. She had always admired Severus, despite his stern demeanor and cutting remarks. There was something about him that intrigued her, something deeper, and over the years, she had come to value the rare moments when he let his guard down, even if just for a second.

But now, it was as if he had built a wall between them. She couldn’t even catch his eye in the hallways, and whenever she tried to speak to him, he dismissed her with a curt nod or a sharp word. It hurt more than she cared to admit. She missed him, missed their quiet conversations and the way he would surprise her with his vast knowledge of plants and potions.

At first, she thought she had done something to upset him, but no matter how many times she went over their last conversations, she couldn’t find anything wrong. It wasn’t until she saw the way Severus’s eyes flickered with something close to anger when he caught her speaking with Lockhart that she began to piece it together.

Could it be… jealousy?

The thought was almost too much to believe. Severus, jealous of Lockhart? The idea seemed absurd, and yet, the more she thought about it, the more sense it made. She had seen the way his expression darkened when Lockhart was near, the way his jaw clenched whenever the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor tried to engage her in conversation.

But if Severus was upset, he wasn’t going to tell her. He was too stubborn for that.

So, after weeks of being brushed aside, Y/N decided she needed to confront him. She couldn’t take the cold distance anymore, and if he was angry with her, she needed to know why.

One evening, after a particularly long day in the greenhouse, Y/N made her way down to the dungeons. She had seen Severus slip out of the Great Hall after dinner, his usual shadowy presence retreating into the depths of the castle. She followed him, her heart pounding in her chest with nerves, but she was determined to get answers.

She found him in his office, sitting behind his desk, a quill in hand as he scrawled something into a large, leather-bound book. He didn’t look up when she knocked softly on the doorframe.

"Severus," she said quietly, stepping into the room.

He didn’t respond at first, his eyes remaining fixed on the parchment before him.

"Severus," she repeated, a little more firmly.

With a sigh of irritation, he finally glanced up, his dark eyes cold and unreadable. "What do you want, Y/N?"

Y/N hesitated, her fingers twisting nervously together. "I… I need to know why you’ve been avoiding me."

Severus’s expression didn’t change. He set his quill down, leaning back in his chair with a look of cool indifference. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Yes, you do," Y/N pressed, stepping closer to his desk. "You’ve been avoiding me for weeks now, and I don’t understand why. Did I do something to upset you?"

He let out a harsh laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Upset me? No, Y/N, you didn’t upset me. I simply have no interest in wasting my time with someone like you."

The words hit her like a physical blow, and she took a step back, her eyes widening in hurt and confusion. "Someone like me? What does that mean?"

Severus’s gaze was sharp, his voice colder than she had ever heard it. "You know exactly what it means. I’ve seen the way you prance around with Lockhart, letting him fawn over you like some lovesick puppy. Clearly, you enjoy the attention."

Y/N’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. "I—Severus, it’s not like that. I don’t—"

But he cut her off, his words laced with bitterness. "Don’t insult my intelligence, Y/N. I’ve seen how you let him flirt with you, how you blush and smile like a schoolgirl..I don’t have time for someone like you. If you enjoy Lockhart’s company so much, then by all means, continue. But don’t expect me to waste my time on someone who can’t even see past his ridiculous charm."

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, the weight of his cruel words crushing her. She had never seen Severus like this, so angry, so hurt. She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but the words wouldn’t come. All she could do was stand there, frozen in place, as Severus’s cold gaze bore into her.

When she finally found her voice, it was barely a whisper. "I never wanted his attention, Severus. I’ve only ever—"

"Enough," Severus snapped, standing abruptly and turning away from her. "I don’t want to hear it. If you wish to continue entertaining that fool, that’s your business. But I will not be part of it."

With that, he stormed out of the room, leaving Y/N standing there, her heart shattered and tears spilling down her cheeks. She had come for answers, but all she had found was pain.

The following days were a blur for Y/N. She avoided the staffroom, avoided Severus, and kept to herself in the greenhouse. She couldn’t stop replaying their conversation in her head, his harsh words echoing painfully in her mind. I simply have no interest in wasting my time with someone like you.

She hadn’t known it was possible to feel this hurt, this rejected. For the first time, she found herself dreading the start of each day, dreading the possibility of seeing Severus in the halls. The spark of happiness that usually came with her work had dimmed, replaced by a hollow sadness that seemed to follow her everywhere she went.

Even her students noticed the change in her demeanor, though they were too polite to mention it. She tried to hide her feelings, tried to put on a brave face, but it was difficult. Every time she passed Severus in the corridors, her heart ached with the memory of his words, and every time Lockhart made his usual visits to the greenhouse, she felt a wave of nausea rise in her throat.

It didn’t take long for Minerva McGonagall to notice.

