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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month ago

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Fantod

Warnings: non/dubcon, biting, blood, anal, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Part of Roo's Pajama Party (October 7-8)

Prompt: Fantod - a state of irritability and tension (List of prompts here) + this look

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. I hope you enjoy this one and have a lovely weekend.

Lightning crackles in the sky as the clouds pulse above. The storm brews behind the pillowy weave above, thrumming, churning, ready to burst at any moment. You peer up from the window in dread. The tension in the air is more than the weather. The storm is no coincidence.

You hug the pale pink knit around you and shiver. The heat that kept you in little more than the white satin set has given way to a creeping dampness. The sinking temperature creeps over your flesh and you shiver as tendrils of lightly sprawl toward you.

Closer and closer. It isn’t only the storm that warns of his approach. You slip your hand beneath the loose sweater and touch the burning patch of skin along your hip. You touch the scarred mark. The etching of a rune you don’t know the meaning of.

You back away from the window and retreat into the kitchen. You put the brass kettle onto the burner and twist the dial until the flame catches. You cross your arms and back up to watch the vessel in dread.

You flinch as a fleck of rain hits the window pane. You glance over at the speckle as it begins. The droplets are small at first then turn into a thrashing stream the rattles the wooden frame and beat on the glass. The first peel of thunder makes you squeak.

You clasp your hands over your chest and spin. The windows darken and the whole cabin seems to tremble. Closer, now.

The whistle of the kettle makes you exclaim. You turn and shut it off, forgetting the idea of tea. The door blows open and slams against the wall. You spin again as a gust unfurls from the front of the house. You scurry to the doorway as the tails of your sweater lash around you.

The hammer soars through the open door and clunks onto the floor. You stare at the handle as it juts up from the dense block. You shiver as lightning flickers in the doorway. Another rush of wind invades the house and another crash lands at the threshold.

Thor’s burly silhouette fills the doorway. You quiver and clutch your hands tight. Goosebumps nip over your skin. You cautiously step forward.

“My prince,” you greet in a mewl that barely escapes your throat.

He doesn’t respond. He enters and the wind reverses, snapping the door shut behind him. You wince and fall into action. You near the gargantuan shadow and pull out the small stool from beside the mat. You climb up to unclasp the front of his cloak as he stands, puffing like a furious bear.

Something has happened. He is unhappy. He doesn’t so often come on sunny days anymore. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t so much as acknowledge you as you pull away the rich red fabric and hang it on the hook.

You slide the stool away as he sits on the bench against the wall. You kneel to remove his boots and put them on the mat. The smell of rain thickens the air and sends another shiver up your spine.

He stands and you scramble to do the same. In an instant, he has you by the back of your neck. You squeak. His strength pinches your muscles. You arch your back and writhe on your toes.

“My prince, how may I serve you?” You whimper.

He grabs the pink sweater strips the sleeve of one arm, then the other. It falls to your feet and he shoves you away from the door. You perform a tortured dance as his nails dig into your skin. He is angry... at you?

“My prince,” you whine again.

He brings his other hand under your chin and forces your mouth shut. Lightning flashes from the windows and limn his angry expression. You peer up at him helplessly.

He marches you backward. Your feet tumble over the rug that trims the length of the hallway until your meet the cold tile. He drags you into the kitchen as the brand on your pelvis throbs hotly.

He urges you against the counter. You’re trapped there before him. He lifts you with no effort at all onto the countertop. You land so that a pang radiates from your tailbone. You grip the edge of the hewn oak and bat your lashes at him.

His hand slips up from your neck to cradle your head. He tilts your face up to him and bends like vulture over his prey. His breath scalds you as he fans you in a furious exhale.

You shakily raise your hands and press them to his chest plate. His grey blue eyes stir in tandem with the storm roaring and raging without. His gaze falls to your touch and he grip eases.

His hand trails down from your chin and tickles your throat. You tremble as he traces along your shoulder and follows the thin strap of your silky camisole. He hooks around the thin strip of fabric and pulls it down your shoulder. The other slackens and falls down your arm. The satin slumps away from your chest.

His eyes devour your chest before he does. He bows to take a pert nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue around until your moan. His need plucks in your chest as he teethes your rigid bud. You bring your hand to the back of his head and draw him in.

Tension cords through his muscles, you feel it as your other hand brushes along his bulging bicep. He nips at you, biting along the cushion of your chest. He jerks you suddenly so you fall onto your back. Your head touches the wall, your neck curling up, as his fingertips wander down your back.

His other hand crawls beneath the loosely tied waistband of your shorts. He pets your pelvis as he trails closer to your cunt. He pushes between your folds and you twitch.

A swell of nerves roils inside of you. Your walls clutch in anticipation, almost fear. Each time is like the first. He’s always too much.

He rubs you as he bites and licks at your chest and shoulders. He nuzzles your neck and sinks his teeth in until you whimper. You spasm as he rolls your clit beneath your fingertips. The skin splits and your blood bubbles into his mouth. Another mark to make you his.

He dips his finger into you, poking as deep as he can, as if to feel your limit. He knows how much you can take and he never pays it much mind. You will take all of him even if you feel you might burst.

He unlatches his teeth and smears his lips in the blood he’s drawn. It stains your skin as he drags his lips around. He pulls his finger in and out, adding another as you groan. He wiggles them inside of you and puts a third in despite your weak whimpers.

He growls and lifts himself. He looks down at you, his lips and beard red from his beastly bite. He jams his fingers as deep as he can then tears them out of you. He grabs your hip and flips you in a single motion.

You hit your stomach on the edge of the counter as you slip backward. He smacks your thigh then drags his hand up to your ass. He slaps you again, so hard your bones aches. Something. You did something. But what?

“My prince, what--”

He hushes you and pinches the soft flesh of your bottom. He feels along your satin shorts and curls his fingers around the waistband. He snaps the ribbon laced through and the shorts slip down your legs.

You as good as hang off the counter as your toes dangles right above the tile. You brace the wood to keep from slipping as he frames your hip with one hand. He shifts behind you, jostling around, brushing against you as he comes closer. The soft rustle of fabric foretells a much rougher end.

He brings himself out and presses his tip along your ass. He traces down the curve and pushes against your folds. You quiver and stretch your hand across the countertop. You close your eyes and grit your teeth. You know what happens now.

Your walls squeeze even as you focus on relaxing. He pauses along your entrance. He rolls his swollen tip around, slickening it with your expectation. He rubs up and down, up and down. Whatever you’ve done, doesn’t matter. Only his will does.

He delves into, just a little, then pulls out. You croak as your insides spasm. He huffs and slips his dick up between your cheeks. He bends forward and hooks his arm around to smother your mouth in his large palm. With his other hand, he pushes his tip against your tight ring.

You squeak helplessly into his rough skin. No. No. Not that. You can’t handle--

Your lips part and your teeth press against his palm as he enters you. You squeal, muted by his hand, and bite down on him as he inches into you. You shake as tears prick at your eyes and well over. Your fingers furl against the wood and your nails cut into the polish.

He nuzzles the grown of your head and growls. You sniffle as you sob silently into his hand. Why is he doing this? What did you do?

He buries himself to his limit and you kick out around his legs. He leans into you as the fullness feels as if it will split your stomach. You whine through your nose and gulp up your agony. You cling to his wrist as he thrusts, your hips bones crushed against the sharp corner of the counter.

He rolls back and in again. Long, slow, strokes. Torturous. A remonstrance spoken without words. He pumps into you as you squirm and squeak. You lean your face into his hand as he pushes his other beneath you. He touches the brand on your pelvis and sends a fiery ripple through you.

He slams his hips into you. He holds himself as deep in you as he can get and pulls back so fast, it drains your breath. He thrusts again, deeper, and falls into an erratic rut. He bounces you against the counter, pinning you beneath him as he smothers your cries, latched onto your hip as he uses you.

He growls into your hair as he fucks you into the counter top. Your torso scraps against the wood and your spine aches from his relentless force.

He grunts and slides his hand around the back of your leg. He pulls your back as he hooks his arm around the back of your thigh. He folds you up as he lifts you with him, his other arm coming around your other leg. He has you high above the floor as he steps away from the counter and thrusts up into your ass.

You push your head back against him. Your eyes roll back into your skull and your tongue lolls out at the clash of pain and pleasure. He snaps his hips, harder and harder, and your body quakes uncontrollably.

He sinks in as deep as he can and shakes. His voice trickles out in heaving growls and keeps you aloft as he turns to lean against the counter. You spasm around his dick, aching and stretched. He snarls through his nose and jerks his hips one last time.

“Stop feeding the crows,” he rasps.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #pajama party #sleepover #mcu #marvel #avengers #drabble

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 7 months ago

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Breaking Dishes. - OC

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 2.7K~ cw: smut, arguments, violence, fighting/roughousing, breaking dishes, insults, toxic relationship.

It’s 8:12 A.M. when Kathleen finds herself sliding off bed and wrapping herself in a flowery black and pink silk robe. John’s side of the bed is cold, a sign he’s gotten up long ago.

She pads over to their en-suite bathroom and quickly washes her face, brushes her teeth and her hair, before she leaves the bedroom in search of her husband.

As she enters the kitchen, she finds her temper already rising, her jaw clenching as she looks around, finding multiple reasons to get angry already, so early in the morning, so early in a weekend morning.

First, she finds that he’s made breakfast already. Not for them, just for himself. Nothing for her. Selfish bastard.

Second, he made himself a full English too. Having left the rest of the eggs and sausages out of the fridge. The milk too even though he KNOWS she hates when he does that.

Third, he’s left a mess of pans and utensils on the kitchen stove… Which means she can’t even cook herself breakfast if she wanted to.

Fourth, the water kettle is not full enough for her to make herself a cuppa. In fact, the water in it is already lukewarm, even if there was enough to make herself one, she still couldn’t.

And fifth, John is sitting outside in the balcony, getting some sun, while only wearing a pair of jeans, showing off his strong torso and bulging arms to the whole neighborhood. Like a bloody tart.

Oh… Kathleen. is. pissed.

“JONATHAN. WILLIAM. PRICE!” She calls out at the top of her lungs as she whips the sliding glass door open and coming face to face with the man of the hour.

“Morning, Kat.” John greets her, completely calm and collected as he looks up at her, leaning his elbow lazily on the table next to him, which holds his empty breakfast plate and cutlery.

He’s lounging without a care in the world, a grey wool sweater across his lap, and a mug of tea in his hand.

“Morning my arse! Did’ya see the mess you left in the kitchen?!” She asks him pointedly, brown eyes wide as she glares pure daggers at him.

Unfortunately for her, her raising her voice and her stern glares do little to him now, four years into their relationship, one into their marriage. He’s gotten used to them.

“Calm your tits, woman, I’m going to clean it after I’m done here.” He replies nonchalantly as he gestures vaguely. “Can’t I have a moment’s peace?”

“Oh, you want a moment’s peace, do ya?” She asks him as she crosses her arms over her chest, dipping her head to the side. “When do I get a moment’s peace, hm? When do I get a bloody weekend when I wake up and there’s not a mess to clean or with my breakfast made for me?” She asks with a cocked brow.

John shifts around in “I let you sleep in. Didn’t make any noise. You chose to get up right now. Could've stayed asleep and you would've woken up to clean dishes.” He remaked with a shrug.

“Ex-cuse me?” Kathleen asked pointedly as she stared at him.

“You heard me. You’re getting an attitude for no reason, da’ling.” John remarked as he finished gulping down his tea.

Kathleen wanted to yell at him some more. She really wanted to. The man drove her insane, especially when he was like this… Correct.

“Don’t you gaslight me, Jonathan. I have a right to want to wake up to a clean house and some food made for me!” She retorted, grasping at straws for something to justify her anger.

“And this is after you complained I never make breakfast the way you like it?” He retorted as he looked her up and down before standing up, gathering his plate, cutlery and empty cup of tea.