One afternoon, as Y/N was tending to a bed of mandrakes, Minerva appeared at the door of the greenhouse, her sharp eyes studying Y/N with a knowing look.

"Y/N," she said softly, stepping into the room. "May I have a word?"

Y/N looked up, startled, and quickly wiped her hands on her apron. "Of course, Minerva."

Minerva approached her, her expression softening as she saw the sadness in Y/N’s eyes. "You’ve been rather quiet lately, my dear. Is everything all right?"

Y/N forced a smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "I’m fine, just… busy."

Minerva didn’t seem convinced. She took a seat on one of the nearby benches, folding her hands in her lap as she spoke. "You’ve been avoiding the staffroom, and I can’t help but notice that you haven’t been your usual self. Is there something going on? Does it have to do with Severus?"

The mention of his name sent a sharp pang through Y/N’s chest, and she looked away, her hands trembling slightly as she fussed with the dirt on her fingertips.

"I… I don’t know," she admitted quietly. "I thought we were friends, but lately… I think I’ve upset him. He won’t talk to me anymore."

Minerva’s brow furrowed, concern flashing across her features. "I see. Severus can be… difficult, at times. But I know he holds you in high regard. It’s unlike him to act this way without reason."

Y/N let out a soft sigh, her voice tinged with sadness. "I don’t know what I did wrong. He said I was wasting his time, that he didn’t want to deal with me anymore. And now… now he won’t even look at me."

Minerva’s eyes softened, and she reached out to place a comforting hand on Y/N’s arm. "I don’t believe that’s true, my dear. Severus may not always show it, but he cares deeply for the people in his life. Whatever has caused this rift between you, I don’t believe it’s something you’ve done."

Y/N shook her head, her throat tightening with the weight of her emotions. "But he’s so angry with me. He thinks… he thinks I like Lockhart."

At the mention of Lockhart’s name, Minerva’s expression shifted into something closer to exasperation. "Lockhart? Merlin, that man has been more of a nuisance than I expected. But Severus should know better than to assume that you have any interest in him. He’s clearly projecting his own insecurities onto you."

Y/N blinked, surprised by Minerva’s words. "You think… you think Severus is jealous?"

Minerva smiled faintly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I do, Y/N. It’s quite obvious to those of us who know him well. Severus may not be the most forthcoming when it comes to his feelings, but it’s clear that he has feelings for you. He’s just too proud—and too afraid—to admit it."

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at Minerva’s words. Could it be true? Could Severus’s coldness and bitterness be a result of jealousy?

Minerva gave her a knowing look, standing up from the bench. "I suggest you talk to him, Y/N. Really talk to him. He may not make it easy, but I think you’ll find that he cares more than he lets on."

Severus paced his chambers, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. He had hurt her—he knew that much. The look in her eyes when he had spoken those cruel words haunted him, and yet, he couldn’t stop the bitterness that had fueled his anger.

It was easier this way, he told himself. Easier to push her away before she had the chance to reject him. Easier to convince himself that she wanted someone else—someone like Lockhart—than to face the truth of his own feelings.

But the truth was becoming harder and harder to ignore.

There was a knock at the door, and Severus’s heart leapt into his throat when he saw Y/N standing there, her eyes red-rimmed but determined.

"Severus," she said, her voice soft but steady. "We need to talk."

He turned away from her, trying to compose himself, but the sight of her standing there, vulnerable and hurt, made his resolve crumble.

"Y/N, I—" He paused, his throat tightening with guilt. "I’m sorry."

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "I don’t understand, Severus. Why are you pushing me away? Why are you so angry with me?"

Severus closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. He couldn’t keep lying to her—not anymore.

"I’m not angry with you," he said finally, his voice low. "I’m angry with myself."

Y/N frowned, stepping closer. "What does that mean?"

Severus hesitated, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He hated this—hated being vulnerable, hated exposing the raw, aching feelings that he had spent so long trying to bury. But he owed her the truth.

"I saw the way Lockhart was… pursuing you," Severus began, his voice tight. "And I thought… I thought you were enjoying it. That you wanted his attention. It hurt, Y/N. It hurt to think that you could fall for someone like him when…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Y/N’s eyes softened with understanding. "When what, Severus?"

He met her gaze, his dark eyes filled with something raw and unspoken. "When I’ve been in love with you for years."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and vulnerable. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest.

"I never wanted his attention, Severus," she said softly, her voice trembling. "I never wanted anyone’s attention but yours."

Severus stared at her, stunned by her words. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. And then, slowly, he closed the distance between them, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out to cup her cheek.

"I’m sorry," he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m sorry for pushing you away. I’m sorry for hurting you."

Y/N smiled through her tears, leaning into his touch. "I forgive you, Severus."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Severus allowed himself to hope.

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