“You-!” She sputtered a bit as she looked up at her husband, who gently moved her aside so he could slip past her back inside the house. “I- You-!” She continued as she followed after him.

”Face it, Kat, you have no leg to stand on, da’lin’.” John remarked as he entered the kitchen.

“Don’t you bloody walk away from me!” She raised her voice and suddenly shoved him from behind. It caused his empty cup of tea to roll of its perch atop the dirty plate he was carrying and shatter into a million pieces on the hardwood floor.

John stopped in his tracks as soon as the cup fell, so as to not step on the shards and turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Was that fuckin’ necessary, da’lin’?”

“Yes.” Kathleen replied with a bite to her tone as she stared up into his eyes, holding her ground even as he turned and stood over her.

“Really? What’d I do to deserve that push, hm?” He asked her as he dipped his head to the side, blue eyes trailing over the form of his wife beneath him, wrapped in a silken robe that wrapped beautifully around her full figure.

Meanwhile, Kathleen’s brown eyes were glued to her husband’s figure too, trailing over the strong neck, broad shoulders, muscular pecs, soft stomach, and the abundant hair that covered it.

“You- You were sitting outside like a bloody tart, showin’ off for the bloody neighbors!” She suddenly said as her eyes shot up to look at him, having found something to grasp on to yell at him some more.

John’s eyebrows raised, his lips morphed into a smirk and he gave her a mocking look, his nose scrunching up a bit. “Is that what this is, da’lin’? You’re jealous?” He asked her condescendingly.

“Oh piss off, John, I’m not jealous!” She retorted pointedly as she glared at him.

“Right…” John asked as he took a step over her. “Then why are you complaining about me being shirtless, then?” He teased her as one of his hands moved to grasp her around the chin, squeezing her face lightly.

“I-” Kathleen tried to defend herself, having already realized that today just wasn’t one of her days when it came to having a sharp tongue. So she did what she could, ever competitive she was, wasn’t going to take the disrespect lying down.

Grabbing his forearm, she ripped his hand off her face, then, took the plate off his other hand, and threw it across the living room blindly, hearing it shatter somewhere, probably against the bookshelf by the TV.

“Fuck. You. John Price. I’m sick and tired of your bloody attitude.” She pointed a finger in his face and then poked him on the chest. “You think you can walk around here as you wish, as if you’re in bloody charge? I think the fuck not!” She scolded him.

John didn’t even flinch at her poking him, or the plate being hurled across the room. He was used to this. Used to her. Hell, it turned him on when Kathleen was being a cunt to him.

John reached forward and grabbed her by her right forearm, pulling her against him. “Yeah? Then who’s in charge, da’lin’?” He challenged as he looked down his nose at her.

“It sure as hell isn’t you!” She retorted, her voice, much like her hackles, raised, even if she didn’t try, at all, to pull away from him. She wasn’t afraid of John. Never had been, never would be.

“Let’s see about that then.” John told her as he pulled her over to the living couch, spun her away from him and bent her over the armchair.

Kathleen squeaked softly, knowing well what was coming, as John pinned her wrists behind her back with one hand, the other rolling up her robe to expose her thighs and her ass.

“Who’s in charge, hm?” John goaded her before he whipped his hand back and delivered a hard smack to one of her round ass cheeks, causing it to ripple, a moan falling from her parted lips.

“Not. You.” She replied, huffing a moan again when he delivered a second smack to her ass. “Fuck. You. John.” She grunted through her teeth.

“What’d you say, da’lin’?” John asked as he leaned close to her ear. “Did you just tell me to go fuck myself?” He teased, watching as she fruitlessly writhed over the armrest, her head buried down in the couch cushion, her hands and arms struggling in his grip.

She rolled her head to the side so she could catch him through the corner of her eye. “Yes, I fucking did. And I’ll say it again. Fuck you, John.” She spat at him.

“Tsk-tsk. Brat.” John mused with a smirk on his lips. She could hear it. Then he smacked her again, and again, always making sure to strike the same spot, her skin already redening and blushing as the skin warmed up and the blood vessels popped below it.

John only gave her a break once the dulcets of her voice had softened and her moans had become whimpers, her arms and hands having gone limp in his grasp. “Who’s in charge, Kat?” He checked as he looked at her with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

Kathleen’s brown eyes caught his, her face just as red as her ass, her eyes widened, pupils blown from lust. “Fuck. You.” She gritted through her teeth.

“Oh, that wasn’t enough was it, sweet’art?” He goaded again. “Very well.” He added. John’s hand grabbed hold of the waist band of her panties and pulled them down swiftly, noting the wet spot she had already left in them.

“Someone’s enjoying being spanked huh, you brat? Someone likes having an attitude adjustment…” He goaded as he let go of her panties, letting them fall around her ankles.

Before Kathleen could even retort properly, John’s rough and calloused fingers delivered a slap to her puffy cunt, causing her to squirm and squeal, her legs straightening up and trembling.

“John!” She cried out as he continued repeatedly slapping her pussy, causing her to squirm and writhe against the hard material of the armrest below her.

“That’s it, call my name, da’lin’.” He goaded as he kept repeatedly and continuously smacking her warm, wet folds. “Who’s in charge, here, huh?”

“F-Fuck… You!” She spat at him, as she finally freed her arms from John’s weakened grip. Then, she threw an elbow back, hitting her husband squarely in the nose.

“Ah, you cunt!” John complained as he suddenly stumbled back back, one hand shooting up to cup his now bleeding nose, while Kathleen suddenly rolled off her perch on the couch.

“No, you’re the cunt!” She retorted before suddenly lunging herself at him, throwing her whole weight on top of John, who, not expecting it, landed on the floor with a hard thud.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Kat!” John replied as he tried to get a grab at his wife, instead, only getting her trying to grip him by the arms and pin him to the floor.

She struggled with it, of course, she might have some military training, but not nearly enough to fight him, and definitely not enough strength to fight him.

His forearms bulged under her hands, the rough skin prickling with goosebumps, the adrenaline flowing through his veins, as well as hers, the both of them desperate to fight the other.

John bucked his hips and rolled them over before she could even attempt a proper pin down, landing her on the floor with a thud and a huff from her lungs.

He grabbed her by the hair with one hand, the other gripping her wrists together and pining her to the floor instead.

Kathleen wrapped her legs around his hip and attempted to roll them over again, unsuccessfully, so, instead, she did the only thing she could do. She leaned up and spat in John’s face.

John’s eyes closed for a moment and his jaw clenched before they opened again, looking even more angry and… horny than before. “Is that how it’s going to be, Kathleen?” He asked her as he let go of her hair and used his hand to collect the spit off his skin.

“Yeah, it is-” She barely had time to continue before he was plugging her mouth with his fingers, causing her to swallow them and her own saliva back up, pressing down on his tongue, preventing her from continuing her tirade.

“Keep your smart-ass gob shut, sweetheart, or you won't have a fuckin' jaw to move when I'm done wit ya.” He told her, eyes locked on hers. Kathleen looked up at him, eyes widened, pupils blown, before she wrapped her lips around his fingers, beginning to give him a suck.

“That’s it…” He told her. “You look so much better with your mouth shut…” He goaded her with a smirk on his lips. Kathleen’s eyes sparkled with mischief at his comment, a clear sign that she felt challenged by his condescending tone… So, she bit down onto his fingers as hard as he could.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Kat…” John hissed as he pushed his fingers deeper in her mouth like one would a dog, causing her to sputter and choke, and forcing her to let go of them, allowing him to pull them back out.

“C’mere.” He demanded and grabbed her jaw with tight fingers, forcing her mouth to open, before he swished his tongue inside his own mouth to collect some saliva, before spitting it into her mouth. “Swallow.” He demanded and, for once, she obeyed. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Kathleen then squeaked in surprise as he pulled open her robe, leaving it splayed open on the hardwood floor before he grabbed one of her legs, pushing it up against her chest while he sat over the other one.

“We need to adjust that fuckin’ attitude of yours. It’s way too bloody early for you to be fightin’ me, you hear?!” He taunted her as he undid the fly in his jeans and shimmied both his the trousers and boxer briefs down, allowing him to pull out his hardened cock.

“Fuck you, John.” She retorted as she squirmed a bit beneath him, trying to drag herself away with the help of her elbows.

“That’s what I’m about to do to you, sweetheart.” He taunted her before he quickly grabbed hold of her again, using one hand to push her down against the floor, one hand wrapped around her jaw and neck, while the other wrapped around his cock and used it to brush his leaky tip against her folds.

“John-” Kathleen grumbled as she wrapped her own hands around his hairy forearm, nails digging into his flexed muscle, dragging drown his skin.

“Sh-Shhh…” He murmured before he drove his cock deep into her cunt, causing her to huff and moan, her head falling back as he plunged as far as he could.

“That’s my girl…” He teased her. He shifted around and lifted her other leg too, pushing it forward against her chest, allowing him to sink in deeper, before he started thrusting his hips down into her.

Her warm walls spread open to accommodate him, his cock making way inside fully with each snap of his hips. “That’s it… That’s what you needed, isn’t it?” He goaded her with a smirk. Unluckily for her, Kathleen could do little more than nod in agreement.

“Tell me you love me, da’lin’...” John cooed at his wife as he pounded deep into her, reaching that spot in her walls that only John had ever been able to reach.

“I love y-oooh…” Kathleen murmured, being cut off by a sudden shift in his demeanor, a more aggressive, ruthless rhythm coming into place, his hips snapping punishingly against hers, his cock bottoming out in her.

“That’s it, Kat, tell me you love me… Tell me you love me…” He repeated over and over. “Tell me you love me and my cock inside you, da’lin’... Tell me…”

“I love you, John…” Kathleen whined, her head rolling back on the hard floor, her arms wrapping around his neck and shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh spot between his shoulder blades, her nails just barely grazing the tattoo on his nape.

“You’re such a fuckin’ cunt, Kat… Such a fuckin’ cunt… But I love you so much…” John murmured before he pressed his lips into hers in a sloppy, wet kiss.

#ikea writes 💚#cod x reader #cod fanfic #masterlist #call of duty #cod fandom #cod smut #smut #john price smut #price smut #captain price smut #cod oc #oc: kathleen “brass” price #price x kathleen

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stalkerofthegods · 1 year ago

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Lady Hestia Deep Dive

Lady Hestia is a wonderful goddess, she is always there for everyone, I adore Lady Hestia, I do not worship her personally but I know well that she is Amazing.

Herbs • Chaste trees, Rosemary, Parsley, Basil, Sorrel, vanilla, Cinnamon, coriander, Marjoram, Mint, Lemon balm, cloves, clary sage, Allspice, Angelica, Coriander, poppy seed, chamomile, Angelica, Bay, garlic, mint, peppermint, pepper, marjoram, The lavender, the chaste tree, the datura, the California poppy, the goldenrod, the hollyhock, the yarrow, the purple coneflower, all white flowers, Lavender, White roses, angel’s trumpet, goldenrod, hollyhock, and yarrow, pine, Wildflowers & sunflowers, raspberry leaves, sage, pearly everlasting, yellow rose

Animals• pigs, donkeys, one-year-old cows, a Crane.

Zodiac & scared number • unknown, I cannot find out what month she was born on, or the day. But I would associate numbers 1, and 6 because she is the oldest and the youngest (and etc, but who even likes my rambles?)

Colors •Gold, yellow, orange, red, White, Gold, Lavender, light purple, black, silver, and dark red

Crystal•Carnelian, Garnet, Goldstone, Calcite, Topaz, garnet, amethyst, lapis lazuli, green tourmaline, Vanadinite, Quartz, gold, silver, and brass, Amber colored crystals, citrine, clear quartz, sunstone.

Symbols• a kettle, the hearth (fireplace), torch, candle

Jewelry you can wear in their honor• friendship bracelets

Diety of• the virgin goddess of the home and hearth fire, cooking of meals, and sacrificial food for feasts, architecture, domesticity, family, and the state, and sacrificial flame

Patron of where the families ate and congregated, hospitality, family.

Offerings• give her prayer beads that remind you of her that are not Christian (or make one, which is better), wooden beads, Oil Lamps, Seven Day Candles (because they burn for 7 days), LED Candles, A Candle that reminds you of home, White or red candles, Apple juice, cider, Wine, Baked goods, keys to the home (preferably not stolen(looking at Hermes devotees))), Small kitchen antiques/objects, pottery/cups/bowls, artwork of homey things, a meal, your favorite things, poetry, books, items you made, fall-themed stuff, spring-themed stuff, First/last foods & libations from a meal, Candles/flame, Honey, Pork, Cakes or Cookies made to look like one of Her symbols,), Keeping a candle/hearth fire or lamp constantly burning, Pictures of homes you want to live in one day, pictures of homes you have lived in, Pictures of architecture that you like, Teacups, teaspoons, tea towels, Childhood memories (ex- stuffed toys, baby clothes, old photos), Homegrown herbs, Toys or art of donkeys and pigs, Leaves or blooms from a chaste tree, Tea light candles (real or fake), Your favorite poetry or poetry you have written for Her, Your favorite books, Stories you have written, Art of flames, fire, candles, Garmets that you have made such as clothing, blankets, beanies, Homemade lotions, bath bombs, shower gel, bubble bath (You can ask Her to bless them then use them she probably won't say no), Beeswax products, honey, olive oil, pumpkin pie

Devotional• Pick up rubbish in communal areas, Offer the first or last bites/portions of food your to her, Cooking/baking for yourself or others, Having a candle lit whenever possible (electric or real), playing a video of a fire place, Volunteerring at homeless or DV shelters, donating to homeless or DV shelters, Setting healthy boundaries with friends and family, reading about Tea/Coffee magick, Getting involved with your local community, Advocating for policies you believe will better the community Allowing yourself to rest, Do a chore you've been putting off for a long time, organize to hang out with some loved ones, Veil or bind your hair, Wear something red or orange, Make a devotional playlist for her, make a Pinterest board or a mood board for her, Learn about kitchen witchery, Cook a meal in her name, Clean the House, Put together a puzzle, Eat popcorn and watch a movie, do Knitting, read about knitting, donate yarn and

knitting supply’s, prepare food for family, make the table before eating, garden, Harvest berries, pick flowers, Donate to food charity/drives, Support people who lost their homes to natural disasters, Welcoming others into your home, Keeping the peace (especially in the home), Donations of time & money to Habitat for Humanity, Do little (or big) acts of kindness, If you have a fireplace light it for Her or build Her altar around it, Meditate next to a fire, Read poetry or a book, play a playlist for Her and play it while you clean or cooks, Clean your house/room and keep it nice and tidy, Take a cooking or baking class, Collect recipes and keep a recipe book, Host celebrations at your home, Remember your ancestors and learn more about them, Spend time with your pets, Take care of yourself and your mental and physical health (Your body is a home for you), Take a hot bath, eat some ice cream, chill at home for a day, Pray to Her( ex- for protection, inspiration, happiness, guidance, and help getting rid of negative entities in the home, peace in the home, good food, an abundance of food, independence), help to start/tending to the hearth, work on having strong family bonds, Open your curtains and let the sunlight warm the room, Make a potful of tea and keep it in a large thermos, Watch movies that make you feel nostalgic and cozy, Say goodnight and good morning to her, Get an electric blanket and feel the warmth connect you to her, Cuddle a stuffed animal, Make a blog/journal filled with cozy homely things, Keep a few locally baked goodies nearby for when you need them, String up fairy lights and use them as your only light source, Whisper prayers and devotional pieces before you go to sleep, Use a Himalayan salt lamp to connect to feeling of a fire, Invest in little things (ex- pillowcases, photos, curtains) that make your room feel welcoming and peaceful, Make a little bottle filled with herbs and crystals and other things that remind you of her, Listen to music that makes your soul happy and your heart content, Take care of yourself (ex- Brush your hair, use a wet cloth on your face), Keep a tealight on you, Clean one small area of your house, Savor a hot drink, Do small, unnoticed acts of kindness, Always greet animals (both big and small), Do anything by candlelight, Wear colors you associate with her, Practice your patience (both external and internal), Be a listening ear or shoulder to cry on for those who need it, Make compromises when it is healthiest for both parties, always have a lighter or matches, Listen to music that reminds you of her, Spend time tending to your body, Leave a big tip the next time you have a chance, Practice kindness in all areas of your life (including driving), Take a hot bath or shower with no time limit, Decorate a space, Build a fire, Compliment people (both strangers and loloved ones), Donate something (ex-clothes, money, or your time), Look at photos and embrace the happy nostalgia, Wear makeup or jewelry that reminds you of her, Wake up early to see the sunrise - or watch the sunset, Watch/read about acts of kindness to be inspired, wear prayer beads that are for her, go to a high school reunion, do a family reunion, do budgeting in her honor, do meal planning, set healthy boundaries, have a household notebook, do seasonal cleaning, try home remedies,As you light your gas stove, say a prayer to Hestia, Spend quiet quality time at home, Gather your family (including your chosen family) for a festive candlelit meal, Commit to spending more time with children and old people.

Ephithets•Äídios - eternal, Aïdius – See Äídios., Basileia - See Vasíleia, Bulaea - See Voulaia., Chloömorphus – See Khlöómorphos, Daughter of lovely-haired Rǽa, Khlöómorphos - verdan, Polýmorphos - multi-formed, Polyolbus – See Polýolvos, Polýolvos - rich in blessings, Potheinotáti - beloved, Prutaneia – See Prytaneia, Prytanei, Vasíleia - queen, Voulaia - of the council, Prytaneia -”of the Prytanis.”

Equivalents• Vesta (Roman), loki (Norse), Brigid (Celtic), Hathor (Egyptian)

Signs they are reaching out• having a strong urge to Vail in her honor, seeing her animals and symbols in your dreams, and seeing her imagery a lot, everything at home suddenly going well.

Vows/omans• that she “would be a maiden all her days”

Morals• morally light/pure

Courting• None

Past lovers/crushes• None

Personality• She avoids drama, and is generous, but her temper is volcanic in nature, she is slow to anger, but when she gets angry her rage is a force of nature. She is modest, tranquil, and industrious

Home• Mount Olympus

Mortal or immortal • immortal

Fact• Historically she is supposed to be the first deity offered to in a ritual due to being the goddess of fire, she's the oldest Olympian, She is spat out last by Kronos so she is also the youngest, she shares her seat with Diyonisus, she did not give it up, she receives a share of every sacrifice/prayer to the gods, and she is commonly seen alongside with Hermes, I would recommend putting their alters close together.

Element• fire

Curses• a bad family life, food being burnt, having not enough food, being turned away at restaurants, being homeless, your house catching on fire

Blessings• all domestic happiness and blessings

Roots• Greek mythology….and she was raised in her father's stomach, and at the first years of theogony era.

Friends• all of the gods, but most notably Hermes, but is not friends with Priapus, she dislikes him (he tried to rape her.)

Parentage• Cronus and Rhea

Siblings• Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, Demeter, Hera

Pet• she has no pets.

Children • she has no children.

Appearance in astral or gen• she was typically represented wearing a veil and robe. In some images, she held a flowering branch or kettle as well.

Festivals • None, at every feast and meal a liberation was made to her name first and last, but I associate Thanksgiving with her, but her Roman counter part Vesta has 1-15 June of each year, an then another festival celebrated on 8-9 July. Hestia is also mentioned on 8 June. But a neo-pagan sets aside 26 December – 22 January as a month devoted to Hestia.

Status• Virgin theoi goddess.

What disrespects her turning away people at your home (she is a goddess of hospitality and it was seen as disrespectful to her to do so.)

Planet• unknown

Her Tarot cards• the Temperance, the fourteenth Major Arcana card.

Remind me of• Hot cocoa, and Thanksgiving.

Scents/Inscene • Lavender, Rose, spring water, rain, Pumpkin, Apple pie, cinnamon, fall leaves, Chamomile, Myrrh, Frankincense, Iris, Angelica, Peony, Angelica, iris, Sandalwood

My opinion • I like her, but I'm scared of her too. (what a shocker!)

Prayers•

Historical-

Holy Queen of Sanctity, we hymn you, Hestia, whose abiding realm is Olympus and the middle point of earth and the Delphic laurel tree! You dance around Apollo’s towering temple rejoicing both in the tripod’s mantic voices and when Apollo sounds the seven strings of his golden phorminx and, with you, sings the praises of the feasting gods. We salute you, daughter of Kronos and Rhea, who alone brings firelight to the sacred altars of the gods; Hestia, reward our prayer, grant wealth obtained in honesty; then we shall always, dance around your glistening throne.

For the lost -

Blessed Hestia, the first and the last, and the always flame. May your light burn bright and strong, May your prayers be those of respect and love, May you guide the lost, And give to those who have nothing. I give thanks to you, Hestia, for all that you have done And continue to do.

For people with intrusive thoughts -

I ask Hestia, the kind goddess, to help those who feel down. May they find comfort and peace inside of their homes and inside their own minds. Protect them for their destructive thoughts, and be the safe place they need so much

A prayer for homeles—

In Hestia’s name, may you always have a home and a roof over your head. May you always be comfortable and warm with a full belly. May you always be in good spirits and good company, never knowing the pervading loneliness that envelopes the soul.

Morning

Blessed Hestia, Fill this home with your light and bounty, As the day fills it with golden sunshine.

Evening

Glorious Hestia, Let your hearth fire warm this house, As night draws her shadowed cloak over it now.

Blessings of the kitchen-

Hestia bless my little kitchen, I love it’s every nook And bless me as I do my work, Wash pots and pans and cook. May the meals that I prepare, Be seasoned from above, With thy blessings and thy grace, But most of all thy love

Links/websites/sources •

ts-witchy-archive, constantly-disheveled, saryoak, eldritchhorror06, https://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/625205765818515456/hestia-offerings/amp, https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/179727039352/offerings-to-hestiahttps://twelfthremedy.tumblr.com/post/625205765818515456/hestia-offerings/amphttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/179727039352/offerings-to-hestiahttps://www.learnreligions.com/hestia-greek-goddess-of-the-hearth-2561993#:~:text=Keep%20a%20candle%20dedicated%20to,prayers%2C%20songs%2C%20or%20hymns.https://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Hestia.html#:~:text=In%20myth%20Hestia%20was%20the,youngest%20of%20the%20six%20Kronides.https://www.theoi.com/Ouranios/Hestia.htmlhttps://greekmythology.fandom.com/wiki/Hestia#google_vignettehttps://greekmythology.fandom.com/wiki/Hestiahttps://greekgodsandgoddesses.net/goddesses/hestia/https://www.hellenicgods.org/festivals-of-hellenismos---eortai https://hestiasservant.wordpress.com/2018/05/27/honoring-hestia-a-festival-every-day/https://www.elissos.com/the-family-goddess-hestia-mother-of-all-gods/#:~:text=The%20birth%20of%20Hestia%20dates,to%20his%20throne%2C%20his%20children.https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rhea_(mythology)#:~:text=According%20to%20Hesiod%2C%20Rhea%20had,and%20Zeus%20in%20that%20order.https://www.reddit.com/r/pagan/comments/14sy8cj/is_hestia_reaching_out_to_me/https://mythopedia.com/topics/hestia

http://persephoneandhecate.blogspot.com/2011/06/exploring-archetypes-hestia.html?m=1https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/170063420188/bedridden-devotion-to-hestiahttps://honeyandhestia.tumblr.com/post/170063420188/bedridden-devotion-to-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/heatherwitch/160613514230/hestiavesta https://constantly-disheveled.tumblr.com/post/156636591525/can-a-hearth-fire-just-be-a-candle-that-you-lighthttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/169551188078/devotional-activities-for-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/167758105763/jar-to-help-me-connect-to-hestia-chamomilehttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/171225676313/burn-herbs-and-spices-as-an-offering-to-hestia-i https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/183383795283/what-kind-of-crystals-would-yall-associate-with https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/171208375440/a-historical-prayer-to-hestiahttps://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/169394109439/i-ask-hestia-the-kind-goddess-to-help-those-who https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/166938581678/if-youre-still-doing-prayer-requests-may-you-be https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/178225408393/lady-hestia-goddess-of-comfort-and-warmth-to https://www.tumblr.com/honeyandhestia/183772520921/a-little-kitchen-prayer-for-hestia https://www.hellenicgods.org/festivals-of-hellenismos---eortai

I use resources, I do not own the info, and most deep dives have UPG (that I use in my work.) And I only take some information from sources. I am 14, this is my hobby, I am learning but I spent many hours and days on this, and I am always open to criticism. I have been doing worship for 5 years. Please know you can use the info, I do not sue, but I will take action if this work is used without permission and not put as a resource if used in any work. without permisson and not put as a resource if used in any work, for the public.

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nerdanel01 · 5 months ago

Text

Exquisite

Emmrich Volkarin/F!Rook 2.5k+ wc | SFW Agnes tries to find a way to express to Emmrich how much he means to her. EXCERPT: Behind her, Emmrich was speaking lowly to Alfred, paying her no mind. She heard the clink of beakers and flasks, and the low hiss of reaction as two elements came together. Before Agnes could reconsider, she drew the small box she had been carrying from her skirt pockets, and set it delicately on the table next to Emmrich’s cup.

Almost as soon as she had set it down, everything within her was screaming to take it back, to snatch it up and shove it back in her pockets before Emmrich caught sight of it. Somehow, incredibly—despite how deeply she had grown to care for Emmrich (could barely admit to herself: had fallen in love with him ) and despite the fact that they worked alongside each other almost every day, Emmrich seemed just as unaware of her true feelings towards him as he had always been. What did she have to gain, by putting that safety at risk now? What if it backfired on her?

9:40 Dragon

Agnes could not remember the last time she had felt this nervous.

It was after dinner, but the night was yet young; not so late that it would have been inappropriate to call upon Emmrich. That she would visit him at such a ripe hour in the day was not, in itself, unusual or out of the ordinary. Though he had been her mentor first, and her charge second, in the time since he had also grown to be her dearest friend, her confidant. Agnes liked to think that Emmrich thought of her as a close friend in return. They had spent many a pleasant evening together in his study, sharing kettle after kettle of hot tea, their discussion of death and the arcane continuing far into the small hours of the morning.

Tonight, however, as Agnes walked down the long narrow corridor to Emmrich’s study, she felt the small wooden box in the pocket of her skirts striking against her thigh with each step. Her stomach was twisted in knots; Agnes might have feared being sick, if it were not so clearly the symptom of her anxiety. She wrung her hands, then lifted them to smooth them over her black hair, which was braided and twisted neatly back behind her head.

As she arrived at the study door, Agnes straightened her shoulders, tried to calm her racing heart to no avail. Then—before she could reconsider, before she could flee—she rapped her fist on the door, three quick knocks of her knuckles on the wood.

Agnes stood there. Holding her breath, practically forgetting to breathe. When no answer came from beyond, she frowned, and raised her hand to knock again—and then, at last, she heard Alfred’s characteristic moaning within, followed by Emmrich’s muffled encouragement:

“Excellent Alfred, very good, just like that—now turn it in your grip, the other way…”

The brass knob of the door gave a pathetic little jostle, but the door did not budge. Another plaintive moan. “Oh, don’t be such a defeatist, Alfred, you’ve nearly got it!”

But the knob only gave the faintest twitch, less vigorous than the first.

“It’s alright, nevermind, let me get it…”

Emmrich answered the door wearing his dragon leather apron and gloves, his green-lensed safety goggles lifted to rest on the crown of his head. a fine waft of arcane-smelling steam billowing out from the room behind him. On the laboratory tables, flasks and alembics were madly boiling away.

“Agnes!” he greeted her, delightedly. “Good evening.”

“Hello,” Agnes replied, then glanced pointedly at the experiment in progress in the room beyond. It was a cowardly move, to be sure, but now that she was facing Emmrich, she found herself second guessing all the decisions that had brought her to his door. She would not refuse so readily an excuse to retreat, not when it was sitting there practically staring her in the face. “I hope I am not interrupting anything. If this is not a good time, I can come back.”

“Not at all, not at all! Alfred and I are nearly finished.” Emmrich held the door for her, beckoning her inside. “Come in, have a seat. I will join you in just a few moments. I apologize for keeping you waiting—I thought Alfred might be able to greet you while I continued our work, but, well…”

“Still struggling with his grip, is he?”

“He’s getting better,” Emmrich said, although he sounded less than confident. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please. Is the kettle still hot?”

“Cold, I’m afraid, and half empty.”

“Finish up with Alfred, then,” Agnes said, with a small smile. “I’ll manage the tea.”

“Thank you, dear,” Emmrich answered, gratefully. “I’ll be with you before it’s fully steeped.”

Agnes was thankful, then, that he had turned back to the laboratory tables and whatever bubbling concoction he was preparing, as a familiar warmth began to creep up the sides of her neck. ‘Dear.’ A recent development—Agnes wasn’t sure she would ever get used to it. It made her flattered and wistful all at once. Though she supposed she ought to be grateful she was dear to Emmrich at all, rather than disappointed she was not as dear as she may have liked to be.

Emmrich’s kettle had been left to grow cold on the serving tray beside his equally cold cup of tea. It looked like had managed no more than a sip or two before abandoning it, probably distracted by whatever experiment was at hand. Agnes carried the kettle to the spigot on the wall, emptying first the cold, bitter tea down the drain and removing the sieve before throwing the lever and filling it with fresh water. Then she carried it back to the heart, and set it hanging from a hook above the roaring flame. As the water warmed, she fetched two fresh, clean tea cups and saucers. These she set on a small table, sandwiched between two plush armchairs arranged comfortably around the hearth’s warmths, before settling into one of those chairs herself.

Behind her, Emmrich was speaking lowly to Alfred, paying her no mind. She heard the clink of beakers and flasks, and the low hiss of reaction as two elements came together. Before Agnes could reconsider, she drew the small box she had been carrying from her skirt pockets, and set it delicately on the table next to Emmrich’s cup.

But worse than the fear of being found out was the fear of losing him. Of something happening to Emmrich, or Agnes herself, without her ever having expressed at least some fraction of what he meant to her. Though she had only been a child when her mother had died, that did not mean she had no regrets—that Agnes did not wish every day that she had told her mother more often that she loved her. And Emmich was too good. He deserved better than that.

It wasn’t the first time she had tried to tell him. Once, several years past, she asked him for his birthday, that she might express her appreciation for him on that occasion. The strong Orlesian influence on Western Nevarra, where Agnes had been raised, was evident in the fact that she had even thought to ask. And Emmrich—fully Nevarran to the very core—had refused to tell her. He hewed strictly to the orthodox traditions in that respect.

“Remember and honor my Death Day, instead, once I am gone and interred in the Memorial Ossuary below,” he had told her, plainly, as if that were the most normal thing in the world—not some bizarre, morbid tradition practiced only to their homeland. “I will be much more in need of the company then, I suspect; and much more grateful for it.”

An awful, repulsed shiver had shook through Agnes at the thought. The Memorial Ossuary was a marvel, a true wonder of the Necropolis in its own right: the place where those who served in the Mourn Watch were laid to rest after living their lives in service of it.

But not immediately. They were interred, first, in a smaller chamber, one meant to accelerate the decay of flesh. When all that remained was bone, those bones were gathered, and stacked in extravagant, mind-dizzying formations within the Ossuary. The skull alone retained the distinction of individuality, the only indication of to whom the remains belonged: each one was inked along the brow with the deceased Watcher’s name and a blessing to Andraste, the crown of the skull decorated with a motif meant to honor the deceased for their deeds in life. Arbor Blessing for valor, perhaps. Prophet’s Laurel for unwavering faith.

Agnes found the whole idea horrifying. In fact, the thought of one day descending into the Necropolis to set out offerings and a remembrance meal for Emmrich—staring into the hollow sockets where his warm eyes used to be, at teeth that would never again offer her his charming grin—filled her with a primal dread that was unmatched by any other fear.

Still, at the time, she had managed to reply to Emmrich, dryly:

“Do not worry, Volkarin. I will not let your dusty, painted bones grow too lonely down there.”

To her great shock, at her answer, Emmrich had taken her hand between his—a thing he had never done previous to this occasion, nor since—and squeezed it, gratefully.

“Thank you.”

Agnes was nearly crushed beneath the weight of sheer relief in his voice. Did Emmrich really imagine that no one would think of him, after he was gone? That he would be so quickly forgotten? The vulnerability in his gratitude could have broken her heart. And she knew at that moment that her answer (given half in derision, half in jest) was now as god as a promise. An oath.

‘I will not leave you, even in death.’

The whistling of the kettle pulled Agnes out of her reverie. She stood from the armchair and pulled on a set of mitts to keep from burning her hands, then removed the boiling kettle from the hearth, setting upon a rounded trivet of green, silver-veined marble. She took the perforated sieve she had removed from the kettle earlier and refilled it with the smoky blend of black tea that Emmrich favored, then lifted the kettle’s lid and submerged it in the boiling water to steep.

“What’s this?”

Agnes stiffened. Emmrich (apron-less, waistcoat-less, shirtsleeves rolled past his elbows to reveal his fine forearms) was settling into the second armchair, examining with great interest the small wooden box Agnes had set out on the table.

Her stomach flipped. Well, this was it.

Agnes turned back to the tea. “It’s for you,” she answered, not as loudly or as confidently as she would have liked.

“For me?” he repeated quizzically. Then he read aloud from the handwritten label: “‘To Emmrich, from Agnes.’ Emmrich! How unusually intimate for you.” Which was a fair accusation. After all this time, Agnes could probably count on one hand the amount of times she’d called Emmrich by his given name. A few years ago he had given up insisting. “What is the occasion?”

Out of deference and habit, Agnes poured Emmrich’s cup of tea first. She could feel another embarrassed flush beginning to creep up her neck as the steam rose from his cup, and was thankful for the high, black lace collar of her blouse that concealed it. Thank Andraste she had not signed the inscription ‘Yours, Agnes,’ as she had toyed with at the time.

“Nine years ago to the day,” Agnes told him, pouring out her own cup of tea and keeping her gaze fixedly on the steaming amber brew, “you gave me a gift, to celebrate my first completed year in the Mourn Watch.”

A low huff from Emmrich, perhaps disbelief. “Maker, has it been ten years already?”

Agnes nodded, returning the kettle to the marble trivet and perching herself on the edge of the available chair. She barely settled into it, keeping her posture perfectly straight, tension running through her body. “Ten years that I have been a Watcher, ten years that we have been working together.” ‘ Ten years that I have held my love for you, secret and sacred and safe, pressed deeply into my heart.’ “I do not think, in those past ten years, that I have adequately expressed my gratitude for all that you have done for me. My hope is that this gift may rectify that, somewhat.”

“Agnes, that was wholly unnecessary,” Emmrich said, kindly. His fingers worked at the catch, popped the small box open. “You owe me no gift at all; not even the gift of your continued partnership, though I welcome it. You—”

Emmrich froze, his eyes fixed on the opened box in his hands. Agnes could hardly bear to look at him, but it was worse not to. She tried to read the play of emotions on his face.

Shock, certainly. Soon gathered under a put-upon stoicism. He pulled his lips back, baring his teeth, shifting uncertainly; his free hand came up to his face, and forefinger and thumb began to worryingly smooth along the line of his pencil mustache.

“Agnes, this is…” Rush of exhalation while he gathered his words. “It is exquisite. And entirely too much, I am not sure I can accept it.”

All the same, he pinched the ring out of the little velvet cushion it had been set up, lifting it out of the box to better examine it. Yellow gold embraced a labradorite scarab, the shoulders of the setting carved to look like lotus petals. The blue scarab flashed as Emmrich turned the ring over, capturing brilliant blue gems of light within its facets.

“Lovely vintage details in the late Van Markham style,” Emmrich spoke aloud, turning it over in the firelight. “It dates from the Steel Age, doesn’t it?” Another little huff of breath, something not quite merry enough to be a laugh. “How transparent I must have become to you in ten years, that you were able to devise a gift so entirely inappropriate and yet so absolutely irresistible to me.”

Agnes thought she might faint, she could hardly breathe. “You like it, then?”

“That is an understatement,” Emmrich said, gravely. “It is a breathtaking piece.”

“Would you put it on?” Agnes asked him, hoping she did not sound too eager. “Please.”

But Emmrich knew just as well as she did that once he yielded to the temptation to put it on, it would be very, very difficult to take it off. He had few weaknesses, but fine jewelry was certainly one of them. “Agnes—”

“I have no family,” Agnes told him, seeing the imminent refusal on his face and cutting him off. “Or at least, I no longer have any family that cares for me. You know that. Just as well as you know that I never had any intention nor desire to join the Mourn Watch when I came here.” She dropped her eyes to her teacup, still steaming, counting the grinning black skulls that had been painted into the porcelain around the rim. “But I have cherished every hour I have worked with you since I arrived. Everything we have experienced together, everything you have taught me. You are my dearest friend.” The truth of the matter was, “Who else in my life would I give such a gift to, if not you?”

Emmrich was gazing at her; Agnes could not meet his eyes. She did not think she could bear it if he was looking at her with pity. But out of the corner of her eyes, she saw his fingers shift their grip on the gold band. And then she did turn—her insides giving a sick, drunken, giddy lurch as she watched the ring slide over fingertip, first knuckle, second, until it came to a rest, snug at the base of his left middle finger.

It looked so fine on him. Looked as if it had been made for none other than him. That was partly why she had been unable to stop herself from buying it.

Emmrich held his hand away from his face, thumb curving to stroke the inside band of the ring while he admired it. “You are incorrigible,” he said at last, barely above a whisper. “I take it this is your way of getting back at me for all of those absurd, missed ‘birthdays.’”

“Indeed,” Agnes said, in a dry tone that often made it difficult for others to tell that she was joking, “if you had simply let me buy you a cake once a year, we likely would not be in this situation.”

Emmrich shook his head again, a smile twisting his lips. For a moment, Agnes thought he was going to remove the ring, and refuse it after all. Instead, he chuckled, softly, under his breath.

“It is too exquisite.”

But then he was rising from his seat, drawing near, bending at the waist—explosive panic, Agnes was not quite sure what was happening—before drawing his face close to her to press a soft, chaste kiss to her cheek.

It was over in the blink of an eye. Emmrich was back in his seat so quickly Agnes might have thought she had imagined it, were it not for the riot of reaction in her body: heat in her chest, in her face, in the bowl of her hips. She had felt the rasp of his mustache hairs against her cheek, as he kissed her. She had not thought to imagine that, not considered how incredible it would feel.

“Thank you, Agnes. Let’s make the next ten years just as spectacular as the first decade, shall we?”

#Emmrich Volkarin #dragon age emmrich #emmrich the necromancer #fanfic #dragon age fanfic

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bs2sjh · 6 months ago

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May Prompt Day 3 - Familiar

The sound of footsteps on the stairs was familiar, the tap of the brass-tipped umbrella shouting the identity of the impending visitor loud and clear. His brother's timing was impeccable, as always. Sherlock put down the letter, the words already memorised. Straightening from his current slumped position, he sat straight-backed, face impassive as the door opened. Mycroft took one look at his brother and sighed.

"What has dear Doctor Watson done now?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and stood, marching to the kitchen to hide any further tells from his all-seeing older menace. Grabbing the kettle, he filled it, put it back on the stand and flicked the lever before taking two clean mugs from the drainer. It had taken him a long time to form the habit of washing up after himself following Mrs Hudson's…

"Making tea automatically. It must be bad." Sherlock heard Mycroft ease himself into a dining chair, elbows resting on the table. Relations between them had softened since Eurus. Finding out that the oldest Holmes sibling had a heart after all helped. That didn't mean his visit at this exact moment was welcome. Still, Mycroft was the only one he could talk to, these days. Sighing, he silently walked over to the letter and brought it to his brother to read, watching his reactions carefully.

"Oh, brother."

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @naefelldaurk @raina-at @friday411 @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels

#sherlock holmes #john watson #sherlock #221b baker street #johnlock #bbc sherlock #may prompt challenge 2024 #may prompts 2024 #calaisreno #mycroft holmes #mycroft bbc

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sleeplesssmoll · 5 months ago

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Cultural References: Samovars

Samovars are traditional Russian and Middle Eastern tea urns or kettles. They are typically made of metal, often brass or copper, and have a distinctive shape with a central chimney for holding burning charcoal or other solid fuel. The design allows the water in the surrounding chamber to heat up, keeping it hot for extended periods. Samovars are used to boil water for making tea, and they are an integral part of tea culture in these regions. Traditionally, tea concentrate (zavarka) is prepared in a small teapot, and hot water from the samovar is added to dilute it to the desired strength before serving.

#reverse 1999 #i wish i could try tea served from one of these its just so neat #im learning a lot of stuff from this game #i tried tim tams for the first time too cause i saw it in the international section of the grocery store

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oldfarmhouse · 1 year ago

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https://www.instagram.com/dreamywhiteslifestyle

#brass tea kettle

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english-history-trip · 2 years ago

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Aldgate Pump: "The Pump of Death"

Watch these guys pump water. They seem unaware they are in the presence of the notorious “Pump of Death” In 1876, the water began to taste strange and was found to contain liquid human remains which had seeped into the underground stream from cemeteries.

Several hundred people died in the resultant Aldgate Pump Epidemic as a result of drinking polluted water – though this was obviously a distant memory by the nineteen twenties when Whittard’s tea merchants used to “always get the kettles filled at the Aldgate Pump so that only the purest water was used for tea tasting.”

Yet before it transferred to a supply from the New River Company of Islington, the spring water of the Aldgate Pump was appreciated by many for its abundant health-giving mineral salts, until – in an unexpectedly horrific development – it was discovered that the calcium in the water had leached from human bones.

This bizarre phenomenon quickly entered popular lore, so that a bouncing cheque was referred to as “a draught upon Aldgate Pump,” and in rhyming slang “Aldgate Pump” meant to be annoyed – “to get the hump.” The terrible revelation confirmed widespread morbid prejudice about the East End, of which Aldgate Pump was a landmark defining the beginning of the territory. The “Pump of Death” became emblematic of the perceived degradation of life in East London and it was once declared with superlative partiality that “East of Aldgate Pump, people cared for nothing but drink, vice and crime.”

Today this sturdy late-eighteenth century stone pump stands sentinel as the battered reminder of a former world, no longer functional, and lost amongst the traffic and recent developments of the modern City. No-one notices it anymore and its fearsome history is almost forgotten, despite the impressive provenance of this dignified ancient landmark, where all mileages East of London are calculated. Even in the old photographs you can trace how the venerable pump became marginalised, cut down and ultimately ignored. Aldgate Well was first mentioned in the thirteenth century – in the reign of King John – and referred to by sixteenth century historian, John Stowe, who described the execution of the Bailiff of Romford on the gibbet “near the well within Aldgate.” In “The Uncommercial Traveller,” Charles Dickens wrote, “My day’s business beckoned me to the East End of London, I had turned my face to that part of the compass… and had got past Aldgate Pump.” And before the “Pump of Death” incident, Music Hall composer Edgar Bateman nicknamed “The Shakespeare of Aldgate Pump,” wrote a comic song in celebration of Aldgate Pump – including the lyric line “I never shall forget the gal I met near Aldgate Pump…”

The pump was first installed upon the well head in the sixteenth century, and subsequently replaced in the eighteenth century by the gracefully tapered and rusticated Portland stone obelisk that stands today with a nineteenth century gabled capping. The most remarkable detail to survive to our day is the elegant brass spout in the form of a wolf’s head – still snarling ferociously in a vain attempt to maintain its “Pump of Death” reputation – put there to signify the last of these creatures to be shot outside the City of London.

Tantalisingly, the brass button that controls the water outlet is still there, yet, although it is irresistible to press it, the water ceased flowing in the last century. A drain remains beneath the spout where the stone is weathered from the action of water over centuries and there is an elegant wrought iron pump handle – enough details to convince me that the water might return one day.

-- "The Gentle Author", Spitalfields Life

#london #this blogger had updated with an interesting post about london life and history every day since 2009 #gonna get quite lost in there #victorians

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yellowmagicalgirl · 4 months ago

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an icy hand at the back of all of us

After the Lonely, John and Martin go to Martin's flat. John makes a mistake.

This was originally written for the Hurt Comfort Exchange 2024 on AO3 for thursdayinspace.

AO3

FFN

SquidgeWorld

Leaving the Lonely didn’t fix everything. Even when John could no longer smell the salt and sand of the Forsaken beach, the fog still clung to Martin like a heavy miasma, threatening to smother all the light that made Martin Martin.

John couldn’t let that happen, but he didn’t know how to fix this. He broke everything he touched and hurt everyone he cared for. It was a miracle that John hadn’t started the apocalypse on accident by now.

“You…” You’re wonderful and far more than I could ever deserve. John swallowed and restarted. “You said that your flat is down this street, yes?”

Martin nodded, but he didn’t say anything. Everything about him was still muffled, even if the echo was gone. The two of them continued down the street to Martin’s flat, and as Martin fumbled with his keys they, too, were muffled. The jingling noise as he tried to find the key to his flat was damped, like they were metal plated instead of actually metal like John Knew they were. He Knew that Martin’s landlord used cheaper keys made of aluminum instead of a stronger material like brass, even though the landlord could afford to use a stronger material. Considering that the landlord had once had an encounter with the Slaughter, he really should have used better keys.

John squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, he focused on the color of the door so his mind wouldn’t wander with unwanted thoughts. It was a mulberry color, a very un-yellow that John felt was comforting for a door. It wasn’t a door that wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t sure what he would do if the Distortion showed up right now. Helen had refused to help, and John still didn’t know why. He just wanted Martin to be safe, and even though Peter Lukas was dead, Martin wasn’t safe. Hopefully Martin wasn’t afraid of John.

John hoped that Martin enjoyed the color of his door. John didn’t ask, though, he just let Martin push the door open and lock it behind them.

A lock wouldn’t be able to stop the Hunters. It could at least stop Elias, no, Jonah, based upon the tape that John had listened to. He had listened to it over and over, just to listen to something Martin had said that hadn’t been part of a Statement.

“I’m going to go change,” Martin mumbled as he walked towards a hallway. “Get the sand off my trousers.”

John didn’t want to let Martin go, but he did anyways. Martin was speaking without an echo, which was good. And besides, why would he want to be around John? John had been a prick before, and now he had killed someone in front of Martin. Killed him to save Martin, sure, but maybe there was a better solution to the problem that was Peter Lukas. A solution that Martin would approve of. A solution that John hadn’t thought of. He hadn’t really been thinking of anything, not even whatever plans Jonah may be even in this very moment winding around John’s hands and legs like puppet strings or strands of webbing. All that John could think of was saving Martin. He hoped he had done that properly, at least.

John walked through the kitchen, noticing the layer of dust on the counters. Martin likely hadn’t been back to his flat in the past two, three weeks. Had he even left the Institute before today? John grabbed the kettle and rinsed it out, throwing out the stale water, before putting it on the stove. He had honestly expected Martin to have an electric kettle, like the one in the Archives, before he walked over the tea and investigated the boxes. There was a loose-leaf Earl Grey that John immediately passed over. He wasn’t sure what to do with a loose-leaf tea; he had only stopped microwaving his water with the tea bag in the mug when Martin had begged him to stop. John still couldn’t taste the difference between microwaving the water with or without the tea bag, but, well, John wished he could say that he had wanted to be in Martin’s good graces. At the time, though, he had just wanted his subordinate who actually had archiving experience to stop whining and lecturing John on yet one more thing John was unqualified for compared to Martin and all of his expertise.

The two boxes of tea bags that Martin had were a mostly full green tea and a mostly empty rose tea. John couldn’t remember which of the two Martin had more frequently drank, back when he was still in the Archives. Was the green tea mostly full because he didn’t drink it often, or because he often resupplied?

The Eye wasn’t giving John any helpful answers, just the knowledge that Martin used to keep one oolong tea bag that he just in case his mother ended up coming home because something had happened to the care home. Even after she died, he had kept it up until he had agreed to work for Peter Lukas.

Out of the corner of John’s eye, he saw steam. That was odd; it was too early for the kettle to be ready.

Oh.

Oh no. What had he been thinking?

John barely had the sense to turn off the stove – because that would be just their luck, to survive Prentiss and the Unknowing only to die in a house fire – before rushing to where Martin said the bedroom was. The fog in the kitchen had been warm, but as John got closer and closer to the bedroom, the fog grew colder and thicker. It clung to his skin and hair, muffling even the sound of John’s breathing.

And the sound of sobbing coming from within the bedroom.

“Martin?” John pushed the door open and knelt by the cloud sitting at the foot of the bed.

Are you okay? Is everything alright? John didn’t need to compel Martin to know that the answers to both of those questions would be no.

Slowly, scared of accidentally sticking his arms inside of Martin’s body, John wrapped his arms around the fog. He Knew that the last time that Martin had been hugged had been an awkward side-hug from Melanie.

The time before that had been before the Unknowing.

John had been the second-to-last person to hug Martin. It felt so wrong to think that – John had never been a person good at comforting people. And yet, it also made too much sense. He wasn’t good at comforting people, but he was what little that Martin had.

“I’m here,” John found himself saying in a voice so soft it was just barely above a whisper, or at least that was how the fog made him sound. “It’s going to be alright. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” He didn’t know if time would prove him a liar, but John would try his best anyways.

“But for how long?” the fog said back.

“Forever, if you’ll have me.”

“You can’t promise forever.”

“Then for as long as I live.” That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because the fog began to shudder. John made soft shushing noises as he stroked where he imagined Martin’s pearl-white hair to be. “It won’t come to that, not any time soon. I’m getting increasingly hard to kill.”

The fog huffed in annoyance. John hoped that was a good thing, that Martin was coming back to himself.

“I won’t leave you. Not again,” John said. “For better or for worse, wherever you go, I go. Deal?”

“Deal,” Martin said, a distinct echo to his voice. He wrapped his arms around John, gingerly at first, like John was still as fragile as he had been when in the coma. After a moment, he squeezed John more tightly, the fog fading away. His fingers dug into John’s shoulders with desperation.

“I’m here,” John said. “I’m here, and I love you, and I’m sorry I ever left you.”

They stayed like that for several minutes, John murmuring promises as he rubbed Martin’s back. Eventually, Martin’s tears subsided, and he pulled away. “What you said earlier,” Martin said, voice still hoarse from crying. There was still sand on his trousers. “That sounded a lot like a wedding vow.”

“Well, how do you feel about eloping to Scotland?”

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #johnathan sims #martin blackwood #lonely!martin #my writing #jmart #jonathan sims

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beagotlost · 2 years ago

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autumn days at the potters’ <3

part one

part two

a/n: so this is the first thing that i’ve ever published so i’m a bit nervous for people reading my work (not that many will lol) but pls give it a chance + enjoy !!!content: fem! reader x james potter (seventh year) fluff, small mention of food.

a/n (again): a series of cute little autumn days at the Potters’ house. Hopefully heartwarming??

You huddled yourself deeper into your scarf and stuffed your hands into your pockets a bit harder against the bite of the October afternoon wind. The sun was distantly warm, but not warm enough to fend off the chill that nipped at your nose.

The trees that lined the street were clad in leaves of orange and red and gold, and the windows of the houses glowed brightly against the descent of dusk.

You came to the gate of the Potters’ house and pushed it, fingers coming into contact with the cool metal. The house was big and warm and inviting, even from the outside. Boston ivy climbed the walls of the house, golden glowing windows framed with white peeked out of the red and gold hues. You walked up the path to the door, boots softly brushing against flagstones, fingers wrapping around the shiny brass knocker.

After just two knocks, the door was flung open to reveal James’ beaming face, complete with rumpled up hair and crooked glasses like always. After all this time, seeing him still gave you butterflies.

You grinned back at him, dropping your bag to the floor as you were drawn into his arms in a tight hug. You pressed your face against his shoulder, feeling his soft sweater on your cheek and inhaling his familiar scent.

"Missed you." You said into his chest, voice muffled by the thick sweater.

James pushed you away and leaned down to kiss you. You completely forgot that you were standing on the doorstep on a freezing cold October afternoon. You were filled with warmth from the contact of your lips and James' arms holding you close.

"I missed you too." He whispered onto your lips. But before he could kiss you another time, Euphemia's voice sounded from behind him.

"Let the poor girl inside, she must be freezing." James chuckled, before picking your bag up and shutting the door.

Mrs Potter came forward and hugged you tightly. Still slightly embarrassed from getting caught kissing your boyfriend by his mother, you thanked her for letting you stay.

"Oh it's nothing. We haven't seen you in ages, and besides, we love having you round just as much as James does. Mind you, it's almost as though you are here all the time, given how much he talks about you." Mrs Potter laughed, and James went a little bit red. "Ive just put the kettle on, would you like tea?"

"Yes please, Mrs Potter, that would be great."

"Oh, call me Effie. I should like to think that we're well past 'Mrs Potter."

You smiled as she left the room to sort out tea.

"Let's you drop your bag off upstairs." James suggested, immediately grabbing it and bounding up the stairs, making you laugh as you ran after him.

You were much more unfit than he was, and when you stumbled into his room, legs aching a bit after running up the steep stairs. You fell into James’s arms, and you rose up on your tiptoes to meet his eyes.

“Shall we pick up where we left off?” You breathed. James answered by kissing you, deep and slow and passionate. Your insides melted like butter again as you ran your hands up his back underneath his sweater. James held you close to his body by your waist, his other hand running through your hair.

“TEA IS READY!” Euphemia’s voice broke the two of you apart, and james let out a small laugh.

“That is the second time in ten minutes that I have been cock blocked by my mother.”

Laughing at him, you fixed your hair and followed him down the stairs, into the kitchen where Effie had laid out a pot of tea and four cups and saucers along with a plate of hot, toasted, buttered tea cakes. You inhaled the aroma of spices and fruit that came off them and thanked Effie as she poured your tea.

Over tea you caught up on school, and how your parents were doing and what the rest of your ‘gang’ (which is where James chipped in and corrected her to ‘marauders’) we’re doing over the holidays and if you had plans to see them.

You spent so long chatting that it was dinner time and Fleamont had to make dinner, so you and James attempted to help, but probably ended up being more of a hindrance, so you just sat on the stools behind the island and talked to James’ dad as he did all of the cooking.

~~~

After dinner, you played scrabble with James’ family and showed them some of the photos you had taken over the previous half term at school.

The living room was probably the cosiest, most homely place you had ever seen. A huge crimson velvety sofa and two swishy armchairs faced the fire, all laden in cushions and throws. The mantelpiece was an organised jumble of family photos, decorated with a vase of sunflowers and some little ceramic pumpkins. You sipped hot chocolate and laughed at James trying to convince everyone of the legitimacy of his scrabble words.

Eventually, you felt as though you wouldn’t be able to keep your eyes open so you excused yourself, and went upstairs to brush your teeth, wash your face and change into your pyjamas.

When you entered James’ room, he was already there, standing half dressed on the far side of the room next to his chest of drawers. He was shirtless, and his red plaid pyjama bottoms sat low on his hips.

“How did you get here before me?”

He winked. “Magic.”

You rolled your eyes playfully and ran your hands up his chest, toned by years of quidditch practice. You slung your arms around his neck and his hands drifted from your lower back to your butt, lifting you up so your legs wrapped around his waist.

You titled your head back to look at him, before running a hand through his hair and crashing your lips together, sparks shooting through your body. James walked the two of you to the four poster mahogany bed in the middle of the room draped in heavy red curtains and made up on cream sheets.

He laid you down gently on the bed, your legs still around him as he deepened the kiss and you pulled him even closer towards you.

#james potter #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter x you #the marauders

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theboywithburninghands · 6 months ago

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Part 2 of my standalone Funnybunny piece. Less angsty, more fun, still pretty heavy. I love it. Hope you will too. T/W: Mentions of drugs and alcohol, self-hatred

“You’re going to be okay, right?”

Pomni looked up at Jax. The two of them hadn’t said a word to each other since leaving his room. Thunder boomed and churned.

“Yeah,” was Jax’s paltry reply. Pomni swallowed, from nerves and from her enduring thirst. She couldn’t chew on her gloves due to one gripping Jax’s hand and the other the lighter. She chewed on her lower lip instead.

“You… don’t have to stay for very long. I told you I’m dogwater at social stuff, so I won’t force you to do too much. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jax replied.

Pomni felt frustration stir in her belly. One-word answers were the bane of her existence. For the life of her, she couldn’t tell what someone was feeling if they only said “yeah” or “nah” or “fine.” Was Jax angry with her? Tired? Ashamed? Some awkward fusion of all three? …Well. That would have to be put on hold. She released Jax’s hand, the rabbit tucking his hand back into his pocket, and opened the door to Ragatha’s bedroom.

“ Pomni! And-And Jax, you’re back! Is everything okay?”

Ragatha hurried over to Pomni, stepping carefully over her blankets and pillows. She had evidently been trying to make a blanket fort in near-total darkness, without much success.

“Yeah. We talked.” Pomni said.

“More like screamed.” came a dry and annoyed voice. Zooble was resting on Ragatha’s empty bed. “We could hear you from all the way down the hall. I think the only thing louder than you was the storm.”

There was a faint burble of thunder. Apparently it agreed.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to scare you guys. I just…”

“Don’t worry, Pomni. You brought light with you.”

Kinger ignited the wick of a long, white candle using the lighter in Pomni’s hand. He stared at the flame it created intently for a moment, before he stuck it on an old fashioned brass chamberstick, the kind with a finger loop you always saw people in silk pajamas use to look around their dark manor in old movies. He cupped the flame and brought it over to some of the candles that had fallen on the floor, setting the chamberstick down on Ragatha’s hutch so he could plate the other candles.

“You should thank Jax. He had a change of heart even before I yelled at him.” Pomni said with a nervous chuckle.

Jax blew a raspberry through his lips and went over to help Kinger light the other candles. Pomni chewed on her glove.

“Thank you for bringing the lighter back, Jax…” Gangle said softly. She clutched a stuffed zebra for security. “I-I don’t do so well in the dark…”

“Whatever.” Jax replied without turning around.

“I think that’s Jaxenese for ‘you’re welcome.’” Ragatha said with a smirk.

“Say, why is this candle blue?” Kinger asked, holding up a squat, already lit powder-blue one in a glass jar.

“Oh, that’s one of my scented ones. Blue citrus, it’s really nice. Leave it going for a bit.” Ragatha delicately took the candle and placed it on her table.

In time, the performers eventually had all the candles going, safely burning on sticks, sconces or small glass plates to keep any wax from dripping onto the floor. Kinger went and retrieved his camping stove, which thankfully had enough white gas left in it to get started. Ragatha filled her tea kettle with a gallon jug of drinking water she kept stowed away under her bed, setting it gingerly on the camping stove. She set about putting ginseng tea bags in her white china cups, handing them to everyone on saucers as a plume of steam began to issue from the kettle. The room smelled pleasantly of orange.

“I know it’s a little cliché, but I love tea. Especially with my secret ingredient.”

“Booze?” Zooble asked. Pomni couldn’t help but snort. Ragatha chuckled as well.

“No, no. I don’t really have a name for it. At least not yet.” Ragatha went over to a small fridge that resembled a toy chest.

“Shrooms? That’d be awesome.” Zooble sighed. Gangle stifled a giggle this time.

“Zooble, stop it.” Ragatha tisked with a hand on her hip. “You would not wanna do magic mushrooms in the middle of a blackout, trust me.”

“She’s right…” Gangle agreed. Zooble shot her a suspicious look just as Ragatha retrieved a small thermos from the fridge, shutting the door quickly to not let the cold out.

“Alright, everyone bring me your cups.” Ragatha said, taking the kettle off of Kinger’s stove with a pink and white checkered potholder. Thunder rumbled.

Everyone gathered around Ragatha’s table as she poured hot water into their cups, the water turning deep amber as it mixed with the hot tea leaves. She bobbed the string in everyone’s cups to let out some additional flavor before discarding the hot wet bags and opening her thermos. She retrieved an elegantly patterned silver spoon from her tea set and stirred the contents of the thermos. After a moment she scooped out a heaping spoonful of what looked like purple clotted cream, dolloping it into her own cup and stirring until the tea was a pleasant, dull lavender color. She put a significantly smaller amount into every other cup, humming tunelessly. She smiled and held up her own cup after finishing.

“Hope you enjoy! Drink it slow to savor the taste.” Ragatha gently blew away the steam drifting from her own cup and took a sip, sighing in contentment.

Pomni blew on hers as well and sampled the tea. Whatever Ragatha’s secret ingredient was, it contained a lot of sugar and cream. It was almost like drinking a slice of birthday cake, but with a flutter of herbs she didn’t recognize. Not bad at all, but a little too rich to have more than one cup.

“Mmm!~ This is so good!” Gangle cried. Zooble, on the other hand, spluttered.

“Oh jeez…” they said in between coughs.

“Aw, you don’t like it?” Ragatha asked, smiling politely yet with a twinge of disappointment.

“No it’s- it’s good it’s-” Zooble hacked and coughed. “I just wasn’t expecting like… A blast in the face from the sugar cannon. I- ahem, usually take my coffee black or my tea plain…”

“Oh man, that’s hardcore, Zooble.” Pomni said. “I at least need a little sugar in mine…”

“I’m with Pompom. It’s almost like plain coffee tastes bad.” Jax said. He sipped from his cup and looked down at it with a slightly crinkled face. “Yeah, this is like, crazy sweet though.”

“Well you aren’t spraying it across the room, so I’ll take that as a win.” Ragatha replied, smiling proudly.

Kinger finished his entire cup in a few gulps, holding it out to Ragatha. “More please.”

“Woah! Easy there, Kinger!” Ragatha held out a hand to slow him down. “I’m glad you like it but you’re gonna burn your throat. Plus this is ginseng, so it’ll give you energy.”

“Oh, that actually makes a lot of sense. You stay peppy by consuming truckloads of caffeine.” Jax tapped his cup for reference.

Ragatha giggled. “Caffeine does help. But counting your blessings and staying positive every day helps even more.”

“Yyyyyyyeah, I’ll stick with the caffeine thanks.” Jax took a sip of his tea, squinting his eyes a bit at the sweetness.

Pomni smiled. He was getting back to his old self. If he kept his humor to light-hearted ribbing, he was pleasant. Charming, even. She sipped her tea.

After everyone had finished, Gangle, Kinger and Ragatha going back for a second cup, Ragatha taught them the basics of making a blanket fort. While Pomni normally wouldn’t have been interested, not having any sort of caffeine or similar stimulant in months had caught up to her; her head was humming and she needed something to do. She listened to all of Ragatha’s instructions carefully, and went to get her blanket from her room along with the others. Kinger accompanied Gangle to her bedroom, the ribbon girl still paranoid about the dark even with a candle to light her way.

Jax proved himself useful at tying the blankets together. It seemed that in addition to making him a skilled lockpicker, his nimble fingers allowed him to make pretty complicated knots on his first or second try. He hardly required any instruction on how to tie them either. Maybe it was the ginseng helping him focus, Pomni wondered to herself.

Soon, their fort was complete. It was a little on the cramped side, especially when it was filled up with pillows, but all six of them could fit if they packed together like sardines. Pomni, cautious of having to squeeze up alongside people, opted for a seat at the end, Jax on her left and the fort’s exit on her right. She didn’t mind being close to Jax…

“Well, this is great! I feel snug as a bug in here!” Ragatha declared.

“It’s nice enough.” Zooble admitted. “Beats whatever stupid-@$$ thing Caine had planned.”

“When do you guys think he’s coming back? He’s not gonna be mad is he?” Pomni asked.

“He doesn’t really get mad very much. He tries to keep the kid-friendly persona up all the time, so he can’t be too threatening, y’know?” Jax said. From how close they were sitting, Pomni could feel the vibrations of his voice on her left arm.

“Besides, I think he’ll be proud we managed to have a little adventure together even with the electricity not working properly.” Ragatha added.

“I just wish there was a way to bring light into our fort…” Gangle sighed. “I know it’s not safe to bring candles in here, but it’s so dark…”

Thunder sounded out from beyond the blankets, still quite loud but not nearly as frequent and quaking as before.

“Hey, you know it’s funny you say that?” Jax said. He took a moment to reach into the pocket of his overalls and retrieve a small, tube-shaped item. There was a click and a cone of light shone from one end of the tube, causing everyone to squint.

“Jax, is that a flashlight..?” Ragatha asked, shielding her eye with one hand.

“You had a flashlight on you this whole time and didn’t tell us?!” Zooble groused.

“Hey, I forgot I had it until I got back into my room. Why do you think I was so willing to give Jingles my lighter?” Jax tousled Pomni’s coxcomb hat, shaking the bells in it. “Besides, I was waiting for a moment like this-”

Jax held the lit end of the flashlight under his chin, turning his face into an eerie black and white silhouette with shaded eyes.

“-to tell you guys a little story.”

Gangle let out the same sustained whine she did when the power first went out.

“Jax, come on, no ghost stories.” Ragatha held out her hand in a “halt” motion.

“Aw, whaaat?” Jax took the light off of his face. “You’re kidding, it’s an essential slumber party activity. Unless we were gonna sit around and talk about boys.”

“I’d rather we do that…” Gangle admitted, holding her stuffed zebra a little closer.

“Real boys, Gangle. Not anime boys.” Jax drawled. “Come on, just one story. I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it.” Kinger said.

“Sure, whatever.” Zooble grunted.

“Noooooo…” Gangle mewled, squeezing her zebra with all her strength.

Pomni smiled a bit. “Gangle, I think he really means it this time. You promise you won’t scare us too bad, Jax?”

“Well I can’t promise-”

He paused for a second.

“Yeah, I promise.”

“...Okay.” Gangle sighed. Ragatha reached a hand over to hold one of her ribbons, which she gladly accepted.

“Eeexcellent…” Jax held the light under his chin, giving a huge, jack-o-lantern grin. “Then let’s get started.”

The rabbit cleared his throat.

“There once was a 10-year-old boy, we’ll call him Paul, that lived near a pretty big set of woods. It was meant to be cleared for more houses, but there was some sort of issue with zoning or maybe the HOA, you know how these things go. Paul’s house was right next to it, and since the city wasn’t doin’ anything with it, he decided to explore it. “Now Paul loved it out there. Even though it was only a wedge of land a little less than a mile long, he had the whole place mapped out. He knew where every fallen tree to balance on was, he knew where every gully was so he never fell into ‘em, he knew where all his favorite hidden clearings and funny looking bushes were.

“But, like any 10-year-old, he would forget stuff out there sometimes. Nothin’ too bad at first, he’d forget a comic book out there, then find it again a few days later with spots of mold on it, or maybe he’d bring his lunchbox out there with some snacks and forget it, so his mom would have to wash it when he finally found it on a stump or something. “Now there was one Saturday, in April, where he went out in the morning to play. He had his jacket on since the mornings could still be a little bit chilly in the early spring. But, as the sun got higher in the sky, the day got warmer. So, he took his jacket off and hung it on a branch.

“Not long after he did that though, his mom called him inside to do his weekend chores before he went over to a friend’s house, and he went running back home, leaving his jacket, forgotten, on the branch.”

There was a rumble of thunder, Jax’s smile only growing wider with a dark chuckle.

“So, he goes to his friend’s house, comes home, does his homework, plays some video games, and goes to bed. He’s got church tomorrow morning after all, he can’t stay up too late, and he’s tired. He had a busy day. So, he lays down in bed and falls asleep within minutes.

“One o’clock in the morning. Paul wakes up and has to go to the bathroom. On his way back though, he hears a noise. He looks down the stairs to see that the front door is creaking open. No one locked their doors around here, it was a safe neighborhood. He figures it might be his parents back from some kind of get-together with their friends. But what comes inside…

“Oh, it isn’t his parents.” Jax let out another grim chuckle, Ragatha squeezing Gangle’s ribbon a little bit tighter.

“What shuffles into the house is a good eight feet tall with long, scarecrow-like limbs, covered in mud and leaves from the woods, piercing bright yellow eyes peering out from filthy, bug ridden hair. It tracks mud on the hardwood floor with every step it takes, leaving behind three toed footprints. It looks up the stairs, and it sees Paul!

“Paul runs for his bedroom, but he can hear the creature snarl through a clotted throat and fall onto all fours, loping up the stairs far, FAR faster than Paul could run. Paul skids to a stop in front of his door, seeing the creature’s horrible eyes leering at him from the top of the stairs. He runs inside his room and tries to slam the door shut, but a hand tipped with three dirty talons catches the edge of the door before he can shut it. “It’s so much bigger and stronger than he is, and it throws the door open, slamming it hard against his bedroom wall. It has to stoop to fit into his bedroom, never once taking those awful, piercing eyes off of him. Paul falls onto the floor and covers his eyes, waiting for the teeth to clamp down on his head or those horrible claws to tear him limb from limb! “The creature reaches onto its back, pulling something off of its body. A weapon to stab him with or- “A jacket. The creature dropped Paul’s filthy jacket onto the bedroom floor with a wet flop.

“‘Quit leavin’ your stuff on my property, stupid.’ it grunts, before turning and bowing out the door, down the steps and into the night.”

Everyone was quiet for a second before Ragatha started laughing. Gangle joined in, then Pomni did as well. Jax handed the flashlight over to Gangle and relaxed, putting his hands behind his head.

“That was a good story, Jax! I liked it a lot better than the one about the babysitter.” Ragatha said.

“Or the one about the dog…” Gangle said. She seemed to have surprised herself with how hard she had laughed, as she hiccuped soon after.

“Hey now, this story has a moral,” Jax said from his reclining position. “What, respect nature? Don’t leave important stuff behind?” Zooble asked, barely interested.

“Nah. Don’t be a ten-year-old.” Again, there was a ripple of somewhat awkward laughter amongst the performers. They weren’t used to Jax making jokes that weren’t… cruel. Snarky as hell, sure, but these were… actually pretty funny. It was… nice to have him around.

Pomni touched his leg. He opened one eye and glanced down at her glove, then back up at the jester. Even in the dim light, her blush was noticeable. “So what do we do now? Anyone got anything they want to talk about..?” Ragatha asked. “I dunno. I’d say we could nap, but I’m still a little wired from your tea. What else do you do at a slumber party?” Pomni scratched her cheek. “I could teach you guys how to make paper stars! Or maybe we could-”

There was a great swoosh of movement as the top blanket was yanked off of their fort. “HELLO EVERYONE! GLAD TO SEE YOU’RE DOING WELL!” Caine held the blanket in one hand and his cane in the other, hovering above the group and giving off his own light. Everyone jolted, Pomni pressing herself against Jax. Jax instinctively put a hand around her. “Well, we were …” Jax drawled. “What do you want, Caine?”

“The lights are still off… no luck fixing whatever needs fixing..?” Zooble asked. “Also, that’s my blanket.”

“APOLOGIES, ZOOBLE! HERE YOU GO!” Caine hurled the blanket at Zooble like a cannonball, knocking them into their pillows with a shocked and incensed “OW.”

“Caine, what’s-” Pomni noticed she was in Jax’s arms. “Uh… I um…”

Jax looked down and smirked proudly.

“EXCELLENT QUESTION POMNI! BUBBLE AND I HAVE BEEN HARD AT WORK TRYING TO FIX OUR LITTLE POWER ISSUE! ISN’T THAT RIGHT, BUBBLE?!”

Bubble emerged from within Caine’s hat, wearing a construction helmet and glowing.

“We haven’t been able to fix anything!” he declared proudly.

Caine just about fell out of the air in shock, quickly righting himself. “Bubble! They’re not supposed to know that!” he whispered harshly.

“Oh. I guess they do now huh?” Bubble replied. Caine swiftly popped him, his helmet falling out of the air and into Kinger’s lap.

“Ooh! A gift from the gods!” he declared, immediately putting it on.

“You guys haven’t found the issue yet..? Is there anything we can do to help?” Ragatha asked.

“We? I ain’t helping.” Zooble declared.

“I’m with Zoob. I’m pretty comfortable in this little tent. With my stuffed animal.” Jax said, patting Pomni on the arm. Pomni felt like she might explode.

“I APPRECIATE THE OFFER RAGATHA, BUT UNFORTUNATELY, THE ISSUE IS FOR RINGMASTER AND RINGMASTER ASSOCIATED ASSOCIATES ONLY!”

“Well… what is the issue then?” Gangle asked.

“WELL YOU SEE-”

Caine then regurgitated an enormous dump of information, enough to fill up three pages front and back. But his voice was sped up so quickly that it all flew by in a matter of about 30 seconds.

“-BUT THAT’S THE SHORT VERSION!”

“So… it’s gonna take a while to fix, then.” Pomni said. She was admittedly a bit happy they wouldn’t be thrown into another adventure right then and there. She was comfortable right where she was… right there next to Jax, sharing his warmth. His fur was fine yet plush, incredibly soft like that of a microfiber blanket.

“How did it happen anyway? Were you messing with the weather again?” Zooble asked.

“I PLEAD THE FIFTH!”

“Caine, don’t take this the wrong way, but… you look… tired?” Ragatha asked.

“HA! DON’T BE RIDICULOUS! I’M THE RINGMASTER! IT’S MY JOB TO KEEP YOU ALL ENTERTAINED FOR-”

There was a deafening clap of thunder that stopped Caine’s spiel in its tracks. He looked up at the ceiling and then hung his head.

“I’m very tired.”

Ragatha smiled and got to her feet, stepping out of the now roofless blanket fort and over to the camping stove sitting on her table. She got the stove started after a few attempts, refilling her tea-kettle. The others watched her, exchanging looks.

“Whatcha doing there, Rags?” Jax inquired uneasily.

“Caine said he was tired, didn’t he? He could use a cup of tea.” Ragatha replied, putting the kettle onto the burner.

“Can Caine even eat or drink..? I don’t know if-ACK!”

Pomni was bonked on the head by an object that fell from above. As it rigidly fell to the mass of cushions with a polite plop, its form became clear in the beam of the flashlight.

“Caine dropped his… uh, cane!” Gangle whispered, putting a ribbon to her mouth in surprise.

The six performers looked up at the ringmaster. He hovered in the same spot, head still bowed. A sound emitted from his teeth, a mixture of a Dial-up computer’s startup sound and faint snoring.

“Oh my God, he’s out cold!” Zooble said incredulously. They stood and tapped one of Caine’s feet experimentally. Not even a twitch. A huge grin spread across Jax’s face. “Let’s put his hand in warm water!” He scrambled to his feet, only for Pomni to grab one of his ankles on his way out of the fort, causing him to fall onto the floor, one leg still stuck in the fort. “Let’s not.” she retorted flatly. “Man, you suck.” Jax said, putting his chin on his knuckles in petulant disappointment.

“Guys, we should let him sleep,” Ragatha said, dropping a tea bag into one of her China cups. “I think if he gets the rest he needs, he’ll be able to fix all this. At least give him until his tea is ready.” The other performers obliged, some more reluctant than others. Jax climbed back into the tent beside Pomni. They chatted quietly for a few minutes, occasionally glancing up to check on Caine, who remained suspended in the air like an unused marionette. Ragatha soon approached with a cup of her purple tea on a saucer.

“Anyone want to do the honors?” she asked, looking up at Caine with an amused smile.

“I’m on it.” Jax said, picking up a pillow. He squinted one eye to help his aim and lobbed it at Caine. The cushion bounced off Caine’s teeth, landing back on the floor anticlimactically.

A few seconds of silence and then Caine slowly raised his head as a start-up jingle played. He blinked rapidly and looked around. “GADZOOKS! HOW LONG WAS I OUT?!” he cried.

“Couple hours.” Jax replied. This earned him a whap with a pillow from Pomni.

“He’s kidding, you were sleeping for about twenty minutes,” Ragatha said. “But you needed it. Do you feel any better?” Caine scratched where his chin might have been. “HMM, LET ME SEE…”

He put his hands on his hips, staring off into nothing. His eyes gradually drifted in opposite directions. “Uh…” Pomni began. “YES! I FEEL MUCH BETTER! ALL I NEEDED WAS A GOOD HARD RESET! DON’T YOU WORRY, MY LITTLE SUPERSTARS, YOU CAN REST EASY KNOWING THAT I’LL HAVE THIS STORM ISSUE FIXED WITHIN THE HOUR!”

“That’s great! But, you know? It was a fun little adventure on its own, I think.” Ragatha said. “FANTASTIC NEWS! THAT JUST MEANS I’LL HAVE TO WORK EVEN HARDER TO SURPRISE YOU ALL WITH TOMORROW’S ADVENTURE, WON’T I?!”

Everyone winced.

“WELL, I BETTER GET BACK TO IT! SEE YOU ALL ON A SUNNIER DAY!” Caine declared, picking up his cane from the pillows and twirling it around with theatrical flourish.

“Oh, did you want your tea first?” Ragatha held up the steaming cup for Caine to see. “GOSH RAGATHA, I ALMOST FORGOT! THANK YOU, DEAR!” Caine hovered down and took the teacup with his free hand, pinky out.

“Be careful, Caine, it’s a little-” Ragatha’s smile melted when she saw Caine chug the entire thing in one go, tossing the teacup over his shoulder, where it shattered on the floor with a tinkly smash.

“...hot. A-Are you okay?”

Steam issued from Caine’s mouth, his tongue significantly more raw and red. Tears pooled in his eyes. “THE PAIN ITH ALMOTHT EUPHORIC, RAGATHA!” he lisped, pointing at the ragdoll. He then disappeared in a loud pop of confetti, a distant howl of pain audible within a rumble of thunder.

After cleaning up the bits of broken china, Ragatha put Zooble’s blanket back over top of their fort and climbed back inside. The performers spent the next hour or so chatting about this and that. About 20 minutes was devoted to an argument over whether milk or dark chocolate was superior, Kinger rattled off an encyclopedic list of the insects he had in his collection, and Jax introduced everyone to the concept of “The Game.” It was agreed Kinger had the best chance of winning The Game given his iffy memory.

Pomni was in the middle of reciting Pi, and was on the forty-first digit (6) when the lights weakly flashed on, turned off, then bloomed to full brightness.

“Yaaay! We’ve got power!” Ragatha cried joyfully.

“Aw, too bad. I was curious about the rest of Pi.” Jax drawled. Pomni blushed and nudged him on the shoulder.

The performers took a moment to help Ragatha snuff out all of her candles and put away all the sticks and dishes they were placed on. They carefully dismantled their fort, everyone holding their respective blanket and pillows. “Thanks for stopping by, you guys. I know I said it was a slumber party, but it’s only… uh…” Ragatha checked a pocket watch she had in her dress. “1:52 PM. So I guess it doesn’t technically doesn’t qualify…”

“Hey, don’t sweat it doll,” Zooble said. “I had a nice time. Doesn’t happen very often, you know?”

“Mmm-hmm. I would have spent the whole day hiding in bed without you.” Gangle added. She still had Ragatha’s stuffed zebra under one ribbon, the doll said she could borrow it.

“You guys, come on…” Ragatha waved a hand, her cheeks pink. “It’s no big deal, really.”

“Give yourself some credit, Ragatha. You did the most today.” Pomni insisted with a faint smile.

Ragatha laughed off the compliments. Even if she was being humble, it was clear just how much the praise meant to her from her luminous blush. The performers parted ways, going to their rooms to make their beds and, for some, promptly lay back down in them. Pomni rubbed her eyes as she smoothed out her comforter. That ginseng was really carrying her, and now that the last of it had passed through her brain, she was left with the combined fatigue of too little sleep and emotional overexertion. A nap would really hit the spot right now, and the dim light from the leftover storm, now not much more than a drizzle and occasional thunder, was an open invitation for her to close her heavy eyelids. Only… there was one thing she needed to take care of first.

She swallowed, feeling a spark of anxiety in her belly, but decided to bite the bullet and go for it. She crossed the hallway to Jax’s room and knocked on his door. “Jax..?” she called, too quietly to be heard. Her anxiety had a nasty habit of forcing her voice into a mumble. She cleared her throat and opened her mouth to try again, only for the door to open. Jax looked down at her and gave her a smile. “...Hey.” “Hi…” she replied with a timid little wave. “Can I come in..?” Jax moved aside to let the jester into his room. Through his window, she could see the sky was still covered in a patchy mix of white and gray clouds, puddles dotting the grounds just about everywhere. Jax closed the door and locked it. “...I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Pomni said. She put the thumb of one of her gloves in her teeth and chewed on it. “You were being an @$$, but I was out of line too.”

Jax went over to the window and looked outside. Pomni moved her teeth from her thumb to her pointer finger. “...I do still think that… You wouldn’t hate yourself as much if you weren’t-”

“Spare me.”

Pomni looked up. Jax was still smiling, but it wasn’t nearly as wide as before. “You’re right. You don’t have to hurt yourself coming up with a whole big speech.” Jax said, turning to look at Pomni. She averted eye contact, looking out the window instead.

“...I won’t. But…” Pomni bit particularly hard on the tip of her glove. “You… really don’t remember?”

Jax shook his head. “Nope. It just… exists. The feeling that I’m nothing. Worse than nothing-”

“Less than a person.” Pomni finished. “Below zero.”

“Yup.” Jax said. “No cure for something with no cause.”

Jax felt a pair of arms wrap around his torso. Pomni rested her head against his side, looking out the window with him.

“That doesn’t mean there aren’t ways to make it hurt a little less.”

Jax felt an ache in his throat. He put a hand on Pomni’s back. She didn’t flinch.

The two of them looked out the window like that for a while. Jax eventually led her over to his bed, helping her climb in and pulling the covers back.

“I figured you were tired too.” he said.

“God, am I ever. I feel so heavy…” Pomni sighed.

Jax tossed the covers over her. He scooted up beside her on the bed, and she immediately slid up beside him, resting her cheek on his chest. His denim overalls were warm. “I had a good time with you today…” Pomni said. “Can… Can I kiss you?”

Jax was quiet for a moment. He looked down at the jester. She met his eyes. He leaned down and their lips met. It wasn’t a long kiss, or even a very good one. Pomni was off-center by a few centimeters and ended up kissing his bottom lip only, and the awkward angle made it so Jax had to crane his neck to get any reach at all. And yet, the electricity between their lips easily dwarfed any thunderstorm.

#the amazing digital circus #funnybunny #tadc pomni #tadc jax #jax x pomni #oh no cringe #tadc

